“Are you’re suggesting someone is embezzling from Miss Lawson’s trust fund?” William asked.
“That’s my conclusion,” answered Mr. Jameson. His serious frown twisted his visage into something that looked like a gnarled tree trunk. The sight would scare a baby to tears.
“Shall I visit Miss Lawson at Lawson Court, my lord?” Russell asked.
“Don’t bother. I’ll request she come to London instead and meet with me directly.” McCalpin shook his head. “I still don’t understand why I was appointed to manage the daughters’ money. I don’t even know these people.”
“In my opinion, the previous Lord Lawson employed rather shoddy solicitors. Errors are rampant through their legal work. The prior trustee of the three daughters’ trusts and guardian of the children and the viscountcy was Lord Burns. The title of the Marquess of McCalpin is the named successor trustee responsible for the daughters’ trusts. Your late uncle, who previously held the title, was friends with the late viscount. There isn’t anyone else named as successor guardian in the documents.” As if that explained everything, Russell packed up his portable desk. “I’m sending Mr. Jameson to review McCalpin Manor’s records. Severin wants someone else to audit the books before we present the quarterly review to Wilburton.”
McCalpin nodded. “One more thing. Send me a record of all the withdrawals from the sisters’ trust funds. That’ll be all.” After the others left, he stood and faced William. “I should have done something about this before now. Our darling sister gave me quite a tongue-lashing over Miss Lawson. She banks with Emma.”
“Emma took umbrage with you? The stars must be out of alignment. She normally saves her rants for me.” William poured himself another cup of coffee and brought one to McCalpin. “I’ll be more than happy to look into Miss Lawson’s affairs. Once you get the report, send word to me over at Langham Hall.”
Once again, his aversion to numbers had caused more work for himself. “No, this is my mess. I failed to give a proper review of the documents when they first crossed my desk. I thought it was another administrative task Russell’s firm could handle. Obviously, it requires my attention.”
“I’m at your disposal, McCalpin.”
“Thank you.” The laugh started deep within his chest. Whether it was relief from the fact that the monthly meeting was over or the debacle with the Lawson family made little difference.
William raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”
McCalpin laughed at the absurdity that he was responsible for yet more money. Finally, when he got his humor under control, he answered, “Whoever is embezzling those funds signs my name better than I do.”
* * *
“Good morning, Faith,” March called out to her sister. “You’re up late this morning.” She turned her attention back to the mirror. The village seamstress hissed under her breath, scolding her to stand still.
March wrinkled her nose. Unfortunately, the woman’s misplaced rebukes held no sway. The seamstress’ efforts were better directed at the monstrous piece of fabric covering March from the neck down. The puce gown was revolting. It had been one of her grandmother’s formal dresses, but without the lace trim or the coordinating iridescent black gauze overlay, the gown’s color closely resembled grass after the first autumn frost. Why ever had she picked this color and, for goodness’ sake, this style? It made her look like a plump Amazon warrioress.
Faith walked stiffly into March’s bedroom dragging her left leg. “Today I feel as if I’m ninety instead of nineteen. There must be a storm brewing. I can barely move. Mrs. Oliver brought warm compresses to my room along with breakfast. That’s why I’m late.” Her sister turned to the seamstress. “Good morning, Mrs. Burton.”
With a mouthful of pins, the seamstress grunted a greeting. “You’re next.” The woman pricked March with a pin when she took the final waist adjustment, payment for March’s inability to stand still. “I believe I’m finished.”
The woman had a flair for communicating her ideas while balancing at least twenty straight pins between her lips. Indeed, if her talent for sewing was as accomplished, maybe March would look like something other than a sack of feed.
“Mrs. Burton, if it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience, perhaps I can come to the village later?” Faith asked softly. “I’m not certain I can stand long enough for a proper fitting.”
“Just send a note when you’re feeling better.” The seamstress nodded and gathered her belongings. “Miss March, I’ll see you tomorrow for the bookkeeping?”
