How in God’s teeth could he discover the truth about who was embezzling from the estates? The weight on his shoulders grew by a hundred stone.
Then the truth hit him square between the eyes. He was going to lose March and couldn’t prevent it from happening. A blinding pain cascaded through him.
Before the carriage slowed to a halt beside the Langham Hall mews, his father jumped into the carriage and joined them. Without a glance at McCalpin, he drew his wife into his arms. “Ginny, I would have come for you.”
The tremble of her lips betrayed the sincerity of her smile. “I needed Michael today,” she whispered.
His father pressed a kiss against her forehead, then brushed his index finger across her cheek in a tender caress. “My lovely, lovely duchess,” he soothed as he rocked her in his arms.
In that intimate moment, McCalpin realized what he’d miss in his life if he couldn’t find a way to keep March from leaving. A partner and a wife who would love unconditionally and protect his interests with everything she possessed.
His father’s gaze swept to his as he settled his wife into the crook of his arm. “I received a letter from March today. Erlington bequeathed part of his woolen mill fortune to her. It’s worth roughly fifty thousand pounds. She’s signed it over to you. She says it’s to pay for the monies that are missing. She didn’t apologize or seek forgiveness. Just the directive that any remaining amounts are to be equally split between her siblings.”
“Fifty thousand pounds?” he whispered. It was inconceivable.
“She could’ve had any man in London with that fortune.” His father pulled his mother closer.
Inside McCalpin’s chest, a demon warrior rose, one ready to defeat any man who wanted her. She was his.
“But she wanted you to have it,” his mother whispered. “For you and for her sisters and her brother.”
He released the breath he’d been holding. Soon an ocean would separate them, and this rift between them would never heal.
His father narrowed his eyes, oblivious to the unease running amok through McCalpin. With his free hand, he held up three fingers. “How many fingers?”
He exhaled. He may be in turmoil, but he still possessed all of his senses. “Three.”
His father nodded, then pulled the familiar red accounting book from his pocket. “What is this?”
He snarled by reflex. If his father had examined the entries, he had discovered the extent of McCalpin’s debilitating failure with numbers. “My bookkeeping.”
“Excellent. I was afraid you couldn’t see what was right before your eyes,” his father taunted. “You left it in the entry hall, and Pitts found it. Turn to the last page of entries.”
McCalpin reached to take it from his father’s outstretched hand, then hesitated. As if today and tomorrow weren’t enough punishment, now he had to withstand the disappointment he’d surely find in his father’s eyes once he realized what a simpleton he had for a son. “You are aware that I suffer from an inability to do even the simplest calculations?”
“Do it,” his father demanded.
Wary, he opened the red-leather journal and flipped to the last page of entries. His gaze skimmed the last column of numbers until his eyes fixated upon the writing so similar to his but with a distinct feminine slant and curls to the letters.
My dearest love,
Last night in your arms and your bed, you gave me a gift I never thought to receive or experience in my life. Your tenderness and care proved that I could have the happiness in my life that I thought I’d lost. My thoughts are in a jumble as my lips still crave your kisses, but you must know that you own my heart and all my soul. I want to shout it to the world, that I, March Lawson, love you, Michael Cavensham, without reserve or caution. With complete and total abandon, I freely give you my heart. Whatever you choose to do with it is your prerogative, but I will not deny my love. Ever.
However, the greatest present you’ve ever given me—besides asking me to be your wife—is the trust you’ve shown when you shared yourself and what you perceive as your failings. Know I cherish your trust, and I will proudly stand by your side everyday as you work. I promise I’ll do everything and anything in my power to help you with the financial aspects of the estate, your political work, and every glorious moment in your life.
I’ll keep your every secret and guard your trust fiercely. It’s my greatest gift to you as I love you more than life itself.
