It Takes a Scandal (38 page)

“Not true,” muttered her brother.

“I cried so bitterly when he went into the army, but I was certain he would return to marry me. I was only twelve or thirteen. He was nineteen, and doubtless thought of me as a child. But my belief remained unshaken, and by the time he did come home, I had persuaded myself that he would fall desperately in love when he saw how I’d grown up.” She paused. “Unfortunately, things had changed for him. He was terribly wounded. His father’s mind had broken, and Mr. Vane had done some shocking things. He—he sold a large piece of property to my father. He sold some of his other property to others, but the parcel my father bought was the best: the acreage that lay along the river. Without it, Montrose House was cut off from the water. And even worse, my father bought it for almost nothing.”

She stopped again, biting her lip, and a note of apology entered her voice. “My father is a demanding man. He drives himself very hard, and he expects others to do the same. I suppose he thought Mr. Vane deserved to lose his land, with his wits gone. They had never been friendly,” she hastened to add. “Only Ben and Sebastian were. But Sebastian obviously felt that friendship ought to have weighed a little in his father’s favor. He came to Stratford Court, on crutches with his leg in splints, and asked my father to reverse the sale. I don’t know precisely what happened . . .”

Atherton’s face might have been carved of stone. Abigail remembered Sebastian’s description; a shouting match, ending with curses and a slammed door. The earl had mocked him, asked if his wits had also fled, and offered to sell back the land—including the parcel that held Eleanor Vane’s grave—for several times what he’d paid.

“But anyone could see Sebastian was in a fury when he left. He even argued with Ben. My father was in a foul temper, too, and rode off to London soon after. I was a fool,” Samantha went on, her voice growing softer. “I still thought he would marry me, even when he told me—he
told
me—he wouldn’t be a good husband. If I had been less headstrong, I would have understood that he was telling me he didn’t love me. Instead I only saw that his father had ruined his fortune, leaving Sebastian penniless, and that he blamed my father. In truth . . . in truth, I blamed my father, too. My father would never let me marry a penniless gentleman, which flew in the face of my determination to marry Sebastian.”

“Samantha,” said her brother desperately. “Stop. None of this matters. You were a girl—it was so long ago . . .”

“I wanted to mend everything,” she said, fixing a reproachful look on him. “My father had just sold a very valuable painting, and the buyer had paid him in guineas. I don’t remember how I knew this, but I knew the chest of coins was in my father’s study. I decided it would make things fair if I gave that money back to the Vanes.”

Her brother swore, very quietly, and pulled away from her. Samantha went on, inexorably, while Abigail and Penelope listened in rapt dismay. “My father was still away, so one night I took the money. I—I put it in a leather satchel and took it across the river. Ben had told me years before how best to get across in the punt, and I went to Montrose Hill. My original plan had been to give it to Sebastian, but I reconsidered; he would never take it. I would give it to Mr. Vane, then, and explain that he must give it to Sebastian and tell him it was a hidden savings. Then the Vanes wouldn’t be destitute, and everything would be fine.”

“Didn’t you worry about your father’s reaction?” asked Penelope. Abigail jumped at her sister’s voice; she’d been so caught up in Samantha’s tale, listening with growing alarm and elation as various mysteries resolved themselves.

Samantha blushed. “I did, but not much. He had recently sacked his valet, and I persuaded myself he would blame the valet. I never dreamed . . .”

Atherton cursed again and pinched the bridge of his nose. Abigail didn’t say anything. It seemed fairly obvious to her what would have happened, but Samantha had already admitted she was young and headstrong then. “So you took the money,” she murmured.

“I did. I took it to Montrose Hill and found a way into the house. It was late, and everyone was asleep. I found Mr. Vane’s room—” She cringed. “It was locked. That ought to have warned me, you’re probably thinking. It should have. But I was set on my plan, and the key was right there by the door, so I let myself in. Old Mr. Vane . . . He had been a very kindly gentleman. When I came into his room, he called me Eleanor and kissed my hand. I corrected him, and I remember he touched his brow and said, ‘Of course, pretty little Samantha. I remember you now.’ ” She looked at them pleadingly. “He seemed like himself; he seemed to know me. I explained why I had come, and he nodded. He understood! He took the money and promised he would make everything right. He kissed my brow and scolded me for coming so late at night. He even walked me out of the house himself and cautioned me to be careful. I—I thought he was recovering . . .” Her voice faltered and died.

Abigail closed her eyes, heartsick. That explained how Michael Vane had escaped. Sebastian hadn’t forgotten to lock the door that night. But then . . . “When did you realize things had gone wrong?” she asked.

“Not for a while. My brother was very attentive, keeping me from hearing anything. I sent Sebastian a note, explaining that I had found a solution to his problems and begging him to call on me, but he never came. Finally I asked Ben, and that’s when I heard Mr. Vane had disappeared. I didn’t hear the rumor that Sebastian had killed him for a few more days, and by then my father had come home. He discovered the money missing and—” She stopped. For a moment her face crumpled in anguish. “I know you blamed Sebastian,” she said to her brother. “I knew it, and I was too much a coward to admit it was I. Now—now I think you must have suspected me all along. Now I think you were trying to conceal my guilt. I never told, but you always knew when I was telling tales. You shouldn’t have done it, Ben.”

Atherton looked heartsick at her gentle condemnation. “I didn’t know you took the money. I thought you’d merely tried to run off with him.”

“But what happened to old Mr. Vane?” Penelope ventured.

Samantha shook her head. “I have no idea. He was well and lucid when I left him that night, I swear it.”

Abigail’s elation was tempered. Samantha’s confession exonerated Sebastian only of stealing the money. The whispers of murder were even worse. Now that she was set on clearing his name, she wanted to do it completely, not just the reason her father cited. “Thank you for telling us,” she said. “I have to tell Sebastian, you know.”

Samantha nodded. “I want you to. See? I don’t even have the courage to face him myself. But you really love him,” she said wistfully. “I long ago realized my love was mere infatuation. I never had the strength to stand up for him the way you have. And he never really loved me . . . as I think he does you. He came to Stratford Court again for you, and he danced with you. He hasn’t dined with anyone in Richmond for years, nor danced since before the war. I would like him to be happy, and since I contributed to his ruin, I should do something to help him.”

“Will you tell your father, too?”

Her face as pale as snow, Samantha gave a tiny nod. “Somehow.” She looked away. “When you tell Sebastian, let him know I’m desperately sorry.”

“Thank you, Lady Samantha,” said Abigail fervently. “From the bottom of my heart.”

Samantha gave her a pained smile. “Good day, Miss Weston. And good luck.”

“I’ll walk you out,” muttered her brother. Abigail followed him, glancing back to see Samantha once more walking slowly through the garden, head bowed.

“Will your father be furious at her?” asked Penelope.

Atherton’s mouth was set, his eyes hard. “Yes.”

“But surely you’re glad the truth has come out,” Penelope persisted. “Surely you can’t abide a man taking the blame for another’s crime, even if that someone is your sister.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Penelope’s face turned dull pink. Abigail made a sharp motion at her; she had no interest in a quarrel with Lord Atherton. But her sister ignored her. “Perhaps you ought to help clear Sebastian’s name, too, since you helped to muddy it.”

“I did nothing but take my father’s word,” he said thinly. “Vane never denied it. Samantha may have taken the money, but it was never found; curious, don’t you think? Who’s to say Vane didn’t find it and keep it, knowing no one would be able to prove he’d been at Stratford Court? I daresay a sack of guineas would have been very tempting.”

Penelope nodded. “That’s right. Just because he got the girl you wanted, he must be a lying opportunist.”

“Penelope!” Abigail seized her sister’s arm, white with fury. “
Stop. Talking!
”

“No harm done, Miss Weston.” Atherton’s voice had never been so cold or remote. “He’s misled others besides your sister.”

Abigail took a deep breath, clinging to her poise. “Thank you for your help, my lord. I know you were reluctant to give it, but I appreciate it deeply.”

