A Lady without a Lord (The Penningtons Book 3)

by Bliss Bennet

  “Yes, miss.” Laban nodded, then dashed from the room.

  Harry glanced toward Haviland, but he remained facing the window. Only after the clatter of Laban’s boots racing down the had stairs faded did he speak. “Your father allows you to disburse funds on behalf of the estate? Or do you take it upon yourself?”

  What, did the man have eyes in the back of his head? She wanted to scowl, but Haviland looked so concerned, she forced the urge down. Politeness, though, did not require her to respond to his intrusive question. “Has my father stepped out for a moment?”

  “For more than I moment, I believe.” Haviland strode from his position by the window to take up a stance beside the desk. “Lord Saybrook requested that his steward accompany him on an inspection of the site where he hopes to build the new cottages.”

  “While you inspect the Saybrook ledgers? Without informing my father?”

  Haviland lowered his eyes to the ledgers on the desk before raising them back to her. “Are you aware, Miss Atherton, that some funds are missing from the Saybrook accounts?”

  “Yes, Theo told me when he first arrived.”

  “Theo, is it?” Haviland frowned. “Do you think such informality wise, Miss Atherton? We are no longer children.”

  “Oh, Haviland, must you fret so? Even when we were young, you were always imagining the troubles Theo’s schemes might bring down upon our heads, most of which never came to pass. And since taking up the law, you’ve only grown more prone to worry.”

  “I beg your pardon, Harriot,” he said, stepping away as he laced his hands behind his back. “I’ve no wish to offend.”

  Harry sighed. Now she’d gone and affronted him. As if the poor man didn’t already have enough to cope with, what with his father so eager to speak of his disappointment with his son’s choice of profession.

  “No, it is I who am sorry, Haviland, for taking my own worries out on you.” She placed a conciliating hand on his arm. “You were speaking of some missing funds?”

  Haviland’s eyes flashed easy forgiveness. “Yes, I was. Did Lord Saybrook inform you of the amount in question?”

  “No. But it must be something substantial, to warrant his coming to Lincolnshire like this.”

  “Substantial, indeed.” Haviland laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “Quite reluctant to tell me the actual amount, our new viscount was, but I finally convinced him that to conduct a proper audit, I would need to know what it was I was meant to look for.”

  She felt her face pale. “Is my father aware?”

  “I asked Lord Saybrook to inform him. Gave him two days in which to do it, too. But I’m guessing he didn’t, given the way he bundled Mr. Atherton off as soon as I arrived.”

  Her hands began to shake. “He cannot suspect my father of any wrongdoing. Not with the books in such good order now. Why, I can find nary a sixpence gone astray.”

  “How would you know the state of the books, Harriot? Unless you have been doing more than simply transcribing?”

  The concern on Haviland’s face made her stomach turn. “And if I have?”

  “Then it is not only your father, but you yourself, who may be suspected of malfeasance.”

  “Malfeasance? What, does Theo believe my father is stealing from him?”

  “I don’t think Lord Saybrook knows quite what to believe. But with such a vast sum unaccounted for . . .”

  “Vast? Heavens, Haviland, you’re frightening me. Of exactly how much are we speaking?”

  Haviland cleared his throat. “A large portion of his sister’s dowry. A small matter of some four thousand pounds.”

  “Will that be all, my lord?” Parsons stood at attention by the library door, his eyes fixed on a spot somewhere behind, and to the left of, Theo’s head. The footman’s expression remained impassive, but Theo could tell by the slightest bounce of the man’s toes he was eager to be dismissed. Had a sweetheart waiting for him, no doubt.

  Unlike his solitary master.

  Theo sighed. “Yes, Parsons. That will be all.”

  The footman nodded, then closed the library door, leaving Theo alone with his brandy and his thoughts, his least favorite state of being. He grimaced as he raised the glass to his lips and took a deep sip. He hadn’t given in to the temptation to ask young Parsons to sit down and toss one back with him, but it had been a close thing.