Yours forever,
M
He closed his eyes in a desperate attempt not to cry out as he leaned against the carriage bench squab. At Lawson Court, she’d asked him if he’d read the journal. He called it tripe. What had he done? She must think he didn’t care what she’d written. His beautiful, giving March had been loving and protecting him just as fiercely as she did her siblings. “How stupid could I have been?”
“That’s only true if you don’t try to win her back,” his father said without a hint of mockery or disdain.
“How can I? I’m an idiot when it comes to numbers.” He was so lost he didn’t think he’d be able to find his way out of the carriage. He didn’t even care that he was speaking so freely about his shortcomings with his parents.
His father grinned with an understanding that gave him hope. “My father suffered from something similar, but his duchess was gifted with figures. No one ever knew how much he relied on her for financial help. Together, they made the Langham duchy one of the most powerful and profitable titles in all of England.” His father kissed his mother tenderly on her cheek before he turned his attention to McCalpin. “You and March could have the same impact.”
“If we have even a fraction of the impact you and mother have, I’ll consider both the duchy and myself most fortunate.” McCalpin felt the heaviness in his chest slowly release. “Do you think you might be able to help me?”
His father nodded. “It would be my pleasure.”
They couldn’t waste any additional time. He had to find out who was embezzling from them. As McCalpin reached to open the carriage door a piece of paper stuck in the household bookkeeping journal floated to the ground. He picked it up and examined the numbers. Jameson’s note listed the entries for the amounts that March had embezzled from the trust. The handwriting was of little distinction except the dashes decorating the sevens and the decorative serifs atop the ones screamed for his attention.
As if the night turned into the day, the answer became crystal clear.
“I need to see Macalester. I know who’s stolen from us.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
After McCalpin finished his evening visit to Mr. Russell’s office, he met his investigator, Macalester, at the designated address. The clean but modest home had several rooms for let. It had only taken a couple of coins, and the owner, a kind elderly man, had directed McCalpin and Macalester to the second floor.
Without a word spoken between the two, McCalpin and Macalester exchanged a glance outside the designated door. Without a knock, McCalpin lifted the latch and swept inside with his investigator following in his wake.
In his shirt and waistcoat, Jameson sat behind a writing table and immediately stood with such force he knocked over his simple oak chair. Wide-eyed, he glanced between the two men. Immediately, he schooled his features. “My lord.” His gaze swung to the investigator. “Mr. Macalester, you must have news pertaining to Miss Lawson’s theft.”
“Indeed,” McCalpin answered with a single nod. “I’ve discovered who’s behind the thefts, and it’s not Miss Lawson.”
“Step away from the desk.” With pistol drawn, Macalester approached Jameson.
With shoulders slumped, the bookkeeper did as directed. With little fanfare, he took his coat hanging from a hook on the wall and slipped it on. Behind him, Macalester opened the single drawer of the table and pulled out a sheath of papers. He held up March’s seal for McCalpin’s view.
“Why did you do it?” He studied Jameson as the bookkeeper’s cheeks flamed.
<
br /> “It was an opportunity I couldn’t dismiss. When I discovered Miss Lawson was embezzling from the trust without repercussions, I decided to use her as my shield. I’d planned to stop once you discovered the missing funds.” The man sighed in resignation. “I had no other options. I needed money.”
“For what purpose?” It took every ounce of patience McCalpin possessed not to punch the man in the throat. Likely a deathblow, but Jameson deserved it.
“My invalid son lives with my elderly mother in Lancashire. She can’t care for him anymore. I needed to hire someone who would live with them. My wife died a year ago.” Jameson’s arms hung limp at his sides as if utterly defeated. “I tried to work two jobs, but there still wasn’t enough money for his care.”
McCalpin released a heavy breath. Not the villain he’d expected, but still a man who deserved punishment. “How old is your son?”
“Ten, my lord.” Jameson’s anguished whisper hung heavy in the air.
The boy was slightly older than Bennett. What would March do if she faced such a circumstance? He knew the answer—anything and everything to protect the boy.
