“Orphanage?” the Earl mouthed to his friends as he took his seat in a yellow and blue patterned chair next to a matching blue sofa. Although her grandmother had insisted, she was tired of the colors, Nora was well aware it was a Banbury story. She could not refuse without appearing ungrateful and, truth be known, she had been very glad to accept, for it meant she had one respectable room in which to receive guests,
The other two men quietly retired to a small, round maple table with two matching chairs. Turning the chairs towards Nora and Lord Shefford, they sat down.
“Permit me to beg your pardon for the intrusion, Miss Mason. We thought the building was unoccupied. I wish to inspect it with a view to its suitability for another use entirely. You can imagine my surprise,” Lord Shefford responded, his voice echoing disbelief.
“Then I think we must both be thunderstruck by these events,” she said, forcing her lips into a stiff smile. “My family has fully supported my efforts to reopen the orphanage which closed, as I informed you earlier, ten years past. I am trying to understand how it can be possible you thought the property to be available,” she added sweetly, trusting the tremors in her voice were hidden beneath the strength of her words. Uncle’s threat to sell resonated in her head. Surely Grandmama did not agree to that. There has to be a mistake. Her heart pounded.
“I can only apologize again for thrusting business upon you,” Lord Shefford replied, “but I think this document will convey everything.”
Nora studied the paper. It appeared to be a deed to the building, signed by Uncle Wilford.
“How can this be? I have been told that my uncle does not own the rights to this building. My grandmother does.”
“Perhaps he has been placed in charge of her possessions,” Lord Shefford offered.
“I hesitate to disagree with you, sir, but my grandfather purchased this building as a gift for my grandmother. She recently encouraged me to reopen the orphanage.” Nora took a deep breath and tried to quiet her nerves. “I fear there has been a dreadful mistake,” she continued.
“I hardly think so, Miss Mason. Your uncle used this deed to cover a wager in a game of chance two evenings ago. He lost. The building is mine.” He gazed about the room. “I did not understand the property was occupied…” He paused. “I have no wish to turn women and small children out of their home. Therefore, with your forbearance, I should like a few days to consider an alternative for you.”
Nora wanted to scream, but training dictated she remain as calm as possible, no matter how boorish this man was being. It was all of a piece and joined the other reasons she hated the ton—its members only thought of themselves. Her family had lost too much. She had lost too much. She would not lose this building. Her children would not lose their home.
“With all due respect, my lord, there has been a mistake. This building is owned by my grandmother. If she had given it to my uncle to manage…” She nearly spat the word. “…she would have informed me, as she has been assisting me with the reopening.” Silence fell over the room, broken only by the ticking of the long-case clock in one corner. Nora tried not to fidget with her hands where they lay folded in her lap. What could she say? The faces of the three gentlemen gave no clue as to their thoughts.
A slight knock on the door heralded the entrance of Mrs. Simpkins with the tea tray. Nora was never more glad to see anyone in her life.
“Thank you, Mrs. Simpkins,” Nora said, with more warmth than perhaps the service warranted. Then, stiffening her spine and smiling through clenched teeth, she addressed Lord Shefford. “My grandmother has also generously lent me her cook. Mrs. Simpkins has been kind enough to take on the role of cook-housekeeper for the school.”
“Your grandmother’s cook?” Lord Bergen spoke up from the back, ignoring the startled faces of his friends. “May I inquire who your grandmother is, Miss Mason?”
Nora took a deep breath. At least one of the three had a reasonable mind. She turned to Mrs. Simpkins.
“That will be all,” she said firmly as Mrs. Simpkins showed a desire to linger.
“Very good, miss.” Bobbing an unsteady curtsey, the cook reluctantly left the room.
Turning back to face the gentlemen, Nora’s gaze met Lord Shefford’s before she lowered it politely.
