The Importance of Being Wicked (Millworth Manor)

by Alexander, Victoria

  “It is fortunate they were saved from the fire.”

  “Oh my, yes.” She shuddered. “I don’t even want to think how devastated he would have been had they been destroyed. The things that we did lose were bad enough.” She paused for a long moment and Miranda wondered if she was thinking about all those family treasures that were lost. “You must understand, Lady Garret, Winfield has not been the same since the fire.”

  “I suspect none of you are the same,” Miranda said slowly. “I can’t imagine how horrible it would be to lose those things that are irreplaceable.”

  “Life goes on though, doesn’t it? And we must carry on to the best of our abilities.”

  “Of course.”

  “I never dreamed I would call Winfield stodgy or stiff.” Lady Fairborough heaved a heartfelt sigh. “But his responsibilities seem to weigh heavier on him now than they did before the fire. It’s to be expected, I suppose, but he’s always been so lighthearted and amusing and witty. Women in particular have always found him charming. Extremely so.”

  “So I have heard,” Miranda said dryly.

  “Are you speaking of his reputation?”

  “It’s nothing more than gossip, mind you. There have been stories . . . here and there. . . .” Miranda’s voice trailed off helplessly. It was one thing to discuss a man’s amorous reputation with a friend and quite another to talk about it with his mother.

  “I am well aware of them. Most of them, anyway. Although I daresay there could be those I have yet to hear of, which is probably for the best.” Lady Fairborough chuckled. “He did have a bit of a misspent youth, but then what spirited young man doesn’t?”

  Miranda smiled weakly.

  “However, he never acted dishonorably, he never ruined a young woman’s life and he was never involved in any sort of unforgivable scandals. As far as I know, that is, and I daresay I would know.” She shook her head. “You would be surprised at the delight some people take in telling you the most dreadful stories about your offspring. However, most of his dubious misdeeds are long behind him.” She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Unless you are referring to his engagements, which admittedly have not cast him in the best light.”

  Miranda drew a deep breath. “One does wonder . . .”

  “As is only natural.” Lady Fairborough pressed her lips together in a firm line. “But things are not always as they appear, my dear.”

  “It’s been my experience that they rarely are.”

  “How very wise of you to understand that.” She refilled Miranda’s cup. “The earl and I haven’t been abroad in years. We intend to travel when all is settled here.” She handed her back her cup. “Including our son.”

  “What do you mean by settled?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Nothing in particular.” She shrugged.

  “Grayson is home now and will soon be wed. I simply wish to see both of my boys settled and happy.”

  “As any mother would,” Miranda said cautiously.

  “Have you ever considered that there is something to be said for a wicked man?”

  Miranda started. “Well, I—”

  “Lord Fairborough was quite wicked when we first met.” The countess stirred sugar into her cup. “I must tell you there is nothing more fun than having a wicked man.”

  Miranda choked on her tea.

  “And then”—Lady Fairborough flashed a smug smile—“reforming him.”

  Miranda cleared her throat. “Forgive me for being blunt, but why are you telling me all this?”

  “Why?” Lady Fairborough’s eyes widened innocently. “No reason in particular, I suppose. I was simply making idle chatter. The mention of Winfield’s engagements did lead me to think about wicked reputations in general and well, there you have it.” She shrugged. “It does seem like forever since I had tea with a friend.” She reached over and patted Miranda’s hand. “And I do hope we will be friends.”

  Miranda smiled with relief. “I would like that.”

  “Now.” The countess straightened and picked up a biscuit. “You should try the biscuits, they are excellent.”

  Miranda selected a biscuit and took a bite. It was indeed very good.

  “Do tell me the latest news about your family. I can’t remember the last time I saw your mother. I read your brother’s last book. I must say . . .”

  The older lady chatted on and Miranda responded as needed. It was, all in all, the kind of chat she might have had with any friend or female relation although she couldn’t quite dismiss the growing conviction that Lady Fairborough wanted nothing more than for her son to find fiancée number four and for whatever reason, she considered Miranda a suitable candidate. That was certainly not going to happen.

  For one thing, he didn’t especially seem to like her. Admittedly, every time he had made an attempt to be witty or charming she had cut him off. She wasn’t entirely sure why. Although there were any number of reasons. Even though she had told Clara she intended to be more amenable to his lordship’s charms she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do so. Not that he had made any particular effort to charm her. Which was most annoying. But she did wish to appear professional and certainly Lord Stillwell would not flirt with her if she were a man.

  Then there was that whole business about the appeal of a wicked man. She would never admit to Lady Fairborough that she had always rather wanted a man who was a bit wicked. Not that she would ever have one. She was not the type of woman to seek out a man of that nature, and they certainly didn’t fall into her lap. She was not unattractive but considered herself more ordinary in appearance than truly pretty. Rakes and rogues did not attempt the seduction of women of ordinary appearance and reserved demeanor. Which was for the best, really. She wasn’t nearly strong enough to handle such a creature and he would surely break her heart. She would much prefer to avoid that, thank you very much.

