Читать книгу Sins and Scandals Collection - Nicola Cornick - Страница 14

“ARE YOU SURE, your grace,” Mr. Churchward said, “that you are doing the right thing?” His tone, measured as it was, implied that he felt that Garrick might possibly have taken leave of his senses and should be clapped up in Bedlam.

They were sitting in the offices of Churchward and Churchward, lawyers to the aristocratic and discerning, in High Holborn. In fact they were in the inner sanctum, Mr. Churchward’s own office, and the door was very firmly closed. Pale sunlight tripped through the window and danced across Mr. Churchward’s imposing walnut desk, illuminating the deed of gift lying there. Mr. Churchward tapped it, impatient, unhappy.

“I am certain I am doing the right thing, thank you, Mr. Churchward,” Garrick replied.

“It seems to me,” Churchward pursued, “that you are giving away—” he took a deep breath “—a vast sum of money—” he put heavy emphasis on each word “—to the detriment of the Farne Dukedom.”

“I am aware of that,” Garrick agreed.

“One hundred thousand pounds,” Mr. Churchward said miserably. “And a very fine property in Fenners.”

“I have explained my reasons,” Garrick said gently. It was anathema to him to own Fenners. The property should never have been his in the first place. He had known from the moment that he picked up the deeds that he would give it back, along with all the monies that had accrued to it over the past ten years.

“Your scruples do you credit, your grace,” Mr. Churchward said, polishing his spectacles with great agitation, “but I do wonder if you may live to regret your generosity.”

“I doubt it,” Garrick said. “I am still rich beyond decency and if I have twenty-five properties rather than twenty-six I am sure I shall survive.”

Mr. Churchward shook his head. “Sentiment,” he said, “has no place in business, your grace. Your late father understood that.”

“My late father,” Garrick said, his tone hard, “did not set an example I wish to follow in any area of my life, Mr. Churchward.”

“Well, perhaps not.” The lawyer placed his glasses back on his nose. His pale eyes gleamed at Garrick through the thick lenses. “Your late father,” he admitted, “could lack compassion.”

“You have the most marvelous line in understatement, Mr.Churchward,” Garrick said. “My father could best be described as an unfeeling bastard. I speak figuratively,” he added, “lest you should be worried that someone might challenge the legitimacy of the Dukedom.”

There was a knock at the door and the senior clerk poked his head around. “Lord and Lady Grant, Lady Darent and Lady Merryn Fenner,” he announced somewhat breathlessly.

Garrick stood up. He could feel tension in his shoulders, the strain making the back of his neck ache. He rubbed it surreptitiously. He had known that he had to be present for this meeting. Mr. Churchward could hardly be expected to bear the responsibility alone. But he was also acutely aware that it might cause Lady Grant and Lady Darent distress to be confronted by the man who had killed their brother. Merryn’s reaction he was fairly sure he could accurately predict.

There was a commotion in the outer office and then Lady Grant and Lady Darent swept in. Garrick could understand why Churchward’s clerks were behaving like chickens when a fox got in the henhouse; both women were extraordinarily beautiful, perhaps not in the classic sense, but they both exuded style and charm and warmth that could set light to a room. It was difficult not to stare. Apart they would have been considered incomparable. Together they were dazzling.

And then Merryn walked in. Her eyes met Garrick’s and he found that he could not look away. Where Joanna Grant and Tess Darent had a cool, empty beauty, Merryn was all fire and passion. She stopped dead in the doorway so that Tess Darent almost walked into her.

“What the devil is he doing here?” she exclaimed.

Her loathing of him was completely unconcealed. It blazed from her blue eyes. There was antipathy in every line of her slender body. Garrick thought she was about to turn on her heel and walk out.

“You might have warned us, Mr. Churchward,” Joanna Grant said, with what Garrick thought was admirable restraint.

“And then we need not have come!” Merryn snapped.

Garrick smiled at her and was rewarded with a glare in return. He knew that it was not simply dislike that motivated her. If he chose to reveal anything of their previous meetings she would be in a very difficult situation indeed. He raised his brows in quizzical challenge and saw her blush before she looked away. Her lips set in a tight, angry line.