“I find this whole matter most distressing, but since, on this occasion, it is so important,” she said, pausing, “I will tell you. My grandmother is the Dowager Countess of Whitton.” She fought the smile that threatened to burst forth at the pale look on Lord Shefford’s face. Doing her best to contain her glee at turning the tables on the arrogant earl, she smoothed out her dress before picking up her favorite cornflower blue porcelain teapot. “Tea, gentlemen?” she offered, as she began pouring the beverage and passing the filled cups to her astonished guests.
Each of the gentlemen sipped their tea, apparently lost in their own quiet contemplation. When Nora had finished the contents of her cup, she rose, forcing them also to stand.
“Gentlemen, I would greatly appreciate the chance to consult with my grandmother. She is due to visit later today.” Adopting a look of utter puzzlement, she peered up at Lord Shefford. “My lord, I can only imagine how you must feel. Allow me to discuss this with my grandmother, for she may wish to consult with you regarding the signed deed.”
“Ahem,” he said, clearing his throat. “I apologize for my apparent rudeness. It was not meant. However, it would seem we have an unexpected tangle here. I will also engage my man of business to look into this matter further.”
Lord Shefford returned his empty cup on the tray at the same time she moved the teapot and inadvertently, Nora touched his bare hand with her own. Quivers of feeling shot straight up her arm causing her to nearly jerk her hand away. She willed calmness over her body, puzzled over the something she had never before experienced. “Certainly, my lord,” Nora choked out, startled when she caught herself staring—most improperly—into the gentleman’s grey eyes. Not that I would… yet if I could ever be accepted as a viable match for a gentleman of his standing, I would not mind one who looked as fine as he does.
The soft telltale scuffle of footsteps in the hall interrupted her thoughts and drew her attention to the door. Unnoticed, Mrs. Simpkins had left it open to the room, giving some semblance of propriety. Meeting three men alone in her parlor had not been anticipated, and with minimal staff and no lady’s maid, Mrs. Simpkins probably stood close enough to offer a chaperone’s assistance. Despite initial frustration, she found herself appreciative of the older woman’s efforts to add a level of decorum for reputation’s sake.
When the three gentlemen had finally taken their leave, she leaned against the door and heaved a heavy sigh of relief. She realized it was only a reprieve. Surely, Grandmama would have some solution?
Chapter 5
“Well, that did not proceed as I would have predicted,” Bergen observed in a jovial voice. “By golly, though, I enjoyed her spunk!” he added as the three men made their way to the carriage.
“If I have followed this situation correctly, Lord Whitton has not only deceived his family, but he may also have forged a deed,” Morray propounded. “I know the Countess to be quite a force among the ton—she differs greatly from her wastrel son.”
“While it is best not jump to conclusions, instinct tells me that Whitton has forged the deed. Still, I shall ask Thomas Yarrow, my man of business, to scrutinize it and advise me on a proper course of action.” Colin stuffed the questionable deed into his pocket.
“A sound plan,” agreed Bergen. “I bet Yarrow has come across such doings before—perhaps, even, with Whitton. It would be helpful to know.”
“In our business, we have had dealings with a great number of rogues, but I have never encountered a peer forging a deed to cover his gambling debts. I cannot even credit Whitton with having originality,” muttered Colin in a sarcastic tone. He was still smarting from the astonishing interchange with the headmistress of a school that was occupying what should h
ave been the empty building he owned. Bergen had been right. He felt embarrassed for having blindly trusted the man’s deed, especially after he had tried to kill him.
“One might assume,” Morray began in a soft voice, “that Whitton’s attempt to kill you transpired to conceal an illegality. We had assumed him to be bedeviled as a result of disappointing his family; however, it would appear he wanted to hide a more shameful act. Still, I am not inclined to think it planned. I see him more as an impulsive sort. And that fits his reputation. I do not think this was premeditated.”
“I imagine the Countess will petition to see me, and before she does, I desire to have more facts before me. I suspect you are correct, Morray, and this deed may not be valid,” agreed Colin, climbing into the carriage. His annoyance was rapidly turning into anger. “Mayhap I should try to be beforehand and call on her first.”
