His Lady Mistress (25 page)

Suspicion flared. ‘If you are acting for Lord Faringdon—’

He was interrupted. ‘Nothing could be further from my intent, but since you mention Lord Faringdon, I must assume that you did indeed marry Miss Verity Scott, daughter of the late Colonel William Scott?’

‘Yes.’ Seduced her, married her, insulted her.
Broken her heart?
She had said she loved him…

Wimbourne’s lips tightened. ‘Then she isn’t dead.’

‘Well, of course she—I beg your pardon?’ He leaned forward over the desk and said, very softly, ‘Please explain yourself, Mr Wimbourne.’

The little man nodded. ‘I had the honour of acting for Miss Scott’s late grandmother, Lady Hillsden—were you aware of the connection?’

Max nodded. He’d known that Scott had been a younger son of the previous Viscount Hillsden and that there had been some estrangement over his marriage.

Wimbourne went on. ‘Colonel Scott married expressly against his mother’s threat of disinheritance. An Irish girl apparently, instead of the heiress she had picked out for him. Her ladyship never forgave him—until she heard about his death.’

He swallowed. ‘My lord, please to understand that I have,
had
, been acquainted with her ladyship for a very long time. I think she always expected the Colonel to come back and beg her forgiveness. But he didn’t. At the time of Scott’s death her estate was left divided equally between her other two eldest grandchildren, Miss Celia and…’

‘Mr Godfrey Faringdon,’ Max finished. ‘Go on.’

Wimbourne inclined his head. ‘Lady Hillsden sent for me…’ He hesitated. ‘She was very much affected by the circumstances of her son’s death and wished to alter her will.’

‘She did so?’

Wimbourne nodded. ‘According to her instructions, I drew up a will, leaving the entire estate to Miss Verity Scott, which she signed. Then, some weeks later, I received a letter from her telling me to change the will back because Miss Scott was dead.’

‘What?’

‘Quite, my lord,’ put in Covell. ‘This is why I brought Mr Wimbourne down.’

Wimbourne went on. ‘She informed me that Lord Faringdon had written to apprise her of Miss Scott’s death. He said…er…
implied
that the young lady had been very much overset by her father’s death and that she had, well, that she had…’

‘Destroyed herself.’ Max felt sick. His own cruelty was just the latest in a long line of betrayals.

Wimbourne nodded. ‘So I drew up yet another will and—’

‘You’d better tell Lady Hillsden that she still has a granddaughter,’ suggested Max.

Wimbourne looked grave. ‘You come to the nub of the matter, my lord. Lady Hillsden has just died. We were settling the estate and applying for probate when I saw the notice of your marriage in the papers.’

Max eyed him narrowly. ‘Surely it would have been easier for you to keep silent.’ And realised that his phrasing had been less than tactful.

Mr Wimbourne’s chest swelled. ‘Easier legally, I grant you, my lord. But I remember Lady Hillsden’s distress when she wrote to me about Miss Scott’s supposed death. She blamed herself for not sending for the child, for never trying to heal the breach between herself and her son. It would not be easier for my conscience had I not brought this to your attention.’

‘I beg your pardon, Wimbourne,’ said Max quietly. ‘I did not intend to offend you. What do you suggest I should do? Can the will be overset?’

‘Does your lordship need the money?’

He laughed. ‘No, Mr Wimbourne, I do not. But like you, I have a marked disinclination to permit Lord Faringdon to get away with his deception. At least I assume that was your motive in laying the facts before me.’

Verity’s breaking voice echoed in his heart:
It’s mine…all I have of him…I have nothing.

Could he at least secure her inheritance for her? Settle it on her absolutely, so that she had something that was hers, and hers alone? Independent of his wealth?
And if you do that, what are the odds that she will walk away from you after what you just did to her?

He shut his eyes against a wave of pain. Verity, given her independence, might leave him. Carefully he rearranged the papers before him. It was his decision. As his wife, Verity had no say in this. He could thank Wimbourne for his integrity and say that he didn’t need the money. Legally, if that
money came to Verity without being tied up in a trust, it
was
his. He would be within his rights not to pursue the issue or to keep the money. The law said so.

