Lady Hartley's Inheritance

by Wendy Soliman

  Felix scowled. “He sounds like a charming individual.”

  “You have no idea.” Luc ground his teeth. “But he couldn’t be confident that she’d actually accept him, so he concocted this plan with Salik. Twining already knew that Salik was Sir Michael’s son. He would also have recognised in him an opportunist.”

  “A kindred spirit, in other words.”

  “Exactly. The plan was to eventually inform Clarissa that Salik’s claim is irrefutable. She’d have accepted his word without question, of course, just as she’s always done in the past.” Luc tightened his jaw. “The only thing he’d not planned on was me.”

  “Yes, but how did Twining manage to make this agreement with Salik so swiftly? He only got to town shortly before Clarissa’s arrival. If he’d not met Salik before, how could he be sure that he’d go along with the scheme, and how did he manage to get such an excellent forgery done so quickly?”

  Luc inclined his head. “Those are questions I have yet to answer, but I won’t rest until I’ve done so.”

  “I have no doubt.” Felix leant back in his chair and took an appreciative sip of excellent burgundy. “But, to go back to your original comment, why does this clipper coming to port save you money?”

  “Because if we can’t prove the will is a forgery, the only alternative would be for me, or someone acting on my behalf, to go to Alexandria.” Felix raised a brow but said nothing. “But that wouldn’t bring Clarissa any lasting peace…so, I’d decided, knowing that Twining and Salik aren’t interested in the estates themselves but only in monetary gain, to make them a private offer. To buy them off.”

  Luc sat back and drank his own wine, waiting for the full meaning behind his words to register with Felix. His wait was a short one.

  “She’s the one, then?”

  “Yes. I think I’ve known it almost since the first.”

  “And the lady herself? What are her feelings?”

  “That’s the problem,” Luc said irascibly. “I can hardly go pouring my heart out to Clarissa, begging her to name the day, when her mind is occupied with the loss of her blasted land.”

  “But, think what she would have to gain by marrying you. As your countess she could easily start afresh elsewhere with her animal husbandry, if she still wished to.”

  Luc flashed a tight smile. “Oh, she’d wish to all right, that’s what makes her so special. Money wouldn’t influence her in any way — other than against me. She would probably think that I felt sorry for her, or obliged because of her closeness to my mother, or God alone knows what other reason. How do I know what goes on in a women’s head? That part of their anatomy has never held my attention before.”

  Felix smiled roguishly at his friend’s torment and earned himself an angry scowl for his trouble.

  “Well, well.” Felix smiled even more expansively. “Who would have thought it? The suave Earl of Newbury bested by a woman at last.”

  “Felix,” warned Luc with a steely glare. “If you know what’s best for you, you’ll keep such thoughts to yourself.”

  “At least allow me my moment of triumph at your expense.” He chuckled for a while, then stopped abruptly and scowled instead. “Oh, Lord, have you given a thought for where this will leave me? With you off the field my life will become intolerable. All the matrons will turn their attentions toward me now.”

  It was Luc’s turn to chuckle. “Come on, let’s return to Grosvenor Square to see if Simms has discovered anything useful.”

  Simms had indeed made further discoveries and was waiting for Luc to return, his usually dour expression for once almost animated.

  “What news then, Simms?” Luc asked as he and Felix entered the library and helped themselves to brandy. “Come on, out with it, man. I can see you’ve made discoveries, and I suspect they’re beneficial to our cause.”

  Felix and Luc flopped down in front of the fire with their brandy snifters.

  “Well, my lords, I’m pleased to say that I’ve discovered Salik’s whereabouts. He’s been residing in the same lodging house as Twining for some six weeks now.”

  “Good God, Simms, are you absolutely certain?”

  “Indeed I am, my lord. Jenkins, on my orders, called at the premises in question, asking for lodgings. The landlady stated that there were none available, to which Jenkins replied that a foreign gentleman he’d encountered in a tavern had given him to understand otherwise. The landlady said that would be Mr. Salik. A charming Egyptian gentleman who’d been with her for six weeks, but who’d moved two days previously. His rooms had, however, already been taken.”

