* * *
For the fourth day since their return to London, Colin remained away. Each morning, Lucy hoped to see him, and each evening she went to bed disappointed. She had hoped at least he would appear for the meeting Aidan had called to discuss how to assert her rights over the money and property she had inherited from her great-aunt. But Colin seemed to be holding to the plan he had outlined when he thought he would be married—Aidan and Walgrave would help her, and he would stay away. It hurt to think that he could throw away the gift that Em had given him, but at the same time, Lucy had to consider that he had finally realized—albeit months after her original fortnight deadline—that he did not in fact want to be married to her.
“As I see it, we have two paths, perhaps three.” Walgrave folded his long frame into one of the chairs across from Aidan’s desk. “Marner claims that in light of his cousin’s lunacy, he should be given oversight of her inheritance and lands. As long as Lucy remains missing, there is no bar to his argument. A judge might well give Marner the rights to her properties on the argument that they cannot go unmanaged.”
“Can we insist that the court appoint a manager other than Marner, one to be paid out of the estate funds?” Aidan looked over the judgments Walgrave had brought with him.
“Not without revealing that we act on behalf of Lady Fairbourne. If we do that, any judge of good conscience will demand she appear for a competency hearing. Given that she appeared as incompetent for months in the ton, they will likely prevail. If we lose, we might well also have to return her to her family,” Walgrave said soberly.
“We can’t have that.” Aidan marked a passage in one of the documents.
“But if we reveal that she is still in London, she becomes even more of a target.” Walgrave continued to outline the problems as he saw them. “As her heir, all Marner has to do is arrange for her to fall victim to some accident.”
“I’m not sure I like our options.” Sophia put her hand on Lucy’s elbow.
“Can we go back several steps?” Lucy felt puzzled. “Marner isn’t my heir.”
“They say they have a will, in your hand,” Walgrave explained.
“My will is at my solicitor’s. I wrote it and had it witnessed the day they took me.” She wrote down the address. “Here.”
Aidan took the note and nodded as he read it. “Reputable firm. We should be able to see a copy at the least.”
Walgrave scratched his head absently, “If we can show that Marner holds a forged will, using the will already filed with Lucy’s solicitor for comparison . . . actually, that might work. It would make the basis of the claim the documents themselves, not Lucy’s competence. Of course if we can’t demonstrate that Marner’s will is a forgery, we are back to the beginning.”
“Lucy, who is your beneficiary?” Aidan, sitting on the other side of her, touched her hand.
She blushed. “I wanted someone who would not interfere with my wishes or bend to the will of my cousin. Someone who could not be bribed or threatened. So, I made Colin my heir and executor.”
“Brilliant!” Walgrave threw his pencil into the air and caught it. “That’s the best news we could have heard. As your heir, Colin has a legal right to make inquiries into the state of your will. We can avoid the issue of competence entirely if Marner’s will proves to be forged.”
“It’s a shame that the Gray’s Inn solicitors who read Chancery suits are such a tight-knit bunch,” Aidan mused. “It would help if we could get an opinion—privately of course—of the possibilities of our success.”
“I used to know Sir Samuel Romilly, but poor chap killed himself last year when his wife died.” Walgrave thought aloud. “James Odum is in Ireland. The only other one we might be able to approach is Sir Cecil Grandison, but he’s a stickler.”
“Grandison?” Lucy was surprised to hear the name. “I was to deliver a letter to him from my great-aunt. But it was with my things at the boardinghouse, and I’m sure they have been long dispersed to the poor or discarded.”
Sophia looked up. “No, they haven’t been. I don’t know why I didn’t remember sooner—you could have used the dresses. When you were lost, Colin retrieved your belongings from your boardinghouse. He put them in a trunk in my attic. I’ll have my butler, Dodsley, deliver it.”
“As your heir, Colin will need to accompany you to meet with Grandison.” Aidan did not look up, so she could not see if he were serious or plotting. “While you and Sophia are finding your great-aunt’s letter, Walgrave and I will retrieve Colin from his club.”
