Carson Enterprises.
* * *
Andrew was still examining the ledgers that had been gathering dust on his father’s desk when Waring himself stumbled into the library.
Waring’s inebriated eyes took in the wrecked library, the papers littering the carpet, the broken glass and spilled whiskey.
“What the blazes have you done in here?”
“I’m only examining the family finances, Father.”
Waring glared at him. “I explained it to you. It was a bad investment.”
“Yes, I’ve sorted that out for myself.” His finger traced the notes he’d added to the ledger himself this very evening. The ones outlining how his father had been duped.
“Yes. An investment in a Canadian line. The country is expanding at a rapid pace. Investing in a rail line seemed foolproof.”
“And it might have been, had there ever been any intention to lay a new rail line through Canada.”
“What are you blathering about? How much have you had to drink tonight?”
“Oh, at least as much as you have. I’ve earned it, don’t you think? Or at least I’ll earn it in the coming years. But as I was saying, the Canadian railway.”
“Get on with it, Andrew. I’m tired. I have a wedding to attend in the morning.”
His low, bitter chuckle was so chilling Waring took an unconscious step back toward the door. “Might it interest you to know that this Canadian rail line you invested all our money in was owned by Phillip Carson?” He tapped the open ledger.
“What? No, it wasn’t. It was—”
“Greater Canadian Century Rail Company. Yes.” Andrew sifted through a stack of letters on the desk until he found the one he sought. “It’s quite obvious if one simply takes the time to read and use some judgment. You were the primary investor. Indeed, the Waring money accounted for nearly ninety percent of the money behind the company.” He waved another letter in the air. “There were never any supplies purchased, no men hired, no licenses procured. In short, it seems Greater Canadian Century was created with one express purpose—to fail and take your investment with it.”
“And you think Carson had something to do with this?”
“I think Carson engineered the whole thing. I grew so curious about this mysterious company that I took a little trip tonight to get a look at their offices. As it turns out, Greater Canadian Century Rail Company shares a building with Carson Enterprises. A service entrance, really, but I suppose you couldn’t expect anything grander for a sham business.”
Waring reached a hand out to grip the door frame. “That bastard,” he whispered. “He swindled me.”
Andrew dropped the letters back to the desk. “Who told you Greater Canadian Century was a sure bet?”
“It was Carson,” Waring hissed. “He said the railways were where he was investing all his funds these days. He said there were huge returns to be had.”
“And Miss Carson? He’d mentioned her before the card game, hadn’t he?” His throat tightened as he said it. She’d known. He knew there was more behind those eyes, but he truly hadn’t expected this.
“Yes,” Waring said as realization dawned. “Dozens of times. Talked about the girl all the time, her ambitions for marriage.”
“Because they were hunting a suitable heir for her to marry.” Andrew fought down the rage flaring at the thought. Victoria conspiring with her odious father, not simply to arrange a prestigious marriage on her behalf but to ruin his family to make it happen. Behind her beautiful face, she was a viper.
Waring finally met his eyes. “I had no idea... You must believe me...”
“Oh, I am quite sure you were entirely oblivious as you gambled away this family’s entire future. It’s irrelevant, however. The damage is done. We’re on the ropes, as they intended.”
“You can’t possibly be thinking of crying off.”
Andrew laughed, even as he doubted he’d ever know a genuinely joyful moment again in his life. “No. I’ll do my duty. I’ll see it through, for my sisters’ sakes. I have no choice. But mark my words, Father, after this, my obligation to this title is done. I expect you and Mother to stay entirely out of my sight. Am I clear?”
“You can’t banish me from your life. I’m your father.”
“That’s rich. I’m giving up the rest of my life to save this family. And you and I both know, in truth, it’s not my burden to bear. But that’s beside the point. I won’t back out. I’ll do this because Louisa and Emma need me. I do it for them, not you. My obligation to you, such as it is, is done.”
Waring merely nodded. “I should get to bed.”
“Yes,” Andrew muttered, eyes once again on the hated ledger before him. “Tomorrow is an important day.”
Chapter Six
The bride wore a gown of white silk satin, one of the final creations designed by the recently deceased Mr. Worth of Paris, and encrusted with Austrian crystals and seed pearls. The train reached fifteen feet and was worked with silver thread, in a pattern of ribbons and forget-me-nots. Her veil, fashioned from Brussels lace, was a full nine feet and adorned with orange blossoms from Her Majesty’s orangerie.
Miss Carson was escorted into St. Martin-in-the-Fields on the arm of her father, the industrialist Mr. Phillip Carson, of New York. She was followed by her mother, Mrs. Phillip Carson, and bridesmaids, Miss Grace Godwyn and Miss Amelia Wheeler.
The Duke and Duchess of Waring arrived at the church some time later.
The London Times
April 3, 1895
Victoria turned her heavy silver fork over in her fingers and nudged her plate of cold salmon in cream with capers. It looked revolting. A liveried servant offered her a platter of meat pies, but the sight of them turned her stomach. When she raised her hand in refusal, he withdrew and moved on to the Earl of Dunnley, sitting in stony silence at her side. He refused, as well.
