It was apparent from the way Carpenter eyed her that he hoped she’d sign the document. Even now, he was pushing the quill nearer to her hand. Marlee took it. Carpenter sighed in apparent relief while Marlee held the quill between her fingers and silently read the document. It was as Mr. Carpenter had told her. If she signed, her fortune was entrusted to her husband, but if not…
“What happens if I don’t sign, sir?”
Her question clearly took Carpenter unawares. “But—you must. Lord Richard married you only—”
“To claim my fortune,” she finished the sentence for him. “Yes, I’ve been reminded about that a number of times today. But this has come as more than a surprise to me and I don’t want to be rushed. You can understand, can’t you?” She placed the quill on the table.
“Yes,” Carpenter countered with a grimace because he understood only too well. Lady Marlee Arden was going to assure herself a place at Arden Manor by not signing immediately. He’d not intended to dupe the young woman, because he was fond of her, at least as fond of her as a solicitor could be of a client. But Arden’s interests meant a lot to him, too. He’d served the Ardens for a number of years and felt duty bound to extricate young Richard out of his latest financial mess. By doing so, he’d also helped Marlee Stafford obtain a husband and a position that few young women in her class could hope to achieve. He already knew that Richard would insist upon an annulment if Marlee didn’t agree to turn her money over to her husband.
Yet Carpenter sensed her hesitancy and decided that delaying the signature might not be a bad idea. Considering the tragedy he’d left behind at Arden Manor, Marlee might be a widow before she was given the chance to be a proper wife. Once again he looked at his watch. “Since you’re unwilling to sign, my lady, I must leave. Lord Arden awaits me.”
Marlee rose when Hollins did. A puzzled expression puckered her forehead when he rolled the document and placed it in his jacket pocket. He started for the door and her voice halted him. “Mr. Carpenter, I’ll pack only a few things and will be ready to leave shortly. Please be seated and wait.”
“I should like to wait, my lady, but the day grows short and I promised Lord Arden I’d hurry back.”
“But surely you’re going to escort me to Arden. Morning will be soon enough to leave.”
“I-I can’t. I must hurry back. When Lord Richard is well, he’ll send a carriage for you. Now, I really must go.”
With a quickness Marlee didn’t know Hollins possessed, he scooted from the room and out of the house like a cat who’d spotted a dog. She stood in stunned silence, not feeling anything, barely thinking until the shocking reality of what had just happened hit her like a toppling house.
She’d been abandoned.
A cry of dismay tore from her throat. She’d been foolish to marry Richard Arden. He must have known about the document all along and played his cards that once he’d married her, she’d have no choice but to sign. But she hadn’t signed and that was the problem.
Carpenter must have been under orders to leave her at the McBrides if she didn’t entrust her fortune to the baron. She’d bet that her husband would allow her to rot here before he did the honorable thing and sent for her. He’d bestowed his name and title upon her but she was nothing to him other than a means to an end. But so was he.
More than anything she wanted a home and a husband. Even a rakish mate was preferable to remaining with her aunt and uncle in a remote village where she had as much chance of finding a husband as capturing a rainbow with her bare hands. And if it meant turning over her assets to the mercenary cad she’d married…
“I’ll sign my fortune away,” she hissed under her breath at the closed front door, “but Richard Arden won’t be rid of me so easily.”
And with that invective hanging in the air, Marlee rushed to her room and began preparations for her trip to Arden Manor.
CHAPTER
TWO
Lark Arden sat in silent disbelief in the large library at Arden Manor. The dusty tomes lining the shelves hadn’t been perused in years. Lark thought that the last person to touch the vellumed volumes had probably been his grandfather. Most certainly his cousin, Richard, hadn’t spent any time reading to enrich his mind, what little of one he’d possessed when he wasn’t out whoring or gambling away the family fortune. Because of the cobwebs hanging from the corners of the high ceilings and the musty scent permeating the air, Lark surmised that no servants had cleaned or opened the room since his grandfather’s death years ago.
He now knew Hollins Carpenter had told him the truth about Lord Richard Arden, the late Baron of Arden Manor. The man had been penniless.
