Heartbreak and Honor

by Collette Cameron

“No, not that I can think of at the moment. Send me an address where I can reach you as soon as you’re settled. I’m sure I shall remember a detail or two I’ve forgotten.” Tipping forward, Lucan tapped his fingertips atop his desk. “I regret I cannot make the journey myself, but there are matters here and at Chattsworth which require my immediate attention.”

  Namely, setting someone to follow Renishaw and Peterson, wooing Alexa, and assuring Jeremy remained safely ensconced on Chattsworth lands. A word in the ear of an acquaintance on the Committee of Privileges mightn’t be beyond his scope either.

  “Please extend my condolences to the widows.” He took a swallow of barely tepid coffee Houston had deemed to serve fifteen minutes ago. The butler’s means of retribution.

  “Of course. I shall likely be gone two weeks or more.” Darley’s untamed muttonchops wiggled when he spoke, emphasizing the lines bracketing his mouth.

  “Longer, because as soon as you have things in hand in Derbyshire, I need you to search for a Highland traveller named Balcomb Faas and persuade him to venture to London. Tell him Tasara’s in danger, and that I have requested he come and bring his family. Start looking in Inverness, and use your utmost discretion.”

  “Are you certain you won’t have need of my services here?” Darley’s way of asking what urgency prevented Lucan from overseeing the situation in Derbyshire.

  Violet eyes and a mischievous smile, accented by an enticing mole, flashed to mind.

  “Well,” Lucan grinned, “can you recommend a couple of reliable chaps to tail a pair of disreputable culls?”

  Pulling his earlobe, Darley chuckled and gave Lucan a speculative look. “I may know a fellow or two.”

  “What about one to unobtrusively follow a woman?”

  Chapter 18

  For the umpteenth time, Alexa glanced at the salon’s mantel clock nestled between two fresh bouquets, gifts from Katrina’s and Alexa’s admirers. More than a dozen colorful arrangements sat upon various surfaces, their heady aroma scenting the air and creating a false impression of spring.

  The Duke of Harcourt’s heather, however, perfumed her bedchamber for her private enjoyment. The humble sprigs meant more than the most ostentatious bouquet. He’d gone out of his way to please her, and her heart gave a happy skip.

  Upon entering the salon, Shona’s gaze had circulated the room, her eyes widening a bit more with each newly discovered floral spray. Yearning tinged her doe-like expression and turned down her pert mouth, now occupied with chewing yet another biscuit.

  Alexa examined the clock again. Only two minutes had passed. How much longer until Uncle Hugo arrived?

  Immediately upon finding an overwrought Minerva sullying their doorstep, Shona dabbing her eyes with a soggy kerchief, and Harrison blathering on about Alexa’s indecorous behavior, Aunt Bridget had herded them inside as she instructed a footman to hustle to the bank and request Uncle come home immediately.

  At her aunt’s insistence—and to spare Alexa their uninvited guests’ histrionics—she’d been bustled upstairs.

  With Katrina’s expert assistance, Alexa swiftly changed into a new confection in shades of pale moss and sky blue, overlaid in gossamer-fine lace.

  Her cousin wrapped a ribbon across Alexa’s crown and tied it at the nape. Alexa added a delicate peridot pendant and matching drop earrings before tucking her feet into beaded sage-green kid leather slippers and dabbing perfume behind her ears.

  Ready for the bevy of expected beaux and snoops anticipating tasty crumbs of gossip to gobble or sprinkle about, Alexa considered offering them quills and foolscap to take notes so they didn’t miss a single succulent detail. Why not invite the gossip rags to tea as well?

  Impatience gnawing, she tapped her toes, her attention creeping to the timepiece yet again. A clock’s hands never moved so blasted sluggishly before.

  Yes. They had.

  Getting the trio—now seated side-by-side on the settee munching ginger biscuits and sipping tea—into the house and away from the enthralled audience outside had seemed interminable.

  Hibernating snails moved faster.

  Excruciating, that.

  Alexa had thought herself immune to the unwelcome attention, but the pointing and whispering . . . Fiery little darts had stabbed her with every shrewd glance and calculating word from the audience on the street. She seemed a veritable magnet for attracting gossip and generating on dit.

  Would Uncle arrive before the callers did? God, she hoped so. He’d deter brazen guests’ probing questions.

