DisobediencebyDesign

by Regina Kammer

  Tears spiked in her eyes. “You mean I said the wrong thing?”

  “No, darling, you said the right thing. I admire your courage to do so. It was very, very brave.” He kissed her palm.

  “Now that the others have left, gentlemen, I have a proposition.”

  Lord Thuxton’s voice boomed in the quiet drawing room, the only other sounds coming from Wittering and a maid gathering teacups and plates. The earl glanced around.

  “Where’s Peel? He needs to be here.”

  “He’s—” Joseph started. He thinned his lips. “Wittering, please tell Mr. Peel to join us when you see him.”

  “Very good, Mr. Phillips.” The butler exited, ushering the maid out.

  “Where’s Geoffrey?” Sophia whispered.

  Anna. Joseph mouthed her name.

  Sophia stifled a grin.

  “What’s this about, Thuxton?” Arthur was wary.

  “Let’s repair to this cozy corner, Petersham, shall we?” Thuxton indicated a corner by the window where a day bed was set near a couple of overstuffed chairs. “Mrs. Phillips.” He held out his hand and helped her up.

  The earl led Sophia to the day bed. “We’re practically family,” he said. “Why don’t you put your feet up?” His eyes flashed with a knowing twinkle. “How far along, Sophie?” he asked gently.

  She flushed. “Around two months, my lord.” She stretched out, grateful for the opportunity for familiarity.

  “Ah well, it’s none of my business, really, but I suspected. I offer my heartfelt congratulations.” He nodded to Joseph. “To you both.”

  “Thank you.” Joseph moved a chair alongside her and sat.

  The door flew open and Geoffrey came in, flushed and slightly disheveled. “They’ve all gone?”

  “Mr. Peel, please join us.”

  Geoffrey sauntered over and took a seat next to Arthur, glancing at him with raised brows. Arthur shrugged.

  Lord Thuxton cleared his throat. “Gentlemen and Sophia.” He nodded to her. “I’ve had my suspicions about Royston for quite some time. Rumors of abused servants and shop girls abound. But the peerage has its privileges, both legal and psychological, making it difficult to defeat a duke.” He looked at her, sadness in his eyes. “I’ve known you since you were a child, Sophie. I can’t let this outrage go unpunished this time.” He glanced at the others. “I have a plan to destroy Royston. It’s rather unconscionable really.” He met her gaze. “He’s your villain, Sophie, what say you?”

  “Not just me, my lord. He’s been a villain to each one of us.”

  Arthur stood and walked to the window. Geoffrey shifted in his chair.

  “All right then.” Lord Thuxton thinned his lips. “We have few options to pursue. Even if Royston were not a duke, an attempt to convict him of rape would be a harrowing experience for his victims. As a duke, he would be tried in the House of Lords and the peers would most likely find in his favor.”

  “There’s only ever been one trial for rape in Lords,” grumbled Geoffrey, “and that was over two hundred years ago.”

  Sophia hesitated a moment. “What about murder?”

  “Murder?” Lord Thuxton raised his brows. “Is there evidence?”

  Sophia tugged at her skirts and glanced at Arthur.

  “No,” Arthur said with annoyance.

  Lord Thuxton shook his head. “And we must be careful of what we say in public so as to avoid any criminal charges of slander.”

  “Scandalum magnatum?” Geoffrey snorted. “That law is obsolete.”

  “Trust me—Royston knows more about his rights as a peer than most lawyers. If an ancient law is still valid, he will seek to be shielded by it.” Lord Thuxton paced pensively. “As I said, we have few recourses to defeat Royston. Two will be most effective.” He glanced around at his audience. “Ostracism and financial ruin.”

  Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Get him expelled from the Merchants and Industry Club?”

  Lord Thuxton smiled. “A task which will be fairly easy as he hasn’t paid his dues in years, as I understand. The other is a bit more complicated.” He drew in a deep breath. “I have a friend from university days. Viscount Oakham. He’s a cheat and a scoundrel. When one is twenty those characteristics attract. When one is nearing fifty and has developed scruples, such antics are considered disgraceful. Until one realizes how useful they can be.”

