The Missing Heir

by Ranstrom, Gail

  She sat and waited for Barrington to take the chair on the opposite side of the desk. “What was it you needed, Lord Barrington?” she asked in as pleasant a tone as she could manage.

  “Why, to talk to you, of course. To explain. To make you understand that, had you not provoked me, I never would have—”

  “Did I not tell you, my lord, that I forgive you and accept a part of the blame? But you do realize, do you not, that we cannot go back and undo the damage?”

  “I do not see why we should, Grace. The memory of it should serve as a caution and prevent it from ever happening again. In a friendship as long-standing as ours, surely one small misunderstanding can be worked out.”

  Heavens! He was completely serious. If it were not for the fine sheen of perspiration on his forehead, she would believe he actually thought she would resume their friendship. She braced herself for unpleasantness. “As I said before, Lord Barrington, I hope we shall always be able to remain cordial. After so long, it would be a pity if we could not pass pleasantries when we find ourselves in the same place. But to pretend anything more would be a travesty. If I cannot trust you with my person, how could I pretend a friendship that I simply do not feel?”

  “Because, Grace,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, “if you do not, you will be in more trouble than you bargained for.”

  Her heart stilled and a feeling of deep foreboding grew in her. “Let us not mince words. Are you threatening me, Lord Barrington?”

  “Take it as you will.”

  “What possible trouble could I be in?”

  “I have heard whisperings about you and Hawthorne.”

  She shrugged. “There were whisperings about us, Barrington. And I did not hear your objections then.”

  “Are you saying that there is no truth to the talk about you and Hawthorne?”

  She gritted her teeth before she could vilify him, and she knew the truth of her relationship with Adam would only outrage him. “I think I am finished with this conversation. You have no right to call me to account for anything I may or may not do. To pretend otherwise would suggest a relationship that does not exist.” She stood and indicated the door with a sweep of her hand. “I am sorry if you feel you cannot put this ugliness behind us and go forward with a degree of civility.”

  Barrington, too, stood and finished his brandy in a single gulp. “Damn it, Grace. I came here to make amends and you will have none of it. Is it Hawthorne? Has he turned your head?”

  Oh my, yes! Turned her head and more. But that was none of Barrington’s business. She merely fastened him with a hard look.

  “You are making a grave mistake, Grace. I am all that is standing between you and disaster. I would think you would embrace the opportunity to take me back.”

  That was the second threat he had made. She was struck by the sudden suspicion that Lord Barrington could be behind the rash of accidents that had befallen her and Adam. “What have you done, Barrington?”

  “I? Nothing. But…no, I have said too much.”

  The excited tones of Mrs. Dewberry’s muted voice carried from the foyer and Grace realized that Adam must have come home. She exhaled in relief and mere seconds later, Adam was standing in the doorway.

  “Hello, Barrington,” he said, and cast a searching glance at Grace. “Is there a problem?”

  “No,” Grace said. She sighed, the tension leaving her muscles. She hadn’t realized she had been prepared for a fight until that moment. “Lord Barrington was just leaving.”

  Barrington flushed and glanced between the two of them. “I begin to think the rumors are true. If ’tis so, I would not give a farthing for either of you.” He leaned toward Grace to put his empty glass on the desk and murmured in an undertone, “This conversation is not done, my dear.”

  “Would you care to explain that cryptic remark?” Adam stood back to free the way for Barrington’s exit.

  “You shall find out soon enough, pup.”

  Grace sank back into her chair, relieved to hear the front door slam. Adam came forward and took Barrington’s vacated chair, facing her. “Is there anything I should know?”

  “He has heard rumors about…us,” she said. “I believe he may be jealous.”

  “What rumors?”

  “That we are…that we have become…lovers.”

  A small smile played at the corners of Adam’s mouth and Grace suspected he was not altogether displeased by this news. “And what did you tell him?”

  “Nothing. I do not want him to know anything about what I do. And I certainly do not want him thinking he has the right to question me.”

