Regency High Society Vol 5: The Disgraced Marchioness / The Reluctant Escort / The Outrageous Debutante / A Damnable Rogue

‘Well.’ Hoskins leaned back in his chair, looking from one to the other. ‘Well! I am speechless!’

He was rendered even more so when Lord Henry produced and laid before him on the desk the written statement from the Reverend Broughton, which explained further the source of the forged documents.

‘So these documents…’ his lordship finally indicated the ostensible proof of marriage and birth that had caused all the heartache in the first place ‘…are worthless.’

‘Indeed. You have been busy, my lord. And very clever in your investigation.’ There was more than a hint of admiration in Hoskins’s shrewd eyes as he gathered up the documents.

‘Not as clever as we should have been, I fear.’ His lordship gave a rueful smile. ‘We asked the wrong question. Or did not ask enough of them about Baxendale’s family.’

‘How so, my lord?’

‘When we visited Whitchurch, the people who knew Sir Edward spoke of his sister and a baby, a sister who had lost her husband.’ Eleanor took up the story. ‘We did not ask if he had a wife as well. Since she was never mentioned, we presumed that he was unmarried and so came to the wrong conclusion. We thought the sister was Octavia.’

‘I see. We have to thank Mrs Russell for her honesty in this matter. We are much in your debt, ma’am.’ Hoskins inclined his head gravely towards the young woman.

‘There would have been no need for the debt if I had been honest from the beginning,’ she replied with shattering honesty, unwilling to accept a lessening of her burden of guilt. ‘I simply hope that I have been able to make restitution, although the pain and grief will always leave its shadow.’

‘Nevertheless, ma’am, without your courage, we would be unable to thwart Sir Edward’s plans quite so effectively.’ Lord Henry, who had risen to his feet, bowed in recognition of her admission. He smiled at her, a smile of great charm, hoping to allay her guilt. ‘Do not be so ready to take the blame that your brother should bear.’

She looked up at him, cheeks now a little flushed, in gratitude for his understanding. ‘Thank you, my lord. I hope and pray that you will indeed thwart my brother. I owe it to the memory and integrity of my husband’s name. I have not done well by him, allowing his son to be used in so vile a scheme.’

‘We shall unmask Sir Edward.’ Hoskins stated with calm assurance, then glanced at Lord Henry from under his brows. ‘So what is your plan of action now, my lord?’

‘We need to see Baxendale. I suggest that you set up a meeting here. He will presume that it is to ratify his sister’s position and the child’s inheritance, and so will come without apprehension or fear of discovery. Then we will lay the evidence before him. I wish to be present. And her ladyship, of course. Mrs Russell if she wishes it.’

‘Good.’ Hoskins rubbed his hands together at the prospect of the completion of the unseemly business. ‘Tomorrow?’

‘Yes. Let us finish it as soon as possible.’

‘It will be my pleasure, my lord.’

So tomorrow it would all be over.

Mrs Russell returned to Faringdon House with her son, to take refuge in the nursery, thus avoiding her brother and his wife, and to decide whether she would wish to be at that meeting. She did not know.

Eleanor acknowledged the relief that she could finally allow to sweep through her veins, as cold and clean and sparkling as a glass of the finest French champagne. She could hold her head up in public again, although she chided herself for allowing so foolish a situation to matter so much. The rest was far more important. Thomas’s good name would be restored, no longer the subject of barbed gossip and sly innuendo in the clubs and fashionable withdrawing-rooms of the town. And her son… Tom would come into his inheritance in the fullness of time, as was his right.

Her cup should be full, her happiness complete. So why was there a shadow overlying her sense of achievement? Why was there a constriction, a tightness around her heart? She asked herself the question, her eyes unseeing of her surroundings as they drove home in the barouche, but she knew the answer. It was engraved on her very soul. Hal would leave. Let us finish it as soon as possible, he had said. She would lose him and her heart was sore. And, whatever excuses she could make to herself to explain away her behaviour, she was forced to acknowledge that she had not been honest with him