  The longcase clock tolled the hour, nine chimes reverberating through the empty front hall. Damn, if he’d been in town, he’d still be preparing for the evening’s amusements, not mouldering away waiting for bed. But here in the country, even on the nights when he’d been invited to dine with the local gentry, politeness forced him to say his goodnights long before the moon had a chance to rise. Not that he’d had much wish to linger; a dull lot, to be sure, Sir John Mather, Reverend Strickland, and Mr. Gerard Gardiner, with his perfectly proper wife and perfectly well-behaved children. But even such paltry entertainments were far better than rattling about Saybrook House by himself.

  Damn Haviland for refusing his invitation to dine. The man must need a good dinner and a stiff drink after spending the entire day pouring over the estate books, even if he hadn’t been ready to give Theo a full report on his findings. But Haviland politely declined, claiming business back in Market Rasen, and thus Theo found himself unexpectedly, and unwelcomely, without company this Friday evening.

  Perhaps he should saddle up his horse and follow Haviland into town. Even if he could not persuade the diligent solicitor to join him, he’d no doubt find companionship of some sort at the Red Lion, or the Arms. The serving girl at the Lion had given him a few suggestive looks, if his inebriated memory served.

  But the womanly form that rushed into his mind belonged not to the cheerful tavern wench, but to a lady far less likely to take on the role of amorous diversion. Leave it to his cracked brainbox to imagine Harriot Atherton pressing her warm body against his, kissing away all his cares.

  What a fool he’d been, apologizing for accosting her one moment, then kissing her again the next. No wonder the poor woman had avoided him these past two days, skipping away like a sandpiper from the incoming tide whenever he hove into sight. And if she had any notion how often his thoughts turned to that kiss, to the unexpected rise of lust that a mere gesture of solace tendered in him, she’d do far more than simply avoid him.

  Theo set his glass down and paced in front of the empty hearth. Perhaps she had the right idea, and he’d do best to stay out of her way for the remainder of his time here. When he was back in town, surrounded by friend and companions, she’d no doubt vanish from his mind. He’d be more than a fool to entangle himself with the daughter of a man who might just be swindling him out of a good deal of money.

  As if the gods laughed at his pitiful resolve, voices, one of them Harry’s, sounded in the passageway. Theo strode over and pulled open the door to reveal his proper butler, accompanied by Miss Atherton. A worried Miss Atherton, if he read her tightly clasped hands and furrowed brow correctly.

  “Oh, my lord, my apologies for disturbing you,” she said with a quick curtsy. “Randall tells me my father is not here, but perhaps you know where he might be?”

  “Mr. Atherton? But I haven’t seen him since early afternoon when we finished inspecting the site of the cottages. Has he not returned from Market Rasen?”

  “He rode to town?”

  “Yes, said he had to collect the quarterly rents.”

  Harry stared at him as if he’d grown an extra head. “Collecting rents? When Midsummer Day’s not for more than a fortnight?”

  Oh, of course. He’d though it odd at the time, rents coming due in June. But he’d just assumed that it was another bit of estate business which he had misunderstood, or which had changed during his long absence.

  “He told me he’d be attending Reverend Strickland’s meeting this afternoon, at Oldfield Church, to argue in favor of the Fair,” Harry continued. “But 3 o’clock came and went, and he never arrived. I assumed that
some estate business occupied him. But if he set off for Market Rasen instead . . .”

  Theo turned to the butler. “And no one here has seen him since this afternoon?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Then send to the stables and have my horse saddled.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  The butler’s departure left him alone in the passageway with Harry. “I’ll ride in to Market Rasen and track him down.”

  “Oh, there’s no need to trouble yourself, my lord,” Harry said, her eyes fixed on the floor. “But if you could spare Parsons, or one of the other footmen—”

  “What, and let them have all the fun?” But Harry did not even smile at this rather lame sally, only clenched her fists tighter against her abdomen.

  Theo stepped closer and took one of those ungloved hands in his, startled to find it so cold. “Likely just consulting the cottage architect, or stopped in at the pub and lifted a tankard too many, don’t you think?”

