Two Beaux and a Promise Collection (22 page)

Margaret Widmer’s solicitor wishes to see you. I will call for you at eleven, if that is convenient.

She frowned. What might her grandmother’s solicitor want?  No one in England had known she existed until a few days ago. And why now?

There was only one way to find out, she admitted, reaching for a pen and stifling a burst of excitement over spending the afternoon with Marcus. This was business.

After sealing her response, she poured chocolate and opened Robert’s missive. He began with an entire page of compliments that ignored her curt dismissal last evening. Nor did he mention her rude and uncouth behavior. His persistence raised all sorts of alarms.

“Why the long face, Maggie?” asked Alice, hurrying in to claim her chair at the table.

“Robert wants to tour London with me this afternoon.”

“Why?”

“An interesting question. He reminds me of Patrick Riley, though I can’t imagine why he wants me. Did you ever hear such fustian?”

Alice read the letter, then smiled. “Not recently.”

Maggie accepted the pages back. “We will decline this invitation. Marcus wants me to meet Grandmother’s solicitor.”

“Perhaps she left your mother something.”

“That is hardly likely after twenty-eight years of silence.”

“Love endures.” Alice poured coffee. “It has the power to move mountains and link hearts, even after twenty-eight years apart. Your grandmother loved your mother deeply.”

“How would you know?”

“Shortly after I became your governess, John drank too much and cried his eyes out over losing Catherine. He mentioned their elopement and admitted that her mother had preferred his suit to William’s. Catherine had always been her favorite – perhaps because she was the youngest.”

“Why did they cut all ties to England, then?”

“That wasn’t clear, though I think John feared William. And after Catherine died, he expected her mother to blame him.”

“What?”

“He had dragged her off to an uncivilized land.”

“Nonsense!  She could have died anywhere.”

“True, but beware of your uncle, Maggie. If John feared him, he cannot be a good man.”  She disappeared into her room.

Maggie had no further interest in her Adams relatives, but Alice’s warning reverberated through her head as she ate breakfast. By the time she dusted the last crumb from her fingertips, she had revised her plans.

“I think we should leave London for a time,” she announced when Alice returned. “William is not a problem, for he refuses to meet me, but Robert might become a pest. He seems the stubborn sort.”

“Ask Marcus what to do,” Alice advised as she left to go shopping. “He is clear-thinking and must know Robert’s purpose.”

* * * *

Marcus rested his hand on Maggie’s back, absorbing her heat as he escorted her into Frankel’s office. Touching her eased the tension in his shoulders.

They were late because of Betsy – again he cursed his stupidity. Since he’d broken off their liaison, she had plagued him with endless petty revenges – rearranging books, shuffling papers, spilling ashes in the wardrobe. Yesterday, he’d nearly sliced his throat because she’d chipped his razor. The cut would chafe under his cravat for at least a week.

Today, the papers supporting Maggie’s claim had been missing. He’d finally found them under his mattress, but it was the final straw. He must demand a different maid when he returned.

He forced his mind back to business. Margaret Widmer had hired her own solicitor after her husband’s death. Her marriage settlement had left her in control of her dowry, which had irritated her husband no end. And her will had shocked the entire family. Soft-spoken, docile Margaret had been hiding secrets for years.

“This is Margaret Adams, daughter of Elizabeth Widmer Adams,” he said in introduction, then produced fair copies of the
Merchant Queen’s
sailing roster and log, which mentioned the wedding and explained the discrepancy in names. He’d also found official reports written by Captain Barnsley on identical stationery to that used for the marriage lines. Since years of dust had covered these records, he could swear that no one had looked at them since they’d been stored.

“Is Elizabeth living?” asked Mr. Frankel.

“She died fifteen years ago.”  Maggie pulled the doctor’s statement from the documents he’d asked her to bring.

“Well before Mrs. Widmer.”  He steepled his fingers under his chin. “Your visit is well timed, Miss Adams. Only a fortnight ago, I sent to Halifax for your direction. Mrs. Widmer left five thousand guineas and a small estate in Somerset to her daughter Elizabeth, naming you as residual beneficiary in the event Elizabeth predeceased her. It was her hope that you would use the legacy to assume your rightful place in London society.”

