Charlotte swallowed hard. “You don’t know the rest of it. You haven’t heard the worst, and when you do, I doubt you’ll be drawing sentimental conclusions.”
They walked a few steps farther before Charlotte gathered the courage to reveal her husband’s bold misdeeds. Voicing the truth aloud made it more real. And too she didn’t wish for Amelia, and thereby Lunden, to think poorly of her husband even though her heart broke further with every breath.
“Dearing purposely forced my father into ruin so he could step in, offer financial salvation, obtain a valuable share of railway stock and gain my hand in marriage.” Tears stung the corners of her eyes, but she did her best to resist, pinching her lids closed and wiping away the moisture. “Do you think I was an afterthought, or a means to prevent my father from seeking retribution should Dearing’s misdeed be exposed?”
“Oh.” It was a rare day when Amelia was speechless.
Charlotte waited, anticipating so much more than her friend’s quiet response. “Amelia?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know what to do. I’m married to a deceitful, despicable man. And worse, I love him dearly.” She sniffled in a desperate attempt to maintain her composure. “Should I confront him? Tell Father? All the while, I own a part of the guilt. I stole the box from his study. When he discovers what I’ve done, he’ll be livid.”
“What you’ve done?” Amelia’s eyes flashed with anger. “That should be your last worry. You’ve done nothing wrong. The larger question lies in the reason for what he’s done. With Dearing’s wealth and reputation, he had no need to behave so nefariously. Wouldn’t you have found him suitable? He’s handsome enough. Had he ever approached you before? Called on you to pay suit? Something doesn’t make sense here.”
“I agree, and I’ve often wondered. Before all of this, I enjoyed attention from suitors, but I never considered the future in earnest. There didn’t seem a need, and I spent all my time with my music. It was my family’s unexpected loss of security that brought about the change.
“Jeremy often seems at a loss for words. I assumed at first it was the awkwardness of our new marriage and then perhaps shyness that kept him reserved and locked away in his study. Despite his seeking me out, we were, in essence, married strangers. But then something changed, a shift in mood. It was small steps at first, a few words of conversation and laughter. Then, lately, our relationship has been more like it might have been if he’d courted me. I was encouraged to believe . . . until this.” Her voice went soft with sadness.
“There might be a logical reason he would employ extreme methods. I suspect you’ll never know until you confront him.”
Amelia was a problem solver, although Charlotte doubted her friend could find a way to repair a situation of this magnitude.
“I’ve tried to reason it out, find an explanation I can live with, but all I’ve accomplished is headache and heartache. Whenever I think of my parents’ distress and how solemn our house grew when they shared the burden of our crippling penury, I despise Dearing. How could he cause such pain for his own selfish reasons? None of it makes sense, yet I saw it with my own eyes, penned out neatly by his secretary.” She shook her head in frustration.
She’d lain abed all last night attempting to maintain outrage, but the intrusive memory of Dearing’s kiss repeatedly spoiled the effort and the dichotomy of both emotions tore her heart in two. She didn’t want to believe the worst. They’d only just begun to find their way to happiness, and now, through her snooping, she’d brought about a fate that couldn’t be ignored and, worse, extinguished any hope for the future.
“All isn’t lost.” Amelia managed an encouraging smile, though they both knew the seriousness of the situation.
“Was I just a means to an end? Can he truly love me considering his motive for our marriage?” She sighed, her heart heavy in her chest. “And should I love him in return?”
“No one can answer those questions but the two of you, though I suspect you’ll both need time and a lengthy conversation to see your way through this.” Amelia spoke with such determined intent, Charlotte dared believe it true. “Besides, who couldn’t love you? Or wouldn’t love you? The very idea is preposterous.”
Comforted by her friend’s teasing, they held hands and continued their walk, Charlotte’s mind busy in an attempt to distract her heart.
