Gulping down great mouthfuls of air to keep back a scream, Amelia ran back inside the house. “Maggie!” She hurried to her room, ignoring the bewildered stare of Drummond, who had finally come to the front door to investigate the commotion. “Maggie, I need you!”
Amelia threw open the doors to her armoire and grabbed the first day dress she found.
“Miss, what on earth…?” Maggie halted in the open doorway and gaped.
“I have to dress—quickly.” She yanked open the drawer and reached for a shift, tossing both it and the dress over the back of a nearby chair. “Frederick’s been arrested.”
Her maid closed the door and whispered, “Sir Charles?”
Amelia nodded firmly with a bite to her lip. “Just now.”
“What are you going to do?” Maggie wrung her hands as she came forward.
“I’m going to speak to Sir Charles.” When she reached for a corset, Maggie stopped her and selected a different one, along with a pair of stockings. “Make him understand that no good can come from prosecuting Freddie, that he’ll only be hurting me and a group of innocent women.” She frowned as she removed her dressing gown. “And when that doesn’t work, I’ll throw myself at his feet and beg.”
“And when that doesn’t work?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. But I won’t give up.”
Within minutes, Maggie had dressed her and fixed her hair in a simple but presentable chignon. Amelia hopped across the room toward her writing desk on one foot at a time as she pulled on a pair of half boots while Maggie went to ask Drummond to fetch a hackney. Amelia quickly scribbled out a note for Pearce, then sealed it.
“Deliver this to Lord Sandhurst.” She handed Maggie the note as she snatched up her shawl and dashed for the door. “His town house is on St James’s Square. If he isn’t there, try the old armory north of the City. I’m certain that his man McTavish can give you directions.”
Maggie shot her a worried look and grabbed her arm. “You shouldn’t go alone, miss. Sir Charles might decide you’re a party to what Mr. Howard’s done and have you arrested, too.”
“Which is why you have to deliver that message to Pearce. He’ll meet me in Westminster and know what to do.”
With a quick hug ending all protests, Amelia rushed from the house. Only to halt on the front step.
A black hackney waited on the street, its old driver doffing his hat at her as she slowly came forward. For a moment, she thought Drummond had worked quickly to find her a carriage—unusually quickly for a butler who favored laziness.
But then she noticed that the carriage wasn’t empty. Two people sat inside in the shadows, just out of view of the window. Wasn’t that just her luck, for the carriage to be already taken? With Drummond nowhere to be seen, she gave a frustrated curse beneath her breath and hurried down the footpath toward the square, where she could more easily wave down a hackney.
“Miss Howard!”
She stopped, startled, as a man called out to her from the waiting carriage.
“A word with you, if you please.”
Slowly, she retraced her steps. The carriage door opened, and she could see inside.
“Mr. Varnham.” But her heart plunged to the ground. Arthur Varnham. The wrong Varnham. “If you’ll excuse me.” She gestured apologetically down the street. “I’m in a hurry—”
“Miss Howard”—he ignored her attempt to leave—“I’d like to introduce you to my cousin, Miss Humphries. Marigold, this is Miss Howard, the woman I told you about.”
Miss Humphries leaned forward from the opposite bench, her pretty and young face emerging into the slant of sunlight that fell into the compartment. The curls of her hair beneath her straw bonnet shone gold. She smiled warmly. “How do you do, Miss Howard?”
Not well. Not well at all. Anxiousness bubbled inside her until what she wanted to do was bolt down the street at a dead run. “A pleasure to meet you. But I really must go. It’s urgent.” She turned to leave, not caring if she were being rude. Her world was collapsing around her. “My apologies—”
“It’s your brother, isn’t it?” Varnham asked.
That stopped her. “Yes.” She looked at him warily over her shoulder. “How do you know?”
