Meanwhile, this counterfeiting scheme made less and less sense. Sir Oswald wasn’t the master criminal type; the man could barely win a game of whist, for God’s sake!
Raines wasn’t a viable suspect anymore, unless the tale about his interest in Mrs. Vyse was just to throw people off, and somehow Niall doubted that.
Niall wanted the culprit to be Sir Kenneth, but that was merely because of the man’s association with Joseph Whiting.
Gritting his teeth, he sat down at his desk and took out the banknote he’d snagged earlier in the evening to examine it under a magnifying glass. It was definitely a counterfeit. But if Fulkham hadn’t told him how to recognize the fakes, Niall would never have caught it. The art was quite well-done. Which, according to Bree, ruled out Sir Oswald as the person who created the forgeries.
Niall sat back. He’d send this off to Fulkham with a note arranging to meet tomorrow at the club. That would give the man time to consider their next step. In the meantime, Niall would talk to Sir Oswald. Not to confront him, but just to see what information the fellow might let slip.
And perhaps in the process, he would read Sir Oswald the riot act over what the man had done to Bree. It was something Niall could do for her that she seemed unable to do for herself. So at the very least, it would make him feel better.
With that plan in mind, he was finally able to sleep for a few hours. But as soon as he’d awakened and sent off the note to Fulkham, he dressed and headed for the Payne town house on foot. He needed to clear his head, and a brisk walk was good for that.
He was half a block from the place when he spotted a coach pulling away from the door. Blast, was Sir Oswald leaving already? It was awfully early for the man to be out and about.
Then the coach rumbled past, and Niall realized it was a hackney carrying Toby Payne somewhere. Good. That would give him more privacy to speak frankly with Sir Oswald.
As Niall neared the entrance, he heard a loud commotion emanating from the open windows on an upper floor.
Sir Oswald was apparently on the warpath. “Who is he to tell me how to live?” the man raged. “All he gives me is grief every bloody day. I didn’t ask him to come here and make my life a misery!”
The sound of someone murmuring soothing, indistinct words drifted out to Niall.
“What am I supposed to do about it?” Sir Oswald said. “Bloody arse. Be damned glad you don’t have a brother, Jenkins. They’re nothing but trouble!”
Niall approached the door, but before he could knock, it opened to reveal a harried footman. “Thank God you’ve come, my lord! Perhaps you can settle the master down.”
“Bring me up to him. I’ll see what I can do.”
The footman hurried up the stairs ahead of him to announce him.
They ended up in Sir Oswald’s study, where poor Jenkins was being forced to play the role of reassuring friend, probably because Sir Oswald’s so-called friends were mostly bounders who only cared about him as a potential source of revenue.
The minute Niall entered, Sir Oswald turned all his anger on him. “This is your fault, Margrave, for not playing better last night. My brother is furious at me, and why? Because we lost. Because the money he loaned me is gone.”
The money Payne had loaned him? That gave Niall pause. “Leave us,” he told Jenkins and the footman, who beat a hasty retreat. Then he approached Sir Oswald. “What are you talking about? I ran into your brother last night on my way into the inn, and he told me he had come to get money from you. That you had paid him back for some past loans.”
Sir Oswald’s mouth fell open. “Don’t be absurd, man. I have no blunt at present. Everything I get goes right to paying my creditors. I sure as hell don’t give it to my brother.”
What had Bree said the first day they’d come here? If my father is part of this conspiracy, I warrant it’s only because he owes money everywhere.
“I don’t understand,” Niall said. Why would Payne have lied about that?
“Toby came to the inn to bring me funds,” Sir Oswald went on. “Then he apparently regretted it today, for he was just here demanding the money back from me. I told him you and I lost it all, and he was none too happy.”
One of the two men had to be lying. And if Payne had given Sir Oswald money last night instead of the other way around, then the counterfeit note might have come from him.
But how could that be? Fulkham had said Payne hadn’t been in England long enough to be responsible for the counterfeiting.
Could Sir Oswald be the one lying?
