Julia London (33 page)

“And I am sure he felt the same for you, Galen,” Abbey replied earnestly. “But I don’t understand. What has this to do with your new post?”

Galen blinked, shifted his gaze to the ceiling, and took another deep breath. “When we reconciled, the captain promised me a living of sorts. He informed me that he intended to leave one of his larger merchant vessels to me, so that I might carry on with the family trade. That is why I accepted the apprenticeship in Amsterdam, so I could learn every aspect of the business. But when he died, I discovered a rather unfortunate mistake.”

Abbey was sure she had not heard him correctly. Her father had never mentioned any such thing to her, and there was certainly no mention of Galen in the papers she had received. Perhaps there had been a codicil? She was not sure what happened to the vessels; all she knew is that they were somehow entailed in the final settlement of his estate. “What mistake?” she asked softly.

Galen turned to look at her, his brown eyes almost pleading. “Abbey, what I have to tell you is quite extraordinary. Apparently, your father’s solicitor, Mr. Strait, dispatched a will to you before the captain actually died. It was quite natural for Mr. Strait to do so; the captain was very near death, and he wanted to be sure the last will was executed. But … you see, the captain had a change of heart.”

“A change of heart?” she echoed incredulously.

“Yes. Unfortunately, Mr. Strait had already sent the papers he had in his possession. What I am saying is that he did not send the final papers.”

Panic began to swell in Abbey’s throat. “
What
final papers? I received my father’s last will and testament.”

He smiled sadly and shook his head. “No, little one, you did not. I have the last will here, one that supersedes yours.”

Abbey blinked, unable to absorb what he was telling her. She came quickly to her feet and unconsciously began to pace. “Forgive me, but I don’t understand. I don’t recall that he left a ship to you, but perhaps there was a codicil, something detailing his wishes for the fleet. Surely that is what you have?” she asked, nodding hopefully.

“No, Abbey. I have, in my possession, his final will and testament. It does not bequeath a ship. It bequeaths a considerable sum.”

“A sum?”

“Of almost five hundred thousand pounds,” he said weakly.

Abbey laughed, a little hysterically. “That is the sum of my dowry!”

Galen sighed heavily and withdrew a thick document from his coat. “Try and understand, little one. He had a change of heart on his deathbed and let the half million pounds to me. Your dowry is the cancellation of Darfield’s debts. Unfortunately, the revised will did not reach you in time.” With that announcement, he opened the document and showed her the captain’s distinctive signature.

Abbey was stunned, absolutely and thoroughly stunned. It was too outrageous to believe, but then again, she hardly knew what to believe about her father anymore. He had, after all, lied to her about Michael all those years. But this was different; it was inconceivable. She stared blankly at the document in Galen’s hand as she tried to comprehend it. “It’s
impossible
,” she muttered to herself.

Galen smiled thinly and stooped to pick up a satchel she had not previously noticed. “I assumed, naturally, that you
would find it hard to believe. The courier I hired to retrieve the papers also returned a few personal items. Apparently Mr. Strait did not think to return them to you, as he had already deemed it unnecessary to travel personally to America.” As Abbey gaped at him, he reached into the satchel and retrieved a pair of ivory cuff links cut in the shape of small elephant heads that she immediately recognized as being her father’s.

“Where did you get those?” she whispered. “They belonged to Papa.” Galen did not answer as he placed them on a table. She swallowed hard; there had to be some explanation.

“The captain wanted you to have this,” Galen said, nodding to something in the satchel. “He saved it, believing you would one day want to give it to one of your children.” As he pulled a doll from the satchel, Abbey gasped. It was an exact replica of the doll she had dragged over the decks of the
Dancing Maiden
. She sank heavily into a damask chair as her head began to swim. It was impossible, completely improbable.

But was it really?

She had discovered things about her father since his death that made her question everything about him. She felt an odd stab of guilt; what if her father had changed his mind and left her money to Galen? But had her father really done something so rash? Had he really, in the throes of death, attempted to provide for Galen?

“I do not know what to say,” she murmured.

“Little one, I know this is all very difficult. Your husband will understand, I am quite certain of it.”