For a moment his eyes softened as he looked at her. Abigail gazed steadily back. Finally he nodded once and pushed open the door in the garden wall, revealing Adam walking the horses while he waited for them. “Good-bye, Miss Weston.”

Chapter 24

A
bigail barely listened to her sister rant about Lord Atherton’s behavior. He’d acted to protect his sister, but now the story was out. She had part of what she needed: Sebastian hadn’t taken the money. But she didn’t believe for a moment Atherton’s charge that he might have found it and kept it. That meant the money had disappeared along with Michael Vane. If they could find it, Sebastian could return it to Lord Stratford. Coupled with his daughter’s confession, the earl would have no choice but to exonerate Sebastian. Her heart jumped at the prospect. That would put her father’s objections to rest forever.

But where would Michael Vane have hidden the money? From what she’d seen of the house, it seemed unlikely Sebastian wouldn’t have found it there, with all the floors and walls bare. He’d searched the grounds, too, and would have noticed a freshly dug hole. But there were acres of woods, with infinitely many places to hide a satchel of guineas. Any random tree trunk could have offered a spot.

Except . . . Michael Vane had been lucid when Samantha saw him. He knew it was money she gave him, to help Sebastian. Would he have thrown it into a hole in the ground? She frowned. Perhaps. There was no way to know how long his lucidity might have lasted. Sebastian said he’d sold everything because he feared the devil was after his money.

“What are you going to do next?” Penelope’s question roused her.

“I have to tell Sebastian.”

“And then?” her sister prodded. “How are you going to find the money? You know that’s the only way Lord Stratford will admit he was wrong.”

“You’re right, and once again, I have no idea.” She stared furiously out the window. “Where would old Mr. Vane put it?”

“Sebastian’s guess is probably the best.”

And she’d been forbidden to see him again. Abigail thought some more. “We’ll have to sneak out and go see him.”

“Brilliant!” Penelope’s eyes gleamed. “Tonight?”

She couldn’t bear to wait. Her parents were already upset with her, so she had nothing to lose. “Yes.”

She racked her brains all day for ideas. The list of places to look was pitifully short: the house, the river, the woods. Short, and as vast as the Arabian Desert. Unfortunately, Penelope was right: only Sebastian would really know where to start, and she wouldn’t see him until tonight. Both her parents were at home, although she knew they had accepted an invitation to dine at the Huntleys’ tonight. She crossed her fingers they would go as planned.

Mama tapped at her door late that afternoon. “Are you feeling better, dearest?”

“I’m in perfect health.”

Her mother’s face was shadowed with worry. “Abby, you’ll understand one day. When you’ve met a fine gentleman without any of these troubles, you’ll be glad your father acted as he did.”

She would not, but she refused to provoke her mother. She lifted one shoulder.

“Well, I daresay a few nights of quiet will do you good,” said Mama after a moment of silence. “Papa and I dine with the Huntleys tonight. I’ll send Marie to tend you.” She crossed the room and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. “We do want you to be happy, dearest.”

Abigail nodded. She knew that, just as she knew she could be happiest with Sebastian. Hopefully her parents would realize that soon.

When her mother had gone, Abigail curled up in the window seat to watch the sun sink beyond the curve of the river. She laid the cameo pendant on the sill and paged through
The Children of the Abbey
, hoping for some inspiration.

And astonishingly, they provided some.

She found Penelope in the drawing room. “I have an idea.”

Her sister threw aside her magazine and leapt from her chair. “A good one?”

Abigail’s heart pounded. “Perhaps.” Perhaps not, but she chose to ignore that. “Are you still coming?”

“Of course! I just have to do one thing—don’t you dare leave without me!” Penelope bolted out of the room.

It was a brisk night. Abigail put on a warm pelisse and bonnet before meeting her sister in the garden. A quick stop in the stable provided a lantern, and Abigail had borrowed James’s compass, which she was careful to read while she could still see Montrose House. She had a feeling she’d wandered in circles before Boris found her and led her there last time, and she didn’t have hours to waste tonight.