Henry watched the Marchioness in silence as she studied her gloved fingers so intently, wrapped in her own thoughts. It was almost done. He had fulfilled his duty as his brother’s trustee and his success was on the verge of completion. The moment should have been sweet indeed. His family was secure and matters could easily be left in Nicholas’s more than competent hands. That was it. His life in New York called to his blood and his imagination—and there was nothing to keep him here. No matter how much he longed to hold Eleanor and celebrate their triumph. The need to touch her as she sat with her face turned from him made his fingers burn. He accepted with the innate honesty so typical of him that the fact that she had rejected him for marriage with his brother no longer mattered, had not mattered for some time. Somewhere over the past days, his anger had drained away. He had loved her then. He loved her now. He would love her to the end of his days

Chapter Ten

As agreed, they waited in Hoskins’s office at eleven o’clock the next morning. Lord Henry, Hoskins and Eleanor. They did not know if Sarah Russell would attend. Perhaps not. It would be an unpleasant interview at best, possibly vicious in its outcome, and they had to accept that she might not feel strong enough to face down her brother, knowing that she was instrumental in his failure to achieve his nefarious goal.

Eleanor was nervous. But you cannot lose, she told herself. This is merely the final act in the tragedy, to expose the evidence before Sir Edward and thus accomplish his defeat. What possible evidence can he produce to refute the claims of his sister Sarah and Julius Broughton? She worked hard to keep an outward calm as she sat before the fire, resisting the temptation to fuss with her gloves, the strings of her reticule or the carved handle of her parasol. It could be seen, however, that she occasionally found the need to smooth her palms down the skirt of her deep blue muslin gown, and her cheeks and throat, above the delicately ruffed collar of her silk spencer, were more than usually, if becomingly, flushed.

Lord Henry stood beside her, immaculate and elegant in pale pantaloons, polished Hessians and dark superfine. Eleanor glanced towards him, intimately aware of his supportive presence, and privately considered him more devastatingly attractive than any man had the right to be. But that was not the first impression sensed by any casual onlooker. His face was cold, impassive, his eyes holding the glacial chill of mid-winter, his mouth grimly set. But when the door of the outer office was heard to open, and footsteps entered from the street, he leaned down to touch Eleanor’s shoulder, fleetingly but with warm comfort. She looked up, unable to disguise her nerves as the muted sound of voices could be heard. His expression softened, his smile for her alone.

‘We shall win, Nell. Never doubt it.’ His gentle tones, his supreme confidence, warmed her cold blood like the finest brandy.

Sir Edward arrived to the minute of the hour, bowed into the room by one of Hoskins’s clerks. As he walked in, it was clear from his demeanour that he had come intending to enjoy the final success of his risky enterprise. Immaculately dressed, well groomed, his blue eyes clear and smiling, he oozed confidence in the expectation of enjoying the Faringdon fortune through the enhanced status of his supposed sister. He bowed to Lord Henry and the lawyer with polished grace, his smile expressing magnanimous appreciation that he would win and they would lose and that he could afford to be gracious in victory. Then he turned to Eleanor, who had remained seated, took her hand to bow over it and kiss her fingers. Compassion was clear in every gesture, in the sorrowful expression in his intense gaze. Eleanor found the greatest difficulty in not snatching her hand away from his light grasp. Instead she gritted her teeth and kept her mouth curved in a semblance of a smile and hooded her eyes with downswept lashes. Henry did not even try for a pleasant expression, but regarded Sir Edward with a stony expression worthy of the Medusa. Although he gave the impression of arrogant assurance, he kept his hands clenched at his sides, eyes cold and flat, momentarily sorry that duelling was out of fashion. Or even if pistols at dawn were not an option, he would have liked to spread Sir Edward Baxendale out on the floor with a fist to the jaw.

Sir Edward, unaware of the latent hostility in the room, took a seat. Lord Henry did not.

‘A delicate situation, my lord, my lady.’ He sat with one leg crossed elegantly over the other, supremely at his ease. ‘But I am sure that we are all in agreement that it is time we settled the matter of the Faringdon inheritance. I presume that such is the reason for this meeting?’ He arched a brow towards the lawyer. ‘Then we can get on with our lives and allow the grief of the past weeks to settle.’ So accommodating. So reasonable. Eleanor felt a sudden urge to scream her objections to her husband’s name being so vilified.

‘Do you plan to remain in London, sir?’ Hoskins enquired with casual interest, as if nothing were amiss.