  Harry shook her head with a fierceness that surprised him. “I should have taken better care, should have insisted he tell me where he was going. He can’t—”

  A sudden pounding at the front door cut her off short. Well, this evening was turning out to be far more eventful than he’d anticipated.

  “What is it now, Randall?” Theo called down from the landing.

  “Mr. Mather, sir. He’s brought Miss Atherton’s father.” The usually imperturbable butler laid a shaking hand on the bannister. “I think we’d best send for a doctor.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Harry shifted again in the chair, unable to keep still. If she’d only had something to do with her hands, some fancywork or even a bit of mending. Then she might have been able to distract herself from what was happening behind that closed door, in the bedchamber to which Theo had carried her half-conscious father after Haviland Mather had burst so unexpectedly into Saybrook House, staggering under the weight of the injured man. But with nothing to occupy them, her hands could not help but skim down and back, down and back, over and over the smooth arms of the upholstered chair. It had been the late Lady Saybrook’s favorite, this chair in the sitting room outside her own bedchamber. But Harry would rub the pattern right off the brocade if the surgeon Theo had summoned did not come out soon. Curse the stubborn man for refusing her entry while he examined her father.

  Theo halted his restless pacing to stand beside her. “Won’t you take a glass of something, to calm your nerves, Harry?” he asked, for perhaps the tenth time since they’d taken up their vigil. “Brandy? Whisky?”

  “Whisky, Theo? For a lady?” Haviland, who had been sitting far more composedly than she on the settee opposite, jerked to his feet. “Please, Harriot, allow me to call for tea.”

  “No,” Harry nearly shouted, bringing both men to a halt. Why the male of the species should be allowed the release of physical movement during times of tension, while the female was expected to keep silent and still, Harry could not begin to fathom.

  “No,” she repeated, more quietly this time. “I’ve no need of any refreshment, I assure you. But I would like is to know how long the surgeon has been examining my father. Do either of you have a pocket watch?”

  Theo shook his head, then frowned as Haviland drew a timepiece from his waistcoat. “Twenty minutes, I believe.”

  “Not overlong to examine a man who’s taken a tumble from his horse,” Theo assured her.

  “But before he—”

  The click of an opening door cut whatever Haviland had meant to say short. Harry rushed to the surgeon’s side. “My father, Mr. Baldwin? How does he fare?”

  Baldwin shut the door before answering. “Not too badly damaged, miss. A small lump, a little lost blood, nothing to worry yourself overmuch. He’ll soon come round right.”

  “But what of his confusion, sir?” Haviland asked. “He did not recognize me when I came across him wandering along the high road. And he talked as if his wife, and the previous Lord Saybrook, both still lived.”

  Confusion? Harry shot Haviland an anxious glance. Why had he made no mention of such behavior earlier, when she’d asked him when and how he’d found her father?

  “Oh, very common, sir, very common, after external violence to the brain such as one receives from a fall,” Baldwin said with a nod. “Only temporary, of course. I’m certain you’ll find him in entire possession of his intellects after he had a few days to rest.”

  But what if he has been showing signs of confusion even before the fall? What prognosis then? But she could not ask the surgeon, not with both Theo and Haviland in the room.

  “Can he be moved to our cottage?” Harry inquired instead, glancing toward Theo. “I don’t wish to inconvenience Lord Saybrook.”

  “Wouldn’t recommend it, begging your pardon, my lord,” Baldwin said with an apologetic nod in Theo’s direction. “Not for a day or two, at the least.”

  “Certainly not,” Theo said with alacrity. “Mr. Atherton is welcome to remain here as long as he needs.”

  “Thank you, my lord. May I see him now, Mr. Baldwin?”

  “Yes, my dear, but just for a moment. He’s resting peacefully now, and I’ll not have you disturb him with noisy lamentation or tears.”

  “You must not be familiar with Miss Atherton, Baldwin, if you think she would ever act in such a thoughtless manner,” Theo said, then gestured toward the door. “Come, I’ll see you out.”

