A Debt Paid (Clean and Wholesome Regency Romance): Dorothy (The Stainton Sisters Book 2)

by Amy Corwin

  “And you? What is your opinion? Is the search fruitless?”

  Gaunt didn’t answer immediately. His brows drew together in thought before he let out a long breath and looked at Marcus. “I have a few more paths to explore, my lord. Your Mr. Eburne, for example. I spoke with his valet. It seems Mr. Eburne was out and about most of that night, although he had no engagements that his man knew about.” Gaunt stared at the floor for a moment. “One point that was of interest; the valet remembered that night, even though it was months ago, because of a strange circumstance. It seems that when Mr. Eburne stumbled home at two in the morning, he’d somehow managed to scratch the backs of both his hands. Mr. Eburne gave no explanation—at least none to his valet.” Gaunt’s eyes rose to study Marcus.

  “You must question Eburne, then. Lady Arundell would have fought for her life. Whoever it was, he caught her from behind. She would have scratched his hands, trying to get him to release her—to draw a breath.” His lungs ached at the thought. He coughed into a fist. “We must continue. We must be sure about Cynthia, at least. Do you not agree?”

  “Yes. If it were my niece, I believe I would continue the search until all avenues of inquiry were exhausted.” An expression of sympathy flashed over Gaunt’s face before his coolly professional mask dropped into place once more.

  “Or you ran out of money.” Marcus’s mouth twisted. Appalling though it was to consider it, Miss Stainton’s five thousand pounds might prove very useful until the other bits and pieces of his inheritance became accessible.

  Not that he didn’t have sufficient funds at his disposal if he were frugal. He shrugged away the unworthy thought. He wasn’t marrying Miss Stainton for her money. In fact, he’d ensured that the marriage contract stated clearly that her money was to remain hers in case she should ever have need of it.

  If she found life with him intolerable, she would have sufficient funds to leave or set up her own establishment. She must never feel trapped…

  His gut twisted at the thought. He had wanted her, had hoped… Well, it didn’t matter what he had hoped.

  When he glanced up, he found Gaunt studying him, a sympathetic look in his eyes. “Is there anything else, my lord?”

  “No. For now, continue the search for my niece. Question Eburne. Find out if this older man was he, though it doesn’t sound likely. There is no doubt in my mind that the man Mrs. May saw murdered my brother and took Cynthia with him. I want him found. If it was Eburne, then he must be arrested.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  With that, Marcus left, the itch between his shoulder blades starting again. When that sensation irritated him, the only solution was to return to the area around the new London Bridge and start the search for Cynthia anew. The more men looking for her, the sooner her fate would be determined.

  Or so he hoped.

  Chapter Ten

  Two weeks slipped by in a haze, and Dorothy seemed to have no time to stop and think. Her aunt saw to that, rarely leaving her alone for more than a minute at a time.

  The day arrived, and the marriage ceremony was over by noon. Numb, Dorothy returned to the Polkinghorne townhouse to collect her meager belongings. She still couldn’t believe that she’d muttered the correct words through quivering lips and was now married. In the carriage, her strongest sensation was a deep desire to cry.

  What had she done? While she was attracted to him and desperately wanted him to look at her with admiration—even love—in his eyes, she knew he’d only married her for the sake of duty. And her money, of course. She couldn’t forget that.

  Although no one had ever told her, or Grace, that they had inherited anything. Sighing with exasperation, she realized that most likely her money had been handed over to Lord Arundell—her husband—as part of the marriage contract. No one, certainly not Uncle Cyril, would have felt it necessary to tell her anything about it. Women weren’t supposed to worry about such things, even when in truth, it was the one topic that no woman could safely ignore.

  The thought made her feel like a horse, traded for the best price, with nothing to say about it.

  Valise in hand, she glanced around the grand entryway of the Polkinghorne townhouse. “Where is Grace?” she asked her aunt.

  “Grace?” Aunt Mary laughed and reached forward to push Dorothy’s bonnet into a position she clearly thought was more flattering. “Why, she’s gone for a walk with Stephen, Cecilia, and Jane.”