“Damn the deceitful man!” Lark muttered, his exasperation clear in the way he rose from his chair to savagely pull back the dark green drapes and to throw open the window. Golden sunshine tumbled into the room, highlighting the overall neglect.
Simon Oliver, Lark’s childhood friend, gazed in consternation at Lark and repositioned himself in a large chair, upholstered in a plaid fabric which was so faded it was difficult to determine the original colors. “Don’t speak ill of the dead, Lark. Your cousin is gone and can’t defend his actions.”
Turning from the window, Lark’s ebony hair fell across his forehead and nearly obscured his blacker than pitch-colored eyes. Within the depths of those eyes burned red-tipped flames so angry was he by the unexpected turn of events. “For heaven’s sake, man, Richard was a ne’er-do-well and knew it. If I’d have known the true state of affairs here, I’d never have left Virginia,” Lark admitted before hurriedly amending, “Yes, I’d have come here if only to strangle my cousin and the inept solicitor in his employ.”
“You don’t mean that,” Simon said with a calmness that soon transferred itself to Lark. “You’ve suffered a great shock. You know you wouldn’t have harmed your unfortunate cousin, though I admit he must have been quite a rakish bastard from the tales I’ve heard about him.”
“Yes, yes, he was.” Lark pulled off his brown velvet jacket and threw it onto the back of his chair. The startling white of his ruffled shirt enhanced the remnants of his tan. It had been a long time since he’d been out in the open seas, working alongside his crew in the scorching sun of the Caribbean. He missed the sound of the waves crashing against the hull, longed for the warm sea breezes against his bare skin. He ached once again to see the night sky, filled with billions of twinkling stars and a moon so bright it caused the ship to be bathed in silver. Lark had planned to experience these things again, to feel the swelling surge of the sea beneath his feet as he undertook the most important mission of his life.
But Richard Arden had destroyed his plans, his hopes, his mission. Damn Richard for spending Lark’s own inheritance to boot! Damn Hollins Carpenter for letting him!
Lark folded his arms across his chest and addressed the fair-haired Simon, a man who was as different from Lark in both temperament and looks. In all of the years Lark had known Simon, he’d never seen Simon lose his temper. “I wish now I had claimed my money years ago, after Grandfather died. I’m sorry my father couldn’t make peace with him, that I listened to him when he ordered me not to use the money. At the time, I didn’t need it; Arden’s Grove didn’t need it.”
He thought with longing of the large plantation along the banks of the James River, not far from Williamsburg. He wondered how his mother fared in running it without him. But she’d run it when he was off to sea, hunting down pirates, and she’d taken charge after his return when he was so ill and near death. During his recovery, he learned the overseer had planted only tobacco, depleting the once rich and fertile soil, making a quick profit and absconding with the money. Lark had put all of his available cash into recouping his losses. Nothing was left to outfit a ship and crew. He didn’t blame his mother for the plantation’s calamity; she’d been under duress because of his father’s death. But Lark did blame someone else, a conniving and despicable human being—the pirate Manuel Silva—a man whom Lark intended to hunt
down and kill.
“I wish I could lend you the money,” Lark heard Simon say, “but my father keeps a tight rein on my funds until I turn twenty-five in six months’ time. If you could wait until then…”
“I appreciate the offer, friend, but time is a luxury I can ill afford these days.”
“Yes, I know.”
“If only Richard wouldn’t have taken out the wildest stallion in the stables and been thrown by the blasted animal on the day of our arrival. God! Do you realize the odds of such a thing happening? I think I’m cursed, I truly believe I am. So many terrible things have happened-over the last few months—” Lark broke off, unable to think about the horrible things he’d endured, unable to dwell upon the unthinkable which must have befallen the helpless young woman who’d been entrusted to his care. “Somehow I have to get the money I need to outfit a proper ship and crew,” he spoke determinedly but grew quiet when the housekeeper and only servant, Mrs. Mort, appeared in the doorway.
