Very Truly Yours

by Julie Beard

  "Oh, you can count on that, my dear Miss Davis." Jack grinned darkly. "I will make him pay with relish."

  At last Jack had a crime with a witness who had plenty of reason to point the finger at Lord Barrington. Annabelle

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  Davis was no doxy to be dismissed out of hand. She had been a virtuous young woman whose hopes of finding a decent match had been utterly ruined. And Barrington knew her accusations would hold weight. That's why he'd tried to drive her family out of town. Jack finally had the trump card he'd been waiting for, and he could scarcely wait to play his hand.

  ******************

  "Incredible news, sir! Absolutely staggering!" Harding burst into the abbot's quarters an hour later just as Jack and Giles had finished a light meal of cheese and bread.

  "Harding!" Jack strode across the room and gave him a bear hug. "God, you're a wondrous sight. What did you learn in Fielding? Come in, come in."

  "The most incredible turn of events, sir. I—" Harding • stopped short when he spotted Giles, then he winced with regret. "I'm ever so sorry, Mr. Honeycut, but this matter is most confidential in nature."

  Giles nodded agreeably, but not before a flash of disappointment shone in his guileless eyes. "I understand."

  "Fear not, Giles, I'll tell you everything I can," Jack said placatingly. "Let Harding tell me what he knows and I'll sift through it all and enlighten you later."

  "Very good, sir." Giles stood and smiled. "I would expect no less of you than utter confidentiality."

  Jack watched him go with a sense of satisfaction. He turned to Harding. "I believe, old boy, we have a solicitor in the making in that young man. Now, what is it you've discovered?"

  "Sit down," Harding ordered him, pacing anxiously. "Over here on the sofa. I want to see you clearly when I tell you this."

  Jack did as he was told, sinking down anxiously on the

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  sofa. "Lord, Harding, end the suspense, will you? What is it?"

  "Are you prepared for this?"

  "Yes, I believe so."

  Harding stopped dead in his tracks, sank down next to Jack, and said, overenunciating, "Liza Cranshaw is the daughter of Desiree!"

  Jack's face slowly congealed into a stunned scowl. "What?"

  "Yes, Liza is the daughter of Lord Osborn and his mistress Desiree."

  "Good God!"

  "It's even more incredible than that, sir. Desiree is none other than Rosalind Cranshaw!"

  Jack's jaw dropped. He squinted, picturing Liza's mother in his mind's eye. "The plump and harmless Rosalind Cranshaw was a courtesan? No! It can't be!"

  "It's true, sir. I spoke with Lord Osborn himself. He's been looking for Liza all these years. He thinks Desiree is dead. He wants to make Liza the heir to his fortune."

  Jack sank back in his chair, thunderstruck. "No wonder Liza went to such extremes to protect Desiree. She could not expose her own mother as a Cyprian." And Liza understandably was reluctant to admit to Jack that she was a nobleman's by-blow. Illegitimate. The poor darling. She'd kept such a heavy burden all to herself.

  "I cannot fathom any more astounding revelations," Jack said, wiping a hand over his exhausted features. "I wondered why Liza had been so concerned about a distant relation, as she called Desiree. But, Lord, I cannot imagine Rosalind Cranshaw ..."

  He could not even say it aloud. He looked up at Har-

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  ding with an odd expression. "You don't suppose Mrs. Brumble was also ..."

  "Sir!" Harding replied indignantly. "Of course Mrs. Brumble wasn't a courtesan."

  Jack shrugged. "Of course not. Forgive me. But at this point it seems anything is possible!"

  "I'm beginning to understand the picture now that the pieces are falling into place," Harding said, rubbing his hands together. "Lord Osborn made an offhand remark about Desiree's humble background. I gather that Mrs. Cranshaw and Mrs. Brumble were very poor as children. That would explain Mrs. Brumble's marriage to a lowly rat catcher. Mrs. Cranshaw faired better because of her extraordinary beauty. But her low-class status meant she could never be more than a mistress to any nobleman."

  "I wonder, why did she cast off what some might consider an enviable position? There are worse things than being an earl's mistress," Jack mused, stroking his chin.

  "I daresay she wanted to give Liza a better life. It would be better for Liza to be a rich merchant's daughter than a nobleman's side-slip."

