An Ideal Duchess (51 page)

             
“Oh you are a silly goose,” Amanda feigned a cheerfulness she did not feel. “And much too young to worry about my concerns. You ought to be more concerned with your debut and dancing and making your curtsey to the King and Queen.”

             
“Rot!” Beryl crossed her arms. “None of that matters a jot if you’re made miserable because of my mother
and
my brother.”

             
“Leave it be, Ber,” Amanda returned her chair, weary beyond all measure. “Be eighteen and all of the selfish, self-centered joy of it.”

             
“But—”

             
Beryl’s protest was interrupted by Fowler’s arrival in the library.

             
“I beg your pardon my lady, Your Grace,” Fowler intoned. “But there is a gentleman here to see you, Your Grace.”

             
“Did he send in his card?” Amanda rose from the chair.

             
“A Mr. James Booth Lorimer—an American.” Fowler sniffed.

             
“Send him in, Fowler,” Amanda said dully, girding herself to accept a personal condolence of some type.

             
Mr. James Booth Lorimer bustled in, small mustache twitching as he lifted his derby from his sparse gray hair. “I apologize for arriving on such short notice, Your Grace—you are the former Amanda Vandewater, are you not?”

             
Amanda nodded cautiously. Mr. Lorimer’s mustache twitched again, and he looked about for some place to set his briefcase.

             
“The map table is fine, Mr. Lorimer.”

             
“Ah, yes, thank you,” Mr. Lorimer set the briefcase down and paused in the act of flicking open its locks. “Would we be able to discuss this in private, Your Grace?”

             
“Don’t mind me,” Beryl said sharply. “I was leaving.”

             
“Thank you Beryl,” Amanda said to her sister-in-law, and then turned to the diminutive man after the door closed behind her. “What is so pressing an issue you came without a calling card?”

             
“My apologies, Your Grace,” Mr. Lorimer didn’t sound apologetic at all. “I’ve just arrived on the Hamburg-American, and took the express directly from Liverpool to Gloucester, and from Gloucester to Bledington.”

             
She then noticed he looked rather rumpled and travel-stained, and felt a pang of guilt over her shortness with him. “Shall I ring for tea?”

             
“No need, Your Grace,” Mr. Lorimer demurred, flipped the briefcase open. “If you would sit down…”

             
“Yes, of course,” Amanda sat slowly, with an intuitive knowledge that whatever made Mr. Lorimer travel in such haste was not something she would want to hear.

             
“I’m going to rattle on as though you understand trusts and corners and markets, so interrupt me—everyone always does—when you grow confused,” Mr. Lorimer flicked open a pair of gold rimmed spectacles and perched them on his nose.

             
She gestured for the man to continue, later wishing that she had halted him at that moment and lived on in ignorant bliss of trusts and corners and markets.

             
“What you’re saying is that my father attempted to corner the market in sugar,”

             
“Yes, exactly.” Mr. Lorimer nodded. “Do you recall when Joseph Leiter attempted the same with corn, oh, twenty years or so ago?”

             
“No, but I am sure you will explain,”

             
“Yes, well,” Mr. Lorimer coughed self-consciously. “I’m afraid your father—very admirable and shrewd—was in the midst of obtaining the majority of the sugar market when he, ah, died on the Titanic.”

             
Amanda winced.

             
“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Mr. Lorimer said quietly. “It’s placed Monmouth Sugar in a damnable position, see; the attempt would only work with your father’s expert hand at the wheel—”

             
Mr. Lorimer winced at his unfortunate choice of words. “With your father’s expertise and confidence in the market. Everyone thought—thinks—very highly of Vandewater—Monmouth Sugar wouldn’t be what it is without his hand guiding it after the Panic of ‘07.”

             
“Mr. Lorimer, are you going to beat about the bush, or are you going to tell me how much my father lost?” She said tightly.

             
“Fortunately, Your Grace, not much,” Mr. Lorimer grimaced. “But the shares…the market…Monmouth Sugar must be sold in order for your family to remain solvent. If you, your mother, and your brother, retain your shares, there is a risk they may become worthless pieces of paper in the coming months.”

             
“And my mother and brothers…they are aware of this?”

             
“Yes, of course. The moment I and the others of the board managed to untangle the skeins of this attempt to corner the market, I went directly to your mother—a charming, handsome woman.”

             
Amanda rose from her chair; her feet were restless as this unexpected news jumbled and tumbled in her brain. “And they’ve agreed to sell their shares?”

             
“Once I impressed upon the reasons for expediency.” Mr. Lorimer said. “The Vandewaters are still in possession of a handsome fortune, but you haven’t any backing from which to earn more capital, I’m afraid.”

             
“So what we have is what we have?” She turned to face the man.

             
“Yes, that is so. With careful tending, you will remain a wealthy woman, but no extravagances.”

             
Amanda wanted to laugh at his warning. No extravagances indeed, when he stood inside the white elephant that was Bledington Park.

             
“And who are the buyers of Monmouth Sugar?”

             
“Ah…” Mr. Lorimer pursed his lips. “I’m not at liberty to say just yet. We don’t want to trigger another panic.”

