A Lady Most Lovely (28 page)

“Can you be sure they’ll keep the secret?” Tom asked.

“Trust me, Tom,” Geoffrey said wryly. “I’ve been among them for nearly two years now, and I can tell you they have quieted more scandals about their own families than you or I could ever dream of.”

“Society,” Tom said in disgust, nearly spitting out the word.

“It’s what I love about them,” James remarked. “They watch out for their own, especially when it is in their best interests to do so.”

“What is Spencer demanding, exactly?” Geoffrey asked.

“A thousand pounds, as payment for his medical bills, he says. For the injuries he incurred yesterday.” Tom clenched and unclenched his fists, taking a grim satisfaction at the remembrance of inflicting those wounds.

“That seems a paltry sum, considering how rich you are,” James said.

“That’s not all he’s after. He also wants me to buy in-to the Saint Louis and Western Railway.”

“He wants you to give money to your wife’s former fiancé?” James scratched his chin thoughtfully. “That seems an odd connection.”

“Exactly,” Tom answered. “I suspect there is something underhanded about that railway scheme. Whatever it is, they are both profiting from it.” Grimly he added, “And considering the way things usually go with blackmail, I suspect their demands on me will only get higher.”

H
ow had it come to this? Tom thought as he signed his name to the document the clerk had set in front of him. He’d always been shrewd in his business dealings—first at his father’s dry goods shop in London, then at the shop in Sydney where he and Lizzie had worked, and later as he oversaw supplies at the sheep station in Bathurst. He’d been especially proud of how he and Sullivan had staked a claim to one of the richest veins of gold at Ballarat. When they’d finally sold out, they’d made a tidy profit that would keep both of them comfortable for a long time.

Unless one threw it away on a woman—which, Tom reflected, was a pretty good description of what he was doing. He’d fallen in love with Margaret Vaughn and paid an enormous sum to get her out of debt. Now he was funding a highly questionable venture just to keep her cousin quiet about Lizzie’s past.

Denault sat across from Tom, leaning back in the chair with his arms crossed, watching as he signed the
papers. “You won’t regret it, Poole,” he said with a self-satisfied grin.

Without a word, Tom dropped the pen into the inkstand and stood up. No, he would not regret it, but someday he’d make sure the men extorting money from him did. It rather amazed him, really, that he was finding the strength to bide his time and wait for the perfect chance to destroy their plans. Perhaps in some things he could show patience after all.

Denault accompanied him out of the small back office and through the bank’s imposing lobby with its vaulted ceiling and marble floors, between two rows of stiffly suited clerks sitting on tall stools behind high counters. “Remember, I don’t want word of this getting back to Margaret,” Tom said. He had decided that he would have to tell her about Lizzie’s past, but he wasn’t going to do it until he had Lizzie’s blessing. And that would have to wait until after the birth.

“I assure you, I shall be entirely discreet,” Denault said, ushering Tom through the massive front door as though he owned the place. “But soon, when this venture takes off, you will be proud to tell the world you have shares in the Saint Louis and Western.”

Tom paused at the top of the half-dozen or so steps that led down to the street, giving Denault a hard look. “Save the fancy speeches. Just know that I will be watching the company carefully, and requesting regular, detailed reports.”

He meant this as a threat, of course. No word had passed between them about
why
Tom was suddenly so willing to be a financial backer in Denault’s company. Spencer had “suggested” that Tom go to the bank right
away, and Denault had been waiting there when he arrived. The papers were already drawn up. Not trusting Spencer’s assurances that Denault knew nothing about Lizzie, Tom wanted to make sure the man knew exactly where they stood. “If anything is amiss, and I find any—shall we say—
reason
to report it to the authorities, I guarantee you I will.”

But Denault did not seem the least bit concerned. “Understood,” he said with a smile. They descended in order to make room for two other men who were coming up the steps. “I won’t keep you,” Denault said, tipping his hat. “I know you are in a hurry to return to your lovely bride.” He walked away before Tom could answer.

Tom tried to dismiss the man from his mind. For the moment, he had other things to attend to. He pulled out his pocket watch to check the time and saw that it was later than he’d realized. He would have to find a cab quickly in order to reach the railway station on time. He began walking in the opposite direction from Denault, toward the corner where he knew a cabstand was located. After a few steps he stopped short. Margaret was standing at the corner, looking directly at him.

Had she seen him with Denault? She must have. She stalked up to him, her face red with anger. Tom’s astonishment at seeing her turned to irritation when he noticed Stephens following in her wake. She’d reduced his valet to some kind of footman. “I sent instructions for you to meet me at the station,” he said hotly. “Why are you here?”

“Why were you with Paul?” she retorted. “How could you meet with him and not tell me about it? And why were you at Richard’s house this morning?”

Tom threw an accusing look at Stephens, who looked thoroughly guilty and completely miserable. “She forced me to tell her,” his valet said glumly. “She said I was also in her employ now, seeing as how you two are married—”

“That’s enough, Stephens,” Margaret said, not even looking at him. She was still glaring at Tom. “What are you trying to hide?”

Tom had put up with plenty of things this morning, but he was not about to allow himself or his valet to be chastised by his wife on a public street. He took her by the elbow and turned her around, forcing her to walk with him.

“What are you doing?” she protested.

“We are going to catch a cab,” he said between gritted teeth. “And you will keep your voice down and walk with me like a genteel lady. I don’t need you raising a riot right here on the street. Our reputations are in enough trouble already.”

“And whose fault is that?” she hissed. But as they had caught the eye of several curious onlookers, she relented and walked beside him without further protest. Stephens hurried on ahead to locate a cab.