He’d hardly spoken a word in her presence today outside of his wedding vows and those he’d spit out between clenched teeth. Even the kiss, which she’d been secretly looking forward to, hadn’t been the same at all. A cold, brief brush of the lips, barely even there. Not at all like the kiss after the ball.
After the month apart, she’d been eager to see him again, but that hadn’t happened until they met at the altar. When she’d lifted her veil and turned to him, he’d looked back at her with such thinly disguised hatred, she nearly shrank from him.
Something had happened between the day she’d last seen him and this morning, when she’d seen him again at the altar. The day he’d proposed, he’d been stilted and uncomfortable, but then there’d been the ball. And yes, he’d flashed hot and cold to her, but they’d talked. There had been a connection, small but genuine. He’d made her laugh, he’d been kind and funny. And the kiss...a kiss like that couldn’t be a lie. Could it? She’d sensed his diffidence, his general distaste for the businesslike arrangement of their match. But she’d also sensed his desire. She’d felt it. For a moment, he’d held her and kissed her like he’d never let her go, even if he had, and left in a flurry of awkward regrets.
He’d surely been conflicted about their union, but he’d never been cruel to her. Until today.
His feelings seemed to have hardened into outright hatred and she didn’t understand it. Was it simply resentment that his hand had been forced in the end? Or was she truly so distasteful to him? She didn’t know and he would barely speak.
Another footman leaned between them and placed a slice of the wedding cake before her. It was beautiful, a creamy white confection topped with brightly colored sugared flowers. Victoria forced herself to take a bite. It was probably heavenly, but it tasted like sawdust to her. She reached for her champagne and took a long sip. It was the only thing making the dreadful spectacle of her wedding day bearable. Her husband certainly wasn�
�t.
Twisting the new gold band around the finger on her left hand, she glanced longingly down the table to where Amelia and Grace were sitting, heads together in whispered conversation. She’d give anything to confide all this to them and get their opinions and advice. Instead she was here, alone, catching a chill from her husband’s cold disregard.
Between the girls and her, the long, formal dining table nearly groaned under the weight of silver plate, bone china and cut crystal. Bowls of fruit fought for space with vases of elaborate floral decorations. The table was abuzz with the happy chatter of dozens of slightly inebriated wedding guests, the cream of London society. Members of the ton who’d barely acknowledged her family socially wouldn’t dream of missing the wedding of the heir to the Duke of Waring, especially when her parents were spending a small fortune to entertain them.
At the other end of the table, her mother was holding court, preening in her new position as the mother of a future duchess. She was making rather forceful conversation with a countess who’d snubbed her whenever they’d crossed paths before today. It was a good thing Hyacinth was enjoying the fruits of her hard work on this day because Victoria was resolved it would be the last time she was used to smooth her mother’s way in society. As humiliating as this spectacle was, her liberation began now.
She studied her new husband. He still hadn’t moved an inch or spoken a word. They’d had a connection once. Surely they could find it again. She’d reach out to him, make a friend of him, be a good wife to him. But how to begin? It was like staring at a wall of granite stretching straight to the sky and figuring out a way to scale it with your bare hands.
“Vic—I mean, Lady Dunnley...”
She pivoted to see Amelia and Grace standing uncertainly behind her. Amelia looked lush and curvaceous, and Grace like a tall, willowy sylph, even though they were decked out in identical pink dresses.
“Amelia, stop with that nonsense. I’m still me.”
“Very well, then, Vic, we’ve come to help you change, if you’d like.”
The tension of the past hours caught up to her in a rush. She desperately needed a friendly face. “You don’t know how much I’d like that. Just a moment.”
She turned back and touched Dunnley’s sleeve. His head jerked in her direction.
“I’m going upstairs to change, My Lord.”
He stared back at her with hard, angry eyes. “As you wish,” he muttered. “Our carriage is ready when you are. I’d prefer to leave as soon as possible.”
Why did he have to be so nasty? She was trying her best. They were in this together, or so she thought. The night of the ball, there had been moments when they’d been allies in their situation. But all that seemed to be gone. Fine. Let him glower at the guests on his own.
“I’ll be glad to be rid of this dress.” Victoria followed Amelia and Grace from the room. “I haven’t taken a proper breath all morning.”
“Oh, but it’s so lovely,” Grace sighed. “And you look so beautiful in it.”
“It is pretty.” She fingered the ornate beaded pattern across her skirt. It was truly a masterpiece. It would be carefully cleaned and packed away after today, preserved like the treasured keepsake it was meant to be, even though she didn’t want to remember anything from this day.
They passed through the drawing room, heading toward the entry hall and the main stairs. A few guests lingered here, and Victoria did her best to smile politely and nod to each. A pair of older ladies stood in the corner near the table overflowing with wedding gifts. Their backs were to her and they didn’t seem to hear her approach.
“It’s shockingly gauche, don’t you think, Cecilia? Displaying the gifts like some looted Viking treasure.”
“Deplorably déclassé, Albertine.” the woman’s companion agreed. “But what can you expect? These dreadful American heiresses. They’re little better than Vikings, you know. Storming our shores and marrying into Quality as if they have the right.”
