The Convenient Arrangement (21 page)

And she was glad.

They had made it clear that she was welcome to join them in their perusal of the dusty potsherds and illegible coins. Mayhap if she did not sneeze the entire time they were pulling dusty things out of the crates, she might have been able to stay in the room. Instead she banished herself to her chambers where she could pretend she was reading or working on correspondence.

She glanced at the pile of unanswered letters on the table by her bed. All of them were from Tilden Oates. Although he had not presented an offer of marriage to her, she knew it was forthcoming. The first letters had been signed
Your Servant, Sir Tilden Oates
. The most recent
With fondest regards, Tilden
.

Marrying him would be the sensible thing, and she had always been sensible. What did it matter that she didn't love the baronet? She had married Albert Fanning, and she had not loved him when she pledged her life to him at the altar of St. George's Church near Hanover Square. Love had come later, an abiding warmth as he introduced her to the exciting world of the
ton
and treated her with a kindness that had been missing from her life. The previous Lord Moorsea had seen something in his friend that suggested the match would be perfect, and he had been right. Mayhap she should trust his nephew to do the same for her. Then Lorenzo could ask Miss Oates to be his wife, and David would have the family he had lost and two men to help guide him as he became a man himself.

It was a reasonable and unquestionably convenient arrangement for everyone.

Then why did she quiver with fear every time this obvious solution filled her head?

Pushing her uneasy thoughts aside, Valeria threw the door open and tried to mask her disappointment when she saw Gil standing there, tugging surreptitiously at his light blue livery which he was apparently already out-growing. The lad would be ten feet tall at the rate he was still sprouting.

“My lady,” he said with a half-bow, “a gentleman has arrived and asks to speak with you.”

“A gentleman? Sir Tilden?”

“No, not him. This gentleman came in a fancy carriage that looks as if it has traveled a goodly distance.” Gil's voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper. “From the way the gentleman hobbled when he came to the house, I'd say the trip had been long and hard.”

She did not scold him for speaking so of a guest to Moorsea Manor, because a wave of exhilaration swept over her, washing away her disquiet. A gentleman who had traveled far could be a friend among the
ton
who had not forgotten her once she had banished herself from London.

“Have the gentleman wait in the library, and I shall be with him posthaste.” She turned from the door, then asked, “He did not give a name?”

“Not in my hearing, my lady.”

Another thing she must discuss with Mrs. Ditwiller. Instead of being a good influence on the household here, the servants Lorenzo had brought with him to Moorsea Manor were becoming more lackadaisical in their duties. Not that that had eased the tension between the newcomers and the staff. Only Earl seemed more than outwardly accepting of Lorenzo's changes.

With more haste than usual, Valeria changed from her everyday gown to a tea gown of her favorite gold. She had set it aside for a special occasion, and a caller from Town was just that. Curling her hair up around her face, she pinned it in place with some silk flowers. She tossed her beloved paisley shawl over her shoulders, so it caught the vibrant glow of both her gown and her hair.

She was nearly giddy with anticipation as she came down the stairs. Mrs. Ditwiller was waiting for her, a smile on her face.

“I'm having him wait in the library as you instructed, my lady. Shall I send for some refreshments?”

“That would be a good idea.” She did not want to loiter to chat.

“And shall I send for Lord Moorsea?”

“I shall when I ascertain who is calling. I don't want to disturb Lorenzo.”

Mrs. Ditwiller nodded and smiled. “A good idea, my lady, and, if I may say so, this caller is as handsome as Sir Tilden Oates and has the manners of a real gentleman. Gave his hat and gloves at the door as neat and polite as you please.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Ditwiller.” She silenced her groan. The housekeeper was becoming as outrageous in her behavior as the rest of the household.

It was something she would handle later. For now … Valeria went to the library door, being careful that her gown did not catch on one of the lances still gathered in the hallway. Taking a deep breath, she walked in.

Her smile vanished as she gasped, “Lord Caldwell! What are
you
doing here?” She had never considered that her caller would be Austin Caldwell, who had led her brother into utter ruin.