Just as the law said that Celia and Godfrey Faringdon were now entitled to Verity’s inheritance. Just as the law on suicide had left Verity destitute, dependent on the whim of her uncle, who had stolen everything from her, including her name. Who would have sold her into prostitution to hide his dishonesty.

‘How does one challenge a will, Mr Wimbourne?’

Wimbourne shook his head. ‘Oh, dear me, no. The last thing your lordship wants to do is actually
mount
a challenge! We must be more cunning than that, my lord. I understand from Mr Covell that your lordship is a military man? A little strategy is what is required here. Yes, strategy. And a willingness to accept a compromise, perhaps?’

The idea of compromising with the Faringdons nearly choked Max, but if the important thing was to give Verity something of her own, then his curst pride could take a few blows.

‘Go ahead, then. Outline your strategy.’

‘Does your lordship know anything about the Court of Chancery?’

Max frowned. ‘Not much. Except that it keeps the legal profession busy.’

Mr Wimbourne’s smile verged on the cynical. ‘And wealthy, my lord. You see, once a challenge is mounted the estate is frozen. It cannot be touched except to defray legal costs. Sometimes for years.’

‘Years?’ asked Max suspiciously.

The smile became beatific. ‘Years, my lord. Decades, even. Why, we have one case at the moment that began in 1798. I venture to suggest that your children may not live to see the Jennings case settled.’

‘How large is Lady Hillsden’s estate?’

Wimbourne shrugged. ‘Respectable, but not enough to survive that. About twenty-five-thousand pounds.’

Max swore. ‘It’s useless then. If I challenge the will, the entire estate could be eaten in legal fees!’

‘Exactly. And Faringdon knows that too. Even if you do not need the money,
he
does.’ Mr Wimbourne’s smile took on an air of cherubic innocence. ‘After all, he has two more daughters to provide for, and his own fortune is respectable rather than handsome…’

Max’s jaw dropped at the full glory of the legal mind. ‘Then we…would the word be
threaten
…?’

Wimbourne nodded. ‘It would, my lord. You
threaten
to lodge a suit in Chancery unless Faringdon agrees to settle. For, say…ten thousand pounds? That leaves fifteen for Miss Scott—I mean, Lady Blakehurst. And the jewellery of course. You should insist that Lady Blakehurst take first pick of the jewellery, since it was originally left to her outright. You are, of course, being very generous in offering ten thousand—you could even hint at a civil suit for fraud. And, since Faringdon was, through his wife, Miss Scott’s legal guardian, there are steps that could be taken there. A guardian is legally obliged to safeguard his ward’s interests.’

Max rose slowly to his feet. He leaned across the desk and held out his hand. ‘Mr Wimbourne, it is a privilege to know you.’

Mr Wimbourne took the proffered hand and inclined his head. ‘Thank you, my lord. It is all a matter of knowing precisely
where
to apply pressure’

Max knew exactly where he wanted to apply pressure on the entire Faringdon family. His fists clenched. Right now he’d gladly strangle the lot of them with their own purse strings. After that he’d strangle himself.

Richard listened in disbelief when Max introduced Mr Wimbourne and explained his presence. ‘That rat Faringdon
cheated
her? Damn it all, Max! You can’t let him get away with it!’

Max favoured him with a glare. ‘Despite my best efforts to date, I do possess some degree of sense, Ricky. Of course I’m not going to let him get away with it!’ Then he lowered his voice and asked the question clawing at him. ‘Where…where is Verity?’

They were about to go in for dinner, Max having insisted that both lawyers should dine with them and stay the night.

‘In her rooms,’ Richard replied. ‘I caught her halfway through the woods. Henny is with her. Are you going to tell her about this?’

Startled, Max thought about it. It hadn’t occurred to him
not
to tell her, but maybe…maybe it would be better to keep it to himself. Just until they had some idea of which way the Faringdons would jump.

Finally he shook his head. ‘Not yet. I…I don’t want her any more upset…’ He could imagine how she would feel to know the full extent of the cruel hoax that had been perpetrated upon her. He couldn’t bear to see any more pain on her face. He would wait. See if it came to anything. If not, he would hold his silence. He met Richard’s puzzled regard.

‘Tell me, brother—what do you intend to do with this money? It’s not as though you need it. Is it merely revenge?’