Abbey moaned; she was not nearly so certain. Suddenly she rose to her feet and reached for the will that Galen had put on the table with the other things, and frantically scanned the pages. It looked just like the one she had, except that it bequeathed the Carrington fortune to Galen, not her. Just as Galen had said, the will specified the cancellation of Michael’s debts as her dowry. And if she had any doubt, her father’s characteristically bold handwriting stood starkly on the page, confirming everything, and dated a month or more
past the one she had. Abbey took a deep gulp of air to fight down her spiraling hysteria.

She knew, instinctively, how very bad this would look to Michael. Her father had duped him once before, and now he was adding the crowning glory of his deception from his grave. He had left her dowry to Galen. Not a ship—her dowry. Dear God, what would Michael think? That he had been duped into an unwanted marriage with her? Only to learn that she had come empty-handed to this union, and therefore it was all for naught? He would not have married her under those circumstances, he had made that painfully clear. But would he now assume he had been
tricked
into marrying her?

“No!”
she whispered hoarsely, and whirled toward the mantel, clutching the will to her chest. She told herself frantically that Michael would never believe she had tricked him, but she hardly believed it.

“Dear God,” she heard Galen mutter, and felt a strong hand on her elbow, as she was pulled to the settee and forced to sit. Galen knelt next to her, her hands in his. His brown eyes, full of worry, searched her face. “Abbey, don’t be upset! It shall be all right, I promise you!”

But Abbey could think only of Michael, who would soon hear of yet another deception.

“Please
don’t fret!” Galen was saying. “I will support you when you tell him; I will explain you could not have possibly known. The matter can be kept very quiet; no one need ever know! Don’t fret! Darfield will understand! Men on their deathbeds change their last testaments all the time, they do!” Galen’s voice was low, rushed. Abbey doubled over with sickening dread.

“Look, I’ve brought all the proof you need. His ivory cuff links, that doll from your youth, for God’s sake, and the will! What more proof could your husband need?” The nausea that swept over Abbey prevented her from speaking. Too shocked and confused to do anything, she stared helplessly at the cuff links on the table, the doll tossed onto an armchair, and the will Galen had taken from her and placed on the table.

She dragged her gaze to Galen, whose genuine concern was
etched around his eyes. She shifted her gaze to the doll across the room, sprawled in the chair, its black eyes staring blankly at her. It was a replica of the doll she had carried all those years ago, but the last time she had seen it, it had no head. Did her father repair it? Had he truly saved it for her?

And in that moment, the enormity of her anger with the captain hit her. A flood of tears erupted, and in painful fury, she buried her face in her hands. Galen quickly rose to put a comforting arm around her shoulder.

Michael looked curiously at the footman stationed outside the drawing room door. “What are you about?” he asked kindly.

The footman cleared his throat. “The marchioness is receiving a visitor, my lord.”

Michael assumed it was Sam, a frequent visitor to his home. He opened the closed door.

He was not prepared for the sight that greeted him. Abbey, with her back to him, was bent over. A man was seated next to her, his arm draped around her shoulder. When he looked over his shoulder, Michael immediately recognized him as the stranger from Blessing Park. The stranger she had so warmly embraced.

“What in the hell is going on here?” Michael’s voice boomed in the drawing room as he strode across the carpet. The man sprang to his feet, but Abbey did not move. Michael went quickly to her, leaning down to look into her tearstained face. “Good God, Abbey, what has happened?” he asked, suddenly and oddly frightened.

“Oh, Michael!”
she muttered hopelessly.

Michael jerked upright and glared at the man. “By God, you had better speak!”

“Please, my lord, I am Galen Carrey—your wife’s cousin.” The name, vaguely familiar, registered somewhere in Michael’s brain. “I am afraid I have brought her some disturbing news,” he said softly. At Michael’s increasingly dark look, Galen spoke quickly. “It’s about her father. It is troubling news. Perhaps you would like to sit—”

“You had best tell me before I force it out of you.” Michael’s voice had gone from angry to deadly calm.

Galen blanched visibly. “Lord Darfield, it is with extreme displeasure that I must inform you Captain Carrington composed another will. A later will, I should say. Not the one you have in your possession.”