“I’ve brought you tea, my lord,” she said and entered the room with a silver tray and tea service atop it. She was a plump woman with gray hair and the largest pair of green eyes Lark had ever seen. Her dark brown dress was made of sturdy gingham and the white cap she wore was immaculately clean. Though she bobbed a curtsy to Lark after she poured the tea, her demeanor was stiff and frozen, a clear indication to Lark that she didn’t like him or care to address him in the same manner as Richard Arden. And why should she like him? To her, he was a usurper, a stranger who had inherited Richard’s title and home upon Richard’s untimely demise. Lark recalled how diligently she’d nursed Richard after the accident, how she’d stayed by his bedside and called him her “lamb.” She’d taken care of Richard when he was a child, and no matter his faults, Mrs. Mort remembered him as a sweet-faced little boy and not the reckless man he had become. Even now, two days after Richard’s death, the woman’s eyes were still red-rimmed.
Lark, too, was aggrieved by Richard’s death but not because he’d cared about him. The two men had never met until the day Lark arrived in Cornwall, the day Richard suffered his fatal fall. To Lark’s consternation, Carpenter had taken off for God knew where and left a delusional Richard. Richard lingered in agony for five days with a back injury and mumbled some gibberish about a wealthy bride. Lark and Simon, with the help of Mrs. Mort, had done all they could for Richard, who refused a doctor. But Lark doubted a physician could have helped Richard. His injuries were too extensive.
Shortly after Carpenter returned, Richard took a turn for the worse.
Wanting to leave Cornwall as soon as possible, Lark requested his inheritance from Hollins Carpenter who was forced to admit the truth. There was no money—no money at all. Richard had spent his own fortune and pilfered Lark’s. Carpenter admitted he didn’t know that Richard’s gaming debts were so great. Lark’s grandfather, the old baron, had entrusted Lark’s inheritance to Richard upon his death. Carpenter had no control over the money, but if it was any consolation, the manor and the title were now Lark’s. Perhaps he could sell the estate?
Even now to think about selling this moldy, decaying crypt of a house offered Lark little hope of raising enough money for his mission. With the house and grounds in such deplorable shape, little chance existed in attracting a buyer. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, Simon,” Lark solemnly intoned. “The fates have conspired against me.”
A knock discreetly sounded on the library door and Lark gruffly ordered the person inside. Hollins Carpenter entered with a frown that caused his spectacles to dangle on the tip of his long, thin nose. He carried a piece of parchment. “Forgive me, my lord, but I wish a word with you alone.”
Lark couldn’t get used to being addressed in such a way by Hollins or Mrs. Mort. He gestured the solicitor to a chair. “You may speak freely in front of Mr. Oliver.”
“If that is your wish, my lord.”
The man, whom Lark appraised as about forty, appeared uneasy as he sat down. His face was flushed and he raked a hand through his graying hair. “There’s a matter I must speak of, my lord, something I’ve neglected.”
Lark flexed his broad shoulders. “Good God, man, don’t tell me any more bad news about my inheritance.”
Mr. Carpenter swallowed hard, seemingly cowed by Lark’s superior build and strength. “Uh, no, but perhaps my news might affect you indirectly.”
“How is that?” Lark toyed with a letter opener, not taking his gaze from the solicitor.
“I failed to mention to you that your cousin had married,” Carpenter hurriedly spoke. “The day after Richard’s accident I journeyed to the young lady’s home at his request. He was very ill but still he wished to marry the woman who had accepted his suit. The ceremony was performed by proxy and was somewhat of a surprise to her. You see, she and her family didn’t expect me to arrive, but Lord Arden. Well, of course, I couldn’t tell them he was injured and might not survive. In fact, I believed he would be all right, as did he. Otherwise, a marriage wouldn’t have been necessary.”
“Yes,” Lark noted sourly. “A dead man couldn’t be a bridegroom.”
“Exactly.”
“Go on.”
“Well, Miss Stafford, or rather Lady Arden now, expressed her desire to come here, but I thought it was best to make a hasty retreat before answering her. I had to see how things were with Lord Arden first, to learn what he wished to do. Now there is little reason for her to come here at all, except I received this missive today.” Carpenter held out the letter to Lark. “Your cousin’s bride informs me she will soon be arriving. I’m amiss as to what I should do. Her husband isn’t here to greet her.”
