The Dark Earl (41 page)
Jane laughed. “I’ve missed you. With you and Trixy married, and James away at Oxford, I have no one to amuse me. Will you invite me to dinner one evening and give me the grand tour of St. James’s Square?”
“You are most welcome anytime.” She gave Jane a knowing wink. “Perhaps I’ll persuade Thomas to invite one of his bachelor friends. That should amuse you.”
“Oh, thank you, Harry. Your powers of persuasion are formidable.”
“Next Wednesday,” the duchess decided, “we’ll have a family dinner with my married daughters and their charming husbands. Perhaps that will persuade Abercorn to spend the night at home rather than the palace.”
“Your powers of manipulation are far superior to mine,” Harry teased. “Oh, while we are on the subject of manipulation, Mother, I have a favor to ask. You have such a large staff; could you let me have one of your maids?”
“That depends on who you have in mind.”
“It’s Rose, of course. We get along so well.”
“You may ask her, but the decision must be Rose’s.”
“Thank you. I’ll go and ask her now.”
Harry found Rose in the nursery, helping Mary, one of the nursemaids. She was sewing on buttons that had come off the children’s winter clothes.
“Hello, Rose. How would you feel about moving to St. James’s Square as my personal lady’s maid?”
She jumped up and curtsied. “Lady Harriet—I mean Lady Lichfield—I’ve no training as a lady’s maid.”
“Call me Harry. You are perfectly capable of looking after my clothes, helping me dress, and going about London with me, but if you’d rather stay at Hampden House, I will understand.”
“I’d love to come, Lady Harry,” she said breathlessly. “It’s just that Lady Abercorn gives my family the clothes that her children outgrow, and she gives me food to take home on Saturdays.”
“I promise you’ll still get the clothes, and you can go home every Saturday, and not empty-handed. Is there anything else that concerns you?”
“Well . . . Lord Anson—I mean the Earl of Lichfield—is . . .” Rose hesitated.
“Dark, dominant, and rather intimidating?”
“Well, yes.”
Harry laughed. “He can be sober and straitlaced. That’s why I need you as an ally, Rose. He wouldn’t dare beat me with you there to defend me.”
Rose giggled, and then she sobered. “What will your mother say?”
“I already asked her. Though she will be loath to lose you, she said that the decision is yours.”
“Then yes, I’d love to come and be lady’s maid to the Countess of Lichfield.”
“Wonderful! Put those buttons down and I’ll help you to pack.”
October and November flew by, filled with family dinners, social invitations, and visits to the theater. Harry went with her family on the nights her husband was occupied with business, and she cherished the evenings they spent at home together.
After dinner, Thomas usually spent time at his desk in the library working on accounts connected with Shugborough and his business ventures. He often had piles of letters and paperwork to attend to. But at precisely ten o’clock, Harry always took a jug of ale and joined him in the library. Before she had poured his drink, his full attention was riveted on his beautiful wife and the paperwork was forgotten.
“I love this nightly ritual where you lure me from my work and lead me into temptation.”
“I like to share your ale.” She drank from his mug, and between mouthfuls she lifted her lips for his kisses.
“You intoxicate me,” he whispered. “I can’t wait to carry you upstairs.”
“You wouldn’t have to wait if your desk wasn’t always so cluttered,” she teased.
He slanted a dark eyebrow. “There’s always the floor.”
“You have no shame. Besides, I much prefer the carpet in our bedroom.”
He didn’t give her time to finish the ale. He swept her into his arms, held her high against his heart, and carried her up to their private sanctuary.
As promised, Harry took Trixy to the Langham Place women’s rights meeting, and when they learned that she was the Countess of Durham, they shrewdly put her in charge of the Widows and Orphans Fund. The suffragists were masters of manipulation, and by means of flattery and deference soon had Beatrix Lambton doing their bidding. To Harry’s delight, Trixy was convinced the committees couldn’t manage without her, and she attended the Friday night meetings regularly.
Harry and Thomas dined early on the last Friday in November. “I’m amazed D’Arcy approves of his wife’s visits to Langham Place.”
Harry laughed. “Don’t be silly, darling. Trixy doesn’t tell him where she goes—he only knows she’s with me. They don’t live in each other’s pocket. She says D’Arcy is out late most nights.”
“I’m guilty in that respect too, lately, but at least I’m out on business. I’m happy you are occupied on Fridays. It gives me the opportunity to meet with various nobles who own furnishings and artifacts that once belonged to Shugborough. It’s amazing how many of them are in the Lords. Word is out that I’m restoring the hall and I get tips every week. Tonight I’m meeting with Fritz, Earl Spencer. He bought some of our furniture for Althorp. Don’t wait up for me, darling.”
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you could trace who bought the black marble centaurs?”
“I’ll find out one of these days. You can rely on it.”
His dark features were so deadly serious and his tone so resolute, she shivered.
The first week of December was taken up with plans for Christmas. The Duke and Duchess of Abercorn decided they would invite the whole family to their Campden Hill estate in Kensington, and Harry was looking forward to seeing Uncle John and Fanny.
The post brought many social invitations to St. James’s Square, and Harry was sorting through a dozen envelopes that had just been delivered. A letter addressed to Harriet Anson, Countess of Lichfield, that displayed no return address caught her attention and she carried it up to her private sitting room. She sat down, opened it, and read:
I have information that the late Earl of Lichfield had his attorney change his Last Will and Testament to disinherit his son and heir unless certain conditions were met with regard to marriage.I would advise you to keep this letter confidential. If you do so, another will follow, indicating a time and place where this information may be passed on to you.
Harry’s brows drew together, and a frisson of apprehension made her shudder. The letter itself was highly disturbing.
I’ll show it to Thomas when he comes home. He must know what this is all about and will explain it to me.
I’ll show it to Thomas when he comes home. He must know what this is all about and will explain it to me.
She read the letter again, carefully, and the warning to keep it confidential jumped out at her.
It has something to do with our marriage. If I want to learn more, I must keep quiet.
She decided not to say anything to Thomas until she received the next letter. She put the note back in the envelope and secreted it in her sitting room’s writing desk.
It has something to do with our marriage. If I want to learn more, I must keep quiet.
She decided not to say anything to Thomas until she received the next letter. She put the note back in the envelope and secreted it in her sitting room’s writing desk.
That night at dinner, she waited until dessert was served, then asked casually, “What is the name of your attorney, Thomas?”
“You met him when we returned to London. Have you already forgotten? His name is Simon Kendall.”
“Yes, now I remember. Was he your father’s attorney?”
“Absolutely not. I cut all ties with the last law firm. Why do you ask?”
“Frances Cobbe at Langham Place asked if anyone could recommend an attorney.”
Harry was immediately covered with guilt at the deliberate lie and changed the subject.
Some time after dinner, she made her way to the kitchen to tell Cook which nights they would be out and which they would be dining at home.
“Clara, do you know the name of the Ansons’ last attorney?”
Clara rolled her eyes. “Martin Fowler. He was a dreadful man—spent more time here than the doctor. Her ladyship couldn’t abide him.”
“Then thank goodness we are well rid of him,” she declared. “We’ll only be dining at home on Thursday next week. You can have some time off if you like.”
“Thank you, Lady Harry. I shall go and visit my sister.”
The following morning, after a restