by Georgie Lee
Berkshire set aside the empty glass. ‘Well, I can’t sit here all day congratulating you. I’ll have my man send over the last half of your advance. With this book finally done, can I sign you up for another? Same terms as before? I can have Steed’s clerk draw up the contract this afternoon.’
Warren shook himself out of his musing. ‘No, I want twice as much for the next one.’
‘All right, it’s yours. I’ll get the manuscript to the printer right away, strike while the iron is hot as they say. Maybe we can release it before there’s any more trouble with your brother-in-law?’
As fast as Warren’s spirits rose, they came crashing back down. ‘Are you sure you want to sign a contract with a man teetering on the verge of scandal?’
‘You wouldn’t be the first notorious author I’ve handled. Besides, might increase sales the way it did for Lady Caroline Lamb’s awful tome.’
Warren tapped the top of his desk. ‘If it doesn’t destroy me first.’
Mr Berkshire scratched his stomach on the outside of his waistcoat. ‘It’s called a pen name, my boy. People use them all the time. You could too. Then, when people forget the scandal, we find a way to out you to the papers. We could make a fortune with the story.’
‘You give people too much credit for short memories.’ Once the scam became public Warren would be linked to the swindle for ever. There weren’t enough pen names available to save him.
‘Listen, Warren, I’ve been in publishing a long time and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, there’s no such thing as a smooth path. No matter what happens or what you’ve achieved, some problem will always arise. It’s the one constant you can depend on and the entire reason I engaged Mr Steed and Mr Dyer. The trick is to face each challenge and overcome it. Those who do, succeed, those who don’t crumple under the pressure and quit.’
‘I can see why they give up. It would be a hell of a lot easier.’
‘But you won’t. You never have. That’s why I believed in you. Still do. Today it will be your brother-in-law, tomorrow something else. You’ll get through this and your difficulties with the young lady. I have no doubt of it.’
With a nod, Berkshire took his leave.
Lancelot watched Warren from his place before the fire, mildly interested as always. Warren summoned the dog to his side and stroked the soft fur, the motion centring him and allowing him to think clearly for the first time since the sun had set the night before.
* * *
‘Why you returned to London in the autumn is beyond me,’ Lady St Onge complained as they sat in the morning room of Lady Ellington’s Hyde Park town house taking tea.
‘I told you, Miss Domville and I came to London to purchase the last of her wedding trousseau.’ This was the lie they’d agreed upon before they’d left Welton Place to keep from announcing the indefinite postponement of the wedding. If all went well, Marianne and Warren would keep their date before the vicar. She prayed they did. Marianne had endured a great number of humiliations in her life. She didn’t relish adding betrothed for less than a day to the long list. ‘There’s only so much we can secure in Sussex.’
‘Too true,’ Lady St Onge mumbled into her tea cup before taking a sip.
Marianne didn’t touch her tea, allowing it to grow cold on the table in front of her. Despite giving the manuscript to Mr Berkshire yesterday, they’d heard nothing from Warren. His publisher must have told him of Marianne’s visit by now.
‘At least remove the door knocker so no one realises you’re here,’ Lady St Onge suggested. ‘Otherwise, people will talk.’
‘One would think you were old enough not to care what people think,’ Lady Ellington observed as she blew the steam from her tea.
‘We don’t all have your years of learning to ignore it, what with your brother and nephew.’ Lady St Onge set down her cup with a rattle.
Marianne wondered if they shouldn’t take the knocker off the door. It would stop her from spending the rest of the day waiting for it to hit the strike plate. When the morning post had come and gone without a word from Warren, Marianne had suggested they pay a call on him, but Lady Ellington had balked. The Dowager might be one of the first to defy a convention or two, but not this one and not in London. Despite Marianne’s impatient protests, Lady Ellington was certain if Marianne waited Warren would come to her. She tried to believe he would, if only to keep from going mad while she waited.