“Then we had better take a mop. Last I heard, he was thoroughly drunk and had been for the better part of a week,” Walgrave said, without thinking, then bit his lip, glancing at Lucy.
“Lord spare me from honorable men.” Aidan motioned Walgrave to the door.
* * *
Lucy clutched Aurelia’s letter to Sir Cecil Grandison in her lap, as she and Colin waited in the solicitor’s study.
Colin had said nothing since he had been delivered to the ducal manor by Walgrave and Aidan, freshly bathed and hair still wet. He did not look at her. But the beginning of a bruise on his jawline suggested that he had not returned willingly.
The door opened, and Sir Cecil, preceded by a Scottish white terrier, strode authoritatively into the room.
A portly man of about sixty, Sir Cecil boasted a thick shock of white hair that curled around his ears and across his forehead. He waved them to two Queen Anne chairs. The dog—“Mutt”—sniffed Lucy’s shoes, then leapt onto a velvet ottoman, where he scratched in a circle before curling into a white ball. “Ah, Mutt likes you. You must have a dog, my dear.”
“Yes, Sir Cecil. A Newfoundland whose dam came from Malmesbury’s kennels.”
“Ah, great dogs, great dogs. As for me, I prefer the terriers. Ferocious animals, but often underestimated.”
“My great-aunt described you in much the same terms, Sir Cecil,” Lucy reminisced, and the great man blushed.
“Quite a woman, your aunt. Had I been ten years older, I might have thrown my hat in the ring for her hand, but she had already loved and lost, long before I met her.”
“She sent you a letter. It was written shortly before she died.” Lucy held out the fat envelope. “I would have delivered it sooner, but I have not been long in London.”
She watched as Sir Cecil carefully pried off the sealing wax without damaging the insignia, then let two miniatures fall into his hand along with a small folded packet in paper. “Ah, me. I didn’t think she would remember. Thank you, my girl, thank you. When I heard she had died, I feared they might be lost.”
The miniatures were in the style popular forty years before. “May I ask who they are?” Lucy ventured, but Sir Cecil was lost in her aunt’s letter. He read the pages slowly, turning over the first leaf, then returning to it, reading ahead, then doubling back. As he read, he rubbed his jaw, clean-shaven, with the forefinger and thumb of his hand. Then when he was finally done, he reviewed the envelope carefully.
“Well, my dear, I must assume that you do not know the contents of your aunt’s letter.”
“Why, sir?” Lucy felt confused, but Grandison did not answer, turning instead to Colin.
“And you, sir.” Grandison pointed a thick finger at Colin, one Lucy imagined he used to great effect in the courtroom. “I understand why Lady Fairbourne is here, and certainly I need to discuss her aunt’s letter with her. But I do not understand who you are and why you are here—at least in relation to Lady Fairbourne’s case.”
“Colin Somerville, sir, most recently, an agent of the Home Office.” Colin straightened in his chair as he answered. “As to the lady, I am her fiancé.”
Lucy bit her tongue and forced herself not to react, other than to nod blandly. But she vowed to kill him later. To use that ruse long after their work together was done and to a man who knew her aunt—it was unconscionable.
“Ah.” Grandison relaxed into his chair and regarded them both carefully. “I understan
d. You may remain.” Having dispensed with Colin, Grandison spoke to Lucy. “Now as for your aunt’s letter, Lady Fairbourne. Had you known its contents before now, you would either have gone to the magistrate to report a murder or you would have destroyed this piece of damning evidence.”
Lucy and Colin responded almost simultaneously.
“Murder?” Lucy tilted her head in question.
“Evidence?” Colin leaned forward in his chair.