“Lady Merryn,” he said. “A pleasure to see you again.”

That brought him another fierce snap of anger from those blue eyes.

“I was not aware that you had met his grace of Farne recently, Merryn,” Joanna said mildly.

“We met at the library yesterday,” Merryn said.

“And a couple of days before that,” Garrick put in, “in my b—”

“Bank!” Merryn said loudly. Everyone looked at her.

“At the bank?” Joanna sounded surprised.

“Acre and Co. in the Strand,” Merryn said. Her gaze, equally as challenging as Garrick’s own, held his for one long moment. “I was admiring the architecture. Such a fine design.”

Tess Darent gave a little yawn, hiding it behind one languid hand. “Lud, Merryn, how very like you,” she said.

Merryn smiled. Garrick saw the flash of triumph in her eyes.

“I bank at Coutts and Co.,” he said gently, “for future reference, Lady Merryn.”

“Then perhaps you were admiring the architecture, too,” Merryn said sweetly. Her look dared him to go further, to expose her. He could see the defiance in her eyes. He could also see the pulse that fluttered in her throat. Merryn Fenner was nervous, he thought, for all her daring.

“I was certainly admiring something,” he murmured. “I found our encounter most stimulating.”

He dropped his gaze to her mouth. Merryn blushed, biting her lip, a gesture that only served to emphasize how full and luscious those lips were. Garrick felt a punch of lust, which was not, he thought, the appropriate physical or mental state to be in for a meeting with his lawyer.

Churchward cleared his throat. “Ladies, Lord Grant …” He ushered them all into their seats. Tess and Joanna arranged themselves prettily. Merryn sat bolt upright, her gaze pointedly turned away from Garrick. A glacial silence fell.

“If we might proceed …” Churchward said. “I must thank you all for coming at such short notice.” He fixed his dusty spectacles more firmly on his nose. “And for your forbearance, ladies. I asked you here today because the Duke of Farne—” a thread of disapproval entered his voice “—wishes to make you an offer.”

“Not of marriage, I hope,” Merryn said shortly.

“Not unless you desire it, Lady Merryn,” Garrick said smoothly.

“I’d rather you gave me the plague,” Merryn snapped.

“Merryn,” Joanna Grant said reproachfully, and Garrick saw Merryn grimace. A shade of pink came into her face and she fell silent.

“Let us not be too hasty.” Tess Darent was sitting a little straighter in her chair and showing some interest in the proceedings for the first time. Her gaze inspected Garrick thoroughly. “I might be happy to add a Duke to my collection,” she said.

“Not this one, Tess,” Joanna said dryly. “He looks too healthy for you. He could not be relied upon to die within a year of your wedding.”

“More is the pity,” Garrick heard Merryn murmur.

“Besides,” Joanna added, even more dryly, “he is too virile for your taste.”

Garrick saw Merryn’s gaze jerk up to his face and a wave of hot color stung her cheeks. For a second they stared at one another, captured in a fierce blaze of awareness, and then Merryn turned her head away again and her eyelashes flickered down to hide her expression. Garrick saw her knit her fingers tightly together in her lap.

“Ladies …” Churchward sounded reproving. Evidently, Garrick thought, he had had some previous experience of the shocking ways of the Fenner sisters. “No one,” he said severely, “is offering to marry anyone.” He turned to Garrick. “If you permit, your grace?”

“Of course,” Garrick said. “Please proceed, Mr. Churchward.”

Once again he felt Merryn Fenner’s gaze on him. Her expression was dark now, unreadable. For a second, though, Garrick thought that she looked frightened and he felt a tug of emotion inside; he wondered what this meeting must be like for her, stirring up as it did feelings and memories she had clearly never overcome. Then she raised her chin, scorning the tacit sympathy he realized that he had offered, rejecting every vestige of comfort he might give. Her dismissal felt like a slap across the face.

“This is a deed of gift made on the eleventh of November in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and fourteen,” Mr. Churchward said precisely. “By this gift his grace Garrick Charles Christmas Farne, nineteenth Duke of Farne—”

“Christmas?” Merryn said, quite as though she could not help herself.