  She shifted to better see the door and to present her profile to Harrison, the smug lout. She didn’t need the second sight to know this bumblebroth involved him somehow.

  Seduce Renishaw, indeed. What utter drivel. A drunken sailor, after a bathless, six-month stint at sea, held more appeal.

  The drawing room stood visitor ready, and Katrina and Alexa would act as hostesses while Aunt Bridget kept Alexa’s family sequestered in the salon—by lock and key and sat upon by burly footmen if necessary. Unless the situation escalated, in which case, no one would be at home—as if that wouldn’t add a hearty helping of scandal to the already bubbling caldron.

  “More tea, Minerva?” Aunt Bridget held the teapot, poised to refill Minerva’s cup.

  “No, I think not.” Minerva set her saucer aside, frowning when Shona snatched three more biscuits.

  Sending her mother a guilty half-smile, she dropped one, and Sir Pugsley nabbed the treat. Plopping his rotund body beneath the table, he crunched happily.

  Minerva brushed crumbs from her lap before scooting the pastry plate beyond Shona’s reach. “We’ve stalled quite long enough, Bridget, and this matter cannot be ignored.”

  “Hugo should be home shortly. I do believe it best to wait for his counsel.” Aunt Bridget lowered the teapot, her brow knitted, either in anxiousness or irritation.

  “His advice is not needed or warranted to address Alexandra’s fast behavior or the black marks her conduct has caused against both our families’ honor.” Harrison crossed his legs and lounged against the settee’s back. Popping a last morsel of shortbread into his mouth, he chewed while speaking. “Viscount Renishaw felt it his duty to report her untoward conduct—”

  “Mr. Peterson, our family,” Aunt Bridget, her spine ramrod stiff and eyes wrathful slits, gestured to Alexa and Katrina, “has not been besmirched, and Renishaw’s reputation as a scurrilous, untrustworthy bounder reaches far beyond this fabricated tryst.” She stabbed with her fiery gaze. “You would do well to avoid his company, lest people assume your character is lacking as well.”

  “Well said, Auntie.” Alexa applauded, and when Minerva’s and Shona’s mouths sagged in disbelief, and Harrison choked on his biscuit and coughed, she clapped louder. Maybe he’d strangle on a crumb. One could hope, couldn’t one?

  “Why, I never, in all my days—” One hand pressed to her heaving chest, Minerva fanned herself with the other, appearing ready to swoon.

  Such overdone theatrics.

  “Wheesht, Minerva.” This past half hour, Alexa showed great restraint, listening to her stepmother’s snipes, Harrison’s uncouth double entendres, and Shona’s self-pitying whining.

  To quiet the sharp retorts begging release, Alexa bit her tongue so many times, tea could now leak through the misused appendage like a sieve.

  “Renishaw is a liar. He asked to court me.” She jabbed a finger toward Harrison. “At your urging, he claimed.”

  Shona clutched his arm. “Uncle Harrison, is that true, when you knew he was about to offer for me?”

  He clasped her hand and caressed the plump flesh with his thumb. “Calm yourself, my dear. You know I have your best interests at heart.”

  Something unnatural in his voice sent Alexa’s flesh creeping. She veered a glance to her aunt, who’d
paused midway with a serviette to her mouth.

  Repugnance skittered across Aunt Bridget’s face. She’d heard it too. Her keen gaze roved Harrison and Shona before settling on a wan Minerva.

  Face pinched, and lips rigid, Minerva said, “That doesn’t explain you attempting to seduce him.”

  “Och.” Alexa threw her hands in the air. “Minerva, the viscount suggested—most vilely and inaccurately—that since I shared my favors with others, I should with him as well.”

  “He wouldn’t. Lord Renishaw’s a gentleman.” Shona’s strangled cry earned a fleeting glance from the others. At least she’d stopped stuffing sweets in her mouth.

  “It’s your word against his, Alexandra.” A triumphant smile pleated the bags beneath Harrison’s eyes.

  Alexa jumped to her feet. Enough of the niceties. A duchess would have sat with decorum and self-control while verbally, and in the most moderate of cultured tones, rendered him a eunuch.

  She preferred her knife and caustic words.

  Once a gypsy, always a gypsy.

