Before they had drifted off to sleep she had murmured something about spending the following morning together, and he had not contradicted her. But the truth was he had another engagement this morning. One he hoped would help end his dealings with Spencer once and for all.
*
Dense morning fog surrounded Margaret as she rapped purposefully on the door of Richard’s town house. She had awoken alone this morning, and her surprise and disappointment had turned quickly to worry when she’d discovered Tom had left without telling anyone where he was going. After all that had happened yesterday—and last night—she could no longer bear not knowing what was still separating her from her husband. She had given too much; her heart was too invested. If Tom was still unwilling to confide in her, she would have to find another way. And she would begin with Richard.
When the door opened, the bright light from the hallway pierced the gloom. The butler led her to a parlor and informed her that Mr. Spencer would be down shortly.
Margaret paced the floor as she waited. She was prepared to wait all day if need be. It was time to get some answers.
“I apologize for keeping you waiting, cousin,” Richard said, breezing into the room. “I’m afraid you caught me just as I was preparing to go out.” The overcoat he was wearing and the gloves in his hands gave evidence of his statement. He made as if to give her a kiss on the cheek, but she stepped away before he could do so. “Come now,” he admonished. “Not even a friendly greeting for a kinsman?”
“I want to know what your business is with my husband,” Margaret said.
Richard cocked his head to one side. “Business?”
“Don’t equivocate, Richard. I know you’ve been talking to him about Moreton Hall. If you’ve been trying to convince him you have some kind of claim on my land—”
“Your land? My dear, you are married now. Moreton Hall is in the power of your husband.”
He said it with such smugness that Margaret was tempted to laugh at his ignorance rather than set him straight on the matter. “Is that so?” she said.
He nodded. “And, as it happens, I have indeed convinced Poole of my right to that land. Soon I will be its rightful owner.”
This bald confirmation of her greatest fear hit Margaret like a blow to the chest. She took a deep breath. “Tom would never agree to give you Moreton Hall.”
Again, the self-satisfied look. “We have an arrangement. Let’s call it a bargain for both sides.”
“I don’t believe it,” Margaret said flatly.
“Why don’t you ask him? He’s your husband, after all.” He paused to reconsider that statement. “I’ll wager you have asked him. And he has refused to tell you. Now that I think about it, he was quite adamant that this whole transaction be kept secret from you until the deal was done. Now why do you suppose that is?”
“It could not possibly be kept secret from me,” Margaret said. “The land cannot be sold or transferred without my consent.”
He gave a disbelieving laugh. “Your consent?”
She lifted her head proudly. “Apparently he hasn’t told you that the land is in a joint trust. Any major decision requires two signatures—his and mine.”
Richard’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.”
“You are the liar, Richard. Not me.”
It gave Margaret a particular satisfaction to see the anger that colored Richard’s face. But his expression cooled and he said, “I had a feeling he was dragging his feet on this. Now I know why.” He gave her a malevolent smile. “He’s been waiting until he got you fully in his camp.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I imagine Poole knows that a woman will do anything her man asks—if she is in love with him. He’s got to win you with gentle persuasion.”
Was Tom trying to manipulate her? Richard’s suggestion was galling and yet so many of the things Tom had done since their wedding could be seen as attempts to win her over. But couldn’t they also be seen as things a loving husband would do for a wife? Everything he had done could be interpreted two ways. Margaret knew better than to take anything Richard said at face value. And yet, she had heard from Tom’s own mouth that they were planning something.
Still, she protested. “It makes no sense. He loves Moreton Hall. He’s thrown himself into every aspect of running the place. Why would he turn around and sell it to you?”
“You are a fool if you think he cares about the land. He wanted you; I’ll grant you that. But he told me himself he has no desire to stay in Lincolnshire. He said he’d much rather live closer to his sister. I’m sure you know how important she is to him.”