Possibly. Except that the fellow was clearly agitated and not governing his speech. And he’d been raging over the matter before Niall entered the building. “What exactly did your brother say to you?”
“All sorts of things. He kept asking me about twenty-pound notes and how many I put in the pot and who had won them.” Sir Oswald scowled at Niall. “As if that matters. Who gives a bloody damn whether the notes were ten or twenty or a hundred? The money is lost.”
Niall’s pulse quickened. A counterfeiter would care what notes were used. And where they’d ended up. And Niall could definitely see Payne as a master criminal; the man seemed far more clever than his brother.
By God—what if Payne had brought Sir Oswald money last night for the man’s gambling, and had accidentally put some counterfeits in? The banknotes that were originally discovered had been used for various creditors, making them harder to trace since tradesmen received money from so many places. But a counterfeit in a gambling pot was a bit easier to trace back.
Once Payne realized he’d accidentally given his brother the counterfeits, he must have grown worried enough to demand the notes back from his brother.
“And he’s not just furious at me, you know,” Sir Oswald went on. “He’s none too happy with you, either. Seems to think you’re not good enough for Brilliana. A man of your rank! I don’t know who he does think is good enough.”
Sir Oswald began to pace his study, his cane tap-tapping. “And why must the bloody arse always be mucking about in our affairs? He should leave her be. Didn’t he cause enough trouble for her and me the last time? Why, if it hadn’t been for him—” Sir Oswald caught himself. Blanching, he turned away from Niall and headed for a decanter of brandy. “Anyway—”
“Wait a minute,” Niall broke in, a suspicion chilling his blood. “ ‘If it hadn’t been for him,’ then what?” As Sir Oswald shakily poured himself a glass of brandy, Niall walked up to take it from him. “I want to know exactly how your brother caused trouble for you and your daughter ‘the last time.’ ”
“Well . . . I mean . . . it’s thanks to him that she hates me now. My own daughter. I should never have listened to the bloody arse.”
Narrowing his gaze on the man, Niall said, “Listened to him about what?”
Sir Oswald tugged at his cravat. “He’s the one who said I should take Captain Trevor’s offer all those years ago.”
The bottom dropped out of Niall’s stomach. It took every ounce of his control not to show that he knew what the man was talking about. “Captain Trevor’s offer?” he echoed.
“Don’t pretend you aren’t aware of how her marriage to Reynold Trevor came about. I know Brilliana. She had to have told you, if only to rail against me.” Sir Oswald scowled. “She hates me for arranging that match. That’s why she cut me off. Won’t even let me see my grandson. My own grandson!” He eyed Niall closely. “You do know about that arrangement, don’t you?”
I know you sold your daughter to Trevor.
No, he needed more information, and he wouldn’t get it by antagonizing the man. “I know a little.” Niall handed the glass of brandy back to the man. “But I don’t see what your brother had to do with it. You didn’t have to heed his advice.”
“Oh yes, I did. I wrote to him in France—asked him for money to pay off Mace Trevor, so I wouldn’t have to . . . convince her to marry the man’s son instead.” Sir Oswald brooded a moment. “Toby said he was tired of loaning me fu
nds every time I found myself in dun territory. He said I should take Captain Trevor up on his offer. Because he wasn’t giving me a penny more.”
Damnation. “Was Brilliana aware of her uncle’s part in it?”
Sir Oswald swigged some brandy. “I didn’t tell her. I was afraid that if she knew I’d lost so much money that even my own brother wouldn’t help me anymore . . . well, she wouldn’t agree to the marriage, either, and her mother and I would go to debtors’ prison. Her mother was ill.” He got a faraway look in his eyes. “So dreadfully ill.”
So dreadfully ill that Bree had sacrificed her future for her. Anger at the man roiled in Niall’s gut.
When Sir Oswald remained silent for several moments, Niall prompted him. “So you didn’t tell her about your brother’s part in forcing your hand.”