“Yes, yes. To both, yes. Your aunt corresponded with me for some years about her growing concerns about your cousin Lord Marner’s avarice. After you arrived from the Continent and your aunt discovered the daughter she had always wanted, she wrote to me more frequently. In part, her questions were to ensure that your cousin would have no legal grounds to challenge her will. I helped her on that account—and my colleagues reviewed my work. But the other part of her letters dealt with her growing conviction that your cousin was stealing from the estate accounts. This sheet”—he held up one of the pages of the letter—“details his embezzlements.”
“But what about murder?” Colin interjected. “What evidence can a letter hold?”
“Nothing that will prevail in court, unfortunately.” Grandison held up the packet of paper. “Your aunt’s letter also details a number of illnesses she found suspicious. One evening, she felt unwell and chose not to drink a glass of milk her nephew had sent up to her. The next morning, powder had settled to the bottom of the glass. After that, she was more cautious about what she ate or drank, but in the end, she feared not cautious enough. While, with the portion she has sent me, we can determine what the powder is, we cannot prove—save for your great-aunt’s word—that your cousin is responsible. But this list is long, and your aunt was not a fool. Her request is not for herself, but for you, my girl. She asks that I aid you in whatever way I can. And I will, whenever you need my aid—now or in the future.”
“Then I would like to tell you my story.”
Grandison nodded, and Lucy began to lay out her tale, from the incident with the cat to her first escape, her capture, her second escape, and her current predicament. The old man listened with the patience of one who had spent his life listening to stories. And at the end, he specified in detail exactly what she should do.
* * *
During their meeting, Lucy only contained her anger with Colin by focusing on the advice Grandison offered. But once they left the great man’s house to walk to their carriage parked on the road, she felt her pent-up anger well up and spill over. So angry was she, that she did not even notice the girl selling apples on the corner or the large man with the pocket knife whittling her an animal from the Royal Menagerie.
Colin handed her in, then gave the driver an address she did not recognize. She waited until he had shut the carriage door before she spoke.
“Of all the arrogant, thoughtless, cruel—yes, cruel—things to do. Being engaged is not a game, Colin Somerville. You can’t claim it one week because it suits you, then decide against it the next. It is not a ploy to gather information. I agreed when we first met to the game of it because I never intended to marry, you or anyone. I had no friends in the ton. No one who would recognize me and force your hand. But Grandison—he knew my aunt. I’ve had tea with his wife. He knows my real name—and yours. And yet, you think to, to, to . . .”
“Marry you.” Colin spoke with conviction. “I think I’m going to marry you. In front of all our friends, my family, the ton, Grandison, his wife—and anyone you wish to invite. Then, after a banquet large enough to leave even Aidan reeling, we’re going to take a marriage tour. Anywhere you wish to go, and then we are going to find Em and make sure she is well and happy. And I’m going to thank her for knowing my mind better than I myself did.”
She turned her face to the window. For several minutes she watched the city pass by. “You can’t play with my heart like this.”
“But I’m not playing, dearest.” He turned her face to him. “I’ve spent the last week trying to reconcile my sense of duty with my desires. You would say my head with my heart. But I couldn’t somehow wrap my mind around how to do that until this morning, when I saw you again and my heart fell into my shoes. I realized I didn’t need to make a choice. I needed to acknowledge that the choice was already long made. Perhaps even from the moment you first agreed to kiss me. So, my darling, my dearest, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“But Grandison’s advice . . .” Lucy shook her head in disbelief.
“Had nothing whatsoever to do with my decision. I’d already declared I was your fiancé before Grandison said that the easiest solution was to marry.”
She searched his face. In his eyes, she found only sincerity and love. “Then yes, Colin. Yes, I will marry you.”
“Then, kiss me, my angel. And forgive me for being a fool.” His kiss was tender and sweet, then hungry and skillful.
Chapter Forty
Since marriage would provide Lucy with a new, powerful set of relations and by law make her husband the owner of all her property, everyone agreed that the marriage should take place as soon as possible. But Colin—having promised Lucy a large wedding—was unwilling to deny one to her, though she asserted over and over it didn’t matter. Eventually, however, she realized that it mattered to Colin.
