“Surely you understand the consequences, Lindsey. You’ll throw away your future if you fail to—”
“Rather the contrary. I’ll finally have a modicum of peace.” And it was true.
“Whether or not you’re decided on this course of action, you should know your choices have far-reaching repercussions for others.” Barlow’s face puckered as if he disliked saying the words aloud.
Lindsey considered this news. It was the first time he considered with earnest how his actions bore negatively on others. He’d become so angry after hearing his father’s last wishes, he’d never considered the extended impact. “And whom would that be?”
A formidable conclusion stabbed his brain. Powell. Bloody hell. He’d suspected correctly when they’d spoken at Henley’s fox hunt. His bastard half brother was connected to this mess.
“I’m afraid I’m not able to reveal more.” Barlow nodded in the negative to emphasize the point. “At least not at this juncture.” The solicitor lost his congenial expression and appeared uncomfortable by degree.
“Is that so? Then tell me in what capacity my actions will impose on others.” His voice dropped lower, his anger tantamount to his curiosity.
“Again, my lord, your father was extremely specific with the details of his legacy and how it could be discussed, and with whom.” Succumbing to temptation, Barlow snuck a glance at the clock.
Lindsey was done playing guessing games. He slammed his fist down on the desktop, and the sudden vibration caused the lid of Barlow’s crystal ink well to jiggle loose and drop to the wooden slats below.
“How dare he interfere in so many lives.”
The solicitor had the good sense to remain silent.
“And if I don’t fulfill these ridiculous requirements? If none of us do? Then what happens?”
His father was too selfish and vain not to have prepared for such an occurrence.
“In that regard, I’ve instructions to follow.” Barlow stopped abruptly, as if about to say more and then deciding against it.
“What is it?” Lindsey stood and leveled a stare meant to intimidate.
It worked. Barlow heaved a weary sigh of resignation.
“I regret to tell you the late earl anticipated your refusal to cooperate. He doubted your ability and assumed you’d fail. With all due respect, my lord, I don’t believe you’ll benefit from abandoning the task.”
“Did he now? Bloody bastard.” Lindsey’s expletive caused the solicitor’s eyes to widen. “This is maddening. I didn’t survive day after day of the man’s cruelty to be told I’m disinherited. I’ll have what’s rightfully mine, and to that end prove my father wrong.”
He left without further discussion. There was nothing else to say. Determined to help Caroline, confront Powell, and fulfill the damnable legacy, he directed his driver to Kingswood. He hadn’t visited the family cemetery, but he assumed the dirt on the grave was good and settled by now, and that was for the best. He had a bone to pick with his father.
* * * *
“Another frantic message and urgent visit,” Louisa complained, but there was a smile in her words. “Your mother will believe I have something to hide instead of her reserved and obedient daughter.”
“Shush.” Caroline flared her eyes to further silence her cousin. “Wait until we’re a considerable distance from the house before you land us both in trouble.”
“I’ve little to worry my head about,” Louisa replied as she hurried her steps.
Caroline cast a glance over her shoulder to see Louisa’s beaming smile. “Well, it would be the first time I’m the cause of a stir instead of you.”
They walked briskly, one after the other, deeper into the gardens until Caroline stopped beside a trio of Gallica rosebushes, their blooms in varying shades of pink. Lindsey had mentioned the extensive gardens at Kingswood, and she wondered if she’d visit with him soon and see his mother’s labor of love, a work of art born from terrible pain. She couldn’t imagine the despair Lindsey and his mother had experienced.
“So now.” Louisa reached forward and squeezed Caroline’s arm lightly. “Tell me why I needed to visit with expedience. Your note gave nothing away, and I’m anxious to hear what has caused that twinkle in your eyes.”
“I’m in love.” Saying the words aloud were magical. She’d mentioned the importance of a love match to her mother and cousins, and regardless of their attempts to persuade her against a hopeful search for romance, she’d found herself exactly where she wanted to be.