“No.” He drew himself up. “None of her concern. I explained to her the circumstances, and she agreed to the marriage.” He glared at Niall. “If I’d known she wouldn’t speak to me after that, I damned well would have told her how little choice I had in it. But she would only talk to her mother, who didn’t know any of it anyway. And after her mother died, Brilliana stopped coming here entirely, so I had no chance to tell her.” He shook his head. “She hates me now.”
“Can you blame her?” Niall clipped out. “She feels betrayed. I should hope you’d understand why.”
Guilt crossed his face. “I suppose.” The old fellow waved a hand in the general direction of the outdoors. “But it was all Toby’s fault for refusing to give me any more money. Coldhearted bastard. What was I supposed to do?”
“Not lose it in the first place.”
“You’re one to talk. Toby says you’re in dun territory yourself. Anyway, Toby refused to help me ever again. Until a few months ago, when he sent me some money out of the blue.”
Niall caught his breath. That fit with when the bills had started showing up in London. “He sent you the money from France, I take it?”
“Aye.” Sir Oswald eased into a chair. “Though I should have known it wouldn’t last. He’s back to being angry with me, and threatening to cut me off once more.”
“So what happened a few months ago to make him change his mind?” Niall asked.
“It seems he heard I’d put the family property up to let. Guess he didn’t like the idea of that, since his line will inherit it when I die. So he agreed to lend me money if I’d just pay off some of his debts here with banknotes he sent me. So I did.” The old man touched a finger to his nose. “He didn’t want to have to pay the duty on the cash, you know. Wanted me to get around that by saying I was taking care of my brother’s debts for him.”
Niall supposed that could be the reason. But a more likely one was that Payne had used his brother to pay off business debts with counterfeit notes, knowing that if the notes were discovered, Sir Oswald would be blamed. And if they weren’t discovered, then Payne would make a tidy sum.
“If he was doing all of this from France, why did he decide to come visit you?” Niall asked. “Just to make sure you were . . . er . . . paying his business debts properly?”
“Or to torment me about putting the family property up to let. Who knows, with him? But I’m done with him after this.” He stared at Niall. “And you should be, too, if you know what’s good for you. After he found out how badly we lost last night, he went off in a huff to talk my daughter out of marrying you.”
That sparked Niall’s temper. “What?”
“Said he heard some rumors about you and other women. I told him it was probably the usual nonsense, but he’s on his way over there right now to give her a lecture.”
“The hell he is.” Niall doubted that Bree would be swayed by her uncle, but if the bastard was the counterfeiter, Niall didn’t want him anywhere near Bree.
“I have to go,” he said, turning for the door. There was no telling what Payne really intended to do. Especially if he had any suspicion that Niall was trying to unmask him.
“Give my brother what for. I’m tired of his nonsense.” Sir Oswald downed some more brandy.
He wasn’t the only one. Payne had essentially separated Bree from Niall years ago, and for that alone, Niall would make the man pay.
Now he could only pray that Payne’s reason for going to speak with her was merely to talk her out of marrying Niall. Because if there was more to it than that, if Payne had figured out that Niall was in league with Lord Fulkham, and was intending to use her to get back at the men who were threatening his criminal enterprise . . .
Then God help him, Niall would tear him limb from limb.
Twenty
Brilliana was in the drawing room drinking coffee and refining her design for Wedgwood when Aunt Agatha’s footman came to tell her she had a visitor.
“Now?” It was awfully early for formal calls. Which meant her visitor was probably Niall. And she still wasn’t ready to give him his answer. “If it’s Lord Margrave—”
“No, ma’am. He says he’s your uncle. A Mr. Toby Payne?”
“Oh,” she said, inexplicably disappointed. “Please show him in.”
As the footman went to fetch Uncle Toby, she rose. How odd that he would come here to visit. Then again, he’d seemed very glad to see her the other day, and in truth, she’d been glad to see him.
When he entered, she went to greet him with a kiss on the cheek, then bade him sit down. “Would you like some coffee? Or I can send for tea.”
“Nothing for me, thank you.”