“I was born on the twenty-fifth of December,” Garrick said, smiling at her, “to a very devout mother.”

“How unfortunate for you,” Merryn said politely.

“It could have been worse,” Garrick said.

“The nineteenth Duke of Farne …” Mr. Churchward’s stern voice bore them down “… freely gives in equal part the house and estate in the County of Dorset and the sum of one hundred thousand pounds to Joanna, Lady Grant, Teresa, Lady Darent, and Lady Merryn Fenner, to hold as their absolute right and dispose of as they wish, with his grace the Duke of Farne making no further claim upon the estate or the fortune accruing unto it. The estate,” he added, “is in excellent repair.”

There was an odd silence as Churchward finished, like the lull before the first bolt of lightning split the sky. Garrick saw Joanna and Tess exchange a look and then Merryn’s chair clattered back with such sharpness that they all winced.

“Why?” she demanded.

Garrick could see that she was trembling. Her entire frame shook with the force of whatever anger or misery possessed her. Her eyes were huge. He could feel her passion and the pain beneath it, so raw and fierce it hurt. He put out a hand toward her, instinctively wanting to offer comfort again, and saw her recoil.

“Because Fenners should belong to you.” He spoke directly to her, as though the others were not there. “I did not know that my father had purchased the estate. He should not have done so. It is rightfully yours. So I am giving it back.”

She looked right into his eyes and Garrick felt the force of her gaze sweep through him. She was so transparent, so honest a person that nothing was hidden. There was no artifice in Merryn Fenner and that meant she had no defenses at times like this.

“This is to ease your conscience!” Her words hit him with the force of a blow. She swept the deed of gift to the floor with an unsteady hand. “You killed Stephen and now you think that this will be recompense?”

“Merryn.” Joanna had placed a restraining hand on her sister’s arm. “Please …”

“It is in no way intended as recompense,” Garrick said. “The death of your brother was—” He stopped, remembering the moment in the library the previous day. No words of his could ever give the Fenner sisters back what they had lost. There had been plenty of reasons to rid the world of a scoundrel like Stephen Fenner but he was not about to reveal them here. It would do no good. Merryn Fenner would never forgive him, no matter the truth. And once he were to start speaking of the tragedy he would put at risk all the people he had sworn to protect and all the secrets that had been so carefully hidden twelve years before. He chose his words with care.

“It is something that I regret every day of my life,” he said. That at least was true but he saw from the flare of contempt in Merryn’s face how inadequate the words were.

“The gift of Fenners,” he continued, “is, however, a matter apart. It should not belong to the Farne Dukedom. That is wrong. So I am giving it back.”

Alex Grant spoke for the first time. He had sat very still and silent throughout, but now he shifted in his chair.

“That is … generous of you, Farne,” he said.

“It is right,” Garrick said shortly, “not generous.” He felt Grant’s perceptive gray gaze rest on him for a long moment. He wanted no credit for his actions. He simply wanted to be rid of the estate.

“One hundred thousand pounds to share between us,” Tess Darent said. “How marvelous!”

Merryn turned on her. “Surely you cannot be intending to take it?” she demanded. “You are rich—you do not even need thirty thousand pounds!”

“I always need thirty thousand pounds, Merryn darling,” Tess said calmly. “Any right-thinking woman would.” She wrinkled up her nose. “You can have the house, though. I hate living in the country.”

Garrick could see all the emotions chasing themselves across Merryn’s face, bewilderment and disgust, closely followed by despair as she realized that her sisters, so much more worldly and, arguably, less-principled than she, were very likely to accept the offer. She looked intensely lonely, just as she had when she had walked away from him at the library.

“I won’t take it!” She turned back to Garrick, fury igniting her gaze.

“You cannot refuse it,” Garrick said gently. “It is a gift.”

“I can try.” She took an angry pace away. “I’ll give it away.”

“That is your privilege.”

She gave him a look of such searing contempt Garrick felt it all the way to his soul.

“Damn you,” she said distinctly.

Garrick thought of Harriet Knight. There was quite a queue of people wishing him in perdition. Interesting that he had cared not a jot for Harriet’s dismissal of him. It had left him utterly cold, whereas Merryn Fenner’s scorn raked him more deeply than he would have liked. He inclined his head. “Quite so, Lady Merryn.”