‘My sister proposes to remain for a week or two at Faringdon House. Then it is her intention to repair to Burford Hall.’ He turned his sympathetic gaze on Eleanor. ‘Have you finally decided on your own destination, ma’am?’

‘Not finally, Sir Edward.’

‘And I presume that you, my lord, will return to America. So much opportunity there for a man of enterprise such as yourself. And Lord Nicholas?’ His brows rose again in polite but pointed enquiry. ‘I think that Octavia will not wish him to stay on at Burford Hall. Or at least not in a permanent nature. Perhaps to visit eventually… She considers that it would be somewhat…ah, uncomfortable in the circumstances. Until her position in the family has become more generally accepted, you understand. We shall make our own arrangements for the administering of the estate.’

And so all was to be very neatly arranged to Sir Edward’s liking!

‘And I will discuss with Hoskins the matter of the annuity for yourself and your son,’ he continued with another sparkling smile in Eleanor’s direction.

‘How thoughtful, Sir Edward. I am sure that I should be grateful for your consideration in the circumstances.’

Hoskins cleared his throat in a little cough to draw attention back to himself. It was time, he decided, to end this cat-and-mouse scene as he bent a fierce stare on Sir Edward. ‘Before we consider all these arrangements, sir, there is one small matter remaining for us to discuss.’ Hoskins glanced up at Lord Henry who had remained silent, allowing the lawyer to take the initiative. His lordship could not guarantee the politeness of his words in the face of Sir Edward’s overweening triumph.

Sir Edward caught the glance between them and his eyes narrowed in quick suspicion. ‘Is there some problem here that I should be aware of? I cannot imagine what could now hinder the settlement.’

‘There is indeed a problem, sir.’ Hoskins lifted three documents from a pile in front of him and spread them on the desk. ‘There is indeed.’

‘Then perhaps you would explain—’

They were interrupted by a light knock on the door. One of the clerks from the outer office opened it to usher a lady into the room. ‘The lady is here, sir. You said to show her in if she came.’ He closed the door behind Mrs Sarah Russell.

Sir Edward turned his head in some surprise at the interruption, and then froze, the smile leaving his face. ‘What is this?’

‘The lady has some part in this discussion, it would seem, sir.’ Hoskins rose to draw the lady into the room. ‘She was kind enough to bring it to my attention yesterday.’

‘I do not discuss my family’s business before my servants.’ Sir Edward’s eyes were suddenly as icy as his insolent words, but there was a wariness in the clenching of his hands on the arms of his chair as he thrust himself to his feet.

‘Then there is no problem, is there, Edward.’ Sarah came to stand quietly beside her brother, to meet his supercilious stare with her own of sorrowful but calm acceptance. ‘Since I am not your servant, the discussion can continue.’

‘What is this?’ he repeated, a tinge of colour now creeping into his face. ‘You are my sister’s companion and nursemaid for the boy. Why are you here?’

‘You cannot continue with this masquerade, Edward. I have told Mr Hoskins the truth and my own shameful part in it.’

‘No. It is not true.’ He looked round, now uneasy, to assess the reaction of the other players in the game.

‘Will you deny your relationship to me, Edward?’ Sarah persisted, quietly but not to be intimidated. ‘Do you deny that you are my brother and that I am no servant of yours?’

‘No…no, of course not.’ He looked across at Lord Henry and then at Hoskins, searching for a way out of the abyss that had suddenly opened up, dark and deadly and totally unexpected, before his feet. ‘Yes, Sarah is my sister, fallen on hard times as a penniless widow. I have given her a home, as companion to my sister Octavia and nurse to the child.’

‘And the child?’ Sarah had no intention of allowing him to escape from the web of deceit that he had so carefully woven to catch the bright prize of the Faringdon inheritance. The web that had entrapped so many innocent people. ‘Do you dare to deny that John is my son, not Octavia’s?’

‘You must understand.’ Sir Edward grasped his sister’s arm, fingers white, as if to silence her, and appealed to Hoskins. ‘Sarah was overcome by grief at her husband’s death. It overset her mind and she has never recovered. She came to believe that Octavia’s son is her own, because she was never blessed with her own child. She needs sympathy…time to recover. The doctors tell me that there is no medical cure, only time and rest will ease her mind.’ He tightened his grip so that Sarah was seen to wince. ‘You should go home, Sarah. Octavia will care for you there. Let me arrange—’

‘Let me go, Edward.’ Sarah pulled ineffectually against the restraint, but Edward shook his head.