  Still, his lordship had said she was the kind of woman who got what she wanted and would use whatever means necessary to do so. She’d never thought of herself that way. Indeed, she’d always thought she was rather weak-willed and acquiescent. His assessment had been surprising and most flattering, even if he obviously didn’t mean it as a compliment. Perhaps she was changing, evolving as it were. Or perhaps she already had. It was a shocking idea and oddly satisfying.

  Finally, Miranda gently but firmly insisted it was time for her to take her leave if she was to return to London at a reasonable hour.

  “I quite enjoyed our little chat, Lady Garret. We shall have to do it again.” Lady Fairborough accompanied her to the parlor door. “And do give my best to your mother.”

  “Lady Fairborough.” Miranda chose her words with care. “Might I say something to you in the strictest confidence?”

  “A secret?”

  “More or less.”

  Lady Fairborough shook her head in a mournful manner. “Oh, I’m afraid I’m not very good at keeping secrets. Especially if it is a particularly juicy, scandalous secret. They simply beg to be passed on. Is it? Especially juicy and scandalous, that is?”

  “No, not really.” Perhaps if she underestimated the extent of the secret the older woman would be less inclined to share it. And in truth, as secrets went, this one was relatively minor. At least when compared with the pursuit of a divorce. Not that it mattered really. This particular secret’s days were already numbered. “It’s no more than mildly interesting.”

  “Oh.” Lady Fairborough’s face fell. “Well, I daresay I can keep that. Please, go on.”

  “My mother, and the rest of my family, have no idea of the extent of my involvement with Garret and Tempest. That I am here representing the firm.”

  “I see.” Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “And you’re afraid they will disapprove?”

  “To my knowledge, there has never been a woman in my family engaged in business. I am unique in that regard. To be honest, I have no idea what my family’s reaction might be.” Without thinking, she squared her shoulders. “Not that it matte
rs, really. Of course, now that I have taken Mr. Clarke’s place on this project they will, no doubt, learn of this eventually, but I would prefer to tell them myself.”

  “Very courageous of you, my dear.” Lady Fairborough nodded approvingly. “It’s not easy to stand up to one’s family. But, of course, you haven’t done that yet, have you?”

  The woman’s pleasant smile took the bite out of her words.

  Miranda smiled. “Apparently I’m not as courageous as you thought.”

  “Or you let your head lead your heart. It’s very sensible of you.” Her gaze locked with Miranda’s. “Or very foolish.”

  “Excellent timing, Chapman.” Win closed the library door behind him and waved his visitor to the chair positioned in front of the desk in the library. “Lady Garret left a good half an hour ago.” He took his seat behind the desk and drew a deep breath. “Have you found out anything?”

  “I have,” Phineas Chapman said in a mild manner that seemed at odds with the man’s reputation as a tenacious investigator. But then Win wasn’t sure what he had expected. “However, it seems there are more questions than answers at this point.”

  Chapman was the stepbrother of Viscount Billingsworth. He had been raised alongside the large Billingsworth brood and was the youngest of the lot. Chapman was considered quite brilliant and had started out in scholarly endeavors. Apparently that life did not prove especially interesting and Chapman had turned his inquisitive mind to the ferreting out of secrets and locating that which had gone missing, be it an object of value or a person. He was both successful and discreet, which made him highly sought after by those in society who needed his services. Services which were, as well, not inexpensive. Win had learned all this before their first meeting from Camille, whose information as always came from Beryl. Win did like to know exactly who he was dealing with. Camille had also informed him that Chapman was quite dashing with dark hair and piercing green eyes, which was neither here nor there to Win but probably did come in handy in Chapman’s line of work.

  “Go on.”

  “Much of what I have found out is common knowledge and you probably already know it.”

  “Let’s pretend I don’t.”

  “Very well.” Chapman pulled out a small notebook from an inner pocket of his coat and glanced at it. “Garret and Tempest was founded by Lady Garret’s late husband. His brother, then Viscount Garret, was either unable or unwilling to provide the funding necessary for his younger brother’s endeavor. A private investor, one Mr. Tempest, came forward with a sizable investment, thus funding the business.”

  Win stared. “Mr. Tempest is a financier then and not the architect?”

  “My lord.” Chapman met Win’s gaze firmly. “I prefer to reveal my findings in a chronological manner, much as I prefer to consider them in progression. I find it much more conducive to reaching a logical conclusion. Therefore, may I continue?”

  “Yes, well, I suppose. Go on then.”

  “Thank you. As I was saying, Mr. Tempest funded the company some nine years ago with the provision that the firm carry his name and, naturally, that he be repaid over time.”

  “Has the debt been repaid?”

  Chapman raised a chastising brow.

  “Yes, of course, you’ll get to that.”

  “Now, as they say, the plot thickens. According to the original agreement between Mr. Tempest and Lord Garret—Mr. Garret at the time—repayment was to be made out of the firm’s profits. According to what I have been able to discover, there were years when, after expenses and debts and salaries were met, there were no particular profits to speak of and no payments made to Mr. Tempest. In addition, it appears Lord Garret continued to borrow from Mr. Tempest and while the debt is no greater than the original sum, at the time of his lordship’s death it was not considerably smaller. As far as I can determine, Lady Garret has no knowledge of this financial discrepancy.”