  "How do you suppose Barrington learned of all this?" Jack mused.

  Harding crossed his arms over his barrel of a belly. "I'm guessing he met the Cranshaws in Middledale, and when he visited his father's old friend at Huntly House, he recognized Mrs. Cranshaw's likeness to the portraits. The jackanapes actually stole the painting, apparently to use it in his blackmailing scheme. Lord Osborn says the only reason he didn't make a fuss over the theft was out of respect for Perringford, Barrington's father."

  "Do you suppose Osborn would accuse Barrington of theft if he thought it would benefit Liza?"

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  "I daresay he would. He was furious with Barrington. Called him a scoundrel. And he's very eager to reunite with Miss Cranshaw. I should think his lordship would do anything to help you, since you've been helping his daughter. Especially if it meant his daughter could disentangle herself from that ass."

  "Splendid!" Jack shouted and jumped up. "The evidence of Barrington's crimes is starting to stack up."

  If Lord Osborn was willing to accuse Barrington, Jack could spare Annabelle Davis a public spectacle. Jack was prepared to confront Lord Barrington immediately. He mounted up on a fast horse an hour later and had just started down the road to Cranshaw Park when he saw a coach approaching. His heart leapt when he recognized it as Cranshaw's. The chariot slowed and Liza thrust her head out the window as she had that first day in Middle-dale. Her cornucopia of black curls gleamed in the sunlight. She wore no hat this time, and the sun hit her full in the face, making her dazzling eyes gleam and bounce with life.

  "Are you well, sir?" she said, gently mocking their first encounter. "Are you hurt?"

  He grinned slowly, ravishingly. "If I say I am, will you linger to tend my wounds?"

  "Yes," she answered, smiling broadly.

  He dismounted, handing his reins to the coachman, and entered the barouche, sinking down beside her and taking her into his arms. They hugged tight, and he felt the familiar surge of heat and happiness.

  "It didn't work, Jack," she said at last, drawing away to look at him. "I confronted Barrington, but I do not have your diplomatic skills. He did tell me he has a portrait of Desiree, but he did not believe that I had any proof of his

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  crimes whatsoever. He's threatening to take the portrait to auction in London if I don't run off to Gretna Green with him immediately. The sale of that painting will stir up the scandal I was hoping to avoid."

  Jack took both her hands in his. "Liza, my darling, I know all about the portrait."

  Her brows pinched in surprise. "You do?"

  He nodded, kissing her cheek. "Yes, and I know all about Desiree."

  Panic flashed in her eyes.

  "Do not worry, Liza. It means nothing to me. The scandal... none of it."

  "But how—?"

  "Harding went to Fielding and met with your father, Lord Osborn."

  She blinked back tears and cast her eyes down. "Oh, Jack, I'm so sorry."

  "I'm not," he said firmly, lifting her chin with a forefinger. "Do you hear me? My offer for you still stands. And I finally have the evidence against Barrington that I need. Now let us go back to Cranshaw Park together and end this debacle once and for all."

  He was awarded with her full and complete embrace, and the warm hope that one day soon he would awaken thus entangled in her arms.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  ack never received the chance that he so craved to confront Lord Barrington. Before Jack and Liza arrived at Cranshaw Park, a bailiff from Waverly was waiting
on Birch Road to arrest Jack for his debts. It was an ambush, and one that Liza was powerless to overcome. The burly bailiff appeared suddenly in the middle of the road.

  In hindsight, Liza realized they should have kept driving. But Jack got out of the carriage, ordering her to remain inside. She watched in tense silence as the two men talked. Then Jack started back toward the carriage with a look of fury she'd never seen in him before. The bailiff followed with an angry shout, reached out and gripped his arm, and swung Jack around. Jack drew back his fist and punched the man in the face. He sprawled backward, but didn't fall. That's when Liza leapt out of the carriage.

  "Jack! Hurry. Get inside!"

  "Liza—" Jack returned, but was cut short when the

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  bailiff rushed back and walloped Jack on the side of his head with interlocked fists. He fell to his knees.

  "Jack!" Liza screamed and ran to his side. "Are you hurt?"

  "Come along, sir," the bailiff snarled. "To the sponging house you go."

  Blood trickled from Jack's lip. Liza pulled a kerchief from her sleeve and tried to dab it.

  "Back now, miss. He ain't hurt."

  "Leave him alone!" she shouted. "You can't take him away like this."

  "I've got an arrest warrant, miss."

  "How did you know he'd be coming down this road?"

  "Lord Barrington said as much. Now back up, miss, if you please."

  The bailiff yanked Jack to his feet and dragged him into his gig. Liza reached up and clutched her lover's knee. "Jack, what can we do?"

  "Go home now, darling. I will be well. Do not worry for me. Tell your parents what has happened. Tell them everything."

  Before he could say more, the bailiff clucked at his horse and away the gig went. Jack looked back at her until they rounded a bend in the road and disappeared.

  Tears of fury burned Liza's eyes, but she would not cry. Instead, she returned to her carriage and prepared herself for vengeance. This was all Barrington's doing. He had doubtless gone out of his way to find Lord Abbington to apprise him of Jack's whereabouts. This was the last straw. Liza was finally prepared to bring Barrington down at any cost to herself or her family.

  She ordered her coachman to hurry on to the house. She walked with angry determination directly into the par-

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  lor and found to her utter delight that her parents were having tea with none other than the viscount himself. Now she could corner him like the animal that he was.

  He was dressed in his finest, sipping expensive tea and eating lacy white crumpets. Her mother looked perturbed, doubtless from having to keep secret, even from her own husband, Liza's plans to end the engagement.

  "Good afternoon, Mama, Papa," she said blithely, her cheery tone giving away none of her distress. She swept into the room and kissed both her parents' cheeks. They sat side by side on the sofa. Barrington sat opposite them in a chair.

  "How good to see you, my lord," she said, approaching him with a sugary smile and venomous eyes. When he stood, she kissed the air near his cheek and saw a flash of fear in his eyes. Oh, vengeance was sweet indeed.

  Barrington's nostrils flared defensively. "Greetings, Liza, my dear. Is there something amiss?"

  She took the seat next to his and he lowered himself back down warily. She pilloried him with bright, wild eyes. "Did you know, my lord, the most interesting thing happened to me on my way home. I'm sure you'll find it most facinating."

  "Oh?"

  "Yes! A bailiff just arrested Mr. Fairchild and took him off to a sponging house in Waverly."

  "What?" her father said, lowering his cup to his saucer with a clatter. "What the devil for?"

  "For the three thousand pound debt his father owed to Lord Abbington," Liza said. "Mama, would you be so good as to pour me some tea?"

  Rosalind looked at her worriedly, then distractedly

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  poured her tea and offered a cup. Liza sipped carefully and smiled again at the viscount.

  "I'm quite certain Lord Barrington can tell us all about it. You were the one who investigated the matter, isn't that correct, my lord? When you went away for three days, you ferreted out all you needed to know about Mr. Fairchild. You found out he was deeply in debt, and then you informed Lord Abbington of Jack's whereabouts so that an arrest warrant could be delivered. Isn't that so?"

  Barrington leaned back in his chair, his wan smile of greeting now long gone. "Yes."

  "You were afraid that I was falling in love with Mr. Fairchild and that you, therefore, might not get your hands on my dowry."

  Liza sensed her parents' growing dismay.

  "Papa, did you know that Lord Barrington has been blackmailing me for the past six months?"

  Bartholomew Cranshaw's apple cheeks billowed and flushed. "What?"

  "Look here, Liza. Be careful what you say!" Barrington choked out, scrambling to the edge of his seat.

  "The viscount found out about Desiree," Liza said, eyeing her mother with teary eyes. "I am so sorry, Mama. I did not want to tell you."

  "Oh, Liza," her mother said, tears filling her own eyes.

  "He said he would tell the world about Desiree if I did not marry him. The viscount is desperately in debt himself, you see. He was willing to do anything to ensure that he got his hands on my dowry. You see, Papa, Desiree is—"

  "I know all about Desiree!" he cut in, turning his furious glare on the viscount.

  Liza sat back as if she'd been slapped hard on the

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  cheek. "What? You knew about Desiree all along?"

  "Of course," he replied, "what kind of fool do you think I am?"

  Liza gave her mother a flabbergasted stare. Rosalind merely looked adoringly at her husband.

  "I want you to leave at once, you scoundrel," Bartholomew thundered, rising and puffing up his chest in indignation. "How dare you take advantage of my daughter in this way?"

  "Don't send him away just yet, Papa," Liza interjected. "I want you to know everything. He tried to rape me. He was also responsible for the fire that destroyed the Davises' home and shop. And he stole a portrait from..." She couldn't quite bring herself to mention the name of her real father. "He stole a portrait of Desiree. He is the most despicable man I have ever met. And I am ashamed that I allowed him to bully me into silence. I should have spoken to you about this long ago."

  Lord Barrington had been sitting in a kind of frozen stupor. Suddenly he shot to his feet. "She's lying. She's lying, do you hear me? I've had enough insults for one day. Enough, do you hear?"

  He bolted from the room. Her father started after him, but Liza reached out to pull him back.

  "No, Papa, let him go. Mr. Fairchild explained it all to me before he was arrested. Mr. Honeycut is documenting Lord Barrington's crimes and will confront his lordship with the terms necessary to ensure his silence. Mr. Harding will pay the viscount a call forthwith, I'm told."

  Liza's mother rose and crossed the room, running the last few steps in her desperate need to embrace her daughter. "Oh, Liza, my poor child. What have you gone through for me?"

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  Liza began to sob, clutching her mother's waist. "Oh, Mama, I love you so. I didn't want you hurt. I didn't want Papa to know about your past. I was afraid... he wouldn't love you. And that he wouldn't love me because I was Lord Osborn's child."

  The women cried hard, shaking together as their tears flowed and they keened with regret. Bartholomew wept, too, covering his face with a hand. Liza heard him and threw her arms around his neck. "Papa, how could you love me all these years, knowing who I really was?"

  "Liza," he choked out in a blustering voice, holding her close. "I adored you from the first moment I laid eyes on you. I was afraid you would leave if you knew who your real father was. I thought you wouldn't love me if you knew you were an earl's daughter."

  'Liza finally stopped crying and laughed incredulously. "How could you imagine such a thing? I would walk over burning coals for yo
u."

  She pulled away, wiping her tears, and they all sat on the sofa, recovering themselves, drinking more tea, sorting out all the misunderstandings.

  "Your father... I mean Bartholomew," Rosalind clarified, "met me the night I left Lord Osborn, the night of your birth. Mrs. Halloway helped me slip away from Sheffield Keep unnoticed when the birthing began. Later she told Osborn that I'd run away and died in childbirth at a wayside inn. In truth, I did fall ill after you were born, and I was forced to stay at an inn for weeks until I recovered. Your father, Bartholomew, had stopped for a night. He fell in love with me, I think."

  "At first sight!" Bartholomew added.

  "He refused to leave the inn until I was better. Your father helped Mrs. Halloway take care of us and keep our

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  secret. I was so moved by his kindness that I, too, fell in love with him. We were married soon after, and he moved to Middledale, where no one would know either of us, so that he could claim you as his own without raising questions. In all these years, I've never left Middledale for more than a day, always fearing someone might recognize me."

  "Why did you leave the comfort of Sheffield Keep, Mama? Was Lord Osborn cruel?"

  "No, he was a wonderful man. But I wanted you to grow up without shame. I wanted you to be a wife, not a mistress. And as long as you were the daughter of a Cyprian, your prospects were grim."

  Liza sighed, loving her mother all the more for all she'd sacrificed for her children.

  "We were very poor, Liza. Aunt Patty and I were nearly starving. I had to find a way to feed us."

  "Mama," Liza said sympathetically, pressing her hand. "There is no need to explain."

  "You are my daughter, Liza," her father said soberly. "In every way that matters, my dear. I wanted you to marry a nobleman because I thought that was your birthright. I am so sorry I was blind to the pain my ambition caused you."

  "Don't blame yourself, Papa. Lord Barrington was a rotter through and through. It was just an unhappy coincidence that he came to Middledale to conduct business with you and soon after saw Lord Osborn's portraits of Mama. And none of this would have been resolved without dear Mr. Fairchild."