A Suspicious Affair (8 page)

Chapter Eight

The reading continued, Boynton having been revived and fortified with several glasses of Arvid’s finest claret. The earl and Mr. Dimm must have needed fortification also, for they partook just as liberally. Marisol wished that someone had offered her more than the tea she shared with her aunt and Mr. Stenross, to keep her hands from shaking so.

Mr. Stenross wiped his spectacles, cleared his throat a number of times, surveyed his audience to make sure he had their full attention, as if anyone might doze off during the disposition of Arvid’s enormous fortune. He found his place and read: “‘If the child my legally wedded wife now carries is a male, my wife receives fifty thousand pounds in her own name, free and clear, to be used for her personal needs as well as those of her family. She is furthermore entitled to the income from the aforesaid unentailed property until our son comes of age to manage these holdings or until she remarries, whichever comes first.’” Mr. Stenross looked up as Foster let out a loud cheer. “The next clause establishes the firm of Stenross, Stenross, and Dinkerly as trustees for this property, since the holdings are extensive and also since Her Grace is an underage female.”

Boynton, reclining on a sofa, managed to find a glimmer of hope there. “But that’s all to do with the loose change. What about the entailed estate and all of its income? I mean, m’nevvy will need a guardian, won’t he? Not even m’brother would be so havey-cavey as to leave it all in the hands of a slip of a girl and a pack of fusty old solicitors.”

“Precisely. His Grace was very concerned about that very thing, that the will could be overturned on those grounds.” Mr. Stenross was old enough to ignore Boynton’s eruption, not fusty enough to let it slide. “Or that the estate might fall into unscrupulous hands. Therefore His Grace named a guardian”—Boynton adjusted his neckcloth; Foster stood to attention—“which is why I have asked Lord Kimbrough to attend today’s reading. Due to Her Grace’s young age and the infancy of the hypothetical posthumous heir, His Grace has named Carlinn Kimberly, Earl of Kimbrough, to stand as guardian to his minor son and administrator of the entailment.”

“What?”

“That’s outrageous!”

“I won’t stand for it!”

“How could he?”

Marisol got Mr. Stenross’s attention first. “Sir,” she said, hating the quaver she heard in her own voice, “this must not be. I refuse to have this…stranger in charge of my son, having any say-so in his rearing.”

“I am sorry, Your Grace, but you cannot refuse what was written into His Grace’s will, nor would it be in your interests to contest this clause. By law, a female cannot own property or stand as guardian to an underage child. The law looks the other way at times, but not in the case of an estate of this size, when the infant has such standing among the nobility. The courts would appoint a guardian in any case, and you might find their selection even less to your taste.”

Marisol found that hard to imagine. Her disagreement must have shown on her face, for Mr. Stenross continued: “With his reputation no court could find Lord Kimbrough an unfit guardian. I looked into it myself, at His Grace’s request. He was insistent that certain parties not find grounds to overturn the will.”

One of those parties was even now finishing off the bottle of claret.

Marisol twisted her handkerchief. There had to be a way out, besides having a girl child. “But his lordship knows nothing about children. He’s not even married.”

“And you know nothing about managing estates, Your Grace, begging your pardon.”

“I cannot believe even Arvid could be so stupid as to pick a…”

Before she could think of anything terrible enough to describe her feelings for the brute, Kimbrough pushed himself away from the wall next to Mr. Dimm and strode up to the desk.

“The duchess might not be able to refuse myself as guardian, but I can and do. I refuse the offer. I never wanted anything to do with that reprobate Denning, and I want less to do with his ramshackle retinue. This hobble has naught to do with me, and I am leaving.”

Mr. Stenross stopped him with a few quiet words before the earl could fling open the library door. “In return for your acceptance of the guardianship, His Grace signed over the deed to that parcel of land in dispute.” Mr. Stenross held up a piece of parchment. “He conceded that the rechanneling of the water altered the boundaries, so the new land cannot be part of the entailment. Pending, of course, your overseeing the welfare of his son.”

“Damn and blast!” Carlinn swore, hitting his fist against the doorframe. “The makebait must have known I couldn’t refuse, not with my people getting flooded out every rainstorm.”