  Win started to ask why Mr. Tempest didn’t demand payment but thought better of it and kept his mouth shut.

  “It wasn’t until a year after Lord Garret’s death, when Lady Garret began to take an active role in the company, that regular monthly payments were made.” He paused. “Even in those months when there were no profits to be had, she took money from her private funds, an inheritance from her family, some sort of trust, I believe, to make good on the debt. When there are profits, she not only makes that payment but she pays into an account she has set aside for her employees in the event the business fails and they lose their livelihood. Aside from Lady Garret, the firm has seven full-time employees, including a very attractive young woman, a Miss Clara West, who oversees the office and manages the accounts. She is the sister of the man who was killed with Lord Garret.”

  “And Mr. Tempest?”

  “He is not an employee.”

  “I see,” Win said slowly, then frowned. “No, I don’t. Who is this Mr. Tempest?”

  “At this point”—Chapman shrugged—“I have no idea.”

  “But he’s the architect.” Win got to his feet, strode across the library to the table, where the plans for Fairborough Hall were still spread out. “Right here.” He tapped the drawing. “This is his signature. Admittedly, he has done an excellent job even if he is an advocate of electricity, for God’s sakes. Surely there must be some record of him?”

  “Not insofar as I have been able to determine. The man has covered his tracks exceptionally well. If his purpose is to remain anonymous, he has done a brilliant job of it. Payments from Lady Garret go through a series of solicitors and bank accounts.” Chapman shook his head in an admiring manner. “I have not yet been able to get to the truth of it.”

  “But Lady Garret said he is the architect. At least I think she did.” Win returned to his chair and sank into it. “It could be she simply implied it.” He thought back over their conversations. “Nonetheless she did lead me to believe that. And I distinctly remember her saying that Mr. Tempest never meets with clients because it hinders his artistic creativity or something equally ridiculous.”

  “Regardless of what she might have said, I can find no evidence to support that. And, as far as I have been able to determine, no one at Garret and Tempest has ever met the man, including Lady Garret. Lord Stillwell.” Chapman leaned forward and met Win’s gaze directly. “I am fairly certain that not only is Mr. Tempest not your architect, but I am beginning to suspect as well that he does not exist at all.”

  Win stared. “How is that possible? He invested in Garret and Tempest.”

  “Someone invested in Garret and Tempest. Someone who has gone to a great deal of trouble to make certain his identity remains unknown.” Chapman paused. “I’m not certain this information is pertinent to what you specifically wanted to know. Do you wish me to pursue this line of inquiry?”

  Win waved off the question. “I don’t particularly care about who funded Garret and Tempest one way or the other, but I do want to know in whose hands I have placed the future of Fairborough Hall. And I want to know if and why Lady Garret found it necessary to deceive me.”

  “Then you wish me to uncover the name of the architect?”

  Win nodded. “I do indeed and as quickly as possible.”

  Chapman studied him. “Might I ask why? I have found nothing to indicate Garret and Tempest’s references are not legitimate. The firm has a good reputation. If you are happy with the work, does it matter?”

  “Perhaps not, but I do like to know exactly who I am dealing with. I hate to be taken for a fool, and frankly, at this point, I am feeling extremely foolish.” He had been right all along. Lady Garret was hiding something. “What can you tell me about Lady Garret?”

  “Unless one considers the question of Mr. Tempest, Lady Garret appears to be something of an open book.” He thought for a moment. “She is the youngest sister of the Earl of Waterston. She married John Garret, the brother of Viscount Garret, at the age of nineteen. They met at a lecture and shared a mutual interest in architecture. He inherited hi
s title a few months before his death. His death was due to the collapse of scaffolding during the construction of a house his firm had designed just outside of London.

  “Lady Garret has never been the subject of gossip, nor has she ever been implicated in scandal of any sort. While she has been involved in charitable work, she is not known to support more liberal causes, suffrage for women and that sort of thing. Indeed, among people who know her family she is considered the quietest and most reserved of the lot.”

  “Ha!” Win snorted.

  “Ha?”

  “Then she has changed, Chapman.” He shook his head. “The Lady Garret you describe is not the woman I have been dealing with.”

  “Oh?”

  “The Lady Garret of my acquaintance is determined and stubborn and entirely more outspoken than is seemly in a properly bred female.” He drummed his fingers on the desk. “She’s not the least bit quiet, and reserved is the last thing I would call her. She is one of those women who charges ahead, mowing over anyone foolish enough to stand in her way. And she regards me as an idiot.”

  “Not that, my lord.”

  Win ignored the tone in Chapman’s voice that did seem to imply, at this particular moment, that the other man agreed with Lady Garret. “This is not a personal matter, Mr. Chapman, it’s a matter of business. I have entrusted my family’s home to her firm, and I want to make certain it is in good hands. Lady Garret is hiding something, and I want to know what it is.” He rose to his feet. “Do I make myself clear?”