Following closely behind Morray, Bergen snorted as he seated himself on the opposite bench.
“Her granddaughter is no shy miss. Rarely do you meet a woman who can deliver such a guileful blow without losing a hint of composure. Her grandmother would be proud, I think. The Countess is known to be quite charming and also a shrewd negotiator, so be warned.”
“I hate to be a stickler, and I would be less inclined to cut up stiff had he not tried to kill me. Yet now, I find, I am more determined than ever that his debt be honored. This deed,” he went on, patting the pocket holding the paper, “whether fake or real, should serve as a credible substitution for the debt he owes. My father was friends with the Countess’ husband. He always considered the Earl an honest gentleman—a gentleman very different from his son.”
“I have encountered Whitton in some of my dealings. I am afraid that his… ah… habits of late have driven the man towards some unscrupulous people. His level of desperation does not surprise me. What will surprise me is if the deed you hold is not a forgery. The headmistress sounded very certain of her advantage,” Morray countered in an unaffected tone.
Colin smiled despite his wounded pride. “She was rather certain,” he murmured, as his thoughts drifted back to their meeting. “At first, I thought she was inviting a negotiation over tea.” He chuckled. “I will admit I did not expect such a worthy check.” If he were honest, he mused, he had been rather engaged by her clever play. If I were to marry, that would be the type of woman I would choose.
“Ah… so you noticed the beautiful headmistress, Miss Mason,” Bergen taunted, grinning.
“It is futile to bamboozle you, I see.” Colin chuckled, feeling his irritation lifting. Bergen was always good to have about. “I believe I have just suffered checkmate at the hands of a lovely opponent,” he agreed. I noticed her. No woman in memory had caused such inner conflict as this one had. An inconsequential touch over a teacup came to mind and he briefly wondered if it had affected her as it had him. Pulses of pleasure had raced up his arm. He felt more than a sense of annoyance. Surely, it was not attraction … or was it?
“I own that I cannot recall seeing her in any ton events, at least none that I can summon immediately to mind. There must be more to her story than meets the eye. She reminded me of my own Elizabeth,” Bergen persisted, beaming. “She came with a menagerie of children and pets, and never ceases to make me merry!”
“Your wife is a genuine find,” Colin agreed, lost in thought for a long moment before he finally continued, “I shall go to see the Countess tomorrow and make my case.” Once she realizes that I am indeed owed this building, it will be resolved, he told himself.
“Since my family is residing with me in London at the moment, there is no reason whereby I cannot go with you tomorrow, should you so wish. I can bear witness to the events of that night,” Bergen offered.
“A sound idea, Shefford. ’Tis a shame three might be a crowd.” Morray spoke up. “I was just thinking about a loose end… and I hesitate to bring this up, yet have either of you enquired whether the Earl is still being held? I have heard that Sir Edward James, the magistrate, who you mentioned leading Whitton away, held Lord Whitton’s father in high regard. Based on the events of this day, I can imagine Whitton using that circumstance to his advantage.”
“Of course! I mean, no; I have not checked, and you are right. I, too, recall seeing them in company together at White’s before the older Earl passed away,” Bergen said with an exaggerated exhale. “He might gain a measure of protection from his father’s friends, who were not there to see him attempt to kill a peer.”
“Our business is not without its perquisites. I shall consult with some of our connections, including the Earl of Baxter, and see what I may learn about our friend Whitton,” Morray proposed sardonically. “I should look into his sister’s family as well…”
“No, I should prefer to do that myself,” Colin stated, noticing that both friends were smirking at him.
“What?” he demanded, feigning indignation.
“Do not even try to defend yourself, my friend.” Morray laughed. “The lady definitely gained your notice.”
