Regency High Society Vol 5: The Disgraced Marchioness / The Reluctant Escort / The Outrageous Debutante / A Damnable Rogue. Mary NicholsЧитать онлайн книгу.
And my nephew’s legal recognition.’ For some elusive reason, as he looked at Eleanor and the child before him, recognising her utter determination to discover the truth, he suddenly had no doubts about his own convictions. The Baxendales, for some devious reason known only to themselves, had concocted a series of lies and deceits. He lifted a hand to stroke one gentle finger down the baby’s satin cheek.
The result both surprised and unsettled him. Tom ignored the gesture and continued to grasp the black satin ribbon on his mother’s dress with fierce and destructive concentration. The Marchioness took the smallest of steps back, a subtle movement and yet very obvious to Lord Henry. As was the fleeting emotion that clouded her eyes. He thought it was fear—yet could not imagine why. He was no threat to her or to her son. Stifling a sigh, he accepted that it was simply another mystery in the complicated weave but must be put aside until the more immediate concern with Octavia Baxendale had been dealt with. Henry deliberately lowered his hand, but not his eyes from Eleanor’s face, which was now flushed with rose.
‘I need to know that the inheritance of this family is in the correct hands, you see, even if those hands are still very small and as yet incapable of handling the reins,’ he stated quietly. ‘And I think the matter deserves some investigation. I cannot leave.’
‘But I cannot agree.’ Mrs Stamford stood her ground. ‘I have told my daughter that hers is a foolish idea. She could stay in residence here. To be turned out of her own home is insupportable. Besides, it is not seemly that she should put up in your rented property in London, my lord.’
‘And why in God’s name not?’ Lord Henry’s brows snapped into a dark bar of extreme exasperation, temper finally escaping his control. He had had enough of his family for one day and it was hardly mid-morning. ‘I presume you will accompany her ladyship to London, ma’am? Does she need more of a chaperon than her own mother? And what the devil do you expect for her at my hands? That living under my protection will sully her reputation? The Marchioness is under no danger from me! Your comment, ma’am, is as uninformed as it is insulting, to me and to your daughter.’
The brutal statement was met with stunned silence. Nicholas turned away to hide a smile. Eleanor looked as startled as her mother. Lord Henry was not normally given to such a show of emotion.
‘Well. I never intended to suggest. I did not think that. But how can you have agreed to the Baxendales taking possession of Faringdon House?’ Mrs Stamford was flustered, but reluctant to admit defeat and pursued her quarry with more energy than sensitivity.
‘What do you suggest?’ The reply was immediate, biting. ‘That we get to haggling over property at a time like this? As if we were in the market place? I think not!’
‘Of course not. I never—’
‘No. Perhaps you did not. But your thoughts were not complimentary to a lady who already has enough to contend with, without her mother casting doubts on the morals and motives of members of the Faringdon family!’ Then, before anyone could recover from so direct an attack, Lord Henry addressed his next words to Eleanor in quite a different voice. ‘I think it is an excellent idea. See to your luggage, ma’am. We leave early tomorrow morning. You, too, Nicholas,’ which effectively wiped the smile from Nick’s face.
‘But I thought it might be better if.’
‘No, it wouldn’t.’ His lordship’s voice was now clipped. ‘You are not going to escape a short visit to town, so save your breath. I have need of you in London, little brother. We have a campaign to wage!’
Eleanor looked from one to the other of the Faringdon brothers. Their determination, their confident air of authority, the implacable manner in which they undertook whatever they set their mind on, touched her heart after all. Yes. She would join her efforts to theirs. They gave her more hope than she could have dreamed of. And Hal was not going back to America. Not yet! She hugged the thought to herself as she hugged her precious son, even as she reprimanded herself for her foolishness. Henry had defended her before her mother. Perhaps he would not abandon her, whatever the outcome of the case. ‘I will not go without Tom, you understand,’ she informed Henry, looking again for disagreement, perversely unwilling to appear too compliant. ‘He comes with me.’
Henry sighed and ran a hand through his hair at the prospect of arranging transport for a large party. The unnerving experience of being regarded by two identical pairs of deep lavender eyes, one openly critical, the other innocently curious, decided the matter for him. ‘I suppose you must. Very well. I will arrange for the cleaning of the chaise. Be so good as to inform the stables, Nick. Be ready tomorrow morning, ladies.’
The Faringdon family was rapidly ensconced in a smart and stylish town house in Park Lane in the most fashionable part of London. By no means as spacious or as elegantly furnished as Faringdon House in Grosvenor Square, and lacking all personal touches, of course, yet it was proclaimed sufficient for their needs, even by Mrs Stamford, who was initially prepared to dislike it on sight. The proportions and furnishings of the main withdrawing-room, smaller parlours and reception rooms were declared adequate, the bedrooms comfortable, the furnishings suitably tasteful if a little bland. The address, of course, could not be bettered. The matter of staff was ably dealt with by Marcle, who had accompanied them, despite the state of his arthritic joints, and took charge of the lower regions with seamless competence. Eleanor did not bother to marvel at the speed or the smooth efficiency of the whole operation. If she did, she would have to allow considerable credit to Lord Henry who, she considered, carried it off with typical high-handed arrogance—and faultless style. But she was grateful. It was easier to take the comfort and concern for her well-being for granted and simply accept it when more momentous issues were to be faced.
The following morning, after persuading Mrs Stamford with a tact and a remarkable patience, which surprised everyone, that her presence was not essential to the success of the operation, Lord Henry escorted the Marchioness to the chambers of Hoskins and Bennett. Mr Edward Hoskins, a gentleman of advanced years and wide experience, had enjoyed the confidence and management of the legal affairs of the Faringdon family for many years, but his welcome on this chilly morning did not hold much pleasure for his noble employers. The low clouds, Eleanor surmised, accurately reflected the mood of everyone in the dusty, book-lined, wood-panelled room off Fleet Street.
‘My lord. My lady.’ The lawyer ushered them in with every consideration and saw to their comfort, pouring a glass of canary for Lord Henry and ratafia for the Marchioness, even though no one had the heart for refreshment. ‘What can I say? I could never have believed that such an occasion as this would arise in my lifetime. And certainly not with respect to your family, my lord, so correct and respectable as they have always been in my lengthy experience.’
He took Eleanor’s black-gloved hand and pressed it in fatherly concern before taking his position behind his document-strewn desk. Such a lovely lady to be faced with the possibility of so much future heartache! And the Marquis of Burford had always struck him as a most conscientious young man. Mr Hoskins frowned down at the pages before him, hoping that Lord Henry could be relied upon to deal with the situation in a fitting manner. He knew little of the gentleman other than that he had left the country to seek his fortune—but this was sure to be a true test of his character. He glanced up under heavy brows at Lord Henry who stood behind the Marchioness’s chair, a hint of the protective in his stance despite the lack of physical connection, noting the stern lines of his handsome face, the implacable will expressed in the cold grey eyes. Mr Hoskins suppressed a shudder. He would not care to make an enemy of this man. He trusted that the absent Sir Edward knew what he was undertaking.
‘Sir Edward Baxendale and Miss Baxendale have been to see you, I surmise.’ Lord Henry lost no time in broaching the delicate subject, meeting the crux of the matter head on.
‘Indeed they have, my lord. Yesterday afternoon. A most personable pair, I might add, in spite of the reason for their appointment. I have heard their story and I have seen the documents. In fact, I have them here in my possession.’ He laid his hand on them on his desk, as if with a degree of distaste for their content. ‘Sir Edward left them so that I might check their authenticity.’
‘And