  “But I thought… That is, I thought she was coming with me?”

  “Coming with you?” Aunt Mary laughed and shook her head. “When you are but newly wed? No indeed, Lady Arundell.” She took great pleasure in pronouncing Dorothy’s new name. Patting Dorothy on the arm, she edged her closer to the door. “She will stay with us, of course. At least, for the time being. You do not want her following you about and causing difficulties at this point in your marriage. Take it from me, there is much to get used to—well, you will find out soon enough.” She winked and laughed again. “If you both wish, she can join you in a month or so. Before we leave London for the summer, perhaps.”

  “But…” Dorothy stared at her, feeling abandoned. She’d assumed her sister would go with her, and she’d counted on her presence to make things easier. At least she would have been a familiar face, and someone to talk to over the breakfast table besides Lord Arundell.

  Her pulse raced at the thought of facing her husband at breakfast. It pounded even more loudly at the thought of facing him tonight. The notion both excited and terrified her. If only he loved her, even just a little…

  “Why did you not want Cecilia to marry him?” Dorothy asked impulsively.

  Her aunt stared at her in surprise. “Cecilia? Oh, no—not my darling Cecilia.” Flushing, Aunt Mary’s glance bounced around the hallway, landing anywhere except on Dorothy’s face.

  “Not your darling Cecilia? Why not?”

  “Well, he’s… Well, if you must know, they would not suit.”

  “Not suit? Why would you think the earl and I would suit?”

  “Well, you are desperate, are you not? And quite old—too old for a Season, and he is an excellent match, although none of us quite cares for him—well, never mind that. Any girl would be thrilled to receive an offer from an earl. It is a great honor, as you well know. At any rate, it is too late, now.”

  Too old for a Season. Was that really the reason, then? That they did not want to waste money on a Season for Dorothy? Was that petty notion worth wasting an alliance with an earl on a mere niece?

  How completely demoralizing.

  “I see,” Dorothy replied.

  “You really must leave, my dear.” Aunt Mary laughed as she pushed her playfully toward the door. “I know you must be dying to see your new home. And your husband. He is so handsome, is he not? And an earl…” She clasped her hands together over her heart, and her gaze grew distant as she considered such a delightful prospect. “You are so fortunate, my dear. You must come and visit us often.”

  “Very well.” Dorothy sighed. “Please tell Grace to come and see me at her first opportunity.”

  “Of course. We shall all visit.” Her aunt giggled. “More frequently than you might wish, perhaps.”

  Seeing their familiar faces could never become that tiresome, Dorothy thought. On impulse, she leaned forward and kissed her surprised aunt on her cheek before walking through the front door. Aunt Mary might have been petty when she arranged this marriage for Dorothy, but she was still her aunt.

  The earl had sent a carriage for her, the side emblazoned with his family crest, and she flushed as the coachman handed her inside. Dressed in her best, but still shabby, blue traveling dress, she felt like an imposter. Lady Arundell, indeed. A flare of irritation made her straighten her back against the soft leather squabs.

  Despite what her husband thought, she’d never aspired to the nobility. She didn’t particularly want the heavy responsibilities that always came with such a position, and it both annoyed and frightened her that Lord A
rundell had been so busy with his duties that he could spare no time for her after their abrupt, plain wedding.

  More a successful business meeting than a wedding. She didn’t even have a new dress to wear, although her aunt assured her that after they were married, Lord Arundell would see that she got a wardrobe befitting the wife of an earl.

  Despite her gloves, her fingers felt for the smooth hard surface of the ring on her left hand. The slim metal felt foreign and rubbed the inner surfaces of her finger, irritating the skin. She sighed and supposed she would soon develop a callus and barely notice it. A mocking smile twisted her mouth. Over time, she might even develop a callus over her heart and become less aware of her handsome husband, although she wasn’t sure that was possible.

