Regency High Society Vol 5: The Disgraced Marchioness / The Reluctant Escort / The Outrageous Debutante / A Damnable Rogue. Mary NicholsЧитать онлайн книгу.
more energy and charm than was good for him. Always into mischief, but with the ability to extricate himself without too much difficulty. Always ready to challenge authority, to kick over the traces, but with a smile to win over those who might condemn him too harshly.
America had been good for him, Hoskins decided. Somewhere to channel his energies, without the rigid restrictions of birth and privilege to hamper his plans and dreams. Not for everyone, of course, but Lord Henry had done well. Confidence. Authority. Determination. They sat lightly on him, but made an immediate impression. He was still elegantly sophisticated in style and dress, still dramatically handsome, still capable of the effortless charm of his youth, but there was now an edge to him. Not a man to tangle with, as Hoskins had thought on their previous meeting in these very rooms, not a man to cross. From the look on his face at this moment, Hoskins would not have cared to be in Sir Edward’s shoes. And as for the business with Faringdon and Bridges in New York, which his lordship had put temporarily into his hands during his stay in London—he would lay a wager that Mr Henry Faringdon of Faringdon and Bridges would do very well and make a fortune to rival that of his noble family in England.
‘Well, my lord.’ Hoskins finally took his own seat behind his desk. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?’ He allowed his gaze to take in the ladies, but then returned his attention to Lord Henry. There was an air of anticipation here that he did not understand. He had no good news for them. There was no doubt in his mind now that Sir Edward Baxendale’s claim was genuine. He frowned, contemplating the wound that he must inevitably inflict on the Marchioness, and wished that it was on an occasion of his own making. But she was here and he supposed that a final statement from him was necessary. It would not lessen the pain by drawing out the situation. ‘I expect that you have come about the inheritance. A most unfortunate business, of course, as I have previously expressed. We have, I believe, to accept the truth of the Baxendale claim.’
‘No.’ Lord Henry spoke with quiet certainty, and moved to sit beside the Marchioness. ‘No, we do not. The truth is this. We have undeniable proof, sir, that Baxendale’s proposal that his sister was married to my brother and therefore that her child is heir to the title is nothing but a fraudulent sham.’
‘Proof, you say?’ Hoskins’s frown deepened. ‘I have to tell you, my lord, that in my opinion as your lawyer, the legal documents produced by Sir Edward are without question genuine.’
‘No, they are not. They are fraudulent. I think that we should begin, sir, by allowing Mrs Russell to explain her presence here today.’
So Sarah Russell, née Baxendale, laid out before the astonished lawyer the nature of Sir Edward’s scheme and her own part in it. Reluctant at first, with much hesitation, she grew in confidence as the enormity of her brother’s behaviour towards her struck her anew. As she spoke, the persona of family employee and nursemaid dropped away, to be replaced by the quiet dignity and pride of both a lady of gentle birth and the widow of a naval officer.
Hoskins listened in silence until she had finished.
‘I have kept silent when I should have spoken out,’ she stated finally, impressing Hoskins with her admirable composure. The time for tears was past and she would follow her conscience. ‘John is my child, the son of my late husband, Captain John Russell. Octavia is Edward’s wife, not his sister, and she is childless. That is the truth of it, sir.’
‘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