Marblestone Mansion, Book 8

by Marti Talbott

  The duchess looked as though she might cry at any moment. “It is so very painful.”

  “Take as much time as you need.”

  She sighed, looked away and pretended to gather her last ounce of courage. “I fear I have been most egregiously left at the altar.”

  “The marriage altar?”

  She was taken aback by his question, for what other altar was there? He did not at first appear to have his wits about him, and she needed a shrewd man. “Yes, the marriage altar.”

  “Is the man blind?” he blurted out. “Forgive me; I should keep my opinions to myself. Tell me what happened.”

  “Well, I went off to see my daughter in Colorado, and when I returned, Mr. Roth informed me he had changed his mind. There is to be no wedding after all.”

  “I see. May I assume you were engaged?”

  She slowly and deliberately took the glove off her left hand and showed him the magnificent ring.

  “I say, that is quite an expensive ring. Did you say Roth? Would that happen to be, Mr. Douglas Roth?”

  “One and the same, do you know him?”

  “I do indeed. Did he give a reason for his…shall we say, change of heart?”

  She looked more hurt than bitter. “He said his daughters would not stop crying.”

  Manchester raised an eyebrow. “I can see why. His daughters fear losing their vast inheritance.”

  “How vast?”

  “You do not know?”

  “I have an inkling, but I have yet to hear a figure.” She waited breathlessly to hear the answer.

  “I do not know precisely, but I can find out.”

  “Then you shall take my case, Mr. Manchester?”

  He paused to think. “You want to sue him for breach of promise?”

  “Oh, is that what it is called?”

  The attorney mentally calculated the fee he might be entitled to. “They are not easy cases to win, but I might be interested.” He scooted his chair back a little and crossed his legs at the knee. “What did he promise you?”

  “Other than marriage?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that not enough?”

  “The more your life has been disrupted, the more money he should have to pay.”

  “I see,” said the duchess. “Well, I intended to live near my daughter in Colorado, but Douglas said I should bring her home with me. I trusted him to provide a home for us both.”

  “How unkind of him. Is your daughter with you now?”

  “No, she wanted to finish school first, but I intended to bring her…home for the holidays and in the summer.”

  “Of course you did.” The attorney adjusted his glasses, uncrossed his legs and leaned forward to make a note on his paper. Two victims were twice as good as one. “Forgive me, but it is hot in here.” He stood up, removed his jacket and exposed his white shirt and suspenders. “There, that is better.”

  She thought that a bit odd, for her feet were still frozen. She could tell he was eager to take her case, so she continued, “I thought my future well set, you see, and now…”

  “I quite understand, and so will a jury, once they get a look at you.”

  “Will it take very long?”

  “A few weeks.”

  “Oh dear, I am staying in a hotel, and I fear my funds shall run out before then.”

  “Try not to worry. I’ll see if the Judge will make a special arrangement in your case. If not, I shall pay for your accommodations.”

  “Truly? How very generous of you.”

  “Naturally, my compensation and the expenses will come out of the money Mr. Roth pays you.”

  She had not counted on that, but she could deal with it later. “Naturally. How much do you think we shall get?”

  “We shall ask for fifty-thousand dollars. The judge may lower it, or he might raise it, depending.”

  “On what?”

  Manchester hesitated and examined her features again. “Well, you look young and handsome enough to attract another husband. He might think you do not need to be supported for the remainder of your life.”

  “Another husband?” the duchess covered her eyes. “I cannot think of such a thing just now. I loved Mr. Roth and still do.”

  “I understand.”

  “I doubt you do. Attractive women are often cursed with loneliness simply because men…good men, find them unapproachable. Even then, we do not take a fancy to every man who comes around. Then there are men in the world who simply wish to have a pretty woman on their arm, to impress friends or business associates. I cannot count the times I have been used by men who had no intention of marrying me.” She lowered her voice. “Some have been married without my knowing.”

  “No,” he muttered.

  “I did not know it at the time, naturally.”

  “Naturally.” Manchester scooted his chair forward, and then dipped his pen in ink so he could take notes as they spoke. “I must ask you a few questions. Have you falsely proclaimed to have wealth of your own?”

  “I have not.”

  “Are you of bad character, or have you ever committed a fraud?”

  “A fraud?” she protested. “Of course not.”

  “Mrs. Lyons, I simply must ask these questions. I am certain you are of good character, but if there is something…anything that Mr. Roth has against you, I need to know before I bring suit.”

  “Very well, go on.”

  “Is it possible he has discovered that you are related to him by blood?”

  “No.”

  As he had after each of her other answers, the attorney wrote the word blood, and then put a check mark after it. “Has he any reason to believe you suffer from any sort of mental incapacity?”

  “Yes, I agreed to marry him?”

  Manchester looked disturbed for a moment, and then smiled. “Are you a criminal, or are you prone to drink too much?”

  She might have stumbled on the criminal question, had he not quickly followed it by alcoholism. “I never quite learned to like alcohol, although I admit to trying it in my younger days.”

  He made another note and then continued, “Were you…no, I do not suppose you were.”

  “Was I what?”