‘No. I don’t need it,’ agreed Max. ‘I’ll settle it on Verity. To be hers absolutely. No matter what.’

‘No matter what,’ echoed Richard. He frowned. ‘Then you have considered the possibility that she might le—’

‘Yes,’ said Max harshly, forcing the word past the ache in his throat. Hearing his worst fear spoken aloud would make it real, give it life. The very thought numbed his heart.

Gentle tapping pulled Verity out of her doze into full, unwelcome consciousness. She felt heavy, lethargic, the result of a night spent weeping. No doubt Henny had brought breakfast. Her stomach roiled. Eggs…ugh.

‘Come in.’ She rolled over and looked at the door leading into the sitting room. It remained shut.

A quiet voice behind her said, ‘I’ve brought your breakfast.’

Shocked, she whipped around, clutching the bedclothes to her. He was fully dressed, for which she was profoundly grateful, but…‘Since when does an Earl cart breakfast to his…wife?’ She forced her voice to sound normal, indifferent. She even met his eyes, although she had to bite the inside of her cheek to hold back the tears. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? She had made some decisions the previous night and they would be a great deal easier to act on if Max would only stick to his chosen role.

‘Since he behaved like a brute and upset her so that she didn’t eat her dinner.’

Her eyes widened as he came towards her and her grip tightened on the sheet. Seeing him in here reminded her of all the nights he had come to her and made love…No. He hadn’t
made love
. He had
sought his amusements
. She had to remember that. He had used her body. Seduction, not tenderness. She had to remember that too. She reached for the blanket and counterpane as well as the sheet.

Heat burned on her cheeks as her body trembled at the memory of urgent desire and shame, remembering how she had twisted and sobbed, begging for more, telling him that she wanted him inside her…Pain streaked through her as she recalled how he’d rolled away from her. Now she knew why. No wonder he hadn’t responded to her declaration of love. What man wanted words of love from a whore?

Tension gripped her as he placed the tray on her knees. ‘Th…thank you, my lord.’ She looked at the tray. Fruit. Scones. Butter and jam. A pot of tea. No eggs. The churning in her stomach eased slightly. But she couldn’t help the shiver of awareness at his proximity.

‘Would you like your dressing gown?’

The carefully diffident tones alerted her. She looked up and
saw him watching her almost…almost painfully. Without waiting for an answer, he turned away and fetched the dressing gown. She took it with shaking hands and wrapped it around herself.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and she jerked back with a startled gasp.

‘Please…’

His voice sounded strained. ‘Verity, I’m only going to pour you a cup of tea.’

Confusion held her. Why was he doing this to her? He had made it plain what he thought of her. Did he just feel guilty because he had turned out to be wrong on this particular occasion? The fact remained that he had been able to believe it. Easily. She accepted the cup and discovered that a scone had found its way onto the saucer. Tentatively she took a bite. Her stomach still felt funny, but as she ate the scone it began to settle.

Another scone appeared on the saucer before Max spoke again. ‘Verity, I’m…I’m sorry…about yesterday. I…I made a mistake. Can you forgive me?’

She stared blindly at the delicate blue-and-white porcelain, cradling its brittle warmth in her cold hands.
A mistake.
A mistake he could not have made without her help. He accepted that he had been wrong this time, but not trusting her, he would think it again and again.

Without looking at him she nodded. If she met his gaze, she’d break apart. Let him think her indifferent. He had neither believed nor wanted the truth. Her decision was made. All she had to do now was carry it out. He had himself given her the weapon she needed.

It took every scrap of courage to keep her voice light. ‘No matter, my lord. At least there is no misunderstanding between us any more. Don’t—’ her throat seized, but she pressed on ‘—don’t refine on it any further, sir. There is not the least need.’

‘I…see.’

Her tea cup rattled as she set it back on the saucer, startled by the harshness of his voice. Proudly she lifted her chin and stiffened her backbone. ‘So, my lord, what are your plans for the day?’

For a split second she thought he hesitated, but then he said, ‘As a matter of fact, I must go to London for a week or so. Some business that I should attend to personally.’

Dizziness swept through her and with it, nausea as his savage words flayed her again…
I prefer to seek my amusements elsewhere in future
. He was going up to London to do just that. A business matter. Something he paid for. And her duty was to turn a blind eye to such things.