The solicitor was going on as if the earl’s capitulation was never in question. “In answer to your question, Lord Boynton, concerning the interim period—”

“Interim be damned,” Boynton shouted again. “I want to know what’s to happen in the meantime! That whelp isn’t due till when, Duchess?”

Marisol quietly replied, “After the first of the year.”

Boynton’s creditors were waiting on his doorstep at the Albany. “So what are we supposed to do in the meantime, besides sit around watching the egg hatch?”

“Everything is to continue as before, with expenses to be paid from the estate, overseen by myself.” He anticipated Boynton’s next question by saying, “There are also provisions for if the child does not survive to reach majority—”

“Stop it!” Marisol cried, putting her hands over her ears. “I do not want to hear those things! The child is not even born yet. How can you be discussing its death?”

“My apologies, Your Grace. Of course such details do not need to be mentioned at this time. I wished merely to illustrate that His Grace was very thorough.”

“His Grace was a bounder of the first degree!” Boynton angrily declared. “Cutting out his own brother.”

“No, it’s all her fault,” the dowager screamed, getting to her feet and waving her cane in Marisol’s direction. “You two-faced slut! Arvid’s mealy-mouthed, complacent little bride, all the while plotting behind his back. Yes, you and your lover here, plotting how to get rid of him and keep everything for yourselves.” She stepped toward Marisol, still brandishing the cane. “You’ll never get away with—”

“That will be enough, Your Grace.” Kimbrough stood over the dowager and removed the cane from her hand, snapping it across his knee as if it were so much kindling. “There. My first job as guardian of the possible future duke. Your son was a cur and a scoundrel from childhood. I remember the hell he raised in the neighborhood when I was yet a schoolboy. Instead of blaming the duchess, rather blame yourself for raising him to believe he was above the law, above the dictates of polite society or moral conscience. If I have anything to do with the next duke—and, Duchess, I mean to have as little as possible, so you can stop shredding your handkerchief—the boy will learn his responsibilities as well as his rights. He’ll find out what Arvid never understood: that he is not better than anyone else because he is Denning. He will be born hosed and shod, but he will have to earn respect.”

*

The dowager took to her rooms; Boynton took to the bottle. Mr. Dimm was closeted with Mr. Stenross, going over those sections of the duke’s will that Marisol had not wished to hear.

“Just what you could of figured,” Dimm muttered. Obviously it was what Boynton figured, too, since his lordship hadn’t bothered to stay to look at those passages. “The bastard cuts everyone off if the heir dies. The widow gets whatever’s left of her fifty thousand, and Boynton gets the title and what goes with it, and not a groat more.”

“And the home for unwed mothers gets the rest. Very commendable, I’m sure.”

“That must be lawyer talk for spiteful, eh? That dirty dish didn’t have a charitable bone in his body. Devil take it, though, none of this is getting me a better motive. And you say no one else was privy to the contents of the will anyways, right?”

“Are you questioning the integrity of my office?”

“Clerks has been known to take bribes.” Although the ones at Stenross, Stenross, and Dinkerly hadn’t, when Dimm sought to read the will aforetimes. Of course, ’twere always possible he hadn’t offered enough of the ready.

Mr. Stenross was folding the papers back into their portfolio. He drew himself up and firmly stated: “The only way anyone could have known the contents of His Grace’s will was if His Grace had so informed him. Or her.”

“And judging by the shock we seen just now, no one had an inkling, or they were deuced fine actors.” Which was all of a piece, since this whole hubble-bubble was enough of a farce to get billing at Drury Lane.

*

Since he had brought the Runner in his curricle, Lord Kimbrough was left to wait with the duchess and her aunt, awkwardly aware they’d be wishing him to Jericho. The aunt had moved closer to the fireplace with her knitting, booties this time. Blue ones. The duchess rang for tea.

“Thank you for coming to my assistance,” Marisol said when he had been served, then rushed into her major concern: “Shall you truly leave me to raise my son?”

“Unless I see reason to interfere. I have a life of my own, you know. Managing my own estate is time-consuming enough, without having to worry over Denning’s, much less the grooming of his heir.” Carlinn vowed he wasn’t going to get involved in the brat’s upbringing. He wasn’t going to let any Town belle dump her responsibilities off on his shoulders so she could resume her gay life in London, doing the social rounds.

