‘I was thinking of doing something here in the East Docks like Eaton and Eliza did with their mining schools. If it works, we could try it in Seven Dials. Education is the place to start when addressing poverty. The more I think about it the more convinced I am. How can a person change their circumstances without skills? They can’t.’
Marianne was fully awake now. She raised herself up on an arm and peered at him. ‘Schools? Here? What a wonderful idea. M.R. Mannering will write about them. I can do stories about the children’s successes. We can advertise apprentices looking for work.’
‘I was thinking about schools not just for children.’ Vennor offered this idea more tentatively. It had not been done before to his knowledge. ‘I want to educate adults, people like Elise. Night schools for adults where they can learn to read and write.’
‘Oh, Vennor, what a splendid idea! They can learn after work.’ Marianne’s support warmed him, encouraged him.
‘What else is percolating in that busy mind of yours?’ She snuggled close and he felt in that moment that he could conquer the world.
‘Just the schools for now.’ He chuckled and then sighed. ‘We have to go back soon, Marianne.’ He didn’t want to, though. He wanted to stay in this room, with her and his ideas, for ever. Here they were safe. Once they left this room, he’d have to contend with the possibility that a murderer hunted him, that he was on the brink of bringing his parents’ killer to justice and that, if his suspicions were correct, Marianne was in danger, too.
‘Marianne?’ He jostled her out of a little doze. ‘Do you still carry your knife?’
‘Yes,’ she murmured.
‘Good.’ He hoped she wouldn’t need to use it. If the need arose, he would protect her with all at his disposal. He would surround her with his friends, with the authority of his title, the power of the Vigilante, with his very life if need be. He would not fail her as he’d failed his parents.
Chapter Twenty
Inigo had not failed to impress. He arrived in time for breakfast, a dossier beside his plate as he tucked into sausage and eggs. ‘The food here tastes better than last time.’ He shovelled up a forkful of eggs.
Vennor grinned at his old friend. Whenever Inigo was in town, they’d made a habit of taking breakfast together at Newlyn House. Having him here now made it seem as if no time at all had passed since he’d seen his friend. ‘Perhaps you’re less distracted. Marriage suits you. You’re certainly happier than the last time you were in town.’ Vennor winked. ‘Although I am surprised your wife lets you out of her sight.’ The love between Audevere and Inigo was a near palpable thing.
Inigo laughed. ‘It’s the other way around, I assure you.’ It was humorously said, but Inigo had nearly lost Audevere to a bullet wound shortly before they wed. There was likely quite a lot of truth to that statement. Inigo was ferociously protective of his wife. Inigo made an expansive gesture to incorporate the breakfast room. ‘The house does look good. It’s alive again, as are you, my friend. I am happy to see it,’ he said in all sincerity. ‘For your sake, I would like that happiness to continue. Is there any chance of that?’
Vennor shook his head with a disbelieving chuckle. ‘Are we talking about me and the house or about something else?’ He knew Inigo too well to be inveigled into discussing his private life as small talk on their way to the larger issue of whatever was in that dossier.
‘You’re getting sharp in your old age, Ven. You’re on to me. Or perhaps my skills are getting rusty.’ Inigo took a swallow of coffee. ‘My wife instructed me not to come home without all the details. So, let me rephrase my question more bluntly. What the hell is going on between you and Marianne Treleven? Perhaps yesterday at lunch was not the ideal time to ask, but we all sensed it. I feared if I lit a match at lunch there might have been an explosion at the table.’ No, Inigo’s skills were not getting rusty. They were sharper than ever. His strong suit was seeing through the words to what went unsaid.
‘There can be nothing between us until the matter of my parents’ murders is settled. I cannot marry with that hanging over my head.’ There were other reasons as well, such as Marianne’s desire for a career, but he had to protect her privacy even among friends.
Inigo nodded, but was not fooled. ‘But if it were settled? Or if you gave it up? Would there be something? The gazes passing between you yesterday were, frankly, smouldering. Whenever you weren’t looking at her, she was looking at you. I don’t have to tell you that kind of curiosity can be dangerous.’
‘No, you don’t.’ Vennor snapped. They were well past curiosity, but Inigo didn’t need to know that.