Margaret did know. Her face must have revealed something, and Richard always knew when to press his advantage. “Go ahead—ask your husband where his real loyalties lie. Ask him just how much he’d be willing to do—how far he’d be willing to go—for his sister.”
Margaret had every intention of asking him. Today all of her fears had been realized. But she would not back down for anyone. She advanced on him. “You will never get that land, Richard,” she said forcefully. “I would die first. Or better yet, I’ll see you dead.”
“I would advise against making any threats, Margaret. One way or another you are going to lose that land, and it will either go to me or be seized by the Crown.”
“Now who is making threats?” Margaret accused. “And empty ones at that. You’re lying to me, simply to get your way.”
“On the contrary. I plan to get my way by telling the truth.” Abruptly he turned and walked into the front hall, pulling on his gloves as he went.
Margaret followed in his wake. “Wait! Where are you going?”
Picking up his hat from a side table, Richard trotted down the steps and up into a waiting carriage. It was a high gig, one that Margaret could not have mounted herself without help. She stood on the curb, frustrated, looking up at him. “You cannot leave!” she protested.
He picked up the reins. “I really must be going. Also, I apologize, but I seem to have sent away your cab. Don’t worry; my butler will fetch another for you.” With a quick slap of the reins he set the carriage in motion and was swiftly lost in the swirl of fog.
*
Spencer kept Tom waiting for nearly three-quarters of an hour. Tom knew this by the sounds of the church bell ringing the quarter hours while he sat in the little pub drinking his ale and waiting. Inspector Field was waiting, too, but he was nearly unrecognizable. If Tom hadn’t known Field was the grizzled old man sitting nearby, puffing a pipe and reading the paper, he’d never have guessed it. The man’s appearance was changed entirely.
Men from the Detective Branch of the police force had taken up a post in the back of the pub, where they would not reveal themselves until they’d gotten the signal from Field. The trap had been carefully constructed.
When Spencer finally arrived, he paused at the door. He took a long look around, scrutinizing everything about the place and the few patrons in it. Behind him, dense fog obscured everything outside. His gaze rested on Field for several moments. Field looked up, gave him a disinterested look as one does to a stranger, then nodded politely before returning to his reading. This act must have convinced Spencer that there was nothing out of the ordinary. After one more darting glance, he removed his hat and gloves and strode over to the table where Tom was sitting.
“You’re late,” Tom said as Spencer sat down. “It’s not enough that you are coercing me into giving up my land; you must now make me wait for the privilege?”
“I was detained,” Spencer answered. His tone made it clear that he did not offer it up as an apology. “And you will kindly keep your voice down.” He glanced over at Field again, as though trying to gauge whether he was listening.
But Field was just at that moment calling out to the barmaid for more gin and water, which gave the impression that he was oblivious to Tom and Spencer. He was also making it plain that he was hard of hearing, for he spoke unnaturally loud to the barmaid an
d asked her to repeat herself twice, saying, “What’s that? Speak louder!” A masterful performance, thought Tom. Field ought to have been on the stage.
“All right,” said Tom, “let’s get down to business. Did you bring the document?”
Spencer nodded and tapped his breast pocket.
“Well, let’s see it, then,” Tom demanded. “I want proof that the information you are holding against me is as damaging as you say it is.”
Spencer pulled a folded paper out of his greatcoat. Tom took the paper and began to read. Just as Spencer had told him, it was a sworn statement from Freddie, dated the day after their duel seven years ago. It clearly stated Tom and Lizzie’s names, and that an altercation with Tom had been the cause of Freddie’s life-threatening injury.
“Altercation!” Tom read aloud, nearly spitting out the word. He slammed the paper on the table. “It was no ‘altercation.’ It was a duel.”
Spencer leaned back and crossed his arms. “You took hold of a man as he was coming out of a tavern in the wee hours of the morning, hauled him to a field, and put a gun in his hand. If you want to call that a duel, that’s your privilege. I call it an elaborate kind of murder.”