“Because I just left Varnham House.” Irritation rang in his voice. “Imagine my surprise to come home from a night out at the clubs to discover that my brother plans to arrest yours.” The shadows covered his face too thickly for her to read the emotions there, but raw frustration colored his voice. “I immediately came here to stop it.”
She turned slowly back toward the carriage. “Why do you care?”
“Because your brother belongs to my club, whose activities need to be kept private. You understand, of course.” He smiled a bit sheepishly. “An arrest ruins all that.”
“You’re too late, I’m afraid,” she admitted as she glanced down the street in the direction where the men had taken Freddie, her voice choking. “The runners arrested him and took him away just a few minutes ago.”
Varnham leaned out of the carriage as if searching after them. Dark fury flashed over his face for a split second, so intense that Amelia was certain he would have cursed if the two women hadn’t been within earshot. Then the anger was gone, his expression easing into a troubled frown.
He leaned over to his cousin to speak quietly into her ear. The woman nodded.
“I agree. She must come with us to find your brother.” Miss Humphries smiled reassuringly at Amelia. “Westminster isn’t out of my way at all, and I’d be happy to accompany you.”
“Good.” Varnham turned his gaze onto Amelia. “Then you must come with us to speak to Charles. I insist. Perhaps you can convince him to rescind the charges.” In an attempt to lighten the mood, he teased, “Can’t have my brother putting all my chums into gaol. Won’t have anyone interesting left to drink with at this rate.” With a smile that didn’t put her at ease, he gestured at the empty seat next to Miss Humphries. “Please let us help you and your brother.”
Amelia hesitated. “I shouldn’t impose.” But she so dearly wanted to! Finding a hackney for hire at this time of day near the square would take forever, and Arthur Varnham would know exactly where to find Sir Charles. Perhaps he could even walk her past all the guards and into the offices of Parliament. If she went by herself, as a woman she wouldn’t be allowed through the first doorway.
Misreading her reluctance, he added in disappointment, “I understand if you’re not up to confronting Charles about this.”
She nearly laughed! What other choice did she have? “Wild horses couldn’t stop me,” she muttered to herself, the little mantra adding to her resolve. Then she remembered Pearce’s words. “Or ponies, donkeys, mules…and my jackass of a brother.”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing.” She pulled in a deep, determined breath and stepped up into the carriage. “Thank you for your help, both of you.”
“Of course.” He smiled and closed the door.
As the carriage rolled away from the house, Amelia cast a surreptitious glance at the pair sitting with her. Miss Humphries was dressed respectably in a blue muslin day dress and pelisse, but her dress was old and frayed at the hem and sleeves. Fine for average wear, but not at all what Amelia would have expected from a gentleman’s cousin.
But then, Varnham’s appearance wasn’t exactly pristine either. From the state of his dress, he hadn’t lied; he must have just returned home from a night out. Beneath cheeks darkened with morning beard and eyes red from lack of sleep, he wore red from head to toe, including an odd red cap resting on the seat beside him. All red, all white…what on earth went on at those clubs? No wonder Varnham wanted to keep secret what the men did there.
As if reading her mind, he twisted a rueful smile in her direction and stuffed the red cap into his jacket pocket.
They rode
on in silence, circling the square. But just as the carriage was about to turn toward the south, Varnham pounded on the ceiling. The carriage slowed and stopped. He opened the door. Miss Humphries quickly exited with a cat-like smile for Varnham and no acknowledgment whatsoever for Amelia.
He closed the door, and the carriage moved on.
“Wait!” Amelia twisted in her seat to stare through the window after Miss Humphries, but the woman walked away, turning off the square and disappearing quickly into the tangle of narrow streets. “Miss Humphries isn’t—”
“She lives nearby and is going home.” His explanation did nothing to ease her wariness. “She has no need to come with us.”
Yet Amelia had need of her. She couldn’t be seen riding alone in a carriage with a man who wasn’t her relative. “But she said she’d act as my companion.”
“She did.” His voice reverberated with mock empathy. “I’m afraid that was a lie.”