“Don’t think this is the end of it,” Margaret said through a pasted-on smile. “I will get the truth out of you.”

“We’ll have plenty of time to talk on the train,” Tom pointed out, and ushered her into the carriage.

“I believe we shall talk about it here,” she contradicted, speaking as soon as the cab was under way. “Tell me why you spent the morning with the two most vile men in London.”

Tom couldn’t find fault with her assessment, but neither would he be pushed around by his wife. “If you will be calm, I will tell you,” he said, crossing his arms and showing he was prepared to wait.

She glowered at him, unspeaking, until gradually her breathing settled. “Very well,” she said at last.

“I felt it was important, after yesterday’s events, that Richard and I reach some kind of truce. Also, I wanted to assure myself that I had not beaten him beyond repair.”

Tom thought he detected the barest hint of a smile. Given how Margaret felt about her cousin, some part of her must surely be happy that he had been thrashed. But whatever Tom saw was quickly gone. She said, “There can be no such thing as a truce with that man. Not after all he’s done.”

Tom held up a hand. “Let’s just say he’s been mollified.” That was a good stretch of the truth, but it was as far as Tom was going to go. He had promised to keep Lizzie’s secret, and he would not break that promise. “As for why I was with Denault, I’ve decided to buy into the railway.” Now that Margaret had seen them together, Tom figured there was no point in trying to hide it.

“What?” she shrieked. “You know that will be like throwing money away. How could you even consider it?”

“It’s my money, Margaret,” Tom cut in. “I’ll do with it as I please. But don’t worry, there’s still plenty left for Moreton Hall.”

It was still a sore point to her pride, Tom knew, that Margaret was dependent on Tom’s money. He hoped his words would sting her enough to make her drop the subject. She rallied, though. “Why didn’t you tell me all
these things before?” she persisted. “Why should it be such a secret?”

“I think the way you are acting right now is answer enough,” he said, putting harsh emphasis on the terse words. “And that’s all I’m going to say on the subject.”

Margaret fumed, but did not press him more as the cab made its interminable journey to Euston station. Carriages, omnibuses, pedestrians, and crossing sweepers slowed their progress at every turn. Tom heard the driver complain loudly when they were blocked by a wagon stacked twenty feet high with wooden crates and lumbering straight down the middle of the thoroughfare.

As they approached the station, the traffic slowed nearly to a standstill; the roads were choked by everyone else who was trying to get there, too. How much time would they need once they actually got to the station? Tom had never ridden on a train before. He’d have to count on Margaret to show him what to do.

Margaret sat stony-faced, watching the commotion in the streets, never once looking at him. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, her right hand occasionally tugging at her left ring finger. She was wearing gloves, but Tom had the distinct impression that the ring beneath it was chafing her, just like this marriage.

Well, the feeling was mutual. So many things he’d thought he’d be doing when he married her were now thrown into complete upheaval. What was worse, they would spend weeks in Lincolnshire overseeing the harvest when Tom wanted nothing more than to remain in London and keep tabs on the volatile situation with Spencer and Denault. So here he was, sitting in a carriage with a wife he barely knew and could hardly control.

At last they reached the gates of the station. “That’ll be two shillings,” the driver announced.

Tom reached in his pocket to pull out the money, but Margaret said, “Two shillings? That’s ridiculous.” She turned to Tom. “Give him one and sixpence.”

“Now see here,” the cabbie protested. “I drove you all the way from the Strand—”

“—which everyone knows is worth one and four at most. You should be grateful we’re even giving you a tip, after you tried to raise the fare like that.”

The driver crossed his arms and surveyed Margaret. “Well, ain’t you the lady,” he said, shaking his head in admonishment, “standin’ there and tellin’ your ’usband what he should and shouldn’t do.” He turned a cheeky grin to Tom. “You ain’t gonna allow that, are you, govnah?”

Tom knew the cabbie was trying to goad Tom by attacking his manly pride. But Tom didn’t have time to worry about it. A deafening, high-pitched train whistle shrieked from nearby. Tom looked at the coin he’d just pulled out of his pocket, considered it for a split second, then dropped it into the cabbie’s hand. “There’s a half crown for your trouble.” Then he took the still protesting Margaret by the arm and led her to the station door.

“You gave him nearly twice what he was owed!” she sputtered.

“Which would you rather do—argue with the man or miss the train?” He paused as they entered the station, bewildered by the swirl of people moving in all directions through a broad, high-ceilinged entrance hall. “You’ll have to show me what to do,” he told Margaret.

Bessie hurried up to them. “I’ve got your tickets.” She handed them to Margaret. “First-class coach. Track two.”

“Excellent,” said Margaret. “Come along.”

She began walking swiftly along the platform with Bessie, as though she expected Tom to follow along behind like one of her servants. He took hold of her arm, slowing her down. “I said
show
me the way, Margaret. Not
lead
the way.”

She looked at him, her green eyes ablaze with all kinds of fury. They may have done with Spencer and Denault, but in Tom’s estimation they still had a good many things to discuss.

When they reached the first-class carriages, Tom realized there would be no opportunity to speak privately. Every carriage was nearly full. They finally found one that had two free seats facing each other. Two couples already sat in the remaining four seats. It was not ideal, but it would have to do.

Upon seeing that Tom and Margaret meant to enter the carriage, one of the gentlemen—a stout man with graying temples—stood up and moved to the single seat on the other side, leaving two that were now side by side. “Please, take these,” he offered. He looked at the woman still seated there, presumably his wife, although she was far younger. “You don’t mind, do you, Fanny?” he said with a wink. “New acquaintances for you, since you are always so bored with my company.”