March nodded. “Shouldn’t take much more than a half hour.”
Mrs. Burton scowled at the hem of the puce gown. “You add and subtract those numbers in your head. The first time you came to the shop you finished so quickly I didn’t believe you could’ve balanced a single column of figures. When I checked the calculations, there wasn’t a single mistake. You have a quick mind and a remarkable talent for mathematics.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Burton.” If only she was as quick with her sewing. March presented a pleasant smile while taming her errant thoughts. Mrs. Burton had been kind to Faith and Julia, her other sister. That was all that mattered. Her sisters needed the gowns before the Season. If she pressed the seamstress, they might have them before the end of the month. What else could she do? She was trading her bookkeeping skills for dresses. She released a pained breath. Beggars couldn’t complain or be choosers when desperate for morning gowns.
Mrs. Oliver, their housekeeper and only servant, escorted Mrs. Burton to the door all the while chatting about the upcoming foxhunt. Alone with Faith, March changed into her day dress, a sturdy, muslin frock the shade of mud. It matched March’s hair color perfectly.
“Dearest, let me help you pick out the colors for your new dresses,” Faith gently suggested as she gazed at March’s attire. “With your beautiful dark hair and coloring, brighter colors such as jewel tones would favor you more than those muted colors you prefer.”
“Nothing would help me. I’m a simple sheep farmer, but if you want to accept the challenge, then by all means, you have my permission,” March said.
Her sister’s offer to help with the impossible task was a true testament to her patience. Faith was all things lovely with a sweet disposition to match. Her hair glowed with a color best described as warm sunshine, and she possessed velvety-blue eyes. Faith caught the attention of every young man in the area, until she walked. None chose to call upon her in any serious fashion. Faith never said a word, but March knew it hurt deeply.
Faith grimaced as she rested against the bed. Some days her limp was slight, and March could forget that her middle sister had suffered an injury as a young toddler. Today, the cold dampness haunted her sister.
Memories of the accident were permanently seared in March’s mind—all the blood, the shouts, and her father rushing forward to scoop Faith into his arms after she’d been trampled by a horse. Her sister’s recuperation took six months. From that day forward, she was always at the forefront of March’s thoughts and deeds.
Faith’s lack of suitors would soon change. March intended to open the viscount’s London townhouse for the sole purpose of giving Faith and Julia a Season. The city offered the opportunity to seek out the best medical treatment from experts who might relieve Faith’s suffering. As important, Bennett needed a proper education, one that would prepare the young viscount for his entrance to Eton.
The bedroom door burst open with a whoosh, and Julia rushed in waving a note in her hand. “My word, I’ve never seen such a sight! The most handsome liveried footman brought this note to me,” she squealed. “And asked if I would see it delivered to you.”
“And good morning to you, too!” March chided as Julia handed the note to her.
Julia stopped and blinked hard. “Oh my, I didn’t see you, Faith. I apologize for my haste.” Then she gave a quick wink. “Good morning, my dear sisters.” She gave a grin and looked to March for approval. “Better?”
March narrowed h
er eyes then returned the grin. “Better. Next time, call us ‘my dearest and most superior sisters.’”
Julia raised an eyebrow in protest. Her eighteen-year-old body was burgeoning into full womanhood. Julia favored Faith and was as much a beauty as her sister. Young men waited for March’s littlest sister after Sunday services and the community gatherings always under the pretense to chat. While their efforts were entirely innocent, March kept a watchful eye. One could never be too careful, particularly when their cousin Rupert had started to take an interest in Julia.
“This is no time for games, March. The footman is waiting,” scolded Julia.
“Who’s it from?” Faith asked.
“The wax bares the seal of the Marquess of McCalpin.” Her heartbeat accelerated in a staccato rhythm. “I wonder what he wants with me.” She suspected his summons related to the rash of small withdrawals she’d made within the last several weeks. She swallowed the panic that started to rise. Whatever happened, she’d explain her actions and hope for the best.
