Regency High Society Vol 5: The Disgraced Marchioness / The Reluctant Escort / The Outrageous Debutante / A Damnable Rogue. Mary NicholsЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.’