“Lord McCalpin, you should look at this.” While still aiming the pistol at the bookkeeper, Macalester handed two sheets of paper to him.
The first was a copy of a marriage certificate. McCalpin quickly skimmed the contents. March’s parents had been married at Gretna Green in an “anvil marriage” two years prior to her birth. The second was a letter from March’s father to her grandfather, railing at the viscount for insisting her parents marry again in a “proper” Church of England ceremony. Since March’s parents had recently returned from Italy, Chelmsford was the most convenient place to meet and have the second ceremony.
“This proves she’s not a bastard.” His blood was boiling with the discovery. Jameson’s actions had ensured March’s destruction in front of the gossip-loving ton for no reason. “I should kill you for hurting my betrothed.”
“I never wanted to ruin Miss Lawson.” Jameson’s voice weakened. “Her cousin was easy to manipulate into believing the tale. I thought it would be a quiet matter handled by our firm. I never dreamed Lawson would confront her at a ball. I just needed to prove she’d embezzled funds that weren’t rightly hers. I opened the account at Fleming’s Bank under her name. That gave me the opportunity to”—he stared at the floor—“steal from you without anyone looking beyond Miss Lawson.”
“Why did you try to have the withdrawal from my investment funds deposited into her accounts?” he asked.
“More evidence of her guilt. Lord Somerton wouldn’t authorize such a transaction without coming to you first. In turn, you would think she was embezzling from you. It was a way to end it. I didn’t have the stomach to steal from you anymore.” Jameson shook his head then raised his gaze to McCalpin. “You should know the exact amount I’ve taken is roughly five thousand pounds. All but one hundred is here.” He pointed to the desk, and Macalester brought out a leather pouch. “I didn’t have any other options. My son can’t walk and can barely communicate with anyone, but”—tears welled in his eyes—“I love him, and my wife loved him dearly. I wanted to give him the very best.”
“Well, since your crimes are not only against me and the duchy, but also harm Miss Lawson, she should have a say in what becomes of you.” McCalpin’s chest tightened. He rubbed the middle of his forehead and closed his eyes to consider this development. He’d fully expected to find a selfish, self-centered criminal who’d preyed upon March and his family. Instead, he found a man desperate to care for his son. Still, it didn’t excuse the havoc the bookkeeper had created in McCalpin’s and, more importantly, March’s life.
“Macalester, will you stay with Jameson until Miss Lawson and I decide how we wish to proceed with this matter?” He didn’t spare a glance at Jameson. “Perhaps, it’d be beneficial to determine if he’s telling the truth about his son.”
McCalpin had never seen anything but a cool demeanor from the Scotsman. With a face made of stone, the investigator nodded. Did the man even have a heart? Probably not a useful tool in his bag of investigative tricks.
“I’ll send someone to visit the family,” said Macalester.
“I need to see Miss Lawson straightaway with the news we’ve discovered tonight.”
“Go ahead, my lord. I’ll handle everything from this end,” the investigator added.
Without delay, he set off to find March and share his discovery. His mother had sent word March was spending the night at the Lawson townhome before setting sail in the morning.
If he had any luck, he hoped tonight’s discovery would be enough to keep her here in London and win back her good graces. Whatever it took, he’d convince her to stay and become his wife.
* * *
Once again, Michael haunted March’s dreams. Only this time, his fresh pine fragrance became vivid when he kissed her on the cheek. When had her dreams become a sensual feast of scents?
“March, my love, wake up,” the dream Michael whispered.
She sat up with a start. It wasn’t a dream, but the flesh-and-blood man. Michael sat on the edge of the bed with his hip resting against hers. He leaned close, touching his lips to hers with the gentlest of kisses.
Sweet heavens, how she’d miss—
“Are Faith, Julia, and Bennett all right?” The words tumbled from her before all her senses fully awoke. She blinked at the candle lit beside her. Michael must have seen to it.