“I think,” Alex interposed, “that we had best discuss this matter in private.” He stood up. “Mr. Churchward.” He shook the lawyer by the hand. “We will be in touch. Thank you. Farne …” His nod was a shade more cordial than it had been at the beginning of the meeting.

“You will not buy me off,” Merryn said through her teeth.

“Come along, Merryn,” Joanna said, sounding like a governess.

They went out. Garrick could hear Tess Darent’s voice fading away as she chattered to Joanna about the new winter wardrobe she would purchase with some of her thirty thousand pounds. He saw that Churchward had overheard Lady Darent, too. The lawyer grimaced.

“The late Lord Fenner’s daughters are all very different from one another,” he murmured.

Garrick thought that of the three, Tess was actually the one most like Stephen Fenner. Stephen, too, had been blessedly short of moral scruples when it came to money. Joanna, he rather suspected, had hidden depths. She might appear to be a society butterfly but she could not have attracted and held the love of a man like Alex Grant without some substance. As for Merryn, well, she was as transparent as glass, painfully honest and demanding the same integrity from all those that she met. He winced as he remembered her disillusion on hearing Tess’s response to the deed of gift. Life could be very cruel to idealists. Which was another reason why to tell her of her brother’s true character would be wantonly cruel.

He stood up, stretched, feeling the tension drain away from his body.

“Thank you, Churchward,” he said, shaking the lawyer by the hand. “I appreciate your support.”

“One hundred thousand pounds,” Churchward mourned. “You are sure you will not change your mind, your grace?”

Garrick laughed. “Too late. Lady Darent will already be spending her share, I feel sure.” He sighed, straightened. “Please let me know as soon as Lady Grant responds formally to the offer and please have all the estate papers ready to send over to her.” He smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Churchward.”

He went out. He felt a huge wash of relief to be outside in the fresh air. He resolved to ride out that afternoon. His ducal duties could wait a little. He needed space and speed and the opportunity to outrun his ghosts. Merryn Fenner filled his consciousness with her vivid passion and the sharp awareness that undercut every one of their encounters.

You will not buy me off …

He had not for one moment thought that he could.

“HAVE YOU A MOMENT, GUV’NOR?”

The man who had stuck his head around Tom’s office door was Ned Heighton, one of the men who worked for him picking up information in the rookeries and coffee shops of London. A former Army Provost, Heighton had fallen from grace through some misdemeanor and been court-martialed and dishonorably discharged from the army. Tom had never inquired into the cause of his disgrace, although he suspected it was drink-related. Heighton could be a little too fond of the bottle. Still, the army’s loss was Tom’s gain. Heighton was a very sound man.

“What is it?” he asked, as the old soldier came in and shut the door.

“Your six o’clock appointment is here,” Heighton said. “Nice-looking lady.”

“Mrs. Carstairs,” Tom said. “Her husband has absconded and she wants to find him.”

Heighton shook his head. “Best leave him be. He’ll have run off with an actress, like as not.”

“Or he is at the bottom of the Thames,” Tom said, reaching for a file from his drawer, “if my inquiries into his financial affairs are anything to go by.” He raised his brows. “But you did not call in to act as my secretary, did you, Heighton?”

“No, sir.” Heighton scratched his forehead. “There’s something I thought you should know, sir. Someone has been asking questions. About her ladyship, sir.”

Tom waited. Heighton always took his time in divulging information. Also he had a love-hate relationship with Merryn, whom he thought too grand to work for an inquiry agent. Heighton had strict ideas about rank. Interesting, Tom thought, that despite his disapproval the old soldier seemed to be on Merryn’s side now.

“A rich cove,” Heighton added eventually. “Titled, probably.”

“The Duke of Farne,” Tom said softly. Garrick Farne, it seemed, had not wasted any time.

“Nice clothes,” Heighton said. “Expensive. But not a soft lad, oh, no.”

“Soft lad” was Heighton’s ultimate insult for any man whom he thought a bit of a dandy. Tom repressed a grin. “Go on,” he said.