“I didn’t kill him!”
“No, but you thought you did. And that was your intent. Don’t deny it.” He took the paper and folded it carefully, placing it back into his coat. “If you call it a duel, it changes nothing. Either way, you will lose your freedom—if not your life.”
“No magistrate is going to bring me up on charges for that. Hightower recovered from that duel, and he died last year while I wasn’t even in the country.”
Spencer gave a wave of impatience. “So you have insisted. Dozens of times, in fact. It’s been getting rather tedious. However, I have to admit that something about Hightower’s death still bothered me, and it wasn’t until this morning that I finally figured out what it was.”
Something in Spencer’s manner made Tom wary. He had a foreboding that this couldn’t be good. “Out with it, then.”
“Hightower died in the presence of the other person named in this document. Someone who had a vested interest in keeping him quiet. That sounds very suspicious to me. I believe the authorities will think so, too.”
He was actually implying that Lizzie had committed murder. Anger surged through Tom like his blood was on fire. But he could not afford to lose control, no matter how much Spencer goaded him. Inspector Field had told him exactly what he needed to hear in order for the police to have an extortion case against Spencer. “You told me you would not take this paper to the authorities,” Tom ground out, fighting to keep his anger clamped down. “You said I could buy your silence with Moreton Hall.”
Spencer shook his head. “Actually, as I understand it, the purpose of this meeting was to discuss your sale of Moreton Hall and surrounding property to me. I know you have been eager to get it off your hands, but I’m afraid some information has come to light that may compel me to reject your offer of sale.”
This change of tack utterly bewildered Tom. “My offer of sale! What are you talking about? It wasn’t my idea.”
“I’ll admit your offer was tempting,” Spencer said, as though Tom hadn’t spoken. “However, just this morning I was informed that you are not actually at liberty to sell Moreton Hall. You can’t sell it to me, or to anyone else for that matter, without your dear wife’s written consent.”
This was not at all how Tom had planned this meeting. Everything was going wrong, and he was beginning to suspect why. “Who gave you that information?”
“Why, Margaret, of course,” Spencer answered, confirming Tom’s fears.
She hadn’t trusted him. She’d gone to Spencer and ruined Tom’s carefully constructed plan.
“I think she wishes now that she’d been more careful in picking a husband,” Richard said. “When she found out you were trying to sell off her property, she became positively livid.” He laughed. “I don’t envy you, my friend. You won’t have a good time of it when you go home tonight.”
“I don’t suppose you told her you were trying to force me into giving up the land.” Tom knew he was grabbing at straws, but he was desperate to prove Spencer’s guilt. If he could just get Spencer to admit to the extortion, he might still have a chance.
But Spencer was too cagy. “I believe Margaret and I talked about your sister, Lady Somerville.” He pronounced Lizzie’s title with relish. “Margaret knows you are awfully attached to your sister, of course. But I don’t think she knows about Lady Somerville’s sordid past. Are you afraid to tell her?”
Tom lunged across the table, grabbing Spencer by the neck as the two of them went crashing to the floor. Spencer’s head hit the floor hard as they landed, leaving him stunned. The table toppled over, slamming Tom in the back before rolling off him, but Tom was unheeding. His self-control had evaporated, and he began throwing punches, wanting only to kill this man. Blind fury propelled him.
Two men grabbed Tom and pulled him to his feet, dragging him away from Spencer. It was the men from the Detective Branch. Field knelt down by Spencer and tried to revive him.
As Spencer came to and looked up at Tom with satisfaction, Tom realized he had played right into his hands. “As I was saying, Poole, I hesitate to enter into contract negotiations with a felon who is about to lose his land to the Crown. Also, as a moral matter, I find the criminal evidence against Lady Somerville to be quite disturbing.”
*
No one was at Mr. Hawthorne’s place of business. When her repeated knocking went unanswered, Margaret decided to walk the short distance to his lodgings. She had to find him.
Mr. Hawthorne’s housekeeper informed her that he was indeed at home, but unable to receive visitors. “He was outside all day yesterday, watching the duke’s funeral procession,” she explained. “It seems he caught a chill after standing for hours in that nasty weather. But the doctor said there is nothing to be alarmed over. Mr. Hawthorne should be up again in a day or two.”
Margaret hated to leave without seeing him, but it appeared she had no choice. There was nothing for Margaret to do now but return to the Somervilles’ house. She would far rather have had Mr. Hawthorne’s advice before confronting Tom, but she would just have to go ahead without it. The joys of yesterday were long gone. Emotions, as she had always known, were fleeting. The only constant in her life seemed to be that she must face her problems alone.
Chapter 32
Tom stalked up the steps to the Somerville home, still seething from the disaster. He had been unable to collect evidence of Spencer’s guilt; in fact, Spencer had made it plain that he was going to proceed with all of his threats.
His plans had been ruined because of Margaret’s interference.
Tom fully expected to see her when he walked through the door, and sure enough, she was standing in the front hall. She crossed her arms and glared at him. “We need to talk.”
“Not here.” Tom took her by the arm and led her to the study, slamming the door shut behind them. He was not about to have every servant in the house know their business.
“You were with Richard, weren’t you?” she accused.
“Tell me, why would you be paying a call to a man you hate so much?”
She bristled. “I wanted answers. You would not give them to me.”
“I asked you to trust me, Maggie.”
“Trust you!” she scoffed. “Why should I, when you are conspiring with my enemy to separate me from my land?”
Tom knew he ought to let it go, not try to justify himself. The more she hated him, the easier this would be. Even so, her single-minded focus, knowing she cared about her land more than him, still stung. “It’s always about your land, isn’t it? You don’t care about anything—or anyone—else. Well, then, let me ease your mind. I have, in fact, been working very hard to keep the land out of Spencer’s hands.”
Surprise—and uncertainty—shot across her face. “What do you mean?”
“Do you reme
mber at our wedding—” He felt physical pain just bringing that day to mind. It seemed no easier for Margaret; he saw her flinch visibly. He forced himself to continue. “Do you remember what I said when we first noticed Spencer?”
She thought for a moment. “You said we’d be seeing more of him.”
“Yes. And that is because Spencer knows something about my past. Something he has been holding over my head.”
“Do you mean to say he’s been blackmailing you? What have you done, that he has such a hold over you?” He couldn’t tell whom her anger was directed at.
“Dueling, attempted murder, manslaughter.” He forced himself to say the words. Yesterday she had said she loved him. Today she must be thinking she had married a monster. She must be thinking only that she had given herself to him, and he had betrayed her. He steeled himself against the pain brought on by this realization. “Margaret, you must listen to me. Very soon, the courts may bring me up on one or more of these charges. If I’m convicted, my goods and money may be forfeited to the Crown. Therefore, I have been working on a plan to revert the lands solely to you, along with a generous annuity. Also, I believe we should find a way to end the marriage.”
She stared at him, openmouthed. “You do not wish to be married to me?”
It was, to judge by her face, a painful idea. Tom took some comfort in that. Perhaps she did still harbor love for him. The memory of last night was seared on his heart forever, and he would always cherish it. But it was also the very reason why he had to take these steps now. “Your land will be saved, Margaret, and you will be free to do as you wish. This is your way out, and I advise you to take it. Otherwise, you may find yourself married to a convicted felon.”
She continued to stare at him without moving. “You really want me to go?” She spoke matter-of-factly, but her voice held a note of sadness.
He turned away from her. “Yes.”
There was silence. She was standing there, no doubt weighing his words, making her decision. But he knew, ultimately, what she would do. She was a strong woman. She had wanted to stand on her own. At last she said with a kind of shuddering sigh, “Very well. I am going home.”
A Lady Most Lovely Page 29