The Silent Love
Page 2
The solicitor, heaving a somnolent sigh, showed every evidence of having grown weary of the younger man's procrastination, and drove home his point by picking up the next packet and tossing it across the table where it landed with a dull thwack. "Look in there."
David opened the packet and fingered the pound notes within. "Oh my. I shall just have a faint," he quipped in excellent imitation of a dandy as the four hundred pounds fell onto the table.
"I've died and gone to... " he stopped suddenly and grabbed up the money, replacing it in the envelope and shoving it back across the table. "No... I cannot. It is not right. No and no again."
"Not sure it's wise to refuse, my boy. Your father is quite serious about this, and would not look kindly on such an action... if you get my meaning."
"What? Will he cut me off then?"
"Well, let's just say that you would do well not to find out."
"I see. So it's bugger for the old devil or die of starvation. That's prostitution! Of a sort... "
"I don't see it quite like that." The solicitor pursed his mouth in an irritating show of distaste that belied his words. Clearing his throat, he continued, "... and while it may not be exactly the done thing, it would certainly behoove you to consider carefully before you refuse."
David sat pondering for a moment, his fine dark eyes going darker with his self-loathing. "I accept. Frankly, I cannot allow my scruples to get between me and this opportunity."
Knowing himself to be spineless and amoral, and hating his lack of principles, he sighed deeply, then spoke again. "Been down and out too long, as you well know."
As he spoke, David pulled the envelope back and withdrew the notes, placing them in his wallet.
"Well done." Mr. Maguire pulled the contract from its envelope and indicated the inkwell be brought from the small desk against the wall. "You'll just need sign this. Then I'll arrange a carriage to pick you up at half past one. Best use the time you've got to make yourself more presentable. What have you been up to? Gambling all night?"
"Wenching, old fellow. Wenching." David glanced hastily through the closely written document, mumbling, "Legal mumbo jumbo... can't make sense of it," then signed with a flourish. "There, all done."
The solicitor gave a hearty laugh—not his usual fare—and packed up his briefcase. Turning back just as he reached the door, he admonished David, "You had best remember that you have signed a contract and will be expected to deliver. Clear?"
David looked up from contemplation of his crumpled appearance, reflected in the empty glass and grinned. "Oh, I am sure I can... deliver. Very sure."
Chapter Two
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... "David, I believe we've found a girl who would suit. She's just a day's ride from here, over Derbyshire way. Parents died last week. New heir, no place to go... that sort of thing." The Marquis looked at his son with some seriousness. "Hear that she has a penchant for doing good works and has nursed her parents all through their illness. Shows character."
"Yes, well that would be important, of course. What does she look like?" David asked.
"Don't know yet. Sending Maguire today to look her over and get her signed up if we can."
"Signed up?" David looked askance at his parent and sipped at the very fine napoleon brandy. "Sounds like you're recruiting an army."
"Don't be fresh, David. And get your demned feet off my Hepplewhite." The Marquis glared at his son, but there was no real bite to his bark.
David sat up slowly, dropping his long legs to the floor, his eyes brimming with humor at the chastisement. Taking a deep breath, he spoke in an undertone as he leaned forward toward his father. "Well, I for one am not at all keen on this idea. Only doing it because you have kept me a pauper since university and I, quite frankly, can't turn down the blunt."
"This is not a game. It is a matter of the title. Our family heritage that has lasted four hundred years. Would that I could just hand it over to you... but the law says I cannot. Sorry. You'll just have to do the next best thing and produce me an heir."
In an unprecedented display of affection, the Marquis reached over and grabbed David's hand for emphasis. "Like you, you know. Always have. To bad I couldn't have married your mother. She's a fine woman... loved her I did. Maybe still do... "
David shifted uncomfortably at this unusual exhibit, but did not pull his hand away from the father that had never before given him any sign of affection. He was quite dumbfounded, but wholly pleased.
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* * * * *
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Mr. Maguire arrived at the door of the dilapidated manor house not far behind the new Earl of Crossham, and had the dubious privilege of seeing the preening fop and his thin, waspish countess alight from their travel barouche.
He perceived the man's cruelty, evident in his dissipated features and beady eyes, and perceived, as well, the woman he held by her bony arm to be foolishly lofty. Malice gleamed in her bulging, biliously green eyes.
Mr. Maguire gathered himself for a skirmish with some relish, for he did so enjoy putting these upstart types in their place. A solicitor he might be, but being the solicitor for one of the wealthiest and most influential peers of the realm gave him a status that would allow him to give these people quite a set down, should the need arise... and he was sure it would.
"Good morrow to you, Milord," he called as he stepped down from his carriage, making sure the crest of the Marquis of Darlington was on display. "Are you the new earl?"
He did not give the man his due obeisance, but held his eyes in a bold manner, privately amused as the man drew himself up and looked down his nose. Mr. Maguire kept his voice casually pleasant. "I'll just have a quick word with you, if you will."