They compromised on an estate wedding at Colin’s childhood home seven days hence.
Aidan used his influence to speed Colin’s application for a special license and sent letters by special rider to his estate to begin the wedding preparations.
In only two days, Colin and Lucy were ready to make the trip to Monmouthshire. As Aidan had some committee meetings that he could not avoid at Whitehall, he and Sophia would follow soon after, with Judith and her menagerie, including Boatswain, in two separate carriages. The other brothers, as well as the Masons, coming as they would be from all across southwestern England, would arrive shortly before the wedding itself.
As an extra precaution for their travel, Colin hired a carriage of former soldiers to protect their rear. To travel more easily, Lucy wore trousers and boots.
* * *
On the second day of travel, Lucy awoke to the sounds of gunfire. The carriage was running fast, too fast.
Colin was kneeling on the floor of the carriage, trying to keep his balance. He was doing something . . . she couldn’t figure out what. She clung to the fabric handle next to her head. Still too fast, soon there would be a curve, and then . . .
She looked back at Colin, still kneeling, when suddenly the whole bench of the backward-facing seat lifted from the floor. The open space inside went somewhat below the floor. A space big enough for a person. Her.
Colin held out his hand. “Quickly. In here. We can’t let them find you.”
She didn’t ask questions. She moved. She flung herself to the floor and rolled into the space.
“Whoa, whoa, stop now, whoa.” The driver, whose voice she did not recognize, slowed the carriage.
“There’s a bolt on the inside. Slide it. It will make it impossible to open this compartment from the outside. Even if they figure out it’s hollow, they won’t realize the space is big enough for a person.”
He put his gun in with her and his knife.
“You’ll be unarmed.” Lucy searched his face.
“Sometimes it’s better to be unarmed,” Colin whispered. “Don’t come out, not unless I call your name, your full name.”
“But . . .” Lucy felt helpless.
“No buts, no time.” He touched her cheek and shut the bench.
She slid the bolt, just as the carriage stopped completely. Then she heard the carriage door being pulled open roughly.
“Where’s the chit? There’s supposed to be a chit.”
“I’m sorry, my good fellow. . . . Sent the chit to London. No time for virtuous women. Have pressing business at my estate. . . .” Colin’s voice sounded strange, distorted.
The other voices argued, but she couldn’t make out an
y of the words. “Out. Get out.”
The carriage shifted as Colin stepped out. “I’m unarmed. I have a little money, if that’s what you want.”
The voices began to argue. The first voice wanted to kill him. The second wanted to deliver him to the man who hired them instead of Lucy. Other voices joined in. She couldn’t hear them distinctly. Then there was a shot. And the sound of feet walking away.
Tears sprung to her eyes. What if they had shot Colin? He couldn’t die, not after everything. She didn’t dare make a sound, but the tears rolled down her face, across her temples and into her hair.
The carriage shifted again. Someone was in the carriage, tapping on the seat top. The tapping followed the board above her, moving from her feet to her head. “Seats are built in. No way to get into them that I can see. He must have been telling the truth. Switched carriages on us.”
“I don’t know how. We were with them the whole way. Damn.”
“What do we do with the carriage?
“It’s ours. Spoils of war, and all that. We’ll meet our employer for our fee, then take it with us. A little paint, and we can sell it in Manchester.”
* * *
The hiding place wasn’t completely dark. Several drill holes, each about a half an inch in diameter, let in air and a little light. If she needed more air, she could press her face to one of the holes.
But it was still an enclosed space, a dark, small, enclosed space. She tried not to be frightened, but her heart beat heavy and fast in her chest. As her panic rose, she felt bile on her tongue. No, she had to be calm. She had to be strategic. Otherwise, Marner would win.
She wasn’t trapped, she told herself. She had the bolt. At any time she could let herself out. But she was safe, at least for now. Out there was more dangerous than in here. She’d already escaped from Archibald twice. She knew what would happen if she was delivered back to him, especially now that she had made him look a fool.
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