  Luc absorbed this information. “That changes everything, of course.”

  “But there’s more, my lords. Jenkins is a personable young man of some intelligence, and managed, somehow, to take tea with Salik’s former landlady, during the course of which he discovered which tavern Salik frequented.”

  “Well done, Jenkins!”

  “Indeed, my lord.”

  “I thought Muslims don’t touch alcohol,” Felix said.

  “I doubt there are any vices this one hasn’t adopted, and I venture to suggest, the more extreme the better. Anyway, this is excellent work, Simms. Remind me later to speak personally to Jenkins.”

  “Indeed, my lord.”

  “All right, Simms, that will be all for now. Please ask Lady Hartley to step in as soon as she arrives home.”

  “I believe their ladyships returned home above half an hour ago, my lord.”

  “Then my compliments to Lady Hartley. Ask her if she can spare me a moment?”

  Clarissa joined them very quickly. She had a smile and curtsey for Felix, a guarded, neutral look for Luc.

  “How was your afternoon?” Luc asked.

  “The children performed splendidly, and your Mrs. Stokes plans to make a substantial donation.”

  Felix roared with laughter. Luc felt uncomfortable and steered Clarissa to a chair.

  “What news, gentlemen?” she asked.

  Luc told her of the imminent arrival of the clipper from Egypt. He went on to relate Simms’ news.

  “What does it all mean?” she asked.

  “Well, it’s all so much clearer now. How they managed it, I mean. Salik has obviously been in England for far longer than we were given to understand. That gave Twining ample time to arrange the forged will. It also explains why he was so shocked when I appeared. He’d supposed you to be unprotected, Clarissa. It also explains why the forger whom we suspect of drawing up the will only disappeared recently and not immediately after doing his work.”

  Clarissa chewed her lower lip reflectively. “I suppose it does,” she said. “Does this now mean that we have sufficient evidence to refute Mr. Salik’s claim?”

  The hope reflected in her luminous eyes, the optimistic note in her voice, tore at Luc’s heartstrings. “No, m’dear,” he said. “It all helps, but is insufficient to convince any court. Twining is clever enough to come up with a plausible explanation for Salik’s early arrival, and although lodging in the same building looks suspicious, that could be explained away as Twining being helpful to a stranger in a city where he knows no one.” Luc shook his head. “We badly need evidence from the mate on that clipper to complete our case.”

  “Perhaps evidence of their frequenting that tavern together would be beneficial? What was it called again?”

  “The Oak Tavern, and no, I think not. We can prove that they lodged in the same dwelling, so frequenting the same tavern would be a natural progression.”

  “But if we send someone there they might be able to overhear their conversation and glean something incriminating from it.”

  “Possibly, but the risk of discovery is too great,” Luc said, finality in his voice. “Please, Clarissa, leave this to me. You don’t need to concern yourself with the details.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Clarissa slammed the door to her chamber and let forth a string of most unladylike curses, all aimed at Luc’s autocratic attitude. She w
as very much out of charity with him, infuriated by his dictatorial air. A raging white anger surged through her. How dare he banish her from her own affairs! She had a brain, and being a female didn’t preclude her from using it.

  These people were trying to take what was rightfully hers. Did Luc seriously expect her to step aside like some docile concubine and allow him to take charge? It was too much! She’d warned him when she first arrived that she was nothing like the fragile tonnish females of his acquaintance, and he was about to get firsthand notice of the fact.

  Flopping onto the chaise, she attempted to rein in her temper. In all fairness, Luc was only trying to protect her; that much she understood. The instinct to protect the ladies under his care came as naturally to Luc as breathing, and he assumed the ladies in question would leave him to do as he thought best and ask no trying questions. It clearly hadn’t occurred to him to expect any other sort of reaction from her.

