“My Lady, this is the best part… after Lady Catherine left your room, she ran headlong into Lady Lanercost herself! She was so flustered at the thought that the older woman might have heard her bragging that she stammered like a fool for a full minute! She finally curtseyed and raced from the house in shame!”
“Oh, how I would have enjoyed seeing that hateful harpy’s comeuppance! But that doesn’t mean that the Earl has not spoken to her father. He is of age and has come into his inheritance, and does not need his mother’s approval of the match,” Marjorie reminded her.
“Yes, that is true. But Mrs. Cather stated that the Earl has such esteem for his mother that he practically won’t decide what to have for breakfast without ensuring that it would please her! Don’t be troubled by that news, she did not mean it in such a way that his mother controls him, more that he aims to please her in every word and deed. He would never have spoken of marriage without her knowledge, let alone her counsel on the matter.”
Marjorie fell back against the pillows, pondering this news. Of course, it was not reliable, but it was still pleasant to think on. Was there any hope that someone like the Earl might have a strong affection for her? After all, he obviously cared not for propriety if their many interactions served as proof.
This was a man who took his own course, not that of other people. He’d helped her in the forest when he believed her to be a lost farm girl, and had avoided his own social event to assist his stable hands when they were overly burdened. When he learned her true identity, he could have forced her from his property under threat of terrible harm. Instead, he’d guarded her secret and protected her from those who would have made a spectacle of her.
Could Diana’s perceptions be true? Those could be the actions of a man who cared not what others thought, but those same selfless deeds could also be based in real affection. Marjorie dared not let herself hope that it was the latter, lest her disappointment be the end of her.
Chapter 26
The Marquess of Mortham wasn’t used to being ignored, but even he had to admit that his sphere of influence usually extended no further than his own front door. He had kept his social and business interactions limited in recent time for that very reason. Over the past few years, his voice had begun to command much less respect than it once had, and he knew it was in no small part to his failed attempts at… well, everything.
First, it was his attempt at a shipping business carrying goods to America. He had no intention in trading a certain good that everyone seemed to want there, and as a result, his business had floundered. He’d only managed to recover a significant portion of his original investment when a storm at sea sank his only two vessels and the resulting insurance had paid out.
Then there was the land he’d purchased in the Caribbean with the intention of entering into the fruit trade. The vast variety of delectable bounty each season drove his countrymen mad, and he’d been assured the investment would pay for itself with the first harvest. There was no way to predict that an infestation of pests from South America would make its way to the banana groves of the islands that year, causing him to have to sell the land for a fraction of what he’d paid for it.
But then Sir Charles landed on an idea that was guaranteed to succeed: horses. This area was rife with abundant fields to raise the finest horses the country had ever seen, racehorses in particular. And in truth, it was one area where he was somewhat of an expert, having been married to the finest horsewoman the world had ever known. His wife had such a way with the animals, to be sure, but it was also her ability to predict which foals would grow up to be champions and which ones would be better sold to farms.
They had worked side by side for so many years, Charles and Margaret, and he felt that he knew as much about the business as any other. Perhaps he didn’t have his wife’s intuitive sense for these things, but what other businessman did? He was better suited than most for this kind of venture, all for having worked alongside Lady Mortham as he had.
Yet somehow, despite his experience and his very fertile countryside estate, his success never came close to the resources he’d invested. At every turn, there was some new expense, some new bill, some new demand for his money. He’d begrudgingly spent more than he’d ever intended, more than he’d invested in any previous venture, and now he was nearly penniless.
His only hope of salvaging anything of his finances and his good name would be to place the blame squarely where he felt it belonged: on his rivals.
“Good day, sir,” his attorney, James Mooreland, said when he was finally shown into Charles’ study. “I had not expected to see you in London at this time of year.”
“Yes, well, it’s unfortunate that these matters have called me away from my stables when the race season is already begun,” Charles replied, keeping up the pretense that he was a busy, sought after horse breeder.
“What matter is so urgent then?” Mooreland replied, taking the seat that Charles gestured to.
“It is a highly sensitive matter that must be handled with the utmost care and discretion.” Charles watched his lawyer’s face for any sense of surprise, but the man was stone faced where he sat. He continued, “I have come for advice on lodging a complaint against someone who has brought me harm.”
“Is it a criminal matter?” the man asked. “I do not represent criminal proceedings, but I do have some colleagues I might recommend.”
“No, no, not yet at least. I only need to know your advice on how to proceed. I mean to accuse a man who’s been caught in the act of stealing my horses. Two men, in fact, and I daresay they’re working in partnership to ruin my business.”
Mooreland was quiet while he pondered these words. Charles finally began to fidget in his seat, concerned about what the attorney might say.
“In matters such as this, you would need to bring your accusation before the magistrate. But sir, you must understand the implications of such an accusation.”
“Oh? What might that be?” Charles asked, truly ignorant of the man’s meaning.
“You intend to levy an accusation against someone, one that carries a severe penalty. But should your accusations prove false and that you had knowledge that they were false, you may very well find that you’re the one shackled and manacled in a damp wooden cell, awaiting a trial to determine your fate.”
Mooreland stopped and watched Charles’ reaction, his words of warning making their way through the marquess’ mind. The older man went pale, and the attorney took notice of his reaction.
“I see,” Charles finally replied. “Then I am at a loss as to how to proceed.”
“Then I strongly urge you to think about your actions further,” Mooreland said calmly. “You are always able to call on me for further assistance in this matter… but do bear in mind that my services are not free.”
Are anyone’s?Charles thought bitterly, reckoning that he’d have no relief from his mounting debts with that scoundrel Thomas.
After Mooreland left, Charles sat idle for some time, staring at the empty fireplace in his small city apartments. His mind wandered to happier times, and for a short while he pondered what things would be like if he had been more successful in his business endeavors, if he’d been a more tender father to his daughters, if—and this was the most painful thought of all—his wife had only been spared.
He was pulled from his misery by a gentle knock at the door. Bidding him to come in, his new valet brought another card.