All three girls froze. Grace and Amelia quickly glanced at Victoria. As if today hadn’t already been humiliating enough. She’d tried to tell her mother the British didn’t display wedding gifts the way they did in America, but Hyacinth had insisted. She moved back, prepared to flee upstairs unseen by the two judgmental dowagers, but Amelia took a step forward and cleared her throat.
One old crone—Albertine—glanced over her shoulder at the disruption, and when she spotted Victoria standing a few feet behind her, her expression shifted, warring between embarrassment and resentment. She didn’t seem at all sorry for what had been overheard. Victoria opened her mouth to voice some platitude to smooth away the awkwardness, but again, Amelia beat her to it.
“They’re serving the cake,” Amelia said, her polished Society accent dropping away, and the Portsmouth street urchin she’d once been returning with force. Victoria suspected she exaggerated it on purpose when it suited her. “Be sure you don’t miss it. After all, I know you lot only show up for the free food.”
Both ladies let out shocked gasps. “Well, I never!”
“Never seen such a pair of nasty, rude old crones? Neither have I!” Amelia laughed. “Come, Lady Dunnley,” she said, glaring at the dowagers. “Wouldn’t want to keep His Lordship, the earl, waiting.”
The ladies dipped into small curtsies, since Victoria now outranked them both, as Amelia had so pointedly reminded them. “Congratulations, Your Ladyship,” the one named Cecilia said, looking as if she’d swallowed something sour.
“Pay those bitter old battle-axes no mind, Vic,” Amelia whispered as she led her away. “They’re just jealous.”
“They really were shockingly rude.” Grace shot a nasty look over her shoulder as they climbed the stairs. “How dare they cast aspersions on your breeding when they’re no better than a couple of old fishwives?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m used to it at this point.” Since the moment she’d stepped into her first ballroom a year ago, American and fabulously wealthy, she’d had to put up with slights and whispers behind her back. It had never stopped. The impoverished English nobility might need her money, but they saw no need to be nice to her.
“They’d do well to remember one day you’ll be a duchess,” Grace said.
“I don’t care about any of that.”
“But they do,” Amelia snapped. “Don’t let them cow you, Vic. Not them and not your husband either.”
She drew herself up. Amelia was fearless when it came to facing off with the snobs of the upper class. She was right, though. Marrying a title might not have mattered much to Victoria, but the fact was, she had. She was a countess now and it was time to carry herself as one, vile society matrons and her hateful husband be damned.
* * *
Half an hour later, she started down the stairs again in a smart navy wool traveling dress and matching hat with a half veil drawn over her face. The guests had thinned out, leaving only close friends and family to see the new couple off.
Lord Dunnley was standing in the front hall in quiet conversation with Randolph Asher. When she was halfway down, he glanced up at her, his expression carefully blank. His jaw tightened and he looked away. He was standing right where they’d stood the night he’d kissed her. He’d held her in his arms on that exact patch of marble.
“Remember, courage, Vic,” Grace whispered behind her.
Well, she couldn’t change his feelings in the space of an afternoon. She’d have to hope his hatred softened in time. Lifting her chin and hoping she looked like a countess even if she didn’t feel like one, she continued down the stairs. Lady Grantham met the girls at the foot of the stairs, reaching her hands out toward Victoria.
“You’ve done very well, my dear, and I have every confidence you’ll continue to shine.”
“Thank you,” Victoria said. “Thank you all.” She reached for Grace and
Amelia. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”
“I expect regular letters,” Grace said. “We all do.”
“Well, you know that won’t be a problem.”
“True,” Amelia said. “No one writes a good, long letter like Victoria.”
“You’ll all be sorry you asked when it takes you half the morning to get through one.” They all laughed, the little inside joke easing the tension hanging thick in the air.
Genevieve squeezed her fingers. “I’ll cherish them all. You may no longer be with me as one of my pupils, but I will always be here for you if you need advice or simply someone to listen.”
“That means more to me than you can know. Now, I think it’s time to say goodbye to our parents. I suspect Lord Dunnley wishes to be on his way.”
She left the safety of her friends and joined her husband. Randolph Asher immediately extended a hand to her.
“Lady Dunnley, please accept my congratulations on your nuptials. I wish you every happiness.”
Victoria glanced at Dunnley, certain he would join her in accepting congratulations from his best friend, but he kept his eyes steadfastly averted and said nothing. “Thank you so much, Mr. Asher. And thank you for traveling all the way from Italy, leaving your work, to be with us on this day.”
Randolph smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’m sure you and Andrew will be very happy together.” Finally, Dunnley responded, making a slight choking sound and shooting his friend a withering glare.
Randolph sighed, sketched a bow and withdrew, leaving them to say goodbye to the Duke and Duchess of Waring. On this sunny Sunday morning, the duchess wore a deep wine-red satin dress, with a narrow black mink wrapped about her throat and pinned with a jet and diamond brooch. An elaborate hat with a wide brim half-shielded her face. She did not look dressed for a wedding.
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