  “Well, most cases of this nature are based on a young woman having given her…ah, favors, with the understanding that marriage was to shortly follow.”

  “Oh that. I am proud to say I declined his advances until after the wedding.”

  “I see.” The attorney gazed at the ceiling for a moment. “I believe that is the last of my questions.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “Now, I notify Mr. Roth that we are contemplating suing him for loss of income, and emotional distress, on behalf of you and your daughter. By law, a bride can expect to have a household according to her husband’s wealth, which in your case is considerable. She also expects a certain standard of living and an inheritance, if she outlives him. Furthermore, he has damaged your social reputation.”

  “I had only just arrived in Chicago when I met him.”

  “Ah, but you expected to have a well-established social reputation as his wife, did you not?”

  The more this solicitor talked, the more she liked him. “That I did!”

  “Mrs. Lyons, have you any expenses to claim such as wedding arrangement and perhaps a gown?”

  “No, I have not yet ordered a gown. However, I would like compensation for the train ticket.”

  He took a moment to jot that down. “You are not a gold-digger, are you?” When she looked shocked, he mellowed his tone. “What I mean is, are there any other men who might come forward claiming you sued them for breach of promise?”

  “Oh. No, I have never had the need before.”

  “Good. Did Mr. Roth ask for the ring back?”

  “Not yet. I have changed hotels, so he knows not where to find me.”

  “An excellent idea. You might stay out of sight for a day or two. I’ll make the call and see what he has to say for hi
mself.” Manchester got up, came around his desk and walked her to the door. “Leave word of where to reach you with my secretary, and I will call you.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  *

  Back in her room, the duchess felt like celebrating. She ordered a fine meal of fillet of fish, roasted potatoes, and stewed tomatoes. All during her meal, she was in complete amazement. Could it really be that easy? Was it possible she didn’t have to marry them; all she had to do was get them to back out?

  Fifty-thousand American dollars had a very nice ring to it – very nice indeed.

  *

  It was nearly time to go to bed when the phone rang. At first, it made the duchess jump, until she realized no one knew she was there, save the attorney. “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Lyons, Mr. Manchester here. I have spoken to Mr. Roth and he regrets his rash decision. He wishes to marry you after all.”

  The duchess seethed. “Am I expected to trust him after he has broken my heart? Will his daughters stop their crying and accept me now? No, Mr. Manchester, I reject his proposal.”

  “I hoped you would say that. In that case, to save his reputation, he offers ten thousand dollars.”

  “Ten thou…” she narrowed her eyes. “I cannot be bought off for a mere ten thousand.”

  “I hoped you would say that as well. I’ll be in touch, Mrs. Lyons. This shouldn’t take much longer.”

  *

  It was the middle of the night at Marblestone when the MacGreagors got the call. Wearing only a nightshirt and robe, Dugan knocked on Cameron’s door, opened it slightly and then whispered. “Lady Bayington wishes to speak to you.”

  Cameron rose up on both elbows at first, glanced at his sleeping wife, and then swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. As quietly as he could, he left the room and softly closed the door behind him. He entered the sitting room, went to the telephone and picked it up. “Laura?”

  “Cameron, Edward passed this morning.”

  Cameron exhaled, and then pressed his lips together to fight back his tears. Of all the men he knew, it was Edward he admired most, and Edward who came to comfort him after Flora died. “I am so sorry we are not with you.”

  “I know. I assure you, you are far better off away from London these days.”

  “Is there anything we can do?”

  “Yes,” Laura answered. “Will you book passage for the twins and I next month? I need a place to rest and I want to be with the people I love most.”

  “Of course, I shall call with all the arrangements.” Cameron felt his wife’s arms go around him. “What else? There must be more that we can do.”

  “I can think of nothing just now.” After a long pause, she added, “Edward went peacefully and I was ready to let him go. He was so very ill, and I prayed for an end to his suffering.” Laura took a long breath. “I must go now, the children are upset.”

  “We love you, Laura.”

  “I know, and I find that most comforting. I shall see you soon.”

  He heard the click of the telephone on the other end, slowly put the earpiece in the cradle, and then wrapped both arms around Cathleen.

  “‘Tis over?” she asked.

  A tear rolled down his cheek. “Aye.”

  *

  “She is coming here?” Leesil asked the next morning at breakfast.

  Cameron nodded. “Aye, she asked me to book their passage.”

  “Could we not meet her ship?” Cathleen asked. “We promised to take Blair shopping in New York City, and I hate the idea of Laura and the twins trying to make their way here alone.”

  “I have no objection,” said Hannish.

  “Nor do I,” said Cameron. “Perhaps you should take Mother O’Connell with you. If anyone knows New York City, she does.”

  “And Abigail?” Leesil asked.

  “And Gloria, if Ben can be without her for three weeks,” Hannish suggested. That brought a smile to all their faces. “He is truly smitten with her. He hardly knows what he is doing at the shop these days.”

  “‘Tis the worst case of being in love I have ever seen,” Cameron agreed. The smile on his face suddenly disappeared. “Laura said, ‘tis fortunate we are not in London these days. What do you suppose she means?”