As he reached for her hand and bowed over it, the tall blond man gave her a smile that was better suited to a snake, for his eyes retained a reptilian chill. “I decided if you weren't going to come back to London any time soon, Valeria, I would call on you in this horrible place.” His nose wrinkled as if some foul stench had assaulted him.

“Why?”

“Because there remains business to be dealt with between us, Valeria.”

She shook her head as she snatched her hand out of his grasp. “You are quite mistaken, my lord. There never has been and there never will be any business between you and me. I have nothing to say to you other than that you should take your leave now if you wish to reach Minehead and an inn before dark.”

As she walked toward the door, he seized her arm. She stared at him in amazement. His manners had never been, in her memory of the few times she had been forced to speak with him, even as poorly polished as a rough diamond's, but this was the first time he had treated her so uncouthly.

“Valeria, there is business between us, and I wish to discuss it now.”

“And I do not. Good day, my lord.”

His fingers bit into her arm, and she clenched her teeth to keep from crying out in pain. She would not give him that satisfaction. Keeping her chin high and her gaze focused directly on his, she peeled his fingers off her.

“Have a pleasant journey,” she said quietly.

He stepped in front of her. When he reached to seize her again, she grabbed a bookend from the table. Books clattered to the floor as she raised the brass pinecone.

“I hope,” came a welcome voice from the doorway, “you are going to show off the bookend's excellent craftsmanship, not demonstrate how far you can throw it.”

“Lorenzo!” she breathed, lowering the bookend. She set it on the table and pushed past Lord Caldwell to stand beside Lorenzo. When he gave her a quick smile, she wanted to fling her arms around him and thank him for choosing this moment to come to her rescue … yet again.

“Mrs. Ditwiller informed me that we had a caller,” he said, his tone still even.

She glanced at Lord Caldwell. He still wore that superior smirk, so she guessed he had been bamblusterated by Lorenzo's words and had not noticed how Lorenzo was balanced on the balls of his feet like a boxer about to strike. She almost gasped at the thought. She could not envision Lorenzo coming to fisticuffs with anyone. His weapons were words, not fists.

“I'm glad she told you, Lorenzo,” she said, although she knew she was being as ill-mannered as Lord Caldwell. “I had told her not to bother you.”

“She apparently took it upon herself.”

When Lorenzo offered his arm, Valeria was grateful to let him draw her hand within it. She forced her feet to match his paces as he led her back into the room and to Lord Caldwell. Wanting to warn Lorenzo not to trust this most untrustworthy man, she remained silent.

“Welcome to Moorsea Manor,” he said.

“Thank you.” Lord Caldwell shot her a satisfied grin, and she resisted firing back one in return. She knew Lorenzo Wolfe, and he did not.

She glanced again at Lorenzo's face, which suggested every word he had spoken was sincere. Mayhap they had been. Was she the one who was mistaken? After all, she had been so many times before.

“You're quite welcome,” Lorenzo answered. “However, I do have a single question.”

“Of course. Ask what you wish.”

“Who are you?”

“Austin, Lord Caldwell.”

Lorenzo smiled. “Ah, the viscount.”

“Yes,” he replied, his voice abruptly terse.

Valeria dug her nails into her palms to keep from laughing at Lord Caldwell's irritation at having to own that his title was of far less prestige than Lorenzo's. She glanced again from one man to the other. They were of a height, although Lord Caldwell was more muscular. Yet, she did not doubt that Lorenzo would be his match in any battle—of wits or of a bunch of fives.

It must not come to that. All she wanted was for Lord Caldwell to take his leave and never return. The very sight of him reminded her of her brother Paul's despair at having lost everything he owned and everything she possessed as well. She shivered as she pondered, as she tried never to do, if that despair had led directly to Paul's death on that rainy night.

“Sit down, Caldwell,” Lorenzo said, motioning toward the chairs by the fireplace. “Valeria, please ring for something to ease our guest's thirst.”