She dismissed the servant, then resumed her place on the settee, setting aside her sketchbook and pencils.
“You still draw, do you?” he asked, leaning forward to look at what she’d been working on.
“Yes.” She couldn’t keep the pride from her voice as she added, “Wedgwood is considering one of my designs.”
“Ah. Very wise of them.”
An awkward silence fell between them.
At last he cleared his throat. “I know you’re probably wondering why I’ve come.”
“I assumed you just wanted to see your favorite niece,” she teased.
When he didn’t even smile, it gave her pause.
“Actually,” he said, “I . . . er . . . came to speak to you about your fiancé.”
That put her instantly on her guard. “Lord Margrave? Why?”
There was something decidedly different about Uncle Toby today. He looked agitated, even wary. How strange. She’d always thought of him as an amiable sort, unruffled by life’s troubles.
Yet his eyes darted nervously about the room. “Where’s Lady Pensworth this morning?”
“No doubt she went out for her morning walk. She likes to get that out of the way while Silas is having his breakfast and such, so she can enjoy watching him play later.” She smiled. “Despite her gruff manner, she does love her great-nephew.”
“Ah, of course.” He stared at her. “I forgot that your boy’s name is Silas. May I see him?”
The request shouldn’t have struck her as odd, coming from her son’s great-uncle, but it did. Every instinct told her to keep her son away from the man just now. And though it made no sense to her, she always heeded her instincts. “Not at present, I’m afraid. He’s . . . er . . . having his morning bath.”
“Right.” Uncle Toby drummed his fingers on his knees. “I tend to forget how the English have made a religion of cleanliness. The French aren’t as industrious about such matters.”
“True.” Why the devil was he here? What was going on? “So,” she said primly, smoothing her skirts, “you said you wanted to speak to me about Lord Margrave?”
Her uncle nodded. “He’s not lurking about here anywhere, is he?”
“At this hour? Of course not.” Though she began to wish he was.
“Good, good.” He steadied his gaze on her. “I’ll be frank with you, niece. I don’t approve of his courting you. I fear he cannot be trusted.”
She began to fear that her uncle could not be trusted, though that remained
to be seen. “Oh? And why not?”
“For one thing, he has a reputation as a roué. People say he fought a duel over a woman, probably some light-skirt. That’s not the sort of man you wish to marry, is it?”
Now that she knew why the duel had really been fought, it pained her to hear such gossip. It took all her will to force a smile for her uncle’s benefit. “Honestly, Uncle, I don’t care what he did back then as long as he’s attentive to me now. Which he is.”
What she wanted to say was that it was none of his concern whom she married, but she wouldn’t keep her temper if she got into that.
With a scowl, Uncle Toby sat back against the chair. “And what about Margrave’s gambling? Surely you don’t want to marry another fellow like your father.”
That gave her pause. Niall had told her of unearthing a counterfeit note only yesterday, and now her uncle was suddenly trying to talk her out of marriage due to Niall’s “gambling.” That couldn’t be a coincidence.
“I doubt his lordship would ever be so foolish as to behave like Papa,” she said blithely.
“It wouldn’t surprise me.” He leaned close with a confidential air. “He lost a great deal at the tables only last night. And you’re not even married yet.”
She lifted her eyes heavenward. “It’s only a bit of card-playing. I’m sure once we’re wed and settled in the country, he’ll be more careful.”
A fierce light shone in her uncle’s eyes. “You don’t want to involve yourself with this man, I tell you. You already had one arranged marriage with a gambler that didn’t end well. How can you even be thinking of going into another?”
His words arrested her. “You knew that my first marriage was arranged?”
The guilty flush spreading over his cheeks showed he was aware of far more than she’d initially thought. “I . . . um . . . heard of it from your father, yes. Recently. After your visit the other day.”
He was lying. So she should be cautious with him and not let on that she’d spotted his falsehood. “Oh, of course.” She pasted a smile to her lips. “Though I’m surprised he told you. It paints him in a very poor light.”
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