Not giving the earl time to get up the stairs of the manor, Mr. Maguire approached him and doffed his hat to the countess. "I've come from the Marquis of Darlington... "
He hesitated, watching the man's eyes light up with smug satisfaction at being approached by a representative of such an exalted personage. "... To see Lady Hannah DeLacey. Can you direct me to her?"
The light dulled instantly from the earl's eyes, to be replaced with astonishment. He sputtered for a moment, then—his voice almost a whine—spoke to the air, just beyond the solicitors shoulder. "It is rather I you would wish to speak to, I am certain. Lady Hannah is my ward, of course, and I would be privy to anything to do with her... "
"Ah, I see. Well, as it happens, she is not your ward. She is a ward of the crown and I have received permission of our exalted majesty to speak with her. Can you," he gave the man a quelling glance and spoke slowly, with emphasis, "tell me where I might find her?"
The earl whispered to the footman that stood at his shoulder, then turned his beady, feral eyes back to the solicitor. "She will join you in the drawing room. We will join you shortly."
"That will not be necessary. My business with Lady Hannah could not concern you, I am sure." Satisfied he had given the proper set down, he followed the footman up the steps and into a small, neglected foyer.
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* * * * *
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Hannah was summoned to the drawing room by a footman she had never seen, the manner of his personage quite insolent as he instructed her to get herself to the drawing room, for the earl and his guest would speak with her immediately.
She rose from her chair at the kitchen table and smoothed her gown, then lifted her hands to tuck back the wisp of hair that had come loose from her coiffure. She did not step forward immediately, however, but gazed nervously at the servant, her eyes apprehensive.
"What guests, good fellow? I knew not that the earl had arrived." Her soft voice and timid manner undid the footman—who suddenly took pity on the young mistress—and he stood at attention, not meeting her eyes but changing his tone to one of respect.
"There is a gentleman to see you, Milady. He has come from the Marquis of Darlington. If you will just go along to the drawing room." He then bowed his way out the door, obsequious defe
rence oozing from his very pores, and led her down the short hall.
She lifted her skirts and followed, her heart in her throat, fear coursing through her at a rapid pace. She wondered, what manner of intrigue this could be and barely glanced at her cousin who had come forward to greet her. "I must see my guest Baits. I shall turn over the household once I have done."
She had the satisfaction of seeing the man's mouth agape as he stepped aside and allowed her to sweep through the door, closing it behind her. She could not bring herself to call him Milord—for he was not the stuff of an earldom and his overweening manner was almost comical.
Turning into the room she gave a small smile of welcome, but her eyes, behind their wire spectacles, were shy and her hand fidgeted with the fringe of lace at her throat. "Good morrow, sir. I am Lady Hannah DeLacey, at your disposal."
Mr. Maguire looked the girl up and down, and smiled in satisfaction at what he saw. She was clean, tidy and small. She looked to be quite nervous, but she held herself poised, and managed to appear serene—though it was obvious to his keen eyes that she was anything but calm.
"Good morrow Lady Hannah." He stepped forward and assisted her to a chair, then asked permission to be seated himself, and did so at her nod.
"I have come with a proposition for you," he said while opening the portfolio on his lap. Proceeding to explain his mission, and with much delicacy, he prompted her, hoping to have this done and be gone as quickly as possible.
"Are you familiar with the Marquis?" At the shake of her head, he went on to explain the four-hundred-year tradition of the title, and how, sadly, it would soon be defunct, if an heir were not produced. "So you see, Milady," he gave her due homage, "I have been instructed to ask for your hand in marriage on behalf of the Marquis of Darlington."
"My hand in marriage to the Mar... " she was so astounded that she could not speak further, and she rose from her chair and went to the window, looking out at the multitude of luggage and boxes standing on the drive. "I cannot think, sir. It is... oversetting, to be sure."
"Well, of course there are... conditions of which you must be appraised and perhaps you will not like them. If you could just come sit down for a moment, I would speak softly, for I fear being overhead in this matter. It is... most delicate."
Hannah returned to her chair and looked expectantly at her benefactor, eyes questioning but wary. "Conditions... pray tell me, then."
The solicitor leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner and glanced meaningfully at the door where he was sure that the new earl had his ear pressed. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he began to outline the terms of her marriage, indicating with a gesture of his hand, the documents that lay inside the portfolio.
When he had finished, he rose and went to the drinks tray on the far side of the room and poured a small libation of sherry, pressing it into her lifeless hand, for the girl had turned extremely pale.
"You need this, it would appear. Come now, drink up." Mr. Maguire was quite sorry for the young woman, and not for the first time, was ashamed of his participation in this matter. But there was nothing for it but to go on, as he had a small inkling that she would eventually comply, so desperate were her circumstances.
He had been appraised of the new earl's cruelty, and knew that Hannah would be relegated to the status of servant, perhaps even forced to share the bed of the monstrous man, whose eyes held nothing that would indicate pity or compassion. His conscience was somewhat soothed with that last thought. Her lot would be much improved with the Marquis.
"I... I need to...I must think about this. It is so... so unnatural and decadent, I should think." She lifted the glass and drained it in one swallow, choking and wheezing afterward.