Lady Ellington offered her cousin an impish smile. ‘Don’t be so sanctimonious, Rosemary. You chased after Edgar like half the ladies of the ton, despite, or should I say because of, his scandals.’
Lady St Onge grew redder beneath her rogue and adjusted the pin holding closed her high necked gown. ‘What a ridiculous thing for you to say.’
Marianne caught the hint of a smile before the grand dame smothered it. She’d have to be sure to ask Lady Ellington about it once they were alone. It was hard to imagine the prim old widow having any kind of amorous past. It was also difficult to not picture herself turning into a woman like Lady St Onge if their plan failed.
The thud of the front-door knocker echoed through the house and Marianne nearly knocked over the table with her knee as she twisted in her chair to try and see out of the front window. She exchanged a look with Lady Ellington, who raised her chin with pride. ‘That will teach you to doubt me.’
‘You don’t even know who it is,’ Marianne shot back, secretly wanting to be proven wrong.
‘It’s probably Lady Rexton,’ Lady St Onge added with a purse of her wrinkled lips. ‘She saw your carriage and now wants to chatter on about her youngest son. As if anyone cares about him tromping through the African jungle.’
The old lady’s muttering didn’t last as Darby opened the front door. A deep voice rolled through the entrance hall.
‘I believe it is Sir Warren.’ Lady Ellington threw Marianne an I told you so look.
‘Even more reason why you should have removed the knocker.’ Lady St Onge sniffed. ‘Look at the riff-raff you’re attracting.’
‘Rosemary, you’re speaking of Marianne’s betrothed,’ Lady Ellington reminded in a firm voice.
‘Oh, yes, I’d forgotten. Sorry, my dear,’ the cantankerous woman grudgingly apologised.
Marianne didn’t care what Lady St Onge said. Warren was here. He’d come to see her, just like Lady Ellington had assured her he would. It was what he’d come here to say she worried about.
She rose, adjusting the lace fichu over her chest. She shouldn’t get excited. He might be about to officially end the engagement, their time apart having reinforced his decision to avoid adding her scandals to his. She faced the door, holding her breath as Warren’s steady footsteps carried down the hall.
At last he stepped into the room and she swallowed hard. He appeared as serious this morning as he had in the painting at Priorton, the brim of his hat clutched tight in his ink-blackened hands. Shadows darkened the skin beneath his eyes with a weariness she felt. She’d barely slept these last few nights and she doubted he had either. Whatever had happened during their time apart, it hadn’t eased his burdens or made him happy. She didn’t revel in his misery, for it was hers too and with only one cure.
‘Sir Warren, welcome. Will you join us for tea?’ Lady Ellington greeted, unflustered by his appearance or her cousin’s disapproving grimace.
‘I’d like an audience with Miss Domville, please?’ He fixed on Marianne as though the other two ladies didn’t exist. ‘Alone.’
Marianne shifted her feet forward, eager to jump up and rush into his arms, but she forced herself to remain seated, determined to retain at least some of her dignity.
‘Of course. Rosemary, please join me in the sitting room.’ Lady Ellington took her cousin by the arm and drew her out of the chair.
‘You can’t leave her alone with a gentleman. It i
sn’t proper,’ Lady St Onge protested as Lady Ellington all but dragged her from the room and closed the door behind them.
Marianne rose and laced her hands in front of her, willing her shaky legs to support her. ‘It seems I’m to be bold with a gentleman once again.’
A small smile split the severity of his lips, bringing a bit of light to his eyes. It heartened her and she dropped her hands to her side as the tension between them began to ease.
‘I understand you’ve been bold not just with me, but with my publisher. Mr Berkshire said you gave him Lady Matilda’s Trials.’
‘I did.’ She couldn’t discern if he was happy or angry about her decision.
‘Why?’
‘It’s your best work and you need the money from the sale of it to fight Mr Hirst.’
‘And the fact it’s your story?’
‘If it helps you, then let everyone read it. I no longer care what they think.’ She slipped the ring on and off her finger, waiting for his response, to learn where they stood. ‘Was I right to do it?’