‘I am sure I don’t.’ Inigo gave him a long, penetrating stare. ‘The two of you have transcended that curiosity, is my guess.’ Vennor said nothing, letting Inigo decide what came next. ‘The gentleman will neither confirm nor deny the question. That means only one thing.’ He let out a low whistle. ‘You’ve made love to her.’ The statement was followed by a long exhalation. ‘Dear God, Vennor, do you know what you’ve done?’
Oh, yes. The feel of her mouth on him was still quite fresh in his mind. He was shockingly clear on what he’d done. He’d gone and fallen in love with Marianne Treleven, the one woman in the entire ton who had no interest in marrying him, a woman who might even now be carrying his child.
‘Hell, Vennor,’ Inigo swore. ‘You have to marry her. The Trelevens are our friends. Sir Jock and Lady Sarah have trusted us with their daughters for years—’
‘I know,’ Vennor cut him off, quiet and stern. ‘I don’t need a lecture. Do you think I didn’t contemplate any of that? This was not undertaken lightly. I did not seek it out, it just happened. One night we were friends. The next, I looked at her and realised I could lose her and all that our friendship had meant over the years and it was a slippery slope from there.’ He could still lose her. Making love to her had not secured her; it had only thrown his feelings into sharp, unmistakable relief.
‘I can see how it happened.’ Inigo played with his fork. ‘You were celibate for almost three years, weren’t you? There’s no shame in celibacy, but let’s be clear, it can play with your mind, drive you wild. And there’s Marianne playing house at Newlyn, picking out wallpaper, filling vases with flowers, tossing those red curls and that magical smile of hers your way, along with a healthy dose of nostalgia, no doubt. She’s a piece of your past—a piece of your happier past—all conveniently beautiful and grown up. Now you’re sneaking out of Russian embassy parties for some quieter venue. It would tempt any man, Vennor.’
Inigo had paid attention last night. He’d been afraid of that. ‘Who else noticed?’ Vennor sighed.
‘Just me.’ Inigo gave a wry grin. ‘Everyone else was too potted on Grigoriev’s vodka and vatrushka.’
‘Just for the record, I hate how you do that, Inigo.’ Vennor refilled his coffee. ‘You just strip a man bare, don’t you?’
Inigo’s smile widened. ‘I’ve been accused of that before.’ He leaned forward, his palms flat on the table. ‘Well, why not? Why not Marianne?’ He kept his voice low. ‘She’s been out for three years, she’s seasoned, an Incomparable, and she can handle being an instant duchess. You’ve known her and her family your entire life. There’s something to be said for that, for having history. You’re not the sort of man who wants a blank slate for a wife, anyway.’ He picked up the dossier. ‘There’s just Hayes’s proposal to get out of the way and there might be some help for you in that.’ Inigo conveniently ignored the issue of his quest to avenge his parents’ murders, but then again, Inigo had never endorsed the quest to begin with. He’d be glad to see him set it aside.
‘Look inside.’ Inigo passed the folder to him. ‘The squeaky clean Viscount Hayes is not as bland as he lets on, certainly not with his finances, which are quite the inferno. He’s one step away from being consumed. I’m not sure how he thought to keep that from Sir Jock when they sat down to discuss sett
lements. It wouldn’t have slipped by me at any rate, even if he had sneaked by Sir Jock. Perhaps he was hoping Sir Jock would be dazzled by one of his girls marrying a title.’
Vennor nodded, listening to Inigo’s summary as he scanned the pages. Hayes was struggling financially. ‘He’s hidden it with loans from non-traditional sources, that’s how he’s done it. There’s the one loan from Coutt’s—that’s nothing worrisome. But then there are these.’ He passed the pages back to Inigo. ‘If Sir Jock didn’t know to look for them, he’d not be aware of them.’ ‘These’ were a list of moneylenders from less savoury parts of the city where interest rates were exorbitant and the price of life was cheap. ‘He’s in hock up to his neck.’
