"Not that I care about the title itself, but having such wealth and power, I could take care of my family much better, and set up an institution to help many people. I've nursed my altruistic passions for such a long while now, that having it taken away is depressing, and I'm torn for what to do, dear Lucy."
Lucy was drawn away from the confusion on Edmund's face by a staggering realization.
Edmund wasn't exactly impoverished, or wouldn't be in the coming years. He wasn't a mere solicitor but the bastard son of an earl, and heir presumptive to his title and properties. He would become a wealthy titled man the moment Lord Langford kicked the bucket which, judging from the man's dreadful persistence, could take a while, but wasn't an impossibility.
This meant if she and Edmund were to get married, she wouldn't risk ending up in the workhouse again. She wouldn't have to compromise her happiness because of her need for security which had fostered the decision not to get involved with Edmund in the first place.
Now she could truly be happy and content at the same time. She could have the security she'd spent her entire life dreaming and wishing for. There would be enough food every day, good dresses, and warm outer clothing. There would even be time and resources to host parties and finally become part of society. Not to mention her dreams of traveling to Paris and seeing life outside England in the arms of a man who truly cared for her.
All this was going to be possible at last.
How marvelous the way fate has suddenly turned in my favor!
Lucy was powerless against the smile that spread across her cheeks, and the million circling butterflies in the pit of her stomach.
Lucy rose to her feet, grinning. "You can't lose the heir's title, Edmund. Think of how your life is going to change drastically for the better."
Edmund's countenance changed suddenly, and he regarded Lucy coolly for a few seconds, which was enough to bring her excitement to a halt.
"I understand what you mean, Miss Lucy, although I'm a little surprised. Shouldn't we consider Lady Mary's plight in all this? This would be disastrous for her, as much as it would be for me if I lost the inheritance."
Realizing the full truth of Edward's words, Lucy sat back down and gave him a remorseful smile; the implications of what could happen to Lady Mary sank into her head. Oh, how could I possibly have thought such wicked things? The poor girl would be destroyed! "I'm sorry, Edmund, I didn't think it through. I care about Lady Mary's situation… yet also, I feel the money and title would help your family a great deal, especially with the drought that has been reported in the papers recently. It's all such a tricky dilemma."
Lucy felt a pang of guilt about her own desires, she'd but still it niggled that life could be so unfair. Lady Mary had enjoyed great privileges her entire life, and didn't know how it felt to be without. Yet for Lucy to connive to gain Edmund's inheritance by framing Mary was morally wrong and a despicable thing to do. Why can't it all be somewhat easier?
Edmund had lost the surprise and coolness on his face, but a certain degree of reserve still remained.
"I understand, Lucy," he said finally with a sigh, picking invisible lint from his trousers. "Mother told me how rough it has been at home due to the lack of rain for the crops, but it still feels wrong to be party to ruining someone else's life because of wealth and a title. I have never been a big fan of the aristocracy and how their titles and power make them treat others deplorably. Aiding the viscount would only make me just like my fa—the earl, and that alone is horrible to fathom."
Lucy felt properly chastised even though she knew Edmund had just been pouring out his thoughts and feelings about the issue. Still, she couldn't stop thinking how unfair it was that he had to choose between Lady Mary and his title.
The realization that she'd become so desperate for security as to have forgotten, momentarily, the mental and emotional well-being of another woman, suddenly left Lucy feeling equally despicable. Edmund had stated that going ahead with the plot would make him just like his biological father, the earl. Yet I would be even worse if I encouraged him, she thought.
But how is it wrong that I desire enough security for my own well-being?
Why do I have to forgo myself, because of the necessity of doing what is right?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Walking into the coffee shop two days later, Edmund embraced the warmth that came from the familiar setting, and took a moment at the door to inhale the smell of roasting coffee beans before feasting his eyes on everything around him.
As usual, the moderately-sized establishment was almost filled to the brim with well-dressed gentlemen of high society, sitting in small clusters and chatting amongst themselves as they sipped coffees and teas; with the occasional plate of sweet cakes sitting close by.
Two men at the booth closest to the entryway were discussing animatedly about an upcoming horse auction at Tattersall's Repository, as Edmund strode past, scanning every inch of the room for Viscount Hilgrove, who looked to be conspicuously absent.
It wasn't a surprise to Edmund as he hadn't been expecting any less.
Last evening, he had gotten a note from the viscount for a meeting scheduled at the coffee shop at half past ten, and here he was, right on time with no signs of the viscount anywhere.
Probably at the gaming tables over at Whites incurring debts as usual.
After ordering a mug of coffee, Edmund settled at a booth in the center of the room, as opposed to the corners where he preferred to sit when he came into the establishment. It would be easy for the viscount to locate him whenever he finally came in.
While he waited for the coffee to arrive, Edmund placed his case of papers on the plain oak table, got out a plain white sheet and a pen, and began to draft a letter to his sister, Amelia.
Ever since the picnic and dinner, he hadn't been by the modiste shop or over at Aunt Winifred's to visit with her.