“Thank you again,” she said in relief, although he’d not offered any favors that he could see. “Isn’t it odd that I’d be thought capable of rearing a daughter, but not a son?”

“Odd? Not at all. A boy needs a man’s influence.”

Marisol was silent, wondering what kind of influence her husband might have been. What if the child turned out to be like Arvid, even without his presence? She put down her plate, her appetite having flown, and pleated the fabric of her gown with nervous fingers.

And a woman needs a man, Carlinn thought when she went quiet. The jade was most likely thinking of the poor sod she’d snabble next to keep her in jewels and furs. Fifty thousand pounds and a proven breeder ought to put the duchess in contention, even if the high-nosed shrew had the tongue of a Billingsgate fishmonger. Of course, she’d have to get back her figure and her looks, or she’d frighten off the heartiest
parti.
Then again, he mused, perhaps she’d just take herself and her booty back to Town and set herself up as a dashing widow, going from dance partner to bed partner in the twinkle of a diamond bracelet. Yes, that was more likely, considering she’d already put off mourning for Denning, and him barely cold in the ground.

Marisol noticed when Kimbrough’s brown eyes focused on her hands and the blue kerseymere material between them. She smoothed out her skirts and adjusted the black shawl at her elbows. “I only had three mourning gowns made up,” she found herself explaining. Why she had to justify her wardrobe to this lumpkin in corduroy coat and unstarched cravat Marisol did not know, but she went on: “It seemed such a waste to order more for just the next month or two, when I’ll hardly be seeing anyone anyway. Besides, it does annoy the dowager no end.” She smiled then, and Carlinn suspected there might be dimples beneath the puffed chipmunk cheeks; something must have earned her the title of Incomparable.

He smiled back. Encouraged to try to make friends with the man who might have such impact in her son’s life, she joked, “I decided to leave some black fabric for other widows, since my gowns take so much yardage.”

Marisol was pleased to see a twinkle come to his eyes, and Carlinn was convinced that, yes, they were definitely dimples. “Now that you mention it, Duchess, are you sure you won’t have twins? That would cause havoc with all the betting.”

“Goodness, I’d better not. Arvid didn’t make provision for that, did he? But the physician said no. I wish—” she began, but did not finish.

“For twins?”

“No, I wish no one cared whether my child is a boy or a girl, that I wasn’t on exhibit like some empress giving birth to the royal heir. I wish no one else’s future depended on my poor innocent babe.”

She looked perilously close to tears again, Kimbrough thought in dismay. He quickly said, “Is the dowager causing you any difficulty? I heard her viperish tongue. Shall I go slay more dragons? Consider it part of my duty.”

Marisol tried to smile. He really was being quite nice. “There is no need for such gallantry yet, my lord. Everything is awaiting the big event, if I have a boy, Her Grace will move to the Dower House, if I have to pay for the refurbishing myself. I’ll pension off her servants and hire my own, who will owe me their loyalty. And if I have a girl, I shall simply leave. Another month or two of the dowager’s unpleasantness won’t matter. But there
is
something you can do, now that you were kind enough to offer.”

Carlinn almost bit his own tongue off. Lud, what was coming next? Confound the woman and her blasted tears! He nodded, indicating that she should go on, but his lowered brow and clenched jaw were not encouraging.

“It’s not a very large dragon, my lord, just that my brother and my brother-in-law are continually at daggers drawn. The situation will get worse as the bad weather keeps Foster in the house more, and his debts keep Boynton from returning to London. Their brangling cuts up my peace worse than the dowager ever does, for I don’t dare leave the two of them alone together. Do you think you could spend some time with Foster, perhaps help him pick a regiment? Now that I know we can afford the colors Arvid promised him, Foster will have something to do, and will not feel so dependent.”

“He needs schooling, the way he rushed out of here.”

“He is feeling his youth. He could have been named guardian, were he older. And he should have been able to manage an estate, if ours hadn’t been lost. Mostly I believe he holds himself responsible that we are all at Arvid’s mercy, or lack thereof. He needs reassurance and advice, not Boynton’s constant sniping. And he looks up to you.”

“That’s what comes of being so big.”