“In love?” Louisa’s voice held a fair share of skepticism. “With Lord Mills? Certainly not Lord Tiller.”
“No.” Caroline smiled, a shimmer of excitement alive within her.
“What the heavens are you talking about?” Louisa folded her arms over her chest, a confused look upon her face. “You haven’t mentioned a single gentleman with fondness, unless…” Her voice trailed off as recognition bloomed. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m certain that’s never occurred before.” Caroline couldn’t keep from teasing Louisa. Her cousin was not unlike her mother, with a steady stream of advice and opinions, as if she alone understood the intricacies of relationships and could impart sage knowledge to Caroline.
“Honestly, you’ve done the exact opposite of what I’ve recommended.”
Caroline laughed. “He seems to bring out that tendency in me.”
“I’d call it rebellion,” Louisa surmised with a nod of her head.
“No,” Caroline quickly corrected. “Freedom.”
“Freedom? That’s preposterous. Women have few freedoms, I’m afraid.” Louisa scowled, her voice rich with unspoken regret.
“Freedom to choose, Louisa.” Caroline approached and laid a gentle hand to her cousin’s shoulder. “Freedom to choose who I fall in love with and how I spend my future.” Despite her family’s situation remained tenuous, she couldn’t regret sharing her body with Lindsey. She’d indulged her passion and discovered fulfillment. With their exchange of a love vow, she knew Lindsey would see her family out of danger. She planned to tell him the all of it when he called later today. Things remained complicated, and she couldn’t presume he’d offer marriage, but she refused to allow her mind to wander down that path until they spoke further. Naturally, she wished her body wasn’t defected. Only time would tell to what degree the physician’s diagnosis rang true. Likewise, she knew Lindsey would someday need an heir. And she still wanted a home, a husband…
“And does he return your affection?” Louisa sounded unconvinced.
“Oh, yes.” The warmth of that divine statement flooded Caroline’s soul. “We are very much in love. He listens to me and asks my opinion. He doesn’t have a care about perceptions, as he’s comfortable in his own skin, not like other gentlemen who wish to impress me, preening as they list their accomplishments. Lindsey considers me an equal, and that in itself is refreshing and utterly freeing.” She couldn’t stop the grin that spread across her cheeks. “It’s as liberating as removing one’s corset at the end of a long evening. It’s as if, when I’m with him, I can breathe. Simply breathe and be myself.”
“Then I wish you every happiness, dear cousin.” Louisa hugged her tightly. “I didn’t believe it possible, but you’ve certainly proved me wrong.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The staff at Kingswood was of impeccable capability, and neither the butler nor housekeeper, who had the unfortunate experience of crossing Lindsey’s path as he stormed toward his father’s bedchambers, batted an eye. Lindsey’s arrival was unexpected. His show of temper, not as much. Still, there was no questioning the fact every servant in the expansive manor house relished the silent tranquility left in the wake of the late earl’s death.
Lindsey had no intention of following in a tradition of hell-raising and rabble-rousing, yet the irksome condition of the legacy, combined with
his fervent desire to settle matters and marry Caroline, spurred his travel before sunlight splintered the sky.
Why? Why would his father attach such a farfetched condition to the inheritance? Could it be only financial in nature? He crossed the parlor and advanced to the newel post, each step surer as he took the central stairs two at a time, his bootheels hard on the treads. He aimed for his father’s bedchambers at the end of the hall. He had no recollection of the last time he’d entered these rooms, too many memories of his father’s backhanded abuse crowded in to pierce his brain and cloud distinction. Fueled by anger and another unnamed emotion that burned in his veins, he did not hesitate longer. Instead he flung wide the double doors, advanced through the sitting room, and entered his father’s bedchamber. His father had slept there alone for over two decades, never having remarried after his wife chose death over a future of abuse and neglect.