* * *
It was half past ten when Dearing awoke and, with a few choice curses, dressed quickly without the assistance of his valet. Sleep had proved evasive at first, keeping him awake through the wee hours, and he could only rationalize that condition caused him to oversleep. His heart and mind were definitely not at ease. With purposeful strides he took the stairwell and nearly collided with Hudson. The servant lingered so closely to the newel post, he almost obstructed passage.
“Good morning, Hudson.” Dearing inhaled a deep breath. “Is Lady Dearing at breakfast?” He intended to share the meal and then ask to speak to her abovestairs, where they wouldn’t be interrupted and the servants wouldn’t hear her tears or, worse, her anger.
“No, milord.” Hudson’s discomfit was palpable, the older servant at a loss to hide his concern.
“Out with it.” The day would bring about its own misery without additional household drama.
“Lady Dearing requested the carriage readied and left with her maid at sunrise.”
Dearing caught another curse on his tongue. His well-planned confession would have to wait until his lovely wife returned. “A day of shopping, I presume?”
His brain quickly cataloged a series of unlikely departures from Dearing House at odd hours despite his insistence that Charlotte tell him whenever she left the premises. Something was wrong. Hudson still appeared upset, and a chill of foreboding overtook the hall. Had the butler seen something last evening? Was something nefarious afoot? Could the two matters be intertwined?
“Lady Dearing required a footman’s assistance, milord.”
Hudson’s reluctant admittance did nothing to convince Dearing a sense of impending doom was unwarranted. “For what reason?”
“Her traveling valise, milord.”
“Her valise?” He skewered Hudson with a glare that had the servant speaking faster.
“Lady Dearing stated she planned to visit the Duke and Duchess of Scarsdale indefinitely.” Hudson’s eyes flared with the retelling. He finished in a distressed tone, thereby communicating he believed Charlotte’s departure was definite after all. “She took her cat.”
One didn’t pack a trunk and collect the cat if only for a short visit.
Dearing’s pulse leaped to a gallop. “This isn’t your doing, Hudson.” He advanced toward the hall, yet he stalled a pace later. He’d almost forgotten Faxman’s injury and the trespasser. “Did you notice anything unusual last evening? Did you see a stranger outside Dearing House or otherwise detect any noises beyond the most mundane?”
“Nothing, milord.” Hudson shook his head, his expression curious. “Lady Dearing came home and met with Lord Mallory in the drawing room. She must have kept the visit short and seen the gentleman out, as she did not call for refreshments or my assistance.”
“Mallory?” What the devil? “Why was this information kept from me, Hudson?”
“You returned after I’d retired and have only just awoken, milord.” Hudson didn’t continue, though the natural assumption that his wife would relay the news seemed to hang in the air with a persistent voice of its own.
Mallory was an issue that needed to be solved. The intruder was best left in the hands of a Runner. “Someone accosted Faxman in the study last evening. When I returned, I found him sprawled on the carpet after he’d been struck from behind. I planned to examine my papers this morning with fresh eyes and new light, but finding Lady Dearing away from home requires my immediate attention. I’ll need my horse as soon as possible.”
“Very well, milord.”
Dearing bolted from the hall and into his study, where he took in
the interior with exacting detail. Most everything had been displaced, but most notably, the largest drawer on his desk remained open the width of two fingers. He approached, aware without a second glance the certificate of Middleton Railway stock was gone. It made sense. Mallory was the lowest feeder on the social chain of character. Yet Dearing didn’t care a bit.
Charlotte was safe. Faxman would be fine. Now to more important things.
He strode to the far wall and stared at the bookcase in a moment of incisive determination and then cleared the third shelf with one sweep of his hand. Hauling his desk chair into position, he snaked his arm into the hidden panel and discovered his worst fear. The reality of the moment struck him hard, a hammer to the heart, leaving him as empty as the concealed compartment.
He removed himself from the bookcase slowly, dropped into the chair and closed his eyes. He’d worked tirelessly to prevent Charlotte from knowing the depth of his dishonesty, but he’d failed, not just in this, but in all things. And at that, he hardly believed they could survive the wreckage of his deceit.