Quickly scanning the very feminine penmanship, Lark raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Why tell me about any of this, Carpenter? You’re Richard’s solicitor.”
“Yes, yes, but you must realize, my lord, Marlee Stafford, er, Lady Arden, believes herself to be married to a healthy young man who is still living. Her aunt and uncle wanted her to marry for the title and estate. They’re rather common people, but Lady Arden inherited a large fortune from her father. She may not be an aristocrat by birth but by marriage, she is your cousin’s widow. And now you’re the Baron of Arden, while she believes herself to be the baroness. This unfortunate situation places both of us in uncomfortable positions.”
“You’re in an uncomfortable position, not I,” was Lark’s blunt comment to Carpenter. “Tell me about Marlee Stafford.”
“Lady Arden,” Hollins reminded Lark, “is an heiress, the daughter of a common laborer who managed to own a tin mine and made a fortune. She has lived with her aunt and uncle for eight years, but from what I’ve seen of the girl, she’s never fit in very well with them. Different, I suppose you’d say, much too pretty and bright.”
“Why did Richard choose to marry a common wench or need I ask?”
Hollins sighed. “Her fortune, my lord, is too great to be overlooked. I admit I informed Lord Arden about Lady Marlee. I knew he was having a terrible time financially, and she was unable to find a husband because of the gossip about her—reputation.”
“Ah, I take it Lady Arden was too free with her favors.”
“I can’t say, but no decent young men offered for her. I suppose her wealth was too strong for Richard to resist. And I doubt her lack of reputation meant anything to him while his title and lands overpowered the McBride family. Thus, the aunt and uncle accepted his suit. I will say her father must have anticipated some problems with her fortune for he made a stipulation that after his daughter’s marriage the money would pass to her husband only upon her signature on the necessary paperwork.”
Lark tapped his fingers on the parchment. “Has she signed yet?”
“No, my lord.”
“I see, Mr. Carpenter.”
“Do you, my lord? I trust you do. I hope when Lady Arden arrives she won’t be too upset over her husband’s death. But she shouldn’t be since she never met him in the flesh.”
“A most unfortunate and di
stressing situation for the young woman,” Lark proclaimed and rose from his chair. He walked across the room to the window and gazed down at the rocks and pounding surf on the beach below him.
“Yes, my lord,” Carpenter hastily agreed. “Your cousin was many things, and not all of them pleasant, but he didn’t deserve such a cruel and painful end. Lady Arden doesn’t deserve never to have a beginning.”
“Quite right, Carpenter.”
“Then I trust I have your permission to explain to the young woman about your cousin’s death.” Carpenter looked expectantly at Lark but a minute passed without an answer. Even Simon raised a quizzical eyebrow at the lengthy silence. “My lord?” Carpenter queried with a furrowed brow to Lark’s back. “Did you hear me?”
Lark was quiet for a few more seconds. Then he turned to face Carpenter and Simon with a serious but detached demeanor. “My hearing is unimpaired, I assure you. Gentlemen, I believe my money problem is solved, but only if I have your fullest cooperation.” His gaze encompassed Simon and Hollins Carpenter.
“You have mine, my lord,” Hollins readily assured Lark but Simon remained silent.
Taking his place behind the large desk which had once belonged to his grandfather, Lark took a deep controlling breath. He didn’t like what he planned to do, in fact he hated it, but there was only one way to reclaim what Richard had stolen from him, only one path opened to get the money he needed to fulfill his mission. He said confidently, “When Lady Arden arrives at Arden Manor, she shall meet her husband and be more than willing to sign away her fortune.”
Hollins slowly stood up, a puzzled expression on his plain face. “I don’t understand, my lord. Richard Arden is dead.”
“Ah, Carpenter, must I explain it to you? Am I not Lord Arden, Baron of Arden Manor?”
Pirate Hunter's Mistress (The Virginia Brides) Page 2