At once a rush of scenes, all of them unpleasant, reached out in a painful snare determined to claim him, but he refused to allow it. He paced farther across the floorboards and raised his eyes to his father’s portrait over the massive Tynecastle panel bed. It was nothing more than indulgent glorification, his father in profile atop his favored mount, a riding crop in his hand and obedient spaniel below. Lindsey stared in fury and contempt at the configuration of oil paint and brushstrokes. How petty and arrogant to sleep with one’s likeness hung over one’s pillow. He scanned the area in search of something heavy to throw and saw little of use. He needed to remove that painting if there was ever hope he’d find peace within these walls. A mere glance stirred repugnant feelings better left in the past.
Climbing atop the mattress, he lifted the ornate frame and dropped the portrait to the floorboards unceremoniously. What the devil? Its removal revealed a wooden cabinet. With no more than a quirk of his lips to acknowledge his father’s perverse inclinations, Lindsey opened the narrow compartment.
He reached inside. It took a few minutes to empty the cabinet and bring the gathered contents to the inlaid marquetry table near the double windows, but drawing the curtains wider provided the light needed to discern exactly what he’d found.
Among the pile there were deeds and certificates most gentlemen kept in their study beside the ledger, but his father was a shifty distrusting bastard, and Lindsey had no doubt, like his portrait, he needed to keep his most precious papers close. There were tightly bound stacks of pound notes that couldn’t be misconstrued as anything else, at least six similar piles, and when Lindsey finished counting he found it totaled a sum of four thousand pounds.
There was also a black leather canister fastened by a single cord. He unraveled the string and extricated the contents to find a rolled canvas inside. The dull thud of his heart told him what he would see even before his eyes assessed the work. True to his speculation, the Decima stared back at him.
Why?
Why would his father send him on a wildly redundant chase after a painting already in his possession when nothing more than an unattainable outcome could result?
He gathered everything together with a curse, heading for the door before he fully assembled the contents. He’d pay a call to the fencer in Seven Dials and confirm the authenticity of the Decima and the Morta delivered by Mills before he traveled to Caroline’s house to assist with her concerns. It wasn’t that he placed his problems before hers, but he knew in his heart he’d never be free to offer for her hand until his future was settled. And too, with the newly acquired funds from his father’s secret cabinet, he could offer relief if, as he suspected, her worries stemmed from impending financial crisis. And yet to place his trust in a criminal left him perturbed. He needed a better plan.
He reclaimed Infinity from the stables and began his return to London. He rode like the devil, and in that his horse did not disappoint. He stopped first at the Duke of Warren’s home and convinced his friend to lend him the Nona. It wasn’t an easy conversation, but in the end Lindsey’s skills of persuasion and sincere promise to return it posthaste won out. Now, with Warren’s copy of the Nona inside his leather bag and both the Decima and Morta rolled and bound beside it, he set off to meet with the fencer.
He arrived with excellent time, the hour not quite half two. Seven Dials looked differently in the daytime. Still, it was no place for a gentleman, even one as rebellious as he. Narrow alleyways lit with shallow sunlight exposed conditions better left to the darkness, the streets and slummed tenements deteriorated and filthy. At least he’d had the good sense to wear the same pair of boots as when he’d visited with Mills. He wondered at Mills’ loyalty. How had his friend ferreted out the Morta when Lindsey had had little success? Acquiring the painting had brought him one step closer to fulfilling the legacy and finding a modicum of happiness, but he wouldn’t think of Caroline now.
He moved swiftly. While more people were about, the inhabitants displayed the poverty level at its worst. Women wore nothing but rags, several children at their heel, and men who’d already imbibed too much at the local gin shop despite the early hour littered the curb. Sympathetic to their plight, Lindsey spared coins for the children and polite greetings for their mothers, but likewise practiced caution, not wishing to use his knife to ward off a vagrant who might think to relieve the earl of his belongings.