He opened his eyes and waited, as if by doing so the solution would permeate his brain. Faxman chose the inopportune moment to enter, though one glance in his direction had the secretary stalled in midstep.
“Should I return later, milord?”
Dearing could imagine how he appeared, slouched in his desk chair amid the clutter, utter devastation etched into his face. “Why are you here, Faxman?” He collected himself and with a deep breath rose from the chair. “Has the knock on your head rattled your brain?” He didn’t offer the chance to reply. “Get yourself home. I won’t be available today. I have an important appointment.”
The secretary pulled a wary glance.
“You heard me correctly, Faxman. Take the day. Let’s make it a paid holiday. Do something worthwhile and unexpected. You have a little one at home, don’t you? Spend some time walking in the park while the sun’s high.” Dearing decided his course as neatly as if he’d swung a sextant across one of his maps. He had no time to waste and too much ground to claim.
“Thank you.” Faxman seemed startled by the sudden and unusual suggestion. “She’s growing so quickly, and I’ve already missed some of the finer moments.” The secretary picked up his satchel from where he’d only set it a moment before. “In the wise words of my father, one can’t go back and make a new beginning, but one can always begin again and make a new ending.”
“Indeed.” With his own thoughts pressing in, Dearing almost missed Faxman’s comment, the message finely tuned to his predicament.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dearing rode like the devil chased him, the wind in his face, and by the time he’d arrived at Beckford Hall exhausted but determined, he’d considered his argument. He loved Charlotte, and despite the misguided choices he’d made, he couldn’t foresee a future without her. Somehow, he would convince her of that truth.
He handed off his mount to a lad at the stables and rounded the gravel path to the front door, where a butler took his card and deposited him inside an intimidating room of dark wooden paneling and navy-blue detail. It was very ducal and reminded any guest left to wait he was of lesser rank than the owner of the premises.
Scarsdale entered swiftly, though he didn’t smile in greeting. They shook hands, but by the nature of his expression Scarsdale communicated this was not to be an easy conversation.
“What is this about, Dearing?”
Where to start? How to answer? For all his contemplation, Dearing hesitated. Would the duke appreciate frank honesty or a subtler approach to the subject? He wanted to speak to Charlotte above all else. “You can’t keep my wife from me.” The words were out before he considered any others.
Scarsdale chuckled, and the sound reverberated in the otherwise quiet room. “I can and I will. Charlotte is a guest in my home and therefore under my protection.”
“She doesn’t need protection.” Dearing took a step closer. They had yet to claim chairs. It would appear the discussion was to be as difficult as he’d anticipated.
“That’s debatable.” Scarsdale turned and strode behind his desk. He dropped into the leather chair, the position magnifying his authority.
“Come now, Scarsdale, you know me.” In truth, their wives were as close as sisters, though Dearing had only spoken to His Grace a handful of times, most recently at his own wedding celebration, but that had been attended by so many people, it offered little privacy for meaningful conversation.
“I don’t know you,” Scarsdale replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “Not well enough. I know what I’ve been told by my wife and her dearest friend. And I know what’s said about you. Talk at the club paints you as a ruthless businessman who pursues what he wants with relentless fervor without a care for the consequences.” A hard beat of silence followed. “Now it seems you’ve used those same callous tactics with Lady Charlotte and I can’t say I approve.”
“It isn’t that way.”
“Are you suggesting my wife distorted the truth?” Scarsdale’s voice gained a menacing tone.
Dearing exhaled thoroughly. “Not at all. The ladies don’t have the truth in entirety and therefore are only able to judge my actions by a portion of information.”
“So enlighten me, Dearing.” Scarsdale leaned back in his chair, his stare unyielding. “And then perhaps I’ll reconsider.”
* * *
“Dearing is here.” Amelia burst into Charlotte’s room, Pandora and Shadow chasing her skirts in a blur of black fur. “That’s a very good sign.”