March used her finger to lift the seal. With a quick scan of the missive, her suspicions grew stronger. “The Marquess of McCalpin has summoned me to London. He wants to meet this afternoon.”
“That doesn’t give you much time to get ready,” Faith said.
“Oh, March! He’s finally taken notice. Maybe we can move to London sooner.” Julia’s smile could have lit a ballroom for hours. “We’ll finally be able to hire a proper tutor for Bennett.”
March simply nodded without paying much heed as her thoughts were spinning. Indeed, it was entirely possible the marquess was ending the trust and she would have control of her fortune. She bit her lip and forced the flutters of anxiety away. Perhaps he didn’t know that she’d embezzled funds using his signature and seal.
Julia jumped to Faith and gathered their hands together. “We’re going to have a Season. Just imagine you and me dancing with the handsomest men in London.” Julia presented Faith with a mock bow. “My lady, may I have the honor of tonight’s midnight waltz?”
Faith giggled and inclined her head. “Indeed, kind sir. It would be my pleasure.”
March’s newfound hopes slammed to a halt much like a cantankerous horse refusing a jump at a hunt. “Please, we must be ready for disappointment. We’re not acquainted with this man. He may be worse than Lord Burns, who completely ignored us.”
Julia’s brows grew together in puzzlement. “Do you think that’s possible?”
“Of course,” March retorted. She clenched the missive in her hand as the familiar ire over their poverty rushed through her. Perhaps it was fear for her future. It made little difference at this point. “No one has taken the responsibility for our welfare seriously. None of my letters were ever answered.”
March paced the length of her bedroom. There was no use delaying the inevitable. She’d face her fate with her head held high. She had a right to her own money. She’d pledged to protect her family, and she’d keep that promise. “I’m leaving for London. Hart will accompany me. I’ll inform Mrs. Oliver of my plans.”
A fleeting glimpse of worry stole across Faith’s face, then her blue eyes narrowed as she tilted her head. “You’re concerned. Nay, frightened. What is it?”
Her sister was too observant by half. March tugged at the sleeves on her dress. A nervous gasp escaped on her next breath. If her sisters had any idea how low her morals had sunk, they’d understand the foreboding sense of doom that haunted her.
“Nothing. I have much on my mind.” Her lips tightened into a faint smile for her sisters. “There’s no cause to fret.”
At least not yet.
She needed to calm down. There was no possibility he could have discovered her one-thousand-pound withdrawal, and if he gave her access to the funds today, then he’d never learn of her deception.
Once again, she took command and proceeded with an assurance a trained Shakespearean actor would admire. “If I leave now, I’ll be in London within the hour.”
“I’m going with you.” A hint of steel tempered Faith’s gentle voice.
March shook her head. “There’s no need.”
Faith carefully made her way to block March’s pacing. “You can’t arrive at the marquess’s home with only Hart and no chaperone. If I travel with you, you’re least likely to garner unwanted attention.”
She didn’t trust her voice, so she nodded. Truthfully, having her sister for support would help her face whatever the marquess deemed important enough to demand her presence. He must be an arrogant man since he hadn’t even considered how she’d travel to town.
“I’ll come, too,” Julia enthused. The girl was still twirling in circles with her imaginary dance partner.
“No.” The clipped word caused Julia to stop midstride.
“Are you angry with me?” Julia’s voice quavered and her eyes grew wide.
How could she have she snapped at her little sister? No matter how many times she’d reassured her, Julia was still sensitive about March leaving.
She rushed to her side and tugged her sister into her arms. “Sweetheart, I didn’t mean to growl at you. It’s been a hectic day already.”
Julia nodded, but the previous brilliant light in her eyes had dimmed.
“Forgive me?” March whispered. For the world, she wouldn’t hurt Julia and felt absolutely abysmal now.
Julia nodded and swept a sweet kiss across her cheek. “Always.”
March returned the kiss. “I need you to stay with Bennett and help him with his history lesson.”
Julia rolled her eyes. “I’d rather memorize ten deportment lessons.”