Maggie frowned. “Is the bequest contingent on my doing so?”

Marcus jolted to attention. It was a reasonable question for anyone versed in the law, but why would a lady from the wilds of America think to ask?

“No. The bequest is final, but she left a letter of explanation.”  Frankel handed her a thick packet wrapped in velum. “You may read it in the next room. I will be available to answer questions in half an hour.” He gestured toward a door behind him.

Marcus led her into a small sitting room. She had been surprising him ever since he’d called for her, starting with her cool greeting and lack of questions. At first he’d assumed it was pique – after ignoring her for days, he’d arrived late for this appointment – but that no longer seemed reasonable. She’d glared when he’d produced his proofs, almost as if he’d betrayed her by verifying her claims. Maybe he should have mentioned this legacy earlier instead of leaving the job to Frankel.

He seated her in a comfortable chair. “Shall I leave?”

“No. I suspect you can answer most of my questions.”

He nodded, turning to stare out the window as she broke the seal. A quarter hour passed in silence broken only by rustling paper. He wondered what she was thinking. Would this change her plans?  His groin grew heavy at the thought of having her permanently in England. He had been fighting the urge to let her hair down and run his fingers through it since helping her into his carriage.

“Poor woman,” Maggie murmured at last. “Alice was right. She truly loved my mother.”

“No one knew how deeply she mourned the separation until after her death.”  He took a chair facing her.

“She never spoke of it?”

“The family never discussed Elizabeth. Until Aunt Margaret’s death, everything I knew about the situation came from the Adams boys.”

“In that case, it cannot have been flattering,” she said dryly.

“It was not.”  He shook his head. “Not until Margaret’s will was read did I demand the truth from my grandfather, Richard.”

“Which was?”

“Richard Widmer and George Adams were neighbors and close friends who wanted to unite their lines through marriage. But neither of them had sired a daughter, so Richard offered his niece Elizabeth as a suitable wife for William. Margaret objected – she preferred Andrew even at the age of twelve – but Richard ignored her, attributing her dislike to a recent prank that had broken Elizabeth’s arm.”

Maggie tapped the letter. “She writes that Mother’s elopement removed the light from her life and begs her to return home, condemning America as uncivilized.”  She shook her head. “Why does everyone in England criticize a place they know nothing about?”

“You must admit that the country is largely unsettled, though I agree that Boston and Philadelphia differ from London only in size. Your capital, however, is another story.”

“You sound as though you’ve been there.”

“Three years ago.”

“Then you will understand that I have little incentive to live in England. I love the excitement. America offers opportunities I could never find here. Life can be hard, but the rewards are worth it.” 

“Your mother died at thirty-one, and your father was killed in a mine disaster.”

“Mother died of an inflammation of the lungs – an ailment that kills people of all classes in both our countries. And I doubt that English mines are any safer.”

He shrugged, though a viscount’s son would never have worked in an English mine.

“I cannot accept this bequest,” she said, tapping the letter. “Grandmother may have attached no conditions, but she clearly expected compliance with her wishes.”

“But the inheritance is yours. Having proved your identity, Frankel has no choice but to transfer the property.”

“I understand the legalities, but that does not mean I must keep it. Overseeing the estate would be difficult.”

“Hire an agent.”

“I prefer to manage my own holdings,” she said absently.

Marcus pursed his lips in a silent whistle. Obviously Andrew had done well in America. Maggie Adams was no rustic, as he should have known from the beginning. The way she had shaken his hand had not been the untutored response of an ignorant girl but the habit of someone accustomed to the world of business. And there were other clues – her reticence about her father, her familiarity with legal proceedings, her indifference to the opulence of the Grand Regent…  She’d also recognized Robert’s toadeating as the fustian it was, hinting that she had encountered the same thing in the past. And she was—

“Who in the Widmer family has the greatest need?” she asked.

“What?” The question jerked him out of his contemplation.

Maggie wondered what held his thoughts. He was staring at her as if seeing her for the first time. But she would consider that later.

Clearly this legacy was behind Robert’s sudden infatuation. Five thousand guineas could support him for years, even without the estate income. Thus giving away the inheritance would remove his interest. “You mentioned my cousins – I believe fourteen others are descended from Grandmother. Who has the most need of property?”

“Michael is always drowning in the River Tick, but he would game away anything he acquired,” he said warily.

“Perhaps I should be clearer. Who is both needful and deserving of help?  Surely there is someone. This bequest should go to one of Grandmother’s descendants, but I’ve no patience with gamesters.”

His eyes flashed in surprise. How had he succeeded as a diplomat when his thoughts showed so clearly? 

“Needful and deserving,” he repeated slowly. “Edwin Jenkins is a captain, currently in Paris with Wellington’s occupation force. Since military pay never covers an officer’s expenses, he is perpetually short of funds. Thomas Widmer is vicar to a poor parish in Yorkshire. His income barely supports his family.”

“Is Edwin married?”

“Not yet, though he has an understanding with his neighbor’s daughter. Now that the war is over, he will make a formal offer.”

“And leave the military?”

“No. He loves it. His wife will join him wherever he is posted.”

“What about Thomas?  Is he dedicated to the church?”

Marcus frowned. “I have never heard him complain, but I suspect he took orders to avoid buying colors. He would not have lasted a week on a battlefield, yet the family had no other position for him.”

“And unlike you, he hasn’t the means to strike out on his own.”

“Or the interest. Few gentlemen are willing to tarnish their reputations with trade.”

She nodded. “Very well. Thomas can have the estate and half the money. The rest will go to Edwin.”

“You should think about this for a few days.”

“There is no need.”  She met his gaze, holding his eyes until she was sure he understood her situation. When he nodded, she continued. “Grandmother remembered a young girl trained to English society. She would not have recognized the woman that girl became. Mother loved challenge and would have laughed at the idea of returning to England. I am no different. Thus I have no moral claim to her money. Let it go to those who are content to live in her world.”

“But—”

“You needn’t concern yourself with this, Marcus. I cannot accept it under false pretenses.”

“Very well. We will put Frankel to work.”  Rising, he helped her to her feet, catching her by the shoulders when she stumbled. Sparks sizzled up his arms. “Would you like to meet my grandfather?  He has changed since your parents eloped, and he now knows that Elizabeth chose more wisely than he. I fear your Uncle William is a wastrel.”

It was a perfect solution to avoiding Robert. She smiled. “I came to England to meet my family. When shall we leave?”

“Tomorrow morning. In the meantime, why don’t I show you about London?”

-5-

Maggie was closing her trunk the next morning when someone rapped on the sitting room door. Expecting Marcus, she pulled it open.

“Are you ready?” asked Robert, stepping inside before she could block him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Taking you to the balloon ascension, as promised. You will have seen nothing like it in the wilderness.”  His eyes gleamed just as Patrick’s had that last day, snapping her to attention.

“I declined your invitation,” she reminded him. It had been waiting for her when she and Richard had returned from visiting St. Paul’s Cathedral and Week’s Mechanical Museum. Sidling closer to the writing table, she fingered her reticule. “As I explained, I have other plans.”

His voice hardened. “I am family, which makes me more important than shopping, Maggie, so cease this teasing. We’ve barely an hour to reach the launch site.”

“I have no interest in balloons.”

“I warned you about arguing with gentlemen.”  He circled the table she’d set between them, stopping an arm’s length away. “A lady’s first duty is to her family. If you insist on shopping, so be it. But we cannot risk having you bring dishonor to our name, so I must accompany you on expeditions until you learn society’s rules.”

“Since your father disowned mine, we are not family. Thus you have no voice in where I go or how I conduct myself,” she said firmly. “No one would think you responsible for my behavior. Now leave.”

“No.”  His eyes blazed. “You are an Adams. Your actions reflect on our name, so we must take care of you until you assume your proper place in the world.”