‘You were.’ He set his hat down on the chair beside him and came to stand over her like the day in the cloister when he’d tried so hard to make her see she was more than gossip or her past. Much more. ‘I wanted to save myself through my own industry. You giving him the story means I will, but I couldn’t have done it without you. I can’t continue to do it if you aren’t with me. I love you, Marianne, and if you’ll still have me, I want you to be my wife.’
She closed the small distance between them and laid her hand on his cheek. His skin, cool from his time outside, warmed beneath her touch. ‘Through richer or poorer?’
‘Through it all.’ He took her by the waist and pulled her to him, his fingers digging into her sides with an intensity which echoed in her heart. ‘I’m sorry I was a stubborn fool. I love you.’
‘I love you, too.’
He claimed her lips with a relief as palpable as hers. This was everything she’d wanted when she and Lady Ellington had climbed into the carriage and set out for London, and the coming true of every girlish dream. All would be well between them. She was as certain of it today as she had been when they’d made love in the orangery. Their future together had nearly been ruined by their fears and misunderstandings. Neither of them would ever allow such a thing to happen again.
* * *
Warren savoured Marianne’s moist lips and her curving figure against his angles. He wrapped his arms around her, not ever wanting to let go. Her love for him had been stronger than his troubles and hers, and although so many things remained unsettled or uncertain, in her embrace it didn’t matter. He broke from their kiss, pressed his forehead against hers and inhaled her rich peony scent.
‘Thank you for understanding.’ She always had, never once laughing at his dreams, or his weaknesses. With her he’d stopped to enjoy what he’d built for himself. He wanted to share it and all with her, but there were still obstacles facing them. ‘My dealings with Rupert aren’t over yet.’
‘Then we’ll fight him together. If only the common licence didn’t force us to wait seven days. We could marry at once and put all this foolishness behind us.’ She straightened his wrinkled cravat, her hands on his chest light yet heady.
‘Perhaps we don’t have to wait.’ He took one of her hands and raised it to his mouth, pressing his lips to the pulse of her wrist and making her inhale sharply. ‘The Cartwrights may not like me, but I have other friends among the peerage, including one in the Prince’s employ. He might be able to intercede with the bishop on our behalf and gain us a special licence.’
‘If he can’t, Lady Ellington and Lord Falconbridge certainly can. It will be expensive,’ she warned, but he didn’t care.
‘I’ll pay any cost to be with you.’ He lowered his face to hers, her mouth tantalisingly close to his when someone behind them cleared their throat. He groaned, wondering if on their wedding night they’d be interrupted by as many people as those who regularly intruded on their kisses. He would have to make sure their bedroom door had a lock. He didn’t want anything, not servants or intrusive relatives, to interrupt their wedded bliss.
Marianne stepped out of his arms with a mirthful smile, she more than Warren finding amusement in the interruption. They turned to find Darby waiting for their attention.
‘Sir Warren, this arrived for you from your town house. The messenger said you are to read it at once.’
Warren took the letter, noting the mark of Mr Steed and Mr Dyer. ‘It’s from the solicitor.’
He tore it open as the butler left them. He read over the missive, the calm Marianne’s sacrifice for him had brought increasing with Mr Steed’s words.
‘What does he say?’ Marianne peered over his arm to read the letter.
‘Mr Dyer has some evidence he thinks will send Rupert running from his claims and out of our lives. We have to present it to him and we’ll need your help to do it.’
‘I’ll do anything to ensure he and his lies are destroyed.’
* * *
‘I don’t see why this meeting is necessary,’ Rupert sneered at Warren from across the study in Warren’s town house. Mr Steed and Mr Dyer watched the exchange from where they sat beneath the far window. Warren hadn’t introduced them and they hadn’t revealed who they were or why they were here. Rupert seemed to wonder at it as well as he glanced back and forth at the gentlemen, waiting for them to speak. ‘Everything we needed to discuss was done in the country.’