             
“Or the interest of Senator Pujo,” Amanda smiled tightly at Mr. Lorimer’s surprise. “I may not know much about finance, Mr. Lorimer, but the London papers did take a keen interest in the trust busting after the panic.”

             
“Yes, of course, Your Grace,” He looked suitably impressed.

             
Amanda moved to the bell pull on the wall. “Should you like to stay for luncheon we would gladly accommodate an extra guest.”

             
“Thank you, but no, Your Grace,” Mr. Lorimer closed his briefcase and placed his hat on his head. “I must be getting to London. Is there a telegraph office nearby?”

             
“In the village post office,” Amanda tugged on the bell. “Do you need directions?”

             
“I’m sure I can muddle along quite well enough,” Mr. Lorimer’s mustached twitched again.

             
The door opened and Fowler stepped in.

             
“Mr. Lorimer is leaving, Fowler,”

             
Amanda extended a hand to the American businessman. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Lorimer.”

             
“I must reiterate how sorry I am for your loss,” Mr. Lorimer clasped her hand with a grave smile. “Your father was a dear colleague, and will be deeply missed on Wall Street.”

             
Amanda closed her eyes and pressed her hands to her cheeks after Fowler escorted Mr. Lorimer from the library.
Oh Papa!

             
Now she understood the meaning of his negative bank balances. It surely cost heaps and heaps of money to corner a market, and he had overspent himself, and then some, to keep his overconfident, monumental scheme afloat. And yet he’d boasted of his new motorcar and promise to purchase a home for her in London!

             
She did not know what to think, and she was utterly bewildered and angered by the rank arrogance of men in positions of power. She tidied her desk and then walked out of the library as Fowler was entering the Saloon from the entrance hall.

             
“Fowler, where is His Grace?”

             
“His Grace is out—”

             
“No, I’m not,” Malvern interrupted, descending the stairs in his natty riding gear. “What is it, Duchess?”

             
“Come into the library, Malvern,” She turned and walked back into the library.

             
She waited for him to follow her, eyeing him warily when he stared grimly at her, no doubt remembering their last conversation. She shuddered in revulsion again, but forced herself to set her feelings aside to explain these new concerns to him. His expression shifted from grimness to incredulity, and then to white fury, his eyes a dark gray beneath his furrowed brow.

             
“So what does this mean?” He circled her.

             
“It means, Malvern, that I am much less wealthier than when we wed,” She turned around to track his progress.

             
“How could your father be such a bloody fool?” He kicked at the leg of her desk.

             
“How dare you speak of him that manner? It was his money that dug Bledington out of its muck and mire, and you ought to be grateful he was so generous with funds when we married.”

             
“Not generous enough, it seems,” Malvern muttered.

             
“Bledington has a new roof, the tenant farms are in good repair, we can afford to keep an entire army of servants, send the boys to Eton, and launch Beryl into society—how much more money could we possible need?”

             
She narrowed her eyes at him as he gave her his back. “No, Malvern. Don’t tell me you’ve been speculating with my money.”

             
“And that is where you are in the wrong,” Malvern said coldly. “It was no longer your money the moment you said ‘I will’.”

             
He turned, his jaw working fiercely where he clenched it. “No matter the provisions your father set aside for your personal allowance, it was all my money to do as I saw fit.”

             
“And just where did you see fit to spend it?” She spat. “On mistresses? Gambling perhaps? Do you and Viola have a secret love nest somewhere in the countryside where she stores her furs and jewels, and pretends—because Lord knows how she pretends—she is your wife?”

             
“She has nothing to do with this,” Malvern stalked towards her.

             
“Are you to be a cliché, Malvern, and tell me she’s worth ten of me?” Amanda mocked, standing firm when he stopped mere inches from her.

             
She felt her bravura slowly dissolve as he stared down at her, his eyes cold and flinty, giving nothing away. They had never given anything away, she realized, even in the throes of his courtship when she thought…for one moment…that he liked her company, that he liked
her
.

             
“Why did we marry if you despise me, and love her?” She asked flatly.

             
His eyes jerked away from hers and up to the ceiling. “Bledington has needed a new roof for twenty years.”

             
She did not realize she had slapped him until she saw the red imprint on his face and felt the stinging of her hand.

             
“I suppose,” He said slowly, face still averted from her slap. “I suppose you feel I deserved that for my honesty.”

             
His eyes glittered darkly when he turned to face her again. “But can you stand there with your woman’s pride and outrage and tell me you did not marry me for my title?”

             
She wanted to wound him further, and said, “No.”

             
“And if I struck you for your honesty, would you feel it justified?”

             
“You wouldn’t be so cruel,”

             
“There are many things I can do to you that the law would not consider cruelty,” He smiled coolly. “I could finish what we began all those nights ago, and it would be considered an exercise of my conjugal rights.”

             
Amanda stumbled back, arm half raised in self-defense. “I would scream.”

             
“And who would come to your aid? The servants? My mother?” He said angrily. “Or perhaps you would hope for Anthony Challoner to ride in on a white destrier like a knight of yore?”

             
“Don’t be absurd. Anthony and I have never—”