  “Are you ashamed that we have—”

  “No,” she hastened to assure him. She really must remember to rid herself of virginal modesty. This blushing business was becoming tiresome. “Not in the least. But I do not like being the subject of gossip.”

  Seeking to change the subject, she asked, “Were you on time for your appointment?”

  Adam grinned and nodded. “I was just checking in on an old friend.”

  “Is he ill?”

  “I suppose you could call it that. He is going through a rough patch and not making much sense at the moment. I’ve been waiting several years to have a conversation with him, and I am growing impatient. Another day or two and he should be well enough.”

  “I shall pray that he recovers his health.”

  “Long enough to answer a few questions, at any rate,” Adam said. At her quizzical look he changed the subject. “Are we gambling tonight?”

  “I must, I’m afraid,” she said. For the first time she noticed that the bandage swaddling his head was gone and only a small one, barely visible, remained. Still, the day must have been trying for him. He’d nearly been killed. “I shall go alone, Adam. I am well enough known that gaining entry will not be a problem.”

  He sat back in his chair and regarded her long and hard. “Why ‘must’ you gamble, Grace? If you are simply desperate for cash, I—”

  “No,” she interrupted. “I only meant that I wanted to gamble. The…the excitement, you see.”

  “Hmm. And a quiet game at home would not satisfy?”

  Good heavens! That telltale heat was back in her cheeks again. Yes, such a game would satisfy. More than satisfy. But it would not trap Morgan and free Laura Talbot. Her throat had gone dry but she managed a shrug.

  “Are you certain this has nothing to do with Geoffrey Morgan?”

  “He was very kind directly after Barrington made a scene. I am certain he will be at Belmonde’s tonight, just to face down his detractors. There will be people who will snub him, and I would like to be likewise supportive.”

  “I see,” he said. “Then of course I shall escort you.”

  “But, Adam, your head. Are you certain you are ready—”

  “What I am not ready for, Grace, is to send you into that den of iniquity alone. Shall we say eight o’clock?”

  Adam at her side, Grace stepped into the main salon at Belmonde’s. Since the challenge had been issued here last night, she was certain Morgan would return here tonight. The room looked as if it had been polarized. Opposing factions gathered at each side of the room, talking among themselves. The larger group appeared to be the friends of Lord Grayson, a much smaller group stood in conversation with Lord Geoffrey. A third group, apparently the neutral faction, stood near a buffet table. She recognized Lady Sarah’s brothers, all four of them, in that group.

  Always striving for balance, Grace would ordinarily have gravitated to the neutral group, but she felt an obligation to Lord Geoffrey for his previous support. She took a deep breath and headed for his group.

  “Is this the first time you have taken an unpopular stand, Grace?” Adam asked.

  Oh, if he only knew! “Publicly,” she admitted.

  Lord Geoffrey saw them coming and gave them a nod. When they arrived by his side, he took her hand and bowed over it. “Mrs. Forbush,” he acknowledged, and then turned to Adam. “I’m glad to
see your dashing good looks will not be affected, Hawthorne.”

  Adam laughed. He gestured to the room at large. “And I see that you know how to put a damper on the fun.”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” He nodded toward the tables. “I believe the house would prefer that we were gambling.”

  The men surrounding Morgan clapped him on the back and moved away toward the tables and the bar. Lord Geoffrey took her arm and led her toward the hazard table, leaving Adam to follow them. She glanced over her shoulder to see him giving Lord Geoffrey a rueful smile and she gathered there was some kind of competition between them.

  There was something uncomfortable in the atmosphere of Belmonde’s, and Grace could not concentrate. After losing all her counters, Lord Geoffrey offered to loan her some of his, but she refused. The last thing she wanted was to be in his debt so soon, but when Adam made the same offer, she was tempted to take it.

  Ah, but Lord Geoffrey’s spy would have reported that she had pawned some of her jewelry. He would think he had her nearly at his mercy. She shrugged and sighed. “I do not like to borrow, Lord Geoffrey. I would rather risk only that which I can pay.”