‘That was my assessment as well. Which leads to other discussions.’ Inigo set the dossier aside. ‘I asked myself, how did it get that bad? The viscountcy had always seemed solid, so Father and I did some digging yesterday afternoon at White’s.’ He grinned. Vennor knew what kind of digging that would have been: probing the social memory of the ton over fine brandy. ‘Seems like a series of bad investments over two generations accounts for the state of Hayes’s finances, failures on his grandfather’s part and on his father’s part.’ That made sense. Financial disaster didn’t usually strike deep coffers all at once.
‘What I don’t understand, though, is why he wants to wed Marianne.’ Inigo knit his dark brows. ‘I went over her dowry with Sir Jock when she first came out. It’s respectable, but she’s no heiress with the type of funds Hayes needs. With his title he could have aimed for Amelia Helmsley or Leah St. John. I’ve been asking myself: what does Marianne have that he needs?’
‘Me.’ Vennor gave Inigo a moment to digest that. It would be the first of many things Inigo would have to grasp in order to accept his case. ‘There are things I learned last night that lead me to believe Hayes is behind the murder of my parents.’
* * *
‘You think he means to go after you next,’ Inigo summarised calmly when Vennor finished laying out his theory. Vennor took it as a good sign that Inigo wasn’t laughing his head off. Then again, it was part of the code of the Cornish Dukes that one supported the others without question. Inigo nodded, pondering the information. ‘What’s the connection to Marianne other than the petty revenge of a thwarted suitor? It doesn’t fit. Murder is not petty revenge and he was after her well before you were manifesting serious interest.’
Vennor splayed his hands on the table, the breakfast dishes long since cleared. ‘We have to figure that out. Why did he want my parents dead in the first place? What had they ever done to him? Other than the situation with Marianne, what have I ever done to him? What does Marianne offer him that makes her valuable? How does any of this tie into his financial problems? If we knew that, then everything would make sense, or we’d know I was barking mad.’ That was always a possibility, especially when he iterated the missing pieces. It had sounded so convincing when he’d laid out his case; the timeline of Hayes’s absence from England, the information from Elise about hiring thugs. But he could drive a carriage through the remaining holes. He needed to close those holes and fast. ‘Money talks, Inigo. We just need to listen to what it’s saying.’ From what the Vigilante saw in the slums, money—or the lack of it—was indeed the root of all evil. He’d wager it was behind Hayes’s story as well.
Inigo nodded. ‘I’ll start enquiring into the investments and see if there’s a trend.’ He handed the dossier to Vennor. ‘This doesn’t solve the mystery of your parents, but it will give Sir Jock the leverage to disengage Hayes. Go save your damsel, Ven. I will see you tonight at Treleven House for Marianne’s birthday.’
‘Damn, I’d nearly forgotten!’ Vennor swore. In all the craziness of the last two days, it had completely slipped his mind. Possibly because it was just three days before another less joyous anniversary. He could think of plenty of presents he’d like to give her, none of which could be unwrapped in front of an audience. It looked as though he had some shopping to do this afternoon. Marianne loved a good present.
‘You could give her a ring,’ Inigo suggested as they walked to the door. ‘Her friends and parents will be there and Hayes will be routed by then.’ He knowingly tapped the dossier in Vennor’s hand. ‘I can’t think of a better setting for a proposal.’
Vennor gave a neutral nod. ‘I’m not certain she’s ready and her sisters aren’t here. I’m sure she’d want that.’ He didn’t want to place her in an awkward spot. How could she refuse in front of family and friends? They’d not discussed marriage again and he wasn’t sure her position had changed.
‘You’ve taken her to bed. A certain amount of choice has been ceded.’ At the door, Inigo gave him a questioning look. ‘She’s not ready or you’re not ready?’ Vennor didn’t like the implication that he wasn’t prepared to do his duty.
Vennor met his stare evenly. ‘Maybe neither of us is ready.’ He held up the dossier, not wanting to part on a sour note. ‘Thank you for this. You are a true friend. I will put it to good use.’ He could at least free her from Hayes, socially, without her incurring any scandal. Hayes would want to keep his disappointment quiet in order to keep the reasons for Marianne’s refusal from being exposed. There would be no shame in rejecting an insolvent suitor. Hayes would be at a disadvantage if his situation was known. But even as he prepared to go to Treleven House and enlighten Sir Jock, Vennor worried it wouldn’t be enough. What would a jilted, enraged Hayes do? Was he helping Marianne’s cause or bringing her closer to danger?