March considered how much of a deportment lesson she could learn during the short ride to London. What was a proper introduction when meeting the man you were impersonating? What do you say when he discovers you write his name better than he does?
Chapter Three
March picked up the heavy iron knocker shaped in a lion’s head, and banged it against the massive mahogany door. “Thank you both for coming with me.”
Standing beside her, Uncle Hart studied March with a frank, assessing gaze. Such a look coming from him was akin to a thousand spiders dancing across her back. Slim, fair of face with light brown hair streaked with gray and blue eyes, he stood a little over six feet. Even though he was her father’s age, the years had been kind to him.
Faith took her hand and squeezed. “We’ll get through this. Your forbearance has kept our family safe and sound. You’ve done everything in your power to protect us. Don’t worry.”
Her sister’s face reflected a steadfast and serene peace. March swallowed that strength as if feasting after a weeklong fast. She couldn’t crumble into a mass of doubts, not yet.
“This is a side of you I’ve never seen before. Nothing to be frightened of, my miss,” Hart whispered. “The marquess has most likely summoned you to discuss you and your siblings.”
“Of course.” The words failed to calm the icy fear that slowly twisted and twined inside her chest. A nervous gasp escaped on her next breath of air. The door swept open, revealing a footman dressed in a navy-blue velvet double-breasted coat, matching pantaloons, and a perfectly fitted powdered wig. In silence, March stood with Hart and Faith on either side and waited for the invitation to enter the Marquess of McCalpin’s home.
Almost as if the handsome servant saw through her ruse, a slight grin crossed the man’s face then disappeared. “May I help you?”
“I’m Miss Lawson and this is … is Miss Faith Lawson and Mr. Hart. We’re here on a business matter to see the marquess.” March resisted the urge to turn and run back to the cart. She held out the summons as proof they were invited. She forced her feet to stay planted and waited for what seemed liked hours. “He requested my presence.”
The footman motioned them forward, and March followed him into the vestibule. Her breath caught in her throat at her first glimpse of the home. Tiles of alternating black and white marble lined the floor of the large entry. A mas
sive mahogany table stood in the center with a flower arrangement of more than three-dozen red roses surrounded by other exotic flowers that March didn’t recognize. She inhaled the scent and immediately thought of summer. The marquess must have a greenhouse on the premises. Only the wealthy could afford such extravagances during the cold winter months.
To her right, an expansive circular staircase led to the second floor. Her eyes swept the length of the stairs but stopped at the sight of the most handsome human to have graced the earth with his presence.
On the stairs and dressed in a moss-green riding jacket and buckskin breeches covered in mud, he had turned when they’d entered. March’s gaze collided with his, and her heart stumbled as if missing a dance step. From the distance, there was no doubt his blue eyes matched the brightest feathers of a kingfisher. His chestnut hair sported wet curls, most likely from the exertion of an afternoon ride. Time stood still as she studied his face. Radiant sunshine from a window next to him caressed his check and surrounded him in a ring of light. He could have been the model for Michelangelo’s David. She’d never seen such perfection in a real man before.
Obviously, this vision was not as impressed with her as she was with him. Without acknowledgment, he continued his way upstairs, leaving her and his halo behind. March’s breathing relaxed, but regret gathered like a gray haze over her.
How fitting that a luminous light courted him while nimbus clouds seemed to be her bosom companion. She could have stared at David for hours and still not grown tired of the vision. He couldn’t be the marquess, since her banker, Lady Somerton, bore little resemblance to this man. Whoever he was, his bearing exuded strength and a graceful confidence that demanded attention.
The footman gave a slight nod to another servant, presumably the butler, who came forward.
“Miss?” The butler tilted his head slightly and waited for her response.
“Miss March Lawson, Miss Faith Lawson, and Mr. Victor Hart. Lord McCalpin requested I call upon him … on a matter of importance.” March delivered a slight smile and clenched the missive demanding her visit.
The Luck of the Bride--The Cavensham Heiresses Page 3