  Lord Thuxton gripped the back of a chair and leaned in. “I won’t invest in anything he does despite his reputation for garnering vast sums with his successes. What most don’t know is that the sum of his gains equals the sum of his losses, rendering one, at best, right where one was to begin with. Some, however, end up deeply in debt. He seems to thrive on such destruction.”

  “And you still call him ‘friend’?” Arthur asked in astonishment.

  “I do.” He chuckled. “We have a past. Don’t worry—he has no hold over me. Some friendships are simply based on longevity. You’ll see.” He winked. “If anything, Oakham is beholden to me. He follows my advice to his great advantage and has become a very wealthy man. He’ll help us.”

  “What do you have in mind?” asked Geoffrey.

  “Oakham owns a railway in the States.” He turned to Joseph. “In your state of Ohio, the Ohio Short Line. He needed a canal for a right-of-way so he formed another company, the Cleveland Canal Company, and purchased a canal under this name. He’s owner of record for the canal but the railway is untraceable to him.”

  “Is that illegal?” Sophia asked.

  “No,” Geoffrey answered. “We’ll be doing something similar. It just depends on what one’s goals are with such an arrangement.”

  “Precisely,” said Lord Thuxton. “Oakham needs financing to fill in the canal and build his railway. Cleveland Canal was operating at a loss when he purchased it. So it would seem he would simply bankrupt the canal company and use financing via his rail company for his construction. However, he had a better idea.

  “East of his canal, the Erie Canal is still viable, still profitable. He wanted Cleveland Canal to appear profitable as well. So Ohio Short Line secretly loaned Cleveland Canal vast sums of money. He’s been showing these accounts to potential investors with stories about the success of the Erie Canal, along with false drawings of plans to extend the Cleveland Canal. The fools are falling for it.”

  “Royston?” Arthur asked.

  “Not yet. But that’s the plan.”

  “So how does this hurt the duke?” Sophia was keeping up but just barely.

  “Eventually Oakham’s railway will call in the loans from Oakham’s canal. Some of the money will have already been spent so they won’t have the money to cover the payment. Cleveland Canal will be bankrupted and its assets forfeited to Ohio Short Line.”

  “And as owner of the railway Oakham walks away with the money provided by the canal investors.” Geoffrey seemed impressed.

  Joseph snorted. “Anyone who knows anything about transportation in the States will see right through this. The canals are slowly dying. No one is extending them.”

  “Yes of course,” Lord Thuxton agreed. “The savvy investor will simply walk away. The novice investor only knows America as the land of unending wealth.”

  “Royston may be stupid but he’s no novice,” said Arthur.

  “He’s easily swayed, Petersham.” Lord Thuxton paced slowly. “Royston has two weaknesses—he’s mired in the past to such an extent he despises modernity, and he actively invests contrary to whatever I do. If I get word out that I won’t invest in Cleveland Canal, Royston will, once approached by Oakham. Plus the investment is attractive in that it involves a relic of history.”

  It seemed like quite a bit of effort for little gain. “So he loses money, my lord,” Sophia said. “How does this destroy the duke?”

  Lord Thuxton smiled weakly. “Royston is obsessed with money. To not have any is a weakness, perhaps even a threat to his manhood. Oakham will require an overwhelming contribution when he spouts his seductive promis
e of riches.” He sighed. “It is no match for what he has done to you, Mrs. Phillips. But it’s the best I can do.”

  “I suspect he’s blackmailing my father,” Arthur said. “If he is, he’ll still acquire an income from that.”

  “Blackmail?” Lord Thuxton exclaimed. “What’s his game? He’s already tried to ruin Sophie with slander.”

  “To be honest I don’t know.”

  “Papa is constantly loaning him carriages and such,” Sophia added.

  “Ah…” Lord Thuxton steepled his hands under his chin. “I’ll have a talk with Richmond. If there is blackmail involved, we’ll work something out where he ostensibly invests in the canal to reduce his payments. If it is misplaced generosity, I’ll give him a piece of my mind.”