Although he was incredibly fond of his little sister, Mary Josephine, he was much closer to Amelia, and found it easy to talk about complicated matters, like that of the heart, with her.
After the last time he'd seen and spoken to Lucy, there had been some troubling concerns which he'd tried to get rid of but found it hard to do so. It turned out that Lucy wasn't exactly what he'd thought her to be, and he couldn't seem to reconcile with the discovery.
The choice to tell her about his relationship with the earl had been because he'd thought her to be compassionate, as well as a fighter for all things moral and right, but her reaction after the confession hadn't been what he'd expected. He couldn't forget the joy and happiness he'd found in her face when he said he stood to inherit, nor her comment about aiding the viscount for the sole reason of retaining his heir title.
The incident had brought to his mind their visit at the park, where she hadn't been able to stop ogling the passing carriages and nobles, walking around bedecked in every manner of finery. It also took him back to the words he'd overheard between her and his cousin, Bridget, at the dinner hosted by his aunt.
It was obvious Lucy wanted that life, and her reactions to his confession had knocked him for a loop, despite the apology she'd given. He knew the situation was unfair and frustrating; he'd questioned it a few times himself. Yet, it wasn't enough to sacrifice his morality or humanity for.
In the light of it all, Edmund couldn't stop thinking about Lucy in his arms. He couldn't stop picturing them together and, despite how the meeting had ended awkwardly, he'd gone home thinking about just how good she'd looked in the cream day gown she had on.
Edmund was sure Amelia would give him some insight and advice on how to proceed with Lucy. His sister always had been the wisest among them.
Just as he signed off the letter and was slipping it into an envelope, a familiar voice called from behind.
"Mr. Swinton. I thought you'd never come."
Edmund turned to Viscount Hilgrove who slipped into the opposite seat with a great air of importance, dropping his beaver felt hat on the ta
ble. He was dressed in the latest fashion, with his starched white shirt sporting overlapping ruffles along the button holes, and his thick blonde hair sleekly styled; the refined handsome of his features wore a smirk.
Edmund sat up straight, and tried to appeal to the man's good graces.
"I've been here for almost fifteen minutes, Lord Hilgrove and I quite understand the urgency of the situation but can I make a few suggestions?"
"Does it have anything to do with how to address the letter and make it more believable?" Viscount Hilgrove asked impatiently, taking a look at his gold timepiece.
Edmund shook his head. "It doesn't, Lord Hilgrove, but it had much to do with the consequences of this act and how it would affect her ladyship's image."
"I didn't come for a lecture, Swinton. Can we begin so I can return to my fancies as soon as possible?"
Edmund thought of trying again, despite the frostiness in the viscount's tone, but decided against it. He got out an empty sheet and picked up his pen.
"So what ideas do you have about a name for the fictitious man who is having an affair with your wife?"
If the viscount had caught the sharp bite in his question, he didn't show it and went on to say almost happily.
"Sir Nicholas B. I think that sounds good. When an investigation gets carried out and leads to a dead end, I could claim it's her lover's alias and not his actual name."
Edmund fought hard not to wince at the bold-faced lie, but wrote it down without saying anything.
"Any other details to make this more believable?"
"Certainly, Swinton. Lady Mary has just returned from a short visit with her cousins in Somerset. You could put down the tryst venue as Somerset; somewhere close to her cousin's estate should do nicely."
Edmund penned that down too, and suffered through asking the viscount a couple of personal questions about Lady Mary's preferences in love and conjugal relations.
"I think you can work with that, Swinton. Let me know when the letter is ready to be sent; any time in the next few days should be fine." And with that, the viscount was up on his feet, prompting Edmund to get up as well.
"It wasn't hard to do, was it, Swinton?" He grinned as he balanced the hat on his head. "I'm looking forward to receiving the letter. Don't tarry too long before you send it because I have my sight set on someone else; a daughter of a duke, you see, and she has an awful lot of sops trailing after her. I'd hate to lose the competition because if this pesky business."
Long after the viscount had left the coffee shop, Edmund still sat there, staring blankly at the paper filled with fabrications and lies, without an inkling of how to proceed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Edmund sat at his desk perusing the contents of the letter he'd drafted for the viscount, cringing at the false accusations therein.
He'd sat there for the better part of the morning, trying to figure out how to begin with the destructive narration, while beating himself up for attempting it in the first place.
Edmund had been popular and lauded in school for his stellar penmanship and letter writing. While being tutored by the wonderful Charles Goodman Esq., he had been assigned the extra role of writing all his master's correspondence, as well as the client's notations—a task he'd taken to with fervor and enthusiasm.
But drafting the fake love letter to Lady Mary, he'd found himself cancelling mistakes and errors, going through more than three pieces of paper before finally getting it right.
Only, there was nothing right about the letter or what it contained, and struggling with self- disgust, he forced himself to read it again.
My Dearest Mary,
The sun barely emerges fully from behind the clouds when I find myself missing you. It pains my heart deep inside to not have you in my arms or sniff the delightful fragrance of your skin when we're entangled up in each other.
Mary, thinking of you back in London with your husband greatly saddens me. I know you don't care for him as you do for me, and are only bound to him because of your father.