A chill twisted down her spine. “I can’t ride alone with you. I’m unmarried.”
“Oh, but you’re not, Mrs. Northam.”
A piercing jolt flashed through her, momentarily freezing her heart. When it jarred back to life, it wasn’t a pulse that pounded through her but fear.
She rasped out, “How do you know about my marriage?”
No one knew, except for Freddie and Pearce. And Pearce would never betray her. Which meant…Frederick. Dear God, what have you done?
The look Varnham gave her was one of patronizing pity. In that expression she knew—
“You,” she breathed out, unable to speak above a shocked whisper. A terrifying realization slithered through her. “It’s you who’s been blackmailing my brother.”
“Yes.” He clucked his tongue, as if scolding a child. “Truly, you had no idea?”
“I thought—I thought your brother…”
“Oh, Charles is certainly after your brother. He has an overdeveloped sense of righteousness and patriotism that won’t let him ignore the corruption your brother’s committed. Taking bribes, selling votes, extortion, smuggling…”
“Frederick’s done nothing that other MPs haven’t,” she answered breathlessly, blood pounding through her ears like a hammer. “Most likely including your own brother.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Charles is nothing if not painfully aboveboard in every way. Lord, what a dull brother! Not at all as interesting as yours.” Amusement gleamed in his eyes. “But you’re correct that he had nothing to do with the blackmail. My brother’s arrest of yours is simply an inconvenient coincidence, the charges most certainly to be rescinded.”
The way he said that was painfully polite, wholly pleasant and commonplace, as if they were two acquaintances sharing a quiet conversation about the weather— Dear heavens, he was mad! And all the more terrifying because of it.
Amelia swallowed hard to fight down the rising panic. “But if it wasn’t Frederick’s political corruption that you used against him, then…”
“Then what did I use? Something far worse and more lasting, I assure you.” He smiled arrogantly. “I used you.”
Her hand went to her stomach, as if she could physically press down the churning there. She knew— “My marriage,” she rasped out, her breath growing shallow. “You threatened to reveal my marriage.”
“Not your marriage.” He laughed at the idea. “Your money.”
She gave a strangled laugh. “If you know about my marriage, then you know that I have no money.”
“Oh, so much more than you realize,” he murmured.
The little hairs on her arms stood on end. “What do you mean?”
“Your marriage was all your brother’s doing, to get his hands on your money.”
“You’re mistaken.” After all, hadn’t Frederick told her hundreds of times what a fool she was for losing her fortune, blaming her for Aaron’s duplicity, castigating her for being so naive? “I eloped. My brother was in London and had nothing to do with it.”
“Unfortunately for you, I’m not mistaken.” He leaned back against the squabs and stretched his legs diagonally across the space between them. “He was furious, you know, that he received nothing more from your father than a pittance of an allowance and a bit of land that produced no income. It wasn’t enough to keep him in cards and drink let alone afford the lifestyle of a London gentleman. Not to mention the indignation of having to manage your inheritance as your guardian.” He chuckled at the irony. “A fortune at his fingertips, but not one ha’penny his.”
“I know all this.” She had no patience for his games. Or the alarm he rattled inside her.
“Ah, but you don’t know that he was taking your money even before your marriage, siphoning it off little by little so that you wouldn’t notice it had gone missing, blaming a decline in the accounts on falling revenues and bad investments.”
The blood seeped from her cheeks. Freddie had told her exactly that whenever she’d asked to see the account books.
“But a few hundred pounds here and there wasn’t nearly enough, and when you turned twenty-one, he would lose access to it completely if you asked to manage it yourself. Or if you married.” He casually crossed his legs at the ankles. “Apparently, there was some old childhood friend who’d caught your interest. But as long as Howard had you with him, you see, he could live the same lifestyle as you, use your money to fund his gambling, drinking, whoring—the life of a young gentleman on the town. So he couldn’t let you marry and take all that away from him.”