  “I dinna know,” Hannish answered. “I suspect we must wait to find out when she comes.”

  “What a miserable month this has been. James is missing, the duchess put all our lives in upheaval, Gloria is hurt, and now Edward has passed. Surely, nothing more can go wrong.

  *

  “You know where she is?” the landlady of the New York City boarding house asked, as she opened the door to Gloria’s room and let Prescot in. “She did not come home and we have been worried about her.”

  “She is with her parents. I have come to collect her things.”

  “I see. Mr. Harrington shall not be pleased to hear that. He has been here every day looking for her. Twice I had to let him in, just to prove she was not here.”

  “She is not coming back,” said Prescot.

  “Good for her. I do not care for Mr. Harrington.”

  “Nor do I,” Prescot said. He went to the closet and began to carry Gloria’s clothes to the bed. “Have you an address for him?”

  “I believe I do.” The landlady left the door open while she went to write down the address. By the time she came back, he had Gloria’s bags almost half full. The landlady handed him the paper, went to Gloria’s dressing table, and began to gather her vanities.

  “Are you in need of payment for this room?”

  “No, she was all paid up. How badly did he hurt her?”

  Prescot stopped what he was doing and stared at her. “Why do you ask that?”

  “People talk, especially about wealthy men. I tried to tell Gloria, but she thought herself in love and did not listen.”

  Prescot finished the packing in silence, thanked the landlady, and took Gloria’s baggage down the stairs to the waiting carriage He paused to look back at the landlady, tipped his hat to her and got in. “Fourth and Mercer.”

  At the front door of the Harrington mansion, Prescot rang the bell, took off his hat and waited for someone to answer. At last, the door opened. “Mr. Harrington?”

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “From Miss Gloria Whitfield.” He handed Harrington the envelope, put his hat back on and committed the man’s looks to memory, just in case he ever showed up in Colorado Springs. He hardly looked like Gloria’s type. He had a wide girth, hair the color of mud, bushy eyebrows, a mustache, and dark eyes.

  Delighted, Mr. Harrington murmured, “I knew she’d come around.” With that, he closed the door and went to his study. Nate Harrington sat behind his desk and gleefully ripped the envelope wide open. When an odd dark powder spilled out, he took a deep breath, leaned forward, and blew it across his desk. He unfolded the piece of paper, and to his surprise, it was blank. He flipped it over causing tiny flakes of powder to scatter on his clothing, only to find the other side was blank as well.

  Next, he looked inside the envelope, but all he found was more powder. He wadded up both the paper and the envelope, and threw them across the room, spreading the powder even further.

  Disgruntled, he put his hand on his forehead, “You stupid pig. Do you not understand? I shall go broke without your father’s money.”

  His forehead oddly began to itch, so he scratched it. Next, his wrist itched, then his neck and the back of his other hand. He itched in so many places; he hardly knew where to scratch. Furiously, he rubbed his neck with one hand and his nose with the back of the other. “What the devil?”

  Beginning to itch absolutely everywhere, he walked across the room, picked up the envelope and examined the small amount of powder left in it. Whatever it was, it was causing him unbearable distress. He threw the envelope down again, raced up the stair, started a bath, took off his clothes – and tossed them on the unmade bed.

  A few days later, and with scratch marks
all over his body, his constant itching was so maddening, he checked himself into a sanatorium. It was there he decided he did not want to marry Gloria Whitfield after all.

  *

  Ben tried not to visit too often while Gloria recovered, but it was hard staying away. This evening, he sat beside her on the terrace bench outside Marblestone’s ballroom, watching the sunset behind Pikes Peak.

  “Mother tells me Mr. Harrington called,” she said. Her lip was completely healed. The swelling in her eyelids had gone down considerably and the bruises on her face were turning to a dark yellow. Her arms hurt the most and it was hard to find a comfortable way to rest them, but Ben brought a pillow to put in her lap.

  “And?” Ben asked.

  “He has called off our engagement.”

  Ben slowly grinned. “I wonder why?”

  “So do I. Mother said his language was none too pleasant. He complained of itching and abruptly hung up. You do not happen to know what that was about, do you?”

  “Hannish dinna tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “He sent Mr. Harrington a gift,” Ben answered.

  “What sort of gift?”

  “One I hope I never receive. ‘Twas an envelope filled with itching powder, and Mr. Prescott delivered it personally.”

  Gloria slowly smiled. “Father said Cameron brought itching powder from Scotland. I can think of no finer gift, nor anyone who deserves it more.”

  “Feel better now?” Ben asked.

  She sighed and spotted the colt in the corral kicking up his heels and playing with his mother. “Much better. I have imposed on Marblestone long enough and I can go home, now that I know he is not coming after me.”

  “What did the doctor say this morning?” Ben asked. He followed her gaze and discovered the colt had decided to nurse instead of play, but his mother kept moving.

  “My nose is not broken and my tooth is only chipped. The bruising should be gone completely in another week.”

  “In that case, one week from today, I shall take you for a ride in town, so they will know you have survived.”

  “Mother has told everyone?” Gloria asked.