  “A small private wager, then,” he offered. He led them toward one of the private rooms. “A quick game of piquet?”

  Was this how he drew his victims into his web? Grace realized that this was an opportunity to cozen Lord Geoffrey into believing she would play deep and keep her word. She smiled up at him. “I’m afraid all I have to offer are my ear bobs.”

  “I’ll take them,” he said.

  She removed the gold filigree drops studded with jet that matched her black gown and placed them in Lord Geoffrey’s palm in exchange for ten counters. It remained to be seen whether he would hold her to the wager if she lost. She did not want to lose her earrings, but it was more important to know if he would honor his debt to Adam by sparing her. The future of her plan depended upon that answer.

  Lord Geoffrey took the deck and shuffled the cards.

  Adam glowered at her as they sat. “Still looking for excitement, Mrs. Forbush?” he asked.

  She wet her lips, suddenly dry with anxiety. Some little demon prodded her to taunt him for his rejection last night. “Wherever I can find it, Mr. Hawthorne.”

  The lines of his jaw were hard and she saw the muscles tighten. Adam was quietly furious! And that realization both frightened and excited her more than anything had in years. This was the man who’d given her indescribable pleasure, whose hands had been more gentle and persuasive than any she’d ever known, but he was also the same man who had fought with and against Indians, put himself in peril to rescue her and had killed a man this very morning. He could be capable of anything and she’d do well to remember that.

  Either Lord Geoffrey had not heard the byplay, or he was ignoring it. He picked up his cards and waited for Grace and Adam to do likewise.

  An insistent buzzing from the adjacent room grew louder as it moved toward them. Lord Geoffrey folded his hand and watched the door. Was he expecting trouble?

  Lord Reginald Hunter, Sarah’s brother, sauntered into the room and fastened them with a world-weary look. “Grayson has committed suicide.”

  Neither Adam nor Lord Geoffrey registered surprise and Grace realized they had been expecting something of the sort. Horror filled her. How could Lord Grayson have done such a thing? To leave his wife and children impoverished and unprotected was inconceivable. She shook her head in disbelief. “You are mistaken, Lord Reginald.”

  “I’m afraid not, Mrs. Forbush. Lady Grayson found him at his desk, a pistol by his side. She knew nothing of his wager or the duel. She is devastated.”

  “But why?”

  “There were murmurings that he and Ralph Lucas had conspired to kill Morgan if Grayson lost the duel. He was finished in society.”

  Grace turned to Lord Geoffrey. “But you would not have taken his last pence, would you?”

  “I am famous for it,” Lord Geoffrey admitted.

  “But his wife and children! Surely you will not…you cannot put them out on the street.”

  “Come now, Mrs. Forbush. Do not be melodramatic. I would imagine she has family. A brother or cousins. It is doubtful she and the brats will be left to pick rags and garbage for their existence.”

  Horrified, Grace studied Lord Geoffrey’s handsome face. Now, quite clearly, she understood his true nature. The man did not have blood running through his veins, but ice water, thin and chilling. His charm was only skin deep, simply a device to disarm his opponents. Still, she had to try to salvage something for Lady Grayson from this calamity. “Surely, as one with experience in the devastation of loss—”

  She realized it had been a mistake to refer to his father’s ruinous gambling and his sister’s misfortunes as soon as the words escaped her lips. Lord Geoffrey’s expression froze and he stiffened. His eyes took on a cold and forbidding hue.

  “Do not presume to know what I am feeling or thinking, Mrs. Forbush. Grayson was a fool, and evidently a coward and a weakling, as well. Lady Grayson is better off without him. I am not the villain here. I did not twist Grayson’s arm, nor did I force him to play deep. But I will collect his debt.”