“They’re fine, my love.” He dipped his head again for another kiss, this one longer with a hint of passion mixed with the taste of mint and fresh air.
“How did you get in here?” Still a little groggy, she pushed the mass of tangles away from her face. Instantly, he cupped her face, and his thumbs caressed her cheeks.
“There you are,” he whispered. “Hart let me enter. I have to share what I discovered tonight. It couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”
She leaned into his hand as if famished for his touch. Before she got on that ship, at least she’d be able to give him a proper good-bye without the anger and anguish of their last meeting.
“I found the person stealing from me.” His eyes were so tender in their gaze, a quiver started in her chest and radiated throughout her body.
“Tell me.”
“The bookkeeper, Jameson.” With his other hand, he’d taken hers and laced their fingers together as if he couldn’t get enough of her. He studied their entwined hands. “It’s a sad story of why he did it, dearest. We’ll save it for later. We have much more important things to discuss.”
He drew a breath and kissed her slowly as if savoring something precious, then gently pulled away.
“Jameson prepared a list of all your withdrawals from your trust account and gave it to me. All the ones and sevens were marked with dashes and unique serifs. That’s how I discovered he was the thief. You solved it, sweetheart.” He stopped abruptly and held her gaze. “Will you forgive me?”
She could only nod as she battled not to get her hopes up.
“Thank you.” He closed his eyes and exhaled a shuttering breath, then reached into the pocket of his evening coat. “I found these in Jameson’s home. They’re the original documents that belonged in your family’s files along with the trusts. He’d stolen them from the solicitor’s office.”
He handed the papers to her. The first was a marriage certificate. She quickly gazed at the date and the names, then captured his gaze. He smiled, and she looked at the other, the angry letter from her father to her grandfather for not recognizing her parents’ Gretna Green marriage. Her hand flew to her mouth as tears of joy came from nowhere. “Does that mean…?”
Did she dare hope this nightmare might be over for her and Michael and her family? When he nodded, she leaned against his chest. His arms immediately surrounded her.
“Sweetheart, look at the last one.”
She leaned away and studied the letter from her father to her grandfather announcing her birth—after her par
ents’ marriage and proving she was twenty-five. Finally, she had every piece to the puzzle—the reason they married in Chelmsford and proof of her legitimacy.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“No. I’m the one who should thank you.” Michael’s voice soothed her with its huskiness. He cradled her head and coaxed her to lean into his strong chest, his scent and strength overpowering in his embrace. “After I left you at Lawson Court, I didn’t know where to turn or what to do. I was beside myself with grief and misgiving. I didn’t know how to repair the damage between us. Believe it or not, it was my mother who helped me.”
“The duchess?” The mortification still stung that his lovely mother knew about her ghastly confession.
Michael kissed the top of her head as if he revered her. “Yes. She had me escort her home from her charity and made me watch your good-bye to your siblings.”
She tensed in his arms. The earlier devastation on Julia’s face and the emptiness in Faith’s eyes still brought her pain. When Bennett’s stalwart demeanor broke into tears, it ripped her heart out of her chest and left it laying in Hyde Park. She loved them, and their agony almost made her stay.
“I’m so sorry you went through that,” he whispered into her hair. “I can’t imagine letting my sister or brother go.”
“It was horrible.” She couldn’t say anymore as her gaze clouded with hot tears again.
“My father met us with my account book when we arrived home. In no uncertain terms, he told me to find out what happened and bring you back.” A chuckle escaped. “I believe my parents were almost as devastated as I was at your pending departure.”
She pulled away to gauge his reaction. “Really?”
He nodded, then kissed her nose. His endearing attention caused her pulse to quicken.
“My father told me that my grandfather suffered a similar affliction.” He cupped her cheeks once again. “My grandmother, his duchess, had a head for numbers, and the duchy grew and prospered under their direction.”
The Luck of the Bride--The Cavensham Heiresses Page 31