Heighton sighed. His eyes looked sad, like a dog left out in the rain.

“Took his business to Hammonds,” he said dolefully, mentioning Tom’s most successful rival.

“Well,” Tom said, “he wouldn’t come to us if he wanted information on Merryn, would he?”

“Might do,” Heighton said surprisingly. “Looked the sort of cove who wouldn’t mess around. Dangerous, if you ask me. He carried a pistol, Jerry said.”

Jerry was one of Heighton’s most useful informers and was correct nine times out of ten. Tom sighed. This was precisely what he had feared. Farne had got wind of Merryn’s activities and was out to find out about her and, no doubt, scupper her plans.

“Any idea what questions he was asking, Heighton?” he said, a little wearily.

Heighton shook his head. “Jerry couldn’t hear. Only heard her ladyship’s name—and the sound of money changing hands. Big money, Jerry said.”

“All right,” Tom said. “I’ll warn Merryn to be careful. Thank you, Heighton.”

The old soldier paused. “One other thing, sir.”

Tom looked up at the note in the man’s voice. “Yes?”

“The rich cove—the Duke—was asking after you, too, sir.”

Tom put down his pen very slowly. “Me?” he said. His voice did not sound quite right, even to his own ears. He could feel cold fear crawling up his neck. “He was asking about me?”

Heighton was looking at him with concern. Tom swiftly rearranged his expression. “I expect,” he said, “it was only because I employ Lady Merryn.” He picked up the pen again, noticing that his hand was shaking slightly. “Thank you, Heighton,” he said casually. “I will be out to see Mrs. Carstairs directly.”

Heighton nodded and went out, and Tom paused for a moment before getting to his feet, walking across to the decanter, pouring a glass of the vile sherry and drinking it down in one mouthful. He followed it with a second one.

So Garrick Farne was asking questions, about Merryn, about him. That was at best inconvenient and at worst could prove fatal. Tom returned to his desk, drumming his fingers on the pile of paper that reposed there while he tried to think clearly. If Farne discovered his connection to the Dukedom then everything would go spectacularly wrong. That was the reason he had been hiding behind Merryn from the start, using her, feeding her the information about her brother’s death that he had known would set her off on this blind quest for justice. She did not know the full extent of his interest, of course, and he could never tell her. Equally he could not permit Garrick Farne to discover Merryn’s purpose. The whole matter was delicate, poised on a knife edge. And there was a Dukedom at stake.

Tom ran his hand through his hair. He had already warned Merryn to be discreet and careful. She had thought it was because he was concerned for her safety. In fact it had been pure self-preservation. Unfortunately Merryn was easy to manipulate but difficult to control thereafter, because when she became inspired by a cause it tended to arouse such passionate fervor in her that everything else—caution, discretion, prudence—went by the board. Tom had seen it happen before when she had taken on cases where there had been a miscarriage of justice. In this particular case her personal feelings were involved and so the effect was twenty times the greater. She was proving more difficult to manage than he had anticipated, and he would have to think of a way to rein her in before Farne caught up with her and she ruined everything. If the worse came to the worst, he thought, he would simply have to cut her loose and use her as a decoy to draw attention away from him. He nodded. The idea had some appeal.

He went out into the waiting room. Mrs. Carstairs was sitting patiently, her fingers locked tightly together, a mixture of hope and fear in her eyes as she looked up at him. Tom sighed. On his desk was a fat file detailing her husband’s spiraling debts and the mess he had got himself into trying to pay them off by borrowing from some deeply unpleasant moneylenders. Tom did not care much for his clients’ pain. He had seen and done it all—thwarted eloping lovers, exposed bigamists, found lost heirs, even destroyed inconvenient evidence if the price was right. He had no sentiment left in him. It amused him that Merryn worked for him because she thought she was working for justice. In some ways, Tom thought, Merryn Fenner was extremely naive. But she had also been extremely useful to him. It would be a shame to lose her.

Now he turned his most compassionate manufactured smile on his latest client. Mrs. Carstairs was paying him enough money. The least he could do was give her his undivided attention and some apparent sympathy.

“Mrs. Carstairs,” he said, “I am very sorry. You must prepare yourself for bad news …”