  Joseph took her hand. “If Sophia allows the deceit, I’m all for it. I don’t want any of it traced back to us, though.”

  “It won’t be. I’ll make sure of it.” The earl turned to her. “What say you, Mrs. Phillips?”

  Was it really the best that could be done? Ruining his pride in exchange for his assault on her, on Anna, on countless others, the murder of Henny?

  She sighed. “Yes, Lord Thuxton. Please do your worst.”

  * * * * *

  Sophia offered apologies as she took her leave while Lord Thuxton stayed to chat with the men. Once in her room she rang for Anna then stretched out on her bed in relief.

  Anna entered directly.

  Sophia patted the mattress at her side. “Geoffrey is a lucky man.”

  Anna blushed crimson as her hand flew to her mouth. “Everyone knows, don’t they?” She sat on the bed. “Oh, I am mortified.”

  Sophia grinned. “No. Only Joseph noticed his absence. But that’s not why I called for you.” She slowly drew in a breath. “Anna, do you know the Duke of Royston’s valet?”

  Anna paled. “Jasper? Not very well. Just from working below stairs at Harwell Hall.”

  “From your brief association could you ascertain his estimation of the duke?”

  Anna shook her head with a heavy sigh. “Poor Jasper has a sturdy streak of tolerance. He seemed to abhor the duke. All the servants did.”

  “How difficult would it be for you to get something to Jasper? An object that might implicate the duke in a crime he claims never happened? Of course you should not put yourself in any danger.”

  Anna lifted a brow as if comprehending. “I can manage such a task, my lady.”

  Sophia smiled. “Good. First I’ll tell you my plan, then you can tell me all about Geoffrey.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Arthur crumpled the invitation to a private interview with his father. Not a message scratched in Father’s own hand, no, but a formal request written by Billings addressed to “Lord Petersham” no less. He threw the missive in the library fire. They would never truly be father and son if this was any indication of Father’s familial affections.

  He should have walked but he took his brougham instead. The drive was not nearly long enough to cool his indignation. He arrived still seething. Billings, the ever-stalwart secretary, ignored his curt tone and thinned lips as he led him into the somber study.

  “How can I be of service, my lord marquess?” Arthur said snidely.

  “Don’t start, Arthur. I’ve got Royston watching me. I had to use my general correspondence as a safeguard.”

  “Oh? Have you changed your mind?”

  “Not about Sophie, no. I still think what she did was…” He threw his hands in the air. “Ill-advised.”

  Arthur kept his mouth shut. If they were ever to reconcile, it would be best to listen.

  “He’s got me. He’s blackmailing me down to the very farthing.” He slumped into a visitor’s chair. “I’m ruined.”

  Arthur took the chair opposite. “If it’s money you wanted to talk about, I can certainly help.”

  Father offered a weak smile. “I’ve heard your scheme is moving ahead. Not one of your investors defected due to the scandal.”

  “I tell you this in the strictest confidence, Father. We explained the situation truthfully and no one backed out. We’re not profitable just yet but if you need money—”

  “No. Royston is calculating enough to not bleed me dry. More than likely I will have to keep paying for his lavish lifestyle until the end of my days.”

  The irony was not lost on Arthur. “And had you married Sophie to that man she would have had to endure your burden until the end of hers.”

  “She’s young. She would have outlived him.”

  Arthur stood and paced the carpet. “Henny did not.”

  Dubiousness glazed his father’s eyes then melted into realization. “He would not have destroyed that which was truly his. That’s why he stopped at mere rumor where it concerned you.”

  “‘Stopped at mere rumor’? He could have ruined me!”

  “But he did not. He knows you’re clever and diplomatic enough to extricate yourself from a difficult situation. He is potently aware that I raised you properly no matter what your circumstances of birth.”

  Arthur rounded on him. “My what?” And then Father’s words from the week before sank in. You are no son of mine. “What the hell is this about, Father?”