  Harry turned the handle on the door opposite and eased her way into the bedchamber. A single candle sat on a table by the bed, throwing a dim light over her father’s prone figure. No unusual paleness, no stertorous breathing, no fluttering of the pulse at his neck—only the small bandage adorning his left temple attested to the accident he’d suffered.

  Would it be the same once he awoke, though? Or would the confusion the surgeon attributed to the fall still remain? She placed a hand against his brow for a moment, then turned away

  Only to find that Haviland had followed her into the chamber.

  “I did not wish to say this in front of Lord Saybrook, Harriot, but I fear your father did not have all his wits about him even before he fell,” Haviland whispered.

  Harry glanced back at her father, making sure he remained asleep, then pulled the other man from the room. “What? I thought you found him on the ground.”

  “No. He was still mounted when I first encountered him. But his reins were slack, and he gave the horse no direction, almost as if he had forgotten what he was about.”

  “How did he fall, then?” Harry asked, pulling her arms tight against her body.

  “When I hailed him, then spoke to him, he did not seem to know where he had been, nor where he intended to go. I did wonder if he had suffered an apoplexy or fit of some kind. So I grasped his reins, intending to lead him back home.”

  “But he resisted,” Harry stated rather than questioned, her stomach churning.

  “Yes. In fact, he called out ‘Thief! Vagrant!’ as if he did not know me, and jerked the reins so hard that his mount shied, and threw him.” Haviland hung his head for a moment, then raised his eyes to hers. “I am so very sorry, Harriot, to have caused Mr. Atherton harm.”

  “But if you are correct, it was not you but my own father who is to blame.” Harry struggled to keep her voice even. “Why did you not say something of this to the surgeon?”

  “For the same reasons you yourself have kept silent these long months.”

  “Months?”

  “Yes. Months. Because at first I doubted, and did not wish to see it. Then, when his lapses became more frequent, because I did not wish to embarrass or dishonor him. And now, because I worry what Theo would do if he found out.”

  “Theo would not dismiss him,” Harry said in a rush. “Not after all his years of service to the estate.”

  Haviland shook his head. “If it were only a matter of pensioning an elderly retainer off with all due tribute. But with these funds gone missing—”

  “Are you accusing my f
ather of stealing, Haviland?”

  “Not deliberate theft, no. But if monies have disappeared through carelessness or negligence due to his failing mental faculties, Mr. Atherton would still be liable.” Haviland took a deep breath, then fixed his gaze on hers. “As would you.”

  Harry jerked back. “Me? Whatever for?”

  “Because you have been keeping the books—oh, do not pretend you haven’t, because I recognize your hand, and see none of your father’s in the ledgers, not since your return.”

  “But there are no errors in those books!”

  “Can you be sure? Truly?” When she remained silent, Haviland reached out and grasped her by the shoulders. “Please, my dear Harriot, please. Until I’ve had a chance to confirm that they contain no errors, say not a word to Theo, to the surgeon, to anybody, about your father’s indisposition. I’d not have you held up to the censure of the community, or suffer the pain of seeing a father imprisoned.”

  “No.” She pulled free of his grasp, hairpins flying at the vehemence with which she shook her head. “Even if father’s wits are failing and he’s misplaced funds, Theo would never have him gaoled. Never.”

  “Perhaps not.” He frowned and shoved his hands into his pockets. “But we’re not children any more, Harriot. Theo is responsible for a great estate now and cannot allow old loyalties to prevent him from acting in its best interests. If not gaol, it might well be an asylum for your father, if insanity of the aged could be proved.”

  Harry covered her ears, but Haviland yanked her hands down, forcing her to listen. “Did you never wonder what happened to his uncle, the one who was wounded on the Peninsula? Rumor has it he went mad, and was put away on Theo’s order.”

  Harry’s gasp of denial was cut short by a clinking of glass in the passageway. She had only a moment to compose herself before Theo himself entered, several bottles of spirits clattering against each other in his arms.