  When the carriage jerked to a halt, she glanced up at the grand façade of Arundell House. Her gloved hand clutched the leather strap near the door as her stomach sank. Even her breath stopped for a moment, her chest tightening. For one horrifying moment, she realized that she hoped—no, wanted—to walk into the entryway and see Lord Arundell—no, Marcus, her husband—waiting for her with open arms and a warm welcoming smile. She wanted to see the rich golden flecks in his eyes sparkle with admiration and love for her. Most of all, she wanted to feel his strong grip around her waist as he pulled her to him…

  Her heart hammered. Her thoughts were terrifying. Despite everything, she feared she’d somehow fallen in love with him.

  And he didn’t love her. In fact, she sensed he was disappointed in her. A hot surge of tears sprang to her eyes before she could swallow them back. As a footman opened the carriage door, she took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders.

  Now was not the time to cry.

  The servant’s blue eyes were wide with curiosity as he held out his white-gloved hand to assist her to alight. He cast a series of quick glances at her, his eyes avidly taking in her shabby garments before he politely dropped his gaze and guided her through the open door.

  She hardly had time to take in the wide black and white marble floor, tall columns gracing the doorways on her left and right, and the gorgeous clouds lit by a sunset painted on the ceiling several stories above her head before a thin, small maid curtseyed and gestured to the large room on her left.

  “If you please, my lady, Mr. Grover asked that if it is acceptable to you, he’d like to present us—” She stumbled over what appeared to be her rehearsed greeting. A deep flush rose over her sallow cheeks, and she shook herself, staring down at the floor as if searching for her words on the shiny marble. “Beg pardon, my lady. He—that is, Mr. Grover, the butler, would like to present the servants—your servants, that is. The earl’s servants. Us, that is.” Her blush rose again, and her gray eyes widened as she stared in obvious terror at Dorothy. She bobbed another curtsey, shaking so much that she nearly fell over.

  Dorothy instinctively thrust out an arm to catch the girl, but the maid managed to regain her balance before that became necessary. Smiling, Dorothy said, “I shall be happy to oblige Mr. Grover. And you are?”

  “Betty, my lady. Betty Kirk. I’m to be your maid—oh, just for now—if you wish it. His lordship thought it might be suitable until you could hire one you like.” Her words tripped over themselves in a rush, and in a curious gesture, she crossed her arms behind her back so that she could clutch her elbows in her hands. Her white-knuckled fingers revealed her anxiety, and she kept flashing shy glances at Dorothy, although she tried to keep her gaze properly trained on the floor.

  Rather high-handed of her new husband to assign her a maid, but perhaps he only meant to be helpful.

  And she did rather like Betty. The girl wasn’t a beauty by any stretch of the imagination, but then neither was Dorothy. Betty’s face was too long and thin with barely any chin at all and a terrible overbite, but she was so earnest and trying so desperately hard that Dorothy just wanted to hug her and tell her that everything was going to be all right.

  “I am very pleased with Lord Arundell’s decision, Betty.” Dorothy smiled and took a step forward. “And I think we may not have to search any further for a lady’s maid, after all.”

  A nervous giggle erupted from Betty, and she smothered it behind one fist. “Thank you, your ladyship. I shall try my best—my very best!”

  “I’m sure you will.” Dorothy looked at the open double doors on the left to control a second urge to put a reassuring arm around Betty. Dorothy didn’t have a great deal of experience with servants, but she knew better than to be overly familiar, especially when she’d just met the girl. She could show sympathy, certainly, but not overly much. “Now, did you not say that Mr. Grover is waiting for us?”

  “Oh, yes! This way, Lady Arundell.” Betty held out her right arm and took several jerky steps forward, cutting off Dorothy. Flushing again, she jerked to a stop, curtseyed, and gestured for Dorothy to precede her.

  The large room at the front of the house had tall, wide windows set off by rich ochre-colored brocade drapes and Corinthian columns, bringing in a feeling of glorious sunshine. An additional set of half-columns were arranged near their taller cousins and were graced by blue and white vases. Furniture was scattered in comfortable clusters, arranged around thick carpets echoing the ochre, dark gold, sky blue, and white colors of the curtains and vases.