“But, Lorenzo—”

He squeezed her hand out of the viscount's view. “I would prefer brandy, and I suspect our guest will as well.”

She turned, but not before she saw Lord Caldwell's brows rise at the words
our guest
. The stray, absurd thought that he must be the only man who was unable to raise a single eyebrow shot through her head like the anguish of the headache left in its wake.

“Stay, Valeria,” Lord Caldwell ordered.

“Caldwell,” Lorenzo said with the same quiet dignity, “I believe you have spoken poorly. Lady Fanning is a lady, not a dog to obey one's orders.”

The viscount ran his hand through his blond hair and scowled. “Forgive me. I wish to speak with Valeria alone about some private business.”

“Mayhap it would be more appropriate for you to discuss that business with me.”

“Why?”

“I am her guardian.”

“Guardian?” He laughed. “She is a widow, not a maiden. She has nothing for you to guard.”

“I would guard her ears from your crude words to begin with.” Lorenzo held out his arm to her. “Valeria, if you will allow me …”

Valeria almost put her hand on his arm, then drew it back. Although she knew very little about Lord Caldwell, save for his tarnished reputation, she had heard one rumor she knew was a fact. He was as tenacious as a mud turtle and would not leave until he had accomplished what he came here for.

“Lorenzo, I believe I shall speak with Lord Caldwell for five minutes.”

“No more.”

She nodded. “It is the least I can do when he has traveled so far and he has so far to go before he can find a place to shelter him and his horse and men tonight.”

Lorenzo's eyes twinkled in amusement with sparks as gold as her gown. Why had she never noticed them before? When they looked past her, she faced Lord Caldwell, who was scowling.

“Very well,” Lorenzo said, “you may speak with him for five minutes. That will give time for the carriage to be turned around and pointed back toward the road.” He put his hand on her arm. “I shall be across the stairwell in the parlor if you should want me to join the discussion at any point.”

“You need not fear for her safety in my company,” Lord Caldwell snapped. “I wish only to discuss mutual business with her.”

Lorenzo nodded and walked out of the room.

Valeria had to force her feet not to flee after him. Motioning for the viscount to sit, she took the other chair. “I have no idea what business you wish to discuss with me, my lord.”

“Your brother's unpaid debts to me, of course.”

“There is nothing of value left. Paul lost it all.” She clenched her hands in her lap. “With your help.”

“But there is something of value left.”

Her laugh was cold. “If you came all the way down from London in hopes of finding some trinket that I was able to hide from Paul's creditors, you have wasted your time. You should know, better than anyone else, how cleanly the bones of my family's heritage were picked clean by you and your fellow ravens.”

“You give yourself little credit, Valeria.”

“I give myself no credit since you offered my brother too much, knowing that he had a weakness for cards and horses and games of chance.”

“You still have your adder's tongue, I see.”

She came to her feet. “You should not be surprised when it was aimed most often at you and your cohort Lord Lichton. I own to being shortsighted, for I thought the target of your attempt to lure someone to ruin was Charles Talcott. I saw how my dear bosom-bow Emily worried about the debts her father was amassing. After her sister's successful Season and her marriage, that fear seemed to dissipate. At the time, I should have been more curious why. Now I see the truth. Charles Talcott was no longer your victim of choice. My dear, witless brother Paul was.”

“Valeria,” he said, setting himself on his feet, “you paint me with evil intentions when I sought no more than a gentleman's entertainments in Town. Can you blame me for having good fortune simply because your brother did not? After all, how many routs did you hold at your town house during which the gentlemen retired from the ladies' company to enjoy a few hours of cards and conversation and some of the excellent vintages you once served?”

“None that you were invited to, as I recall.”

“But your brother welcomed me in your house.”

“Which he was bacon-brained to do.”

He reached under his sedate coat and drew out a slip of paper. “We are wasting time discussing what is in the past when I wish to know your future intentions in dealing with this.”

Valeria did not want to take the page, but she did. She stared at it in disbelief. Above her brother's signature was a single number.
£8000!
“I cannot pay this!”