‘Come now, Sarah. I will arrange for a cab to take you back to Faringdon House.’ He would have pulled her towards the door.

‘I suggest that you release the lady.’ It was the first time that Lord Henry had spoken since Sir Edward entered the room. When Sir Edward hesitated, his lordship stepped forward with clear intent in his grim expression. Sir Edward allowed his hand to fall from his sister’s arm.

‘You do not appreciate, my lord—’

‘We cannot accept this explanation, Sir Edward.’ Eleanor’s clear voice broke the tension between the two men as she stood to move between them. ‘If Mrs Russell is indeed your sister, why should you imply that she is merely a nursemaid for the child, and treat her as such? When you first visited us at Burford Hall, you certainly gave the impression that she was a paid retainer, not a close member of the family. Besides, I have seen her with the boy. To me there is no doubt that he is her son. It could not escape my notice that Octavia appeared to have little interest in him.’

‘You must not misread the situation, my lady—’ Sir Edward tried to regain his composure, but his skin was waxy and sweat had begun to gleam on his brow.

‘Enough!’ Lord Henry intervened. ‘The game is at an end, Baxendale.’ He leaned forward, picked up two of the documents from the desk and tore them deliberately in half. ‘These, sir, are your witnessed papers, proof of Octavia’s marriage and John’s birth.’ Then he cast the pieces into the fire where they disintegrated in a shower of ash. ‘This is what they deserve.’

‘What have you done? They are legal documents.’ Sir Edward looked on aghast, still unwilling to accept that all was indeed at an end.

‘No, Baxendale.’ His lordship held him, eyes resolute and pitiless. ‘They are worth nothing. I know their true value because the Reverend Broughton admitted as much. In writing, so there would be no doubt, when he acknowledged that Octavia was his sister.’ He lifted and held out the third document for Edward to read. ‘I am certain that you will recognise the hand as that of your wife’s brother. No more lies, Baxendale. I think we know the truth.’

Sir Edward’s face was ashen as he stared at the incriminating admission in Broughton’s recognisable hand. His lips twisted into a snarl as he witnessed the destruction of his plans and he turned on his sister. ‘This is all your doing. How could you betray me? How could you show such ingratitude after I saved you from penury after your unfortunate marriage? I warned you of the consequences—’

‘The lady no longer needs your support.’ Lord Henry stepped forward to take Broughton’s confession from Sir Edward’s clenched hand. ‘I believe that she would no longer choose to live under your roof. I shall make it possible for her to live with a degree of independence. Her duty to you is at an end as, I suggest, is yours to her.’

‘Ha! You have come out of this very well, my dear sister. I should congratulate you.’ Whipping round with a snarl, he lifted his hand and would have struck her if Henry had not intervened. With lightning reflexes he seized Baxendale’s wrist and bore down, forcing him away from his sister, who had stood her ground, stricken at the unexpected attack.

‘Don’t give me an excuse to strike you down.’ His lordship’s words were low but none the less deadly. ‘There is nothing I would like better, for the anguish that you have inflicted on my family as well as on your own sister.’

‘Take your hand off me!'Sir Edward wrenched himself away, but made no further attempt to approach Sarah.

Shocked beyond words by the threat of violence, Sarah covered her face with trembling hands and began to sob. With a soft murmur of compassion, Eleanor moved to put comforting arms around her and to lead her to the door.

‘I will take Mrs Russell to Faringdon House to collect John and then on to Park Lane. It would be better, I think. Will you…will you follow soon?’ She looked anxiously from Henry to Sir Edward, caught up in the bitter mood between the two men, uncertain of the outcome.

Lord Henry nodded his agreement and smiled thinly. ‘Soon. There is no need for your concern, my lady.’ He strode to open the door for them, bowing with all courtesy as if he had not threatened physical violence a moment ago. ‘All will be well.’ So they left, accompanied by Hoskins, who would arrange a carriage for them, leaving Lord Henry and Sir Edward alone.

They faced each other across the room with its weight of law books and legal documents, the air still and heavy between them. As heavy as the unfinished business.