  “Yes, he would, Shona. The man’s an unconscionable pig. He cornered me in the bookstore and raised his hand to strike me when I refused his advances. However, my dagger threatening his . . . er . . .” She slanted her aunt a penitent look. “Male parts, and the arrival of Jules and the Duke of Harcourt stopped him.”

  “So Jules informed me.” The angles of her face taut, Aunt Bridget gave a terse nod.

  “I expected he would.” Alexa had nothing to hide. She’d been set upon and defended herself with the means available.

  Aunt Bridget’s countenance relaxed a fraction, and her lips quivered. “I would have liked to have seen that, truth to tell.”

  “Well.” Minerva huffed. “I’m sure I know from where she inherits her uncouth behavior.”

  Dabbing the corner of her eye, Shona, rabbit-like, nibbled a Shrewsbury cookie.

  Alexa paced before the unlit fireplace.

  “I’m aware my reappearance has disrupted your lives, and you fear for your futures.” She eyed the clock then the threesome sitting stiffly, but—blessedly—quiet. “However, as the Scots say, ‘Whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye.’ The seed’s been sown. I am Alexandra Atterberry. The proof is irrefutable, although you, Harrison,” she impaled him with her gaze, “have tried to raise doubts in the minds of others.”

  Having recovered from his coughing fit, he jeered. “Are you aware, Alexandra, daughters inherit equally until the Committee of Privileges settles in favor of one or the other?”

  “Yes. I know. Are you aware, I haven’t received my portion of my father’s inheritance? Not so much as a shilling?” Alexa canted her head, quite enjoying herself.

  His mouth twisted further, his countenance becoming more sour.

  “Oh, and Harrison?”

  “What?” He shot her a venomous scowl and slouched into the settee, abandoning any pretense of civility.

  Shona busied herself disposing of a ladyfinger with the alacrity of a starving street urchin.

  Goodness, she appeared famished.

  Alexa prepared to deliver Harrison a carefully calculated blow. As surely as the sun rose each day, he had padded his pockets with her funds and Shona’s too. Uncle Hugo had found evidence of forged documents and signatures.

  Maggots possessed more integrity. They, at least, feasted upon the dead while Harrison sucked his livelihood from the living. His relatives, to boot.

  Flashing him a bright smile despite his surliness, Alexa readied her verbal sword. “My solicitor will remedy the oversight, and at my behest, he’ll want a detailed accounting of my funds—from the time I went missing until today.”

  First blood to me.

  “I’m confident you’ve kept meticulous records. After all, as Minerva’s man of business, and I’m sure Shona’s too, such a failure to account for the monies might lead to worrisome speculation.” And a twist of the blade. “By the authorities.”

  Chapter 19

  Lips slightly curved, Alexa fixed Harrison with a disdainful stare. No more pretending affability.

  He blinked, seemingly taken aback for an instant but recovered his bluster with the swiftness of a practiced charlatan. “Rightfully, the title should be awarded to the daughter who’s been raised as a lady of quality. The one who expected to inherit and who knows how to behave in a manner worthy of the title.”

  Ah, now he came to the truth of it. He might as well add, to assure his continued life of leisure and comfort.

  This seemed far more about Harrison’s position than Shona’s. As her maternal step-uncle, and Minerva’s obvious confidant and man of business, he’d enjoyed an elevated status these many years. If the committee granted Alexa the title, his status sank to poor relation of her stepmother.

  Alexa studied him from beneath her lashes. He stood to lose a great deal—the most, in the end, of everyone.

  “The committee will make their decision based on all the facts at their disposal, Mr. Peterson. Are you aware, collusion is cause for denial of a petition?” Sparks flew from Aunt Bridget’s eyes, which had shimmered with humor moments before.

  His nostrils flared.

  Ire or trepidation?

  Did Aunt Bridget worry the committee wouldn’t settle in Alexa’s favor?

  Shona, her eyes wide as a terrified mouse, stuffed another Shrewsbury tart in her mouth. Whole. Chubby cheeks full, she resembled a squirrel with a store of acorns.

  Uncle Hugo marched into the room, followed by a somber-faced gentleman Alexa didn’t recognize.

  She examined the clock again. Callers would arrive soon.