  Dorothy barely had time to look around the room before a man approached her and bowed with solemn gravity. Beyond him, two lines of servants—women in front and men behind them—faced her. Although everyone maintained the carefully blank faces of well-trained servants, their eyes were alive with curiosity.

  “May I welcome you to Arundell House, Lady Arundell,” the butler said. “I am Mr. Grover, and I serve Lord Arundell as butler here.”

  “Thank you.” Dorothy nodded and smiled, despite the nervous flutter in her stomach. There were at least ten servants, and the thought of managing such a large household was daunting. Even the Polkinghornes had only had four, though Mr. Polkinghorne kept talking about hiring a butler, or at least a footman, to relieve poor Elsa from the task of answering the door.

  Dressed formally and neatly in black and white, Mr. Grover still lacked a certain presence and seemed far more retiring than she’d expected from a man in his position. A fringe of pale, graying brown hair, nearly the color of rabbit fur, circled his hairless dome, and his eyes were fawn-brown in a soft-featured middle-aged face. He stood only a few inches taller than she was, and sunlight glinted off his wide forehead when she glanced at him. In fact, he was nondescript—so much so that he was remarkably easy to overlook. His features were so ordinary that when Dorothy looked away, she had a great deal of difficulty remembering his appearance—or even that he was there.

  As he performed the introductions, his low voice droned through the names and positions in a very soothing cadence. Halfway through, she found her attention drifting away and had to straighten her shoulders and nod to focus on his words.

  “Mr. Grover, the front door!” Betty exclaimed suddenly.

  The butler clasped his plump hands behind his back and frowned at the maid. “Did I not dismiss you?”

  Betty nodded, but remained where she was at Dorothy’s side, pointing at the hallway. “Yes—but there’s someone at the front door, Mr. Grover!”

  “If you will excuse me, Lady Arundell.” He bowed, but didn’t move.

  The clang of the brass door knocker echoed through the hallway.

  “Certainly. You may answer the door,” Dorothy said at last when it appeared Mr. Grover wasn’t going to respond to the summons unless she gave him permission.

  When she turned back to the servants, they were all staring at her, their eyes showing various degrees of speculation. She took a deep breath to keep a threatening blush from coloring her cheeks. There was no reason to be nervous, after all, even if she did wish more than anything to retire to some small room somewhere and have a cup of tea.

  She clasped her hands at her waist. “I am very pleased to meet all of you. However, I am s
ure you have duties to which you must attend. You are dismissed.”

  The plump, sandy-haired woman Mr. Grover had introduced as Mrs. Yornold, the housekeeper, nodded and flapped her hands. The servants seemed to collectively let out a long breath and scattered, melting away through the door as quickly as mice scattering at the sight of a cat.

  Mrs. Yornold opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Mr. Grover returned. A very tall, slender man followed him into the room. When he caught sight of Dorothy, the stranger nodded.

  “If you will excuse me, Lady Arundell?” Mrs. Yornold’s brows rose above nearly lashless blue eyes, and she took a step toward the door.

  “Of course,” Dorothy murmured.

  The visitor waited in silence. His black hair was tinged with silver at the temples, and wrinkles around his dark eyes and mouth gave his long face an attractive, distinguished look. A general air of quiet command, coupled with a hint of steel, made him seem like an older, thinner relative of her new husband. She flushed and clasped her hands at her waist.

  For all she knew, he was a relative of her husband’s.

  “Lady Arundell, may I present Mr. Gaunt. He is here to see Lord Arundell, who is not at home at present.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Grover. You may go,” Dorothy said, her gaze never leaving their visitor’s face. “Perhaps I may assist you in my husband’s stead, Mr. Gaunt?”

  A polite smile curved Mr. Gaunt’s mouth. “I beg your pardon.” He gave her a shallow bow. “However, my business is with Lord Arundell.”

  “If that is so, I am at a loss to explain why you wished to see me. Surely, Mr. Grover explained that Lord Arundell is not at home when he answered the door.” Her head tilted to the right as she studied Mr. Gaunt’s face, but his features seemed to be fixed in a permanently pleasant but uninformative expression. A sense of irritation rippled through her at her profound ignorance of her husband’s affairs.