Pearce. Bitter anger seeped up from her bones. Now she knew why her letters had never reached him. Because Frederick had never allowed them to be sent.
“But he couldn’t delay the inevitable. Your majority was coming, and regardless, you were young, beautiful, and wealthy. Eventually you would have married.” He traced an idle finger across the bottom of the window. “So he found a charming man with no family or ties to Birmingham for you to fall in love with, whom he could pay to pretend to court and marry you. One who would then leave for America as soon as he’d scribbled his name into the church register.”
The earth dropped away beneath her, and she sank against the squabs. What he was telling her was preposterous. Absurd! But he knew about her marriage, details that no one else knew but her and Frederick. And that other document she’d found, the one tucked away with her marriage settlement—
Frederick had paid Aaron to pretend to love her.
She could barely breathe as the nauseating realization swept over her. All this time spent believing…all that pain and humiliation…
Oh God, she was going to be sick!
“You’re lying,” she whispered, gripping the seat beneath her so tightly that her fingertips turned white.
“I’m not. Howard planned it all out perfectly. He arranged for a special license that would allow you to marry inside England to ensure that your marriage would not be legal, then pretended to travel to London while actually shadowing you the entire time. After all, he couldn’t risk that you’d elope to Scotland, where you would have been rightfully married and truly given all your money to your new husband. Where would your brother be then, if the pretender decided to keep your fortune?”
All the pieces were clicking sickeningly into place, and with each one, something ripped deep inside her. Thank God she’d already turned numb, or she would have screamed. She was barely aware of when he reached inside his jacket and withdrew his handkerchief to hold it out to her, as if he were any other gentleman wanting to comfort her. As if he hadn’t just shattered her world.
“You believe that your husband hurried back to Birmingham after your wedding and absconded with all of your money, don’t you? But that never happened.”
“But it did,” she insisted, her voice raw. “I was there!”
“No, you weren’t, not for the money part of it. Howard had conveniently arrived fro
m London at just the right moment to visit the bank manager on your behalf while you remained at home, distraught over being abandoned. Then he told you that your husband had taken everything when no such thing ever happened.”
When she didn’t accept the handkerchief, he shrugged and stuffed it back into his breast pocket.
“You trusted your brother, and in your humiliation, you didn’t want to visit the banker and be pitied. Or laughed at. So you believed the lie.” He pulled back the frayed and dirty curtain that partially covered the window. “But your fortune is still there, still sitting in the bank in Birmingham where your brother has had access to it all along as your guardian.” He sadly shook his head and dropped the curtain back into place. “But unfortunately, a large part of it is now gone. He used it to purchase his seat in Parliament.”
“Not true.” Her numb lips struggled to form the words. “Frederick acquired that seat through his cronies, in return for political favors. There was no money for that. Aaron Northam took everything from me.”
“Not everything. Not your land. Ever ask yourself why that was? If he only married you to get his hands on your money, surely he wouldn’t have left valuable property behind.”
“Because he didn’t have time to sell it. He needed to withdraw the money and leave before I realized what he’d planned.”
“But as your legally wedded husband, he would have had all the time in the world. That land—like everything else—would have become his the moment you wed. He could have sold it even from America. But the property remained yours because Howard couldn’t sell it without your consent. Not even as your guardian.” Varnham shook his head. “Ironic, don’t you think, that in the end your brother got his hands on the land, too, by wrapping it up in that trust? I simply told him that I wanted those men placed into governmental positions. The turnpike was all his idea.”
Her mind spun as fast as the world around her until a sickening nausea overcame her. Until she couldn’t sort through it all. She swallowed hard to force down the swelling anguish and betrayal. “But Frederick hired lawyers and accountants to try to get the money back—Bow Street investigators, sent them all the way to America… Why would he have done that if he wanted to steal my money?”
An Unexpected Earl Page 26