The carriage turned off the road onto the small, semi-circular drive leading to Colin’s house in Mayfair. It stopped in front of a three-story, grey stone mansion with a large, covered portico and tall windows rising from the first floor. A mixture of flowering evergreen shrubs lined the front of the walls, adding a sense of warmth to the home.
“I will take my leave, Shefford. Send a messenger when you decide what time we should meet with the Countess. I can meet you here and we may ride there together,” Bergen said.
“I think I will head to the club. It might be well to let Baxter know what has happened these last few days. He may have information that could prove useful.” Morray tipped his hat and went with Bergen towards the stables, located just behind the house.
Colin handed his greatcoat, hat, and cane to Franklin, intending to avail himself of a brandy in his study and distract himself from thoughts of the vexing meeting with the lovely headmistress.
“You have had a visitor, my lord,” the retainer said, holding out a silver salver on which lay a visiting card. “He was a short, balding individual with, if you will forgive my bluntness, a distasteful appearance and attitude. And Lady Shefford awaits your return in the drawing room.”
“Thank you, Franklin.” Colin barely glanced at the card before he stuffed it in his pocket and proceeded down the dimly lit hall to his office. How odd. Franklin rarely remarks about visitors. He was almost to his office when he recalled Franklin’s last words. His mother was here? He wanted to look at that card again, but the sound of his mother’s voice gained his attention.
“Davis, please bring my son and I some tea. I have no doubt he is hungry, so please have Cook add a small plate of meats and cheese.”
“Yes, my lady. Right away.”
Colin turned to see his mother approaching. The footman bowed and withdrew. He opened the door of the study and stood back for his mother to enter. “I was about to join you in the drawing room, ma’am.”
“I thought you might need a little push, dearest, in case you became… distracted on your return,” she said, walking to the fireplace and stretching her hands towards the welcoming warmth.
“By Jove, Mother—!” he protested. “That is outrageous.”
“It is always nice to see this picture of your father,” she mused, ignoring his outburst and looking up at the portrait over the mantel. “I recall that day well. It was the day after you went to Eton. He was so proud of you and could not wipe the smile from his face. If he said it once, he said it a dozen times, that he was glad you enjoyed attending his alma mater.” She turned to him and wiped a single tear from the edge of her eye. “While we always valued your opinion, he had strong feelings about you attending the same school. When you wrote and told us how much you enjoyed it there, I could feel the pride emanating from him.”
Colin looked at the portrait of his sire, who stood behind his mother, with her small dog, Pepper, seated in her lap. He had always admired this painti
ng, for it portrayed his father in a more jovial mood than the traditional, unsmiling portraits. “I have not heard that story before, Mother.” Neither had he realized the reason for the near smile on his patriarch’s face until now.
“You resemble your father, Colin. He enjoyed the excitement life offered, yet he had a moral sense of duty.” The Countess walked up to him and kissed him on the cheek. She looked as if she wanted to say more.
The footman chose that moment to return with the tea and refreshments.
“Place it on the side-table next to the leather chairs, Davis,” Colin instructed, watching his mother move to the tea service.
“There! A small amount of sugar, just as you like it,” she said as she handed the saucer of tea to him. It always seemed to taste better when his mother served the beverage, he thought, taking his first sip.
“I do have a reason for my visit,” she said finally, taking her seat near him and setting her teacup down on the small table between the chairs. “I received a message yesterday that disturbed me. I read it several times and could not imagine its meaning. I believe whoever wrote it intended it for you, although that does not make me feel better.”
“Your house is only a few doors from mine. I suppose it is conceivable someone could have mistaken the address and sent you a message intended for me. Did you bring it?” he queried as he swallowed a mouthful of meat and cheese and chased it with his tea. He was hungrier than he had imagined.
“Yes, I did,” she responded softly. “I saw you leave this morning, just as I was about to bring it to you, so I waited a few hours before calling.”
Earl of Shefford: Noble Hearts Series: Book Three (Wicked Earls Book 28) Page 3