When she had recovered somewhat she parried, leaning forward to whisper a question of her own. "This man who would give me the child... who should he be, then?"
"We have in mind a perfectly nice gentleman, who will be well compensated for his... his cooperation, and you will have no taint upon yourself whatsoever, I can assure you."
A long silence ensued while Hannah thought over the strange terms, her aversion and horror weighing against the alternative—which was no better in her eyes. But to be impregnated by a stranger, in order to bring forth an heir was, indeed, a daunting thought.
"Think on this, if you will." The solicitor patted her hand and spoke in gentle tones. "You have only to spend a small amount of time... a year perhaps... doing this duty. After that you will be free to pursue a life of luxury and be accorded the respect and privileges of one of the most ancient and prestigious families of the peerage. Your life will be dramatically different than what you now face."
"Is that why I have been chosen? My drastic circumstances?"
"Yes. While it is true, however, your excellent lineage has a deal to do with it as well."
"If I consent, I should like to negotiate a few terms of my own. Is that agreeable?"
"Well, of course, I cannot speak for his lordship, but if you would give me your terms, I shall convey them and we can... "
"I would have this done now. What I am asking should not affect his lordship at all, but hear me out and decide for yourself."
She leaned closer and began to whisper her terms, leaving the solicitor with raised eyebrows and a deal more respect for the young lady's wit than he'd had up to now.
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* * * * *
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Within the hour, Lady Hannah DeLacey found herself ensconced in the luxurious traveling carriage of the Marquis of Darlington, her few possessions and mementos safely strapped in the luggage bin. She sat back in a daze and let her head fall against the soft cushion, her eyes closed in weariness as the day's events washed over her.
It was difficult to countenance, but she would soon be the Marchioness of Darlington and a very wealthy lady in her own right. What she had to do to accomplish this was a matter that she pushed to the back of her mind with some difficulty.
"Your relative was quite put out, was he not?" Mr. Maguire was well pleased with the results of this day's business, and could not help thinking of the outrage and helplessness on the earl's face when he had been forced to sign over the guardianship of Hannah.
Maguire, a self-professed master at deception, had threatened the twiddle-pated earl with all manner of mysterious retribution from the Marquis, and hinted at the crown becoming involved as well, for the girl had a slender attachment to royalty through her mother.
He smiled to think on it, and when he realized he must look a fool, grinning at nothing, he schooled his features to a more dignified appearance. And promptly grinned again as he continued to recount the events in his mind.
He decided his smooth handling of the situation had saved the day when he negotiated a rather sticky bit of bargaining. He'd pointed out that, though he had initially misled the earl regarding the ward-ship, he stood ready to pursue in the courts a matter of the earl's non-compliance with the wishes of his majesty.
The poor fool had actually believed him, and signed with a shaking hand. Mister Maguire barked a short laugh, earning a puzzled look from his traveling companion. He put a hand to his mouth and quickly turned the guffaw into a cough. He did so enjoy a good dust up, and didn't always get the satisfaction he'd derived today, and thought his behavior no less than inspired. Another bark of laughter slipped out and he quickly turned that into a cough also.
"Are you ailing?" her sweet voice inquired, intruding on his ruminations, but not so that he could resent it. It was rather nice to be the recipient of her concern. He answered with a smile that he was perfectly all right, then leaned back, closing his eyes and hoping he would give her no further cause for alarm.
He recalled soundly admonishing the fellow—not in the girl's hearing, of course—to see to it that none of her private possessions should be left behind, and again lied smoothly, telling the earl that he had done an inventory of his own on an earlier occasion, and would be quite put out to find anything missing.
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* * * * *
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It was late afternoon when they arrived at Darlington manor and the sun—dipping low in the west—created long shadows on the sumptuous green lawn, the enormous ancient trees weaving those shadows back and forth in a light breeze.
Hannah caught her breath at the sight of the huge brick structure, no less than four stories with windows straight across on every floor. She counted six chimneys before they came close enough to keep her view from the rooftops.
Hannah met her husband, a seemingly kind, elderly gentleman, who put her immediately at her ease. Not sure what she'd expected, she was nevertheless charmed by his engaging manner—the remnants of the handsome man he had once been evident in his devil may care smile.
He was, however, stooped and aged, thin and angular. The once-tall, straight form bent beneath the weight of his many years.
Hannah thought perhaps he might be persuaded to take the air, and get some color in his sallow cheeks. And a masseuse found to aid in strengthening his muscles so he might stand straighter.
"You are tired, I know, my child. However I have arranged for a London magistrate, brought to Darlington Manor for just this purpose, to wed us with all haste."
His voice—stronger than his appearance would suggest—retained an autocratic demand, so subtle yet so very evident in his manner.
One did not gainsay this personage, she thought. He might have, in an earlier age, hanged men for disobedience. Perhaps he still might. She shuddered inwardly to think so.
"Of course, your Grace," she demurred, wondering at the haste, then deciding at his age, time was not on his side. "I would have a moment to freshen up, then we shall proceed."