‘Tell me one thing before we finish this.’ Henry took up a stance behind Hoskins’s desk. ‘Why? Why Thomas? I presume your motive was money. But why choose to discredit him?’

‘Of course it was money.’ Baxendale had no hesitation in confession, a certain pride shining in his eyes as he expressed his illogical hatred for the family whose fortune he would have acquired without compunction. ‘And Thomas Faringdon provided the perfect candidate. His unexpected death was most opportune. I knew about his liaison with Octavia when she was presented to Society. How he sought her out, and flattered her. He obviously thought her birth good enough for a light flirtation! He would have married her, Octavia believed, but he was warned off by interfering members of your arrogant family. So he rejected her because she was not good enough for him, her family not sufficiently well bred for a Marquis! He should have been whipped for his casual treatment of her! But, of course, that is not the way of the world.’

‘But…’ Lord Henry’s brows drew together into a forbidding line. ‘You would base this whole campaign, to discredit a reputation and destroy the security of my brother’s wife and child, on something so tenuous as a flirtation that occurred four years ago? I find it difficult to believe any man of honour capable of such vindictive manipulation of a series of events that never even happened—that had not the slightest foundation of truth.’

‘Why not? Your brother’s death provided the perfect occasion for revenge. Octavia should have been Marchioness of Burford. Doubtless would have been if Lady Beatrice Faringdon had not stirred the mud in the bottom of the pool. So I would see to it that she achieved the recognition that was her due.’

‘And benefit from her newly acquired status by association.’

‘Of course.’

‘And, had you been successful, Octavia would have had the whole Faringdon fortune fall sweetly into her lap.’

Sir Edward made no reply, eyes focused on some distant unpleasant vista, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he saw the destruction of all his hopes and intricate planning.

‘With the financial reins in your capable hands, of course.’ Lord Henry pursued the matter with the inexorable intensity of a knife edge.

‘Yes!’ It was a hiss of despair, of abject failure. ‘Octavia should have had what she deserved.’

‘So it was money. As simple as that. A desire to line your pockets with gold.’

‘Oh, no.’ The shrug, the sneer were unmistakable. Baxen dale’s eyes snapped back to his tormentor, filled with a cold hatred. ‘There was nothing simple about it. Don’t patronise me, my lord, with facile explanations. What do you know of genteel poverty, which grinds you under its unforgiving heel? When every coin has to be counted, but your status demands that you keep up a gracious lifestyle. Cushioned in wealth as you have been all your life, even though a younger son—what do you know of a father who drank and gambled away the family inheritance before dying in debt over a losing hand of cards and a glass of brandy in a gaming hell? A weak mother who frittered away what was left in meaningless luxuries. You have not the slightest idea!’ His lips curled back from his teeth in a vicious parody of a smile. ‘The house at Whitchurch will fall around our ears without an input of hard cash. The only way in which we could fund our stay in London now was through a small bequest from a distant cousin. And that is now spent to no purpose. There might be money in my mother’s family, but there is no hope—’ Becoming aware of the rising tone in his own voice, the uncontrolled outpouring of despair, Sir Edward snapped his teeth together to cut off the flow of bitter words.

‘So you would cast the blame for your sins elsewhere. I should have expected it.’

‘No. I will shoulder the blame, my lord. But necessity can drive a man to extremes.’

Henry turned his face from the harsh lines of naked greed and desperate failure. There could be no room for sympathy here. Edward Baxendale’s glory would have cost Eleanor far too high a price.

‘But the risk you were prepared to take was nothing short of fantastic. Did you think that no one would remember Octavia and her brother? Were you so sure that you could conduct yourselves so as to blind everyone to the truth?’

‘Why not?’ A gleam of sly cunning lit his face for a moment, displacing the bitter failure. ‘After all, we nearly did it! If it were not for your interfering aunt, we would have carried the whole matter off in good style. People have short memories and mostly accept what they are told and what they see. No one other than your aunt thought to question my role as Octavia’s brother. Scandal is the breath of life to many who would call themselves your friends. Like the vultures they are, they were more than willing to pick over the bones of the Faringdon family with gleeful enjoyment. If our luck had held, Octavia would have claimed the Faringdon inheritance and would be made welcome into society.’