Dumbfounded, Michael glared at Carrey. Of all the idiotic things. Of all the completely insane, reprehensible things.
“What?!”

“It would appear that Mr. Strait was too efficient. He began disposing of the estate before the captain died. Unfortunately, the captain had a change of heart and signed another will shortly before his death that effectively invalidates the first.”

It was preposterous and a little too convenient for Michael. “Impossible,” he muttered angrily.

“I beg your pardon, my lord. It is quite possible,” Galen said quietly.

“And I suppose this new will has something to do with you, does it?”

Galen colored slightly as he reached down to retrieve it from the table. Holding it out to Michael, he said calmly, “It leaves his estate to me, my lord. The dowry you received belongs to me.”

That was absurd. Michael did not give a damn about her dowry, but he was not about to believe for one moment that the captain had penned another will. He took the document from Galen’s hand and quickly scanned it. It was all there, the blasted agreement, the payment of debts—everything, but instead of a sum for her dowry, he was supposed to have accepted the cancellation of his debts. Carrington’s estate was left, in total, to Galen Carrey.

“This is a forgery!”

“It’s his signature,” Abbey said softly.

Her words slammed into Michael’s head; he dragged his gaze from the document to her. She looked up at him, her eyes red-rimmed and dull, then flicked her gaze to Galen Carrey.
All right, Galen did not kiss like that
. Michael felt as if he had been punched in the gut. Galen. The embrace. Dear God, it
was inconceivable, but he had to consider that she was somehow a part of this fraud. His expression remained inscrutable despite the thoughts racing through his mind. He carefully folded the vellum and placed it on the table.

“My lord, your wife could not know of the second will, as she was already in England. And I did not mention it in my correspondence to Blessing Park, only that I was expecting some important news,” Galen interjected.

Correspondence?
Astounded, Michael stared blankly at the man across from him. She had corresponded with him? He clenched his jaw as he recalled the day he had seen this man at Blessing Park. She had said he was a deck hand aboard the
Dancing Maiden
, a friend of Withers’s. She had not mentioned any correspondence. Or their kinship. Indeed, there had been a decided omission of any kinship.

“You, sir, are a fraud,” he announced flatly, his disgust apparent.

Galen blinked nervously. “I am truly sorry, my lord. I know this comes as quite a surprise, but I am not lying to you. Abbey told you herself it is the captain’s signature. And I have brought some other articles, articles only her father could have had, along with the will.” Galen motioned to the cuff links and the doll. Chafing from the familiar use of her name, Michael stared at the articles Galen indicated. The doll triggered a distant memory, one he could not quite grasp.

“These are articles that could be acquired anywhere. I do not believe they signify.” Galen swallowed a visible lump in his throat. “Mr. Carrey, my solicitors thoroughly documented and authenticated the papers I received from Captain Carrington. If Mr. Strait wishes to inform me of a mistake, I shall be obliged to listen.” He did not miss the flicker of Carrey’s eyes at the mention of Mr. Strait. “Until such time, however, I will consider anything you bring me, including your trinkets, as nothing more than a pathetic attempt to defraud me. I will thank you to leave my home,” he said calmly.

“Michael,” Abbey said weakly, “I think my father did this, not Galen.”

Michael could not believe what he was hearing. She was
defending
the bastard. Ice began to run through Michael’s veins; he could hardly contain his desire to throttle Carrey. And Abbey, good
God
! The last few months had not been a lie, he was certain of that—wasn’t he? Was it possible she could have deceived him so completely? Michael’s chest tightened painfully and he turned an icy gaze to her. “I will speak with you in a moment,” he said coolly, then flicked his gaze to Galen. “Leave now.”

Galen moved from the settee. “Clearly you need time to absorb the unfortunate news I bring you. Naturally you will want to review the papers,” he said as he walked to the door. He paused and smiled reassuringly at Abbey. “I shall give your butler my direction. But I will call on you in a few days, little one.”

Galen’s endearment for his wife rifled through Michael like a shot; his hands clenched at his side. He stepped in front of Abbey, blocking Galen’s view of her.