He arrived at the fencer’s lair, surprised to see the door ajar. Several men moved in and out, and without challenge Lindsey entered. He followed the dingy hall to the same room he’d frequented previously to find it emptied of its contents. The few scraps of canvas and burlap left behind were hardly evidence of a once-thriving business. He blew a breath of frustration, immediately alerted when voices rose in an adjoining room. He followed the sound, anxious to learn more.
“Pack the last of those. I’m expecting one last delivery, and then we’ll be gone from this place.”
Lindsey recognized the fencer’s voice and pushed the door wide to enter the room. As expected, the man stood with another, his expression one of immediate anger, though he didn’t approach.
“Have you come back for another appraisal?” The fencer nodded toward the stranger lurking at his side, and the hulk of a man nodded in answer. “You’ve caught me at an inconvenient time.”
“Leaving?” Lindsey made of show of surveying the room’s vacant interior. “Going out of town then?”
“I don’t stay overlong in one spot. It’s bad for business. We’re set to leave, so I have no time to spare. Let’s make this quick.” The fencer approached, although his comrade remained stoically in the background. “What have you got for me, aside from a purse full of coins?”
Lindsey removed Warren’s copy of the Nona and handed it forward. The fencer made no haste in unrolling the canvas and eyeing the painting.
“I’ve already confirmed the authenticity of this painting. Do you not believe me?” There was impatience and irritation in the question.
“One can never be sure in matters worth excessive funds.”
“There’s truth in that, although every painting that crosses my table is confirmed as authentic. Collectors wish to believe they hold a valuable investment, and I grant their wish. I provide a valuable service, and when a truly remarkable piece shows here that will make me a tidy profit elsewhere, I’m able to supply a forgery that’s so unmistakable, no one is the wiser.” The fencer held on to the Nona, a shrewd gleam in his eye. “Mayhap you don’t deserve to keep this one. Mayhap you should have accepted my word the first time and you wouldn’t find yourself in this predicament now.”
“And that is?” Lindsey eyed the door, too far from where he stood to offer a plausible escape. The knife in his boot would come in handy, but the odds were against him, as the hulking man who’d remained motionless until this moment was all at once standing beside the fencer.
“Leave me with the painting and your purse and we’ll part as men of business should.” The fencer grinned. “I’d hate to have my man dirty those
fancy clothes of yours when in the end the same result will win out.”
All havoc might have ensued if Lord Derby hadn’t entered at that moment. It was just the distraction Lindsey needed, and he launched himself at the muscled bloke, striking with surprise and knocking him unconscious as the man barreled backward and struck his head on the floorboards. Lindsey added a series of blows to ensure the blackguard wouldn’t rise quickly. The fencer, who’d watched in awe, snapped into action, muttered a curse, and vanished out another door. Lindsey didn’t follow him, although it was unfortunate the man had taken Warren’s painting with him. Lindsey would have a devil of a time explaining the events to His Grace.
Lindsey turned toward Lord Derby where he’d retreated into the corner, the older man shaken and pale.
“Derby? What are you doing here?” He watched as Caroline’s father removed a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. A rolled canvas lay at his feet, and when he seemingly recovered his composure, he stooped to retrieve the painting.
“Lindsey.” Derby cleared his throat. “This is unexpected, although it seems I may have distracted from impending trouble.”
“Indeed you did.” Lindsey approached and extended his hand for a hearty shake, sparing a glance over his shoulder to confirm the unconscious hulk remained motionless. “Why don’t we rid ourselves of this place? I’m certain we both have riveting stories better shared far away from here.”
Derby nodded and joined Lindsey as he made for the door.
* * * *
Caroline paced the carpeting of the drawing room. Too many emotions rivaled for attention within her. She rejoiced in the sincere declarations of affection she’d shared with Lindsey and warmed with hope for the expectations of the days and nights ahead, but what of her family’s plight? She’d chosen to keep her father’s involvement in the forgery ring to herself, but now thought foolishly of her decision. If she hoped to have any place in Lindsey’s life, he would need to know it all. If he decided to distance himself in caution of scandal, she certainly couldn’t fault him.
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