‘No, there’s a great deal more we have to talk about.’ Warren rose and came around the desk. ‘I want a list of all the investors and how much each of them gave you. I also want an accounting of the money you still have, no matter how small, and with it a tally of your possessions and valuables which can be sold to raise more.’
‘I won’t give you any of the information, but let you swing while every investor rushes to attack you,’ Rupert answered with wicked delight, his satisfaction in his victory making Warren want to blacken his eyes an even deeper shade of purple than they already were. Instead he remained calm, refusing to sink to his brother-in-law’s level. ‘I want you to sell Priorton to pay them back and then be thrown in debtors’ prison because it still isn’t enough.’
‘The only one who’ll go to prison is you. As for going into debt, it isn’t possible. While Priorton has cost me a great deal, I’m far from broke or without resources.’ Warren strolled to the door connecting the study to the adjacent sitting room.
‘Of course you are. You can barely afford to pay the workmen, much less the investors.’
‘On the matter of my finances, you’re gravely mistaken.’ Warren opened the door. Marianne strode through, the diamond engagement ring gifted to her by Lady Ellington and adorning her finger glittering in the early morning light. He took her by the hand and raised it to his lips. The memory of everything they’d shared in the orangery, and her coming to him in London, settled the anger and disgust struggling to take control of him. All would be well. Together they would make sure of it. ‘I believe you already know my betrothed. We will be married by special licence tomorrow.’
Rupert gaped at them as he grasped what the coming marriage meant, but he remained stubborn in his hate. ‘So, once you’re done spending your money, you’ll waste hers and in the end you’ll both be without a house or reputations. I’ll see to it the press ruins you for swindling aristocrats, then aligning yourself with the notorious relation of a whore.’
Warren’s arm stiffened and he stepped forward to strike him, but Marianne’s restraining hand stopped him. No, he couldn’t hit the snake. They still needed a small measure of his co-operation.
‘My guardian, Lord Falconbridge, is a prudent man,’ Marianne replied with confidence, peering down her elegant nose at Rupert as though he were a weed in Lady Ellington’s rose bed. ‘As we speak, he is arrangin
g for my money to be placed in trust where I will have access to it, but creditors will not.’
‘You can’t save him,’ Rupert insisted, desperation beginning to undermine his determination. ‘All you can do is make things worse.’
‘He isn’t the one who’ll need to be saved, but you. You’re in more danger than you think,’ she replied as if explaining to him the notes on a pianoforte.
‘Mr Dyer, do you care to inform Mr Rupert why it is I’ve asked him to join us today?’ Warren at last addressed the two men.
Rupert paled at the mention of the famous barrister’s name.
Mr Dyer rose and approached Rupert, who had the sense to step cautiously back.
‘Mr Hirst, I’ve reviewed the documents you provided Sir Warren and have been briefed on what transpired between the two of you in regards to your venture,’ Mr Dyer began, with the authority of a man used to addressing magistrates and lowlifes. ‘Despite your claims it was Sir Warren and not you who invented this scheme, there’s nothing in your possession signed by Sir Warren to prove it. Nor is there anything in writing showing he agreed to the terms you included in the stock certificate, including placing Priorton Abbey up as collateral.’
‘It doesn’t matter what you believe. The investors believed it and they’re the ones who will crucify him.’ Rupert raised one shaking finger at Warren. ‘Especially once it reaches the papers and I’ll make sure it does.’
‘No, you won’t because you won’t be here,’ Mr Dyer explained. ‘You will be on the next ship to Australia. You’ll go there to make your life over. You’re to have no more contact with my client, you’re not to sell the story to the papers and, if you ever set foot in England again, I’ll see to it you’re prosecuted for forgery, the penalty for which is death. As you know, my reputation for prosecuting such cases is unmatched.’
‘You have no proof.’ Rupert’s voice wavered as doubt about his plan began to take hold in his feeble mind.