  She would remember that. If Lord Geoffrey would collect debts, even from widows and orphans, she had no reason to believe he would spare her. She lifted her hand to her temple, where a stabbing pain had begun. “I am suddenly feeling unwell. Mr. Hawthorne, will you please take me home?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Settling into her chair, Grace waited patiently for her factor to shuffle through some papers and reacquaint himself with her affairs. She had called on Mr. Evans without an appointment and he required a few moments to look through her ledgers. After the incident at Belmonde’s last night, it was suddenly important to know just how much she could wager with Lord Geoffrey. Now that she knew the true nature of her enemy, she could not risk leaving anything to chance.

  Mr. Evans cleared his throat and sat back in his chair. “Ah, yes, Mrs. Forbush. Your funds are unavailable still, are they not?”

  “They are,” she confirmed. “Do you have any idea how much longer it will take to make a determination?”

  Mr. Evans closed the ledger and moved some papers around on his desk. “It has been but a week yet, madam.”

  “I am aware of that, but I was hoping it could be settled quickly.”

  He picked up his pen and tapped his cheek as he glanced out the window. “The courts move slowly. I would not hope for a resolution for several months.”

  Grace leaned forward, annoyed that Mr. Evans would not meet her eyes. “What, precisely, is the court looking for, Mr. Evans?”

  The man flushed and opened her ledger again, as if checking columns. “I…uh, there is some question regarding your right to inherit from your husband.”

  “My right? There was a will, Mr. Evans, that spelled it out completely.”

  “Yes, well—”

  She nodded. “Yes, I know. The will was made in the belief that Mr. Hawthorne was dead. And, of course, I will want him to have everything that was his before the report of his death. With interest. And any of the family heirlooms, portraits and so forth.”

  “Generous, I am sure.” Mr. Evans leaned back in his chair and studied the ceiling. “And we can hope Mr. Hawthorne will be as generous to you, should the decision not go in your favor.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would the decision not go in my favor?”

  “Should the courts decide to revert to the original will, which would be decidedly in Mr. Hawthorne’s favor, your circumstances would be considerably reduced.”

  “I understand that. But I would still have my investments and the pension Mr. Forbush provided under the original terms.”

  The man now studied the toes of his shoes. “Perhaps not, Mrs. Forbush.”

  “And why, pray not?”

  “Should the courts find…uh, fraud or duress…”

  “Fraud?” Grace’s mind spun. �
��Why would they find fraud? Or duress?”

  “He died so soon after changing his will that…there might…”

  Grace felt sick to her stomach. The old rumors were surfacing. Soon she would be under a cloud of suspicion. But what possible motive could she have? Apart from the endless nights and his occasional verbal abuse, Basil had been her rescuer, liberating her from Leland’s control. She’d have done anything she could to keep him alive and well. She took a deep breath.

  “Really, Mr. Evans, I do not see how anyone could prove such a claim. It is patently ridiculous.”

  “Well, uh…” Mr. Evans examined his fingernails.

  A cold knot of dread grew in Grace’s stomach. “What is it, Mr. Evans? What do you know that you haven’t told me?”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Forbush. It was such an innocent thing. And who would be hurt by it, I ask you? It seemed so logical when Lord Barrington proposed it, that we did not even stop to question it.”

  “What? Question what, sir?” Panic was rising, tightening her vocal cords, causing her voice to rise. She should have known better than to let Lord Barrington handle the details for her.

  “Well, uh—” Mr. Evans met her eyes for just a second before shifting away to his office door as if he expected someone to burst through at any moment. “The will was not delivered to Mr. Ogilby until after your husband’s death. It bore a date previous to that, of course, and the provisions were all logical in view of the fact that Mr. Hawthorne had been reported dead. Lord Barrington had signed as witness and swore to the accuracy of the date. Ordinarily, you see, given that Mr. Ogilby did not draw up the will, and that it was not delivered until after his death, there would have, um, been some question as to its authenticity.”

  Grace shook her head disbelievingly. “I knew nothing of this, Mr. Evans. Why was I not told?”

  “Barrington and Mr. York both said you were too distraught to be troubled over it. Though it was highly irregular, Mr. Ogilby and I agreed to simply ignore the circumstances of the date and delivery. There was, after all, no other heir.”