  In which case his lordship had best prepare himself for a shock. Those were her lands, and no one felt more keenly about their possible loss than she. She couldn’t expect Luc to understand, and it was futile to explain. Sometimes actions spoke louder than words. Sometimes there was no other way.

  Her thoughts turned to the evening ahead, a shift which only produced more colourful cursing. For the first time since her arrival in the capital, Luc would not be accompanying her and Aunt Marcia, for they were to attend Lady Bingham’s musicale, and Luc, like most gentlemen, tended to avoid such events. Clarissa assured herself that Luc’s absence would not cause her any concern, at the same time ruing the lost opportunity to question him further with regard to Salik’s machinations. His responses this afternoon, in Felix’s presence, had been annoyingly vague, and she chose not to take him to task in front of his friend. She ought to have done so since, frustratingly, any further opportunity would be lost to her for the rest of the day.

  In the end, Clarissa and Marcia did not attend the musicale, for they received a note at the just before they left that Lady Bingham was suddenly indisposed. By then Luc had already gone out for the evening. Clarissa knew not where — but probably, she thought cynically, to mend his fences with Emily Stokes. Marcia confessed that she was relieved the evening’s entertainment had been cancelled, since she had no wish to go out, the afternoon’s activities at the orphanage having tired her. So, after a quiet dinner together, the ladies retired early.

  Clarissa immediately commenced plotting. It was only nine o’clock. She’d not expected to have the evening to herself and was convinced that fate had played a part in bringing her this unexpected opportunity. She wasn’t about to waste it and, despite Luc’s patronizing opinion, was convinced that their next step should be to visit the Oak Tavern — and that was precisely what she would do, this very evening. If her good fortune continued, then Twining and Salik would be there and she would, somehow, contrive to get close enough to overhear their conversation.

  She would obviously need to disguise herself as a man, for even Clarissa knew that only one type of woman went to taverns unaccompanied. Furthermore, if her disguise was not convincing then she’d be recognised in an instant. She had the breeches that she rode in. They’d pass muster, as would her shiny boots. But she had no coat or cravat, and surely the clientele at such an establishment would wear more substantial headgear than the single cap she possessed? It was woefully inadequate for the purpose of restraining her wayward locks at the best of times and certainly couldn’t be trusted to keep them in place for an entire evening.

  Clarissa racked her brains, simultaneously curbing her impatience to be gone. She’d observed an old greatcoat in the boot room — Luc’s perhaps — shabby enough not to draw unnecessary attention in the Oak Tavern. The image of Luc’s broad shoulders briefly sprang to mind, almost causing her to lose her nerve as she anticipated his likely reaction when he learned of her escapade. The thought of those shoulders also served to remind her that the coat would be far too large for her. But that was of no consequence; if she wrapped several layers of sheeting around her upper body before donning her shirt it would fill her out and disguise her shape as well. Smiling at the ingenuity of her plan she proceeded to strip her bed and do exactly that.

  In the boot room she found an old muffler which she wrapped around her neck and chin, knowing that if her features were left open to scrutiny her whisker-less face was too delicate to be taken for that of a man. The greatcoat was only slightly too large, thanks to the layers of sheeting, and she found an old opera hat which could accommodate her hair reasonably well; this she perched on her head at a jaunty angle.

  Clarissa was rather pleased with the overall effect. Although dressed far too warmly for the season, she hoped that the tavern would be too dim and crowded for anyone to notice her incongruous attire.

  Stepping cautiously out the side door, careful not to be seen by anyone, Clarissa gained Grosvenor Square and walked rapidly away from Luc’s house, her heart hammering loudly in her breast. She found a cab without any problems and, before she had a chance to think better of it, gave the cabbie the address of the tavern.

  Arriving in Greek Street, Clarissa took several fortifying breaths to calm her nerves, reminded herself of what she hoped to achieve, and pushed open the door of the tavern. Once inside she paused, taking a moment to acclimate. The room was indeed very full, but, fortunately for her, poorly illuminated. There was much noise, raucous laughter, and the sound of a poorly tuned piano being badly played. The all-pervading odour was of stale ale, staler snuff, and even staler bodies.