I know his kisses do not awaken all of your senses the way mine do, and I'm fully aware he doesn't make you ache and moan the way I do.
I miss you time and again, dearest one, and I count the days till you can visit Somerset again, and we can be reunited both in heart, body, and soul once more.
Till we meet again, I remain your ever devoted,
Sir Nicholas B.
Somerset, West England.
Damn!
Edmund flung the letter down, itching to drive his fist into a wall to relieve some of the frustration he felt.
He'd met the viscount's wife, Lady Mary, and she was a pleasant, sweet soul whose only mistake was falling in love with a reprobate who had only been after her dowry. He was well aware it was the norm, but a great deal of men still went on to have something of a relationship with their wives despite the lack of love between them. How could Hilgrove be as callous and hell-driven by greed as to ruin an innocent lady just because he desired another?
Nothing stopped him from staying married to her and seeking his mistresses, but judging from their last meeting, the man had a different ballgame in mind.
It had taken some time, but Edmund had finally deduced the reasons behind Viscount Hilgrove's decision. It would seem he was specifically targeting rich young women; who were prone to succumbing to his effortless charm. If perchance the letter was sent, and he divorced from Lady Mary, Edmund knew without a doubt that the same thing would be done to the duke's daughter, unless her family protected or intervened.
Sighing heavily, Edmund slipped the letter into an empty, unmarked envelope. Perhaps he could try one more time to convince the viscount to forgo his despicable plan. Who knew, maybe a miracle could happen after all.
On the entire hackney ride to the Four Horses club where he was certain to find the man, Edmund brooded, while silently hoping and praying things would go as he wished them to.
When the viscount saw him standing in the foyer of the club where he'd been mandated to wait as a non-member of the establishment, his eyes lit up instantly and he immediately excused himself from the group of men he'd been conversing with.
"Swinton! I believe you have good news for me?"
Edmund followed the man to a private corner of the large marbled waiting room and wasted no time in getting into things.
"Lord Hilgrove, the letter is drafted and ready but I am here to appeal once more to your conscience," he began, not swayed by the rapid switch of the man's smile into a dark frown.
"I think you should reconsider your decision in doing this. Think of your wife's state of mind following something this dreadful. I would also like you to consider a scenario where this is done to someone you care about. At least you've gotten control of the dowry, so doing this would only be unfair."
"I bid you watch your tongue, Swinton," Viscount Hilgrove returned coldly, sweeping a look around the busy room to see if anyone was paying them attention. "I haven't gotten total control of her dowry, at least not enough to pay Lord Langford completely. I also would advise you do your job right because time is crucial in all of this. I expect to have the letter delivered to my house before the end of the week. Now if you'll excuse me, I have more pressing things to attend to." With that, he affected a fake smile for the benefit of a few curious men whose attention they'd drawn, before striding away to join the men he'd been with earlier.
Having no other plans or tricks up his sleeves, Edmund left the club for home with a deflated spirit and a troubled mind.
"Excuse me, Miss Lucy. Lord Langford demands your presence in his office right away."
Lucy almost dropped the book she was returning to its position on the highest shelf in the library, and swiveled around to see Wilson standing at the door with something akin to a pleased look on his face.
"Pardon me for startling you," he apologized in a most un-contrite manner, "but the earl wants you to come at once without tarrying."
"The earl demands my p
resence?" Lucy's heart began to race erratically and she smoothed a hand down her gown.
"Yes, Miss Lucy. If you would come with me right away."
Try as she may, Lucy couldn't get rid of the foreboding that descended over her like a dark cloud, nor the heavy churning of her stomach as she followed the butler, who seemed to be running down the hallway, rather than walking.
Ever since she'd gained employment as a companion for Lady Agnes, the earl had only twice requested to see her, and on both occasions he'd warned her against impetuousness in issues relating to his aunt.
After making sure she knew she wasn't family, and a virtual nobody without the right to interfere in family-related issues, he'd proceeded to avoid her like the plague, and seeing just how much he disliked her presence in the house, Lucy tried as much as possible to stay away from him as well.
Why does he suddenly want to see me? He usually avoids having to deal with me directly. This is quite troubling and strange.
Suddenly two big reasons swam into her thoughts as they approached the office.
Could this be because of my involvement with Edmund? Or perhaps he's found out I'm not who I claim to be?
Lucy felt like she was going to be sick, and struggled to maintain her composure as Wilson swung the door open, ushering her in.
Lord Langford sat behind his desk writing on a pad, not bothering to look up as she entered, which only served to drive the moths in her stomach into a wild frenzy.
Lucy remembered the last time she'd been in the large, heavily decorated office.
She'd sat on one of the thick cushioned chairs with her head down, while the earl verbally destroyed her, not only reminding her of her place, but demanding she stay there or be out of a job in a flash.
This time it felt different.
With everything she now knew of the earl and the level of things he was capable of, she wasn't just scared, she was petrified.
"Miss Middleton, you can have your seat."
To Catch the Candid Earl: Regency Historical Romance Page 21