* * *
Damn it! Hayes threw a glass against the wall of his study, hard enough for it to shatter. Then he threw another and another until the carpet was littered with glass shards. He’d never been so humiliated in his life as he was right now. Sir Jock Treleven had broken off negotiations regarding the betrothal.
He’d called in person to deliver the news, as if that made it better. To have that piddling baronet explain to him how his finances were inappropriately arrayed for marriage, that there was significant concern over the source of his many loans! As if he himself wasn’t concerned? As if he didn’t know any of this? Sir Jock would prefer he not contact or communicate with his daughter in any way. He was to keep his distance and Sir Jock would not bring this difficulty to light. He was to keep his pride in exchange for Sir Jock’s discretion.
He’d argued, of course; there was too much at stake for him to let Marianne go easily and because it was expected. He’d just been to Treleven House professing his proposal to be the result of a whirlwind courtship, that he was a man swept up in his ardour for Miss Treleven. He’d argued that this was the work of a jealous suitor looking to make trouble in order to smooth his own way. Who had told Sir Jock these tales? Where had he found his information?
Sir Jock had simply risen, taken the file and said, ‘From a man for whom I have the utmost respect.’ There was clearly no room for creating doubt. But Hayes could guess who the man was. Who in Sir Jock’s circle would care enough to thwart his suit? If it wasn’t Vennor Penlerick, then it was one of the supercilious Cornish Dukes who’d been prompted to it by him.
Well, what he couldn’t take by legal means, perhaps he could take by force. There was more than one way to wed a bride. He’d rather not have to resort to that, but needs must when the devil drives. He only needed to get near her, which might be a bit trickier now that he’d been asked to keep his distance. But there were ways around that, too, and Vennor Penlerick would be dead just as soon as an opportunity presented itself.
Chapter Twenty-One
He waited for the right opportunity to give Marianne her present. Vennor firmly believed that gifts were a private matter between the giver and the receiver. He was also well aware that there was an air of expectancy hovering about the small party tonight. The understanding with Hayes had been broken, which was all to the good, but Vennor knew there was a sense of loss there, too. Now there was no viscount in waiting for Marian
ne. But perhaps there was a duke and a friend who might take his place? He read that message in Penrose’s soft smile, and Eliza’s knowing gaze. The same was mirrored, somewhat smugly, in Inigo’s stare as it sought him out in the crowd. Vennor could tolerate that from his friends. They were eager to see him wed, to embrace the happiness they had found. Harder to tolerate was the speculation from the Trelevens.
Sir Jock had been grateful for the information this afternoon, but there’d been a long moment when the interview had finished where Sir Jock had looked at him expectantly from behind his desk as if all this had been in prelude to something more. Only there’d been nothing more. Vennor had excused himself on the premise of shopping for Marianne’s gift. Tonight, that same expectancy rolled off Sarah Treleven in waves.
Vennor finally managed to manoeuvre Marianne into the gardens after dinner, although he was cognisant everyone was watching. They might as well just press their faces to the glass for all the subtlety they’d discarded. It was all the privacy he was going to get. At least no one could hear them. Marianne looked fetching tonight in a green dinner gown, tiny gold bobs dancing at her ears, her spirits high.
‘Birthdays suit you,’ Vennor complimented.
‘You suit me.’ She gave him a wide, unguarded smile. ‘Father told me what you did this afternoon. Thank you. You’ve made it possible for me to refuse Hayes without scandal. I’d kiss you for it, but I fear everyone would see.’
‘I’ll put that kiss on account then for another time,’ Vennor joked before turning serious. Her comment was at the heart of the matter that lay between them. ‘I wish we didn’t have to hide, especially from our friends. We are lying to them.’ He nodded towards the glass windows of the drawing room. ‘They’re expecting a proposal tonight. Inigo was quite blunt about the evening’s perfect conditions. I told him it was not what we wanted. Was I right to do so?’ Did she still feel that marriage and her writing were incompatible?
The Confessions of the Duke of Newlyn Page 17