Love Alters Not (14 page)

Carlton whispered a plea to be excused. The old gentleman barked out a demand that he remain, and the boy crept over to stand very close to Farrar, this surprising Dimity and bringing a momentarily intrigued expression into the solicitor's faded brown eyes. Putting on a pair of scratched and dusty spectacles, Norris peered over them at Dimity. She met his gaze through a long pause, wondering what he intended to ask her, and grateful that she had looked through the papers and was fairly familiar with their contents. To her surprise, however, the first remark was directed to Farrar.

“I thought you said—” he barked.

“I did,” interpolated Farrar hastily. “I may have been—I think I was mistaken.”

“Natural enough.” The shrewd gaze returned to Dimity. “You need not look at me as if I was your enemy, miss.”

“Mrs.,” she corrected demurely.

“You wear no ring. Don't look as if you ever wore one, moreover!”

She had already anticipated such a comment, and countered with the only excuse she could think of. “We were only married a year when he died, and my husband desired that I remarry.”

“Generous of him. Why haven't you?” He sneered unpardonably, “Nobody asked you?”

My lady looked shocked, and even Farrar blinked, but Dimity guessed that this crusty old creature was trying to fluster her. The real Mrs. Deene, she thought, would be considerably flustered by such tactics. She sighed. “That is the whole trouble, sir. Lots of nobodies.” She caught the veriest hint of a twinkle and added, “I expect too much, I fear. My grandpapa says they do not make men like they used to, and so far I have to agree with him.”

Norris threw back his head and gave a cackle of mirth. “Very true, m'dear. Very true!” He recollected why he was here, cleared his throat, threw an apologetic look at Farrar, and went on briskly, “Well, I cannot fritter about like this. I do not mean to ask you a lot of questions, madam. If you're an impostor, as I suspect, you'd tell me a pack of lies at all events, and you've likely got the boy well primed.” He shot a beady-eyed glance at Carlton. “Ain't that so, Master Shiver?”

“Yes,” said Carlton, and clinging tightly to the skirt of Farrar's coat added, “An' I always shiver when I'm cross.”

Again, the twinkle. “Do you! Then you may take yourself off and shiver somewhere else before your wrath unmans me! Your papers, if you please, ma'am.”

Carlton gave Dimity a worried look and departed. Dimity extracted the sheaf of papers from Mrs. Deene's reticule and handed them to Farrar, who in turn passed them to Norris.

The solicitor waded through certificates of birth and baptism and marriage; a family tree, letters from Mr. Walter Farrar to Mrs. Walter Farrar, and a few letters to Miss Mary Arnold from Mr. Walter Farrar, dated prior to their marriage in 1738. Without warning, he rasped, “And how did you like Harrogate?”

Dimity had never been to Harrogate and racked her brain frantically for any scrap of information about that much maligned city. The shrewd brown eyes were fixed on her. “Well, madam, well? Says here your sister was wed there. I take it you attended her?”

She nodded and alleged that she had preferred High Harrogate to the Low Town. She was indebted to her maternal grandmama for the remark, that venerable dame having once journeyed thither to take the waters. It was all Dimity could remember, and she was relieved when her reply appeared to satisfy Mr. Norris, who addressed no further questions to her, and at length told Farrar that everything
looked
above board, “But,” with a sinister scowl at Dimity, “that don't mean a fig. It will all have to be looked into, which will take some time.”

Momentarily dismayed, Dimity reflected that it made no difference, for as soon as she could deliver that dreadful cypher, she would leave, and write Sir Anthony— That is to say, she would write Captain Farrar a letter explaining that she had no real knowledge of the matter, but that if Carlton did not prove to be the genuine heir and my lady did not keep him, she would like the boy sent to her at Muse Manor. The thought of home brought a nostalgic yearning …

“Are you gone off to sleep, ma'am?”

She jumped. They were all staring at her.

Norris snapped, “Your name
is
Mrs. Deene, I believe?”

“Y-yes,” she stammered. “My apologies if my attention wandered. I was—er, wondering for how long I shall have to impose on Sir Anthony's hospitality.”

The old gentleman gave a cynical snort. “You've an odd standard of values, madam! You worry about imposing on his hospitality for a few days, but don't wink an eye at dispossessing him of his rightful inheritance.” Ignoring, but aware of, Dimity's painful blush, he gathered the papers together. “Do not forget what I told you, Farrar. I want those letters Walter writ you, and his birth certificate. Most of all, I want your mama's diary. Get 'em to me so soon as possible. Hear me?”

“Yes, sir. But I'll be dashed if I can see—”

“Have you the least notion of how much you pay me every year?”

Farrar gave a wry grin.

“Just so. And 'tis because I know how to go on in this sort of nasty business that I take so much of your money, my boy. I presume you are aware, Mrs. Deene, that you may very well wind up in prison for attempted fraud?”

It had been said without pause and with no change in tone. Dimity was startled, but managed to respond, “Oh, no. It does not apply, you see.”

Norris glared at her. “Besides which,” he went on, his attention returning to his client, “we can tell from letters whether they were writ with the left hand.” He laid one finger alongside his hooked nose and shook his head as Farrar made as if to speak. Standing, he bowed to my lady, gave Dimity a curt nod and a searching look, then went with Farrar into the garden.

They walked together along the sunlit path, silent, until Farrar demanded, “What was that business about the left hand?”

“An attempt to scare the gel—which, I might add did not work. You gave me to expect a trollop, Tony. Are you gone daft?”

Beset by his own confusion, Farrar grunted, “You saw the gown.”

“Fiddlesticks! She'd be a lady clad in three fig leaves!”

“I wish I may see it,” said Farrar, amused. “She's a shapely wench!”

“Hum. I fear she is also something shrewd. She gave me as good as I sent, did you mark it? One might think she don't give a farthing whether she wins or loses. You've a fight on your hands, m'boy. And what's worse, she don't strike me as the type to defraud a child out of a comfit—much less stoop to this kind of chicanery.”

“Then you're sure it
is
chicanery?”

“What I am sure of, and what can be proven in a court of law is another story. Why in the name of all that's holy d'you permit them to stay here?”

“I think Aunt Helen took a liking to the boy the instant she saw him. She insisted they stay. She has enjoyed these few days. She's lonely, you know.”

“Hum. Misses Harding, I shouldn't wonder. You should've put your foot down on this, though. Is the most lunatic arrangement I ever heard of.” Farrar returning no answer, the solicitor slanted a sly glance at him, and said with a grin, “You know what I'd do in your shoes? I'd marry the gel!”

He had spoken in jest and was surprised when Farrar gave a start, then laughed scornfully. “What a fellow you are, Norrie! A fine surrender, to marry an adventuress only to silence her.”

The old gentleman pursed up his mouth and changed the subject. “What's Ellsworth doing here?”

“Flattering Lady Helen. As ever.”

“And fairly slathering over Mrs. Deene. A careful gent, your cousin.”

The response was vulgar in the extreme. Norris cackled appreciatively. “I hear you've had more trouble with your neighbour's pets. Leonard said your arm is properly mauled. Not serious, is it, lad?”

Farrar clapped him on the back. “No. I thank you.”

“We can take him to court. Only say the word.”

“An I'd had a pistol within reach, we'd not have the need!” Farrar scowled. “Next time they stray onto my land, I swear I'll shoot the pair of 'em! You'd not believe the power of the brutes! They'd rip a man's throat out in a minute.” He frowned thoughtfully. “And would likely have done so to me, had not Mrs. Deene come very bravely to my aid.”

Norris stopped walking and eyed his companion in dismay. “Balks at murder, does she? Well, that's something to be said for the woman. But for God's sake, have a care! You've many enemies and you take too many chances. I'd be most damnably sorry to see anything happen to you.”

Grateful, Farrar said, “You old curmudgeon, you're one of the few who'd not be delighted.”

“No, I am serious, Tony. That pretty cousin of yours and his bosom bow would stop at nothing to—”

“Avenge Harding?” Farrar's expression darkened. “Perchance they think themselves justified.”

“Balderdash! And you just keep in mind, my lad, that a large and enraged dog has as much strength as two men! Be sure you
do
carry that pistol!”

*   *   *

Dimity had gone in search of Carlton, and was returning without having located the child when Ellsworth appeared, strolling towards her through the gardens. The look in his eyes bade her to proceed with caution, but he was perfectly polite. He had a good deal of charm, and a ready wit so that her suspicions were lulled until she suddenly realized they were in the woods, and that his last three remarks had concerned her supposed brother-in-law. A warning bell sounded in her mind.

“Indeed yes,” he drawled idly, taking her arm as he guided her down the slope towards the stream, “a fine musician was old Walter. If I know him, he had a full choir at his nuptials. Must've been quite a ceremony in the cathedral. Wish I had been there.”

“I think you are mistaken, sir,” she answered, her nerves tight. “Mary and Walter were married in a small church in Harrogate. If he was musical, I had no knowledge of it, nor did my sister ever mention such an accomplishment.”

“In which case, we are even,” he said gaily, “for Walter never mentioned your sister, either.”

“Indeed?” She opened her eyes at him. “Did you correspond with him, then? From what Sir Anthony said, I—”

He laughed. “Oh, but you must pay no attention to what that creature says.”

Dimity stiffened. “Sir, I must protest. Why it should be so I do not know, but Lady Helen and Sir Anthony have been exceeding kind to me. Indeed, it is incredible for I would think to have been thrown from the premises, instead of which I am treated as a guest.”

“I should think it more than incredible was so lovely a lady treated with anything less than the very greatest courtesy.”

It was charmingly said, and he was a charming young man, but Dimity experienced a surge of profound irritation and ignored the compliment. “Only consider the circumstances, Mr. Ellsworth. An I prove my claim, it will be a great loss to the family. To Sir Anthony, especially.”

“For my part, I can conceive of no more pleasant change than to have a beautiful lady at The Palfreys rather than the miserable worm who now lords it—”

Dimity frowned and stepped back, but Ellsworth paced even closer, smiling down at her. “You are displeased. Why? You are certainly aware he is a craven poltroon who—”

“You forget yourself, sir! Such remarks should be addressed to him. Not to me!”

“My, but here's a fiery defence the clod don't deserve. Make no doubt he knows my opinion of him. Did you not notice how he feared to come near me? My cousin and closest friend fell victim to his shameful cowardice. Although there may be more to that particular tragedy than we now know. You are our champion, Mrs. Deene! We welcome you with open arms!”

He moved closer, as though intending to demonstrate his words. Again attempting to step back, Dimity realized too late that she had retreated to the very edge of the bank. Her shoe slid downward. She gave a startled cry, but at once Ellsworth's arms closed around her and dragged her to safety.

“My heavens!” she gasped with a tremulous little laugh.

Still holding her, his hot blue eyes slid hungrily from her eyes to her mouth, to the shapeliness of the breasts crushed close against him. “How very lovely … you are…” he murmured.

“And warm,” she said prosaically. “Pray grant me some air, sir.”

He made no attempt to relax his hold. “Poor girl. They tell me you faint readily, and faith, who could wonder at it! Are you all right?”

Mrs. Deene's gowns were becoming a major annoyance. “I shall be, when you have the goodness to release me, Mr. Ellsworth.”

“You play your cards well,” he said huskily, “but there's such a thing as carrying play-acting too far.”

Dimity was very still. His handsome head bowed lower, then, abruptly, he released her. She wondered how much he knew and, frightened, turned from him and at once halted.

The omnipresent Shuffle at his side, Farrar stood at the top of the slope, watching them.

Ellsworth took Dimity's elbow and led her up the rough path, making an elaborate business of transferring himself to her right side as they approached Farrar. This time, his cousin did not move aside and Ellsworth murmured contemptuously, “It would be difficult to tell you, ma'am, which the captain does better. Run, or spy.”

His enigmatic gaze on Dimity's embarrassed face, Farrar said, “You've a caller, Mrs. Deene. I am asked to escort you back to the house.”

Ellsworth's grip on her elbow tightened. He began to guide her past. Farrar stepped squarely in front of them. “Do not test my patience too far, cousin.”

Ellsworth's icy disdain slipped. “I wish to God I might!” he hissed. “For Harding's sake, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to slide my sword through your ribs!”