  Uncle Hugo’s genial smile warred with the stern glint in his eyes. “Katrina, why don’t you take Miss Atterberry for a stroll in the garden? You shan’t have many more days to enjoy the outdoors or the sun. Months of drizzle and gloom shall be upon us soon.”

  “Certainly, Papa.” Katrina’s intelligent gaze darted between Shona and her father. “Shona, shall we?”

  “No, she should be present.” Minerva sliced Harrison an uneasy glance and fidgeted with her serviette. “After all, this concerns her future too.”

  Aunt Bridget cleared her throat and exchanged a speaking look with Uncle. “True, but mightn’t it be wise to spare her the . . . ah, delicacy of the situation?”

  Cheeks glowing, Minerva flapped the ill-used finger cloth. “Go along, Shona dear. This won’t take long. We’re expected at Dorthea Hinton’s shortly, in any event.”

  Why would Minerva subject herself to that harridan’s company?

  Uncle Hugo waited until the door closed behind Katrina and Shona before introducing the gentleman. He gestured to Mr. Ponsby. “Alexandra, Lady Atterberry, please allow me to introduce Mr. Ponsby, our solicitor. Mr. Ponsby, my niece, Alexandra Atterberry, Minerva, the Dowager Lady Atterberry, and Harrison Peterson, Lady Atterberry’s stepbrother. You are already acquainted with my wife.”

  Minerva, once again pale as chalk, attempted to school her features, but alarm shadowed her eyes.

  Harrison’s skin acquired a sickly parlor, a shade lighter than his chartreuse waistcoat. Or perhaps, his overindulging in spirits contributed to his greenish tint.

  “A pleasure.” Mr. Ponsby bowed briefly. Both his mien and his tone suggested otherwise.

  “Do have a seat, Ponsby. Tea? Refreshments?” Uncle Hugo sat beside his wife. “Alexa, you should sit as well.”

  “No refreshment or tea, thank you.” Ponsby settled into a chair then rustled around in the unremarkable satchel he brought.

  Alexa chose an armchair the greatest distance from Harrison. She snapped her fingers, and Sir Pugsley jumped into her lap. Licking a crumb from his droopy chops, he turned around twice, and with a loud sigh, settled his chubby form.

  “What are you abo
ut, Needham? Why a solicitor?” Like a cranky rooster, Harrison puffed out his chest, the lines of his face folding into a belligerent glower. “We came to address Alexandra’s indecorous behavior at the Temple of the Muses today.”

  Uncle Hugo directed his astute gaze to Harrison, and for the first time, Alexa recognized the shrewd businessman who’d amassed a banking fortune. An intelligent person didn’t trifle with or cross Uncle. “Within fifteen minutes of Alexa’s departure from the bookstore, Sir Baldwin visited my office and Lady Middleton sent a note round. Each expressed concern Renishaw had attempted to accost my niece.”

  Harrison’s bravado wilted a fraction, and Minerva looked positively ill.

  “If not for the Duke of Harcourt’s intervention, and the timely arrival of our footman, they feared Renishaw would have harmed her.” He turned to his wife. “I invited both to tea today, my dear. I’m sorry I didn’t give you notice.”

  Uncle gave her a conspiratorial wink, and Aunt Bridget blushed prettily. “It’s of no consequence, Hugo. I expect quite a number of guests already.”

  “As for Mr. Ponsby’s presence, why don’t I let him tell you why he is here?” Uncle waved his hand at the papers the solicitor held. “Tell us what you have there.”

  One by one, Mr. Ponsby regarded those assembled. After setting his satchel beside his chair, he tilted the folded pages. “This is a copy of Steafan Atterberry’s last will and testament as well as several correspondences he sent me. I was his solicitor too.”

  Confusion danced across Minerva’s face, and her gaze flitted to each person before returning to Mr. Ponsby. “But Steafan’s lawyer’s name was Russell, and I received a copy of my husband’s will. Everything seemed quite straightforward when Mr. Russell read it to me. As an entailed estate, the holdings and monies were bequeathed to his heir, who—due to the abeyance—hasn’t been determined.”

  Alexa folded her hands to calm the rush of nervous anticipation and unwarranted sympathy for Minerva. Had Harrison manipulated her, used her as a pawn, or was she a master-deceiver playing a well-rehearsed role? Uncle’s warning to take care who Alexa trusted was wise.