  Clarissa’s eyes gradually adjusted to the gloom, and she looked about her, relieved to notice that no one appeared to be paying her any special attention. Then she observed a particularly lively crowd in one corner of the room, and her heart beat a fast, painful tattoo against her chest. Her breath stilled as she spied Salik holding court in the middle of that particular crowd, one arm around the waist of a woman whose occupation was obvious, even to Clarissa’s inexperienced eye. Twining stood on the edge of the group, looking as though he would much rather be somewhere else.

  Averting her eyes before she drew attention to herself, Clarissa used a gruff voice to purchase a tankard of ale and found a seat close to Salik’s group and near to the door, where she could see and hear but hopefully not be seen, and from whence she could make a hasty exit if it became necessary.

  Salik was in high spirits, spending money freely, encouraged by the scantily clad woman on his arm and by several others as well, all of whom were good-naturedly vying for his attention. Twining endeavoured to call him away, but Salik appeared deaf to his pleas as he carelessly pushed one of the women in the attorney’s direction.

  Clarissa was so intent upon her purpose that it took her sometime to realise a large man had seated himself uninvited at her table and was studying her with undisguised interest. It was then, with a feeling of unmitigated horror, she realised her muffler had fallen away from her face and, despite her pedantic preparations, long strands of her unruly hair had already escaped from beneath the opera hat.

  “Well, well, what have we here then?” asked the man in a surprisingly cultured voice, revealing broken teeth and a discoloured tongue as he leered at her speculatively.

  Swiftly Clarissa picked up her untouched tankard and hid her features behind it. She turned pointedly away from the man, hoping he’d be deterred. He wasn’t.

  “Who are you hiding from then, my dear? What’s your name?”

  Clarissa, panicking now, continued to ignore him. Undaunted he continued to ply her with questions in an increasingly loud voice, which soon drew people’s attention.

  “Are you looking for business, my dear? Don’t be coy, now. I’m sure a delightful young man such as yourself will have no difficulty finding custom.”

  The man didn’t seem to be put off by her silence and continued to appraise her. She was now seriously frightened, stunned for a moment into inactivity. The man reached across the table and grabbed her wrist — the o
ne holding the tankard — in a tight grasp.

  “I’m speaking to you, my dear,” he said, his voice no longer quite so friendly. “And I expect a reply. Don’t imagine you can push the price up by pretending to be coy.” He threw a surprisingly large amount of money on the table, his eyes never leaving her face and smacked his lips together. “Shall we go?”

  Without thinking about the consequences, Clarissa threw the contents of her tankard into the man’s face, followed by the vessel itself, and jumped to her feet. The man’s coarse expletives caused most conversation in the tavern to cease; everyone looked in their direction. Thanking providence that she’d thought to procure a table close to the door, Clarissa headed blindly toward it, her panic lending added speed to her feet. But the weight of her coat and heavy, ill-fitting boots countered any temporary advantage her fear afforded her. What a fool she’d been to come here alone! She was in a highly dangerous situation, she quite understood that now. The commotion caused by her fight with this mindless oaf was bound to attract Salik’s attention, and she was sure that at any moment he’d recognise her. Then what? She shuddered at the very prospect, and renewed her dash for the door, now so tantalisingly close.

  As she reached for the handle, the door opened and a strong arm circled her waist. A hand covered her mouth, preventing her from crying out, and she was dragged bodily from the tavern. She struggled furiously, to no avail. Her actions weren’t having the slightest effect upon her captor. Whoever had her under his control now could be no worse than Salik — or the brute of a man in the tavern — could he?

  But then, as she was dragged away, struggling and protesting as best she could with a hand clamped over her mouth, she collided against a brick wall…a brick wall in a superfine coat, blue velvet waistcoat and a pristine cravat, secured with a flawless Ceylon sapphire pin. The wall proved to be a strong masculine chest, a chest she would recognise anywhere.