“In what way?” Charlotte stopped her pacing, though her heart launched into a frantic beat. She’d hoped her husband would follow her. Didn’t that prove his affection? Or was it ridiculous to cling to every sliver of his actions as evidence he wasn’t the villain?
“The only way for the two of you to understand and plan a future is by working together.” Amelia stooped and collected Shadow in her arms, much to the objection of Pandora.
“But what he did is appalling, unscrupulous, deceitful—”
“Imagine how much he wanted you, then.”
“I don’t wish to believe the worst.” Charlotte sat on the edge of the mattress and laced her fingers in her lap in an attempt to calm her emotions. It didn’t work.
“Scarsdale’s with him now.” Amelia settled beside Charlotte and handed off the kitten. “If anyone can elucidate the truth, my husband can.”
“What if the truth reveals the worst?” She despised herself for admitting her fear, but at least Amelia would comfort her in return.
“Then we’re all the better for seeing Dearing for the man he is and not the man we want him to be.” Amelia rose and walked to the door. “Though I don’t believe he’s mean-spirited. I never have. My interactions with him have been limited, colored by what you’ve told me of your marriage and its difficult beginning, but just as I held fast to my belief that Scarsdale hid a tender heart beneath layers of uncomfortable regret, I believe there’s more to Dearing’s actions.”
“I hope so.” Charlotte breathed a little easier. “I love him, Amelia.” Her voice broke as tears threatened, but she wouldn’t allow them to materialize. “And hold fast to the changes our marriage experienced of late because now he has my heart.”
“We won’t allow him to break it, then.”
Charlotte tried for a smile, the outlandish suggestion and confidence of her friend’s comment enough to lighten the mood.
“Why don’t you take some air? The flower gardens behind the house served us well when you arrived, and the orchids are in bloom along the eastern path. There’s still an hour or two before dinner. I’ll join you if you’d like.”
“No, thank you. I need to sort my thoughts before talking with Dearing. It’s difficult for me to understand his motives, but at the same time, I feel as if I’m betraying my father by loving the man who brought about such hardship and distress.” She rose and reached for her pelisse where it rested on a chair. “Scarsdale
wouldn’t send him away, would he?”
“No,” Amelia answered quickly. “But I’ll speak to him once he’s come from his study, and if there’s anything to share, I’ll find you among the flowers.”
Amelia slipped from the room without Pandora and Shadow, who lazed on the floorboards in a collection of fractured sunbeams. Anxious for a respite from the knowledge Dearing remained in the house, Charlotte went downstairs and out the back door into the gardens. A few ominous, pewter-colored clouds threatened to obliterate the sun, but for now they hadn’t succeeded, and she took the winding path deeper into the lawns in search of clarity and resolve.
Eventually, she settled on a limestone bench beside the orchids. Their fragrant beauty offered a peaceful calm. This was what she needed: absolute quiet and the hope her heart and mind would negotiate a truce.
* * *
Dearing found her among the orchids, her complexion as pale and delicate as the blooms near her feet. Scarsdale had dismissed him with a congenial suggestion he peruse the estate’s library. Dearing wasn’t fooled by the polite invitation to stay out of sight, and he had no intention to abide by it. He’d come to speak to Charlotte, and allowing more time to pass, time that could harden her heart against him, was unthinkable. So, after a brief search within the house, he’d ventured to the gardens. It was late afternoon and the air held a chill, a signal the weather would take a turn, but he followed the slates deeper into the acreage, uncaring of anything besides finding his wife.
And then he did.
He stood motionless in observation, not unlike those first few gatherings where he’d come to appreciate her music and admire her beauty, unsure of how he could ever capture her interest. But that was before he’d machinated the situation that tore them apart now.
He might have exhaled too loudly, or mayhap she’d heard the pounding of his heart, because she glanced over her shoulder and spotted him at several paces. She rose from the bench, her expression stricken and eyes wide, and he put his palm up flat, not knowing if she meant to flee. He didn’t wish to startle her and add another sin to a growing list. She looked at him directly. If only she could see inside his heart.
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