  “Matilda.”

  “Mother?”

  “And Royston.”

  Mother and Royston? Arthur’s gut churned. “What about them?” he asked icily.

  “Royston claims you are his son. Your mother, of course, denies it.”

  Arthur staggered backward, falling against the desk. “No. God no.”

  “And there, I’ve said it.” Realization dissolved into tears.

  Arthur had never seen Father—his father, he was absolutely certain—cry.

  “Yes,” Father croaked. “I’ve been a fool. I was fond of your mother at the time, she was—and is—a fine companion. I was never in love with her, as you children today feel is so important for a marriage. Such sentiment was not important for us. The partnership was primary. So when she developed a fascination with Royston—who was not a duke at the time, mind you, only the heir—I let her. That is the unspoken rule when one marries for duty. I didn’t know him at the time—I didn’t know his tastes, his predilections. I also did not know my own wife’s predilections.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “I’ve since adopted those tastes to keep her from straying again.”

  “Father, you don’t need to tell me such things.”

  “Yes I do!” he bellowed, the deep lines of his forehead twisted. “The affair was about twenty-five years ago.”

  Arthur stared at him incredulously.

  “Yes, your mother and I did have relations at the time. We were both young and it is natural for young people to be intimate. But we had been married for a little over a year and had not had a full life in the bedroom. Matilda met Royston—Giles, as she called him then—at a party. He was an older man, in her eyes a sophisticated man, a handsome stranger who was paying her mind and she fell head over heels for him. After that our own intimacy grew as he was riling up her passions as I had never done. She was insatiable.”

  Arthur really did not want to hear that about his own mother.

  “And then she became with child. Royston realized she was no longer his plaything. She was fully my responsibility. So he left. When you were born I could barely look at you.” His father met his eyes. “I can barely stand your presence now.”

  Arthur stood frozen. No wonder the marquess had never been a good father to him. “I am not his son,” he spat. “I am not Royston’s son. Can’t you see that?” They needed a mirror.

  The entryway, where women checked their bonnets.

  He grabbed Father’s arm, hauling him out of his chair, out of the study, past a stunned Billings and frightened servants to the entryway, stopping before the enormous mirror that hung above the hall table. He wrapped his arm around Father’s shoulder and drew his face alongside. Father averted his eyes.

  “Look at me. At us.”

  F
ather reluctantly stared at their reflection.

  “I am your son, Arthur Harwell, the one who is your heir, who will one day be what you are now, the Marquess of Richmond, who, until that time, is graced by courtesy with your title Earl of Petersham. Can you not see this?”

  Father stared at Arthur’s brown hair then his own faded with gray. He studied their eyes, both rounded pairs set with greenish brown irises, Arthur’s perhaps a bit more green like Mother’s, separated by the same broad bridge. His gaze trailed down his nose, the twin of Arthur’s except with a tiny quirk of the tip to one side then arrived at the mouth, a wide slash with neither upper nor lower lip too generous. Father’s complexion was uneven, his skin sagged with lines of age and worry, his lashes still damp from tears.

  “Tell me you see a likeness, Father.”

  “Arthur, please—”

  “And if you do not believe this reflection, you may gaze upon the faces of our illustrious ancestors. I’m certain you will see my own image painted there.”

  Father pulled away. “But why do you insult our family, first with Sophia and that man and now with threats to end the title? My son would have respect for his heritage.”

  “You have never treated me as your son, Father.”

  The marquess stared at him through narrowed eyes. “No. I will admit I did not.” The lines on his face softened as he sighed.

  “You don’t need to suffer his blackmail anymore. Tell him you have realized I am your son and he holds no sway over you.”

  “He would still spread rumors to cast doubt.”

  “We would both deny them.”

  “Ah but then he would expose Matilda.”

  “He would expose that the Marchioness of Richmond had an affair when she was a young girl of twenty?”

  Father held his gaze. “He would expose that the Marchioness of Richmond enjoys being tied up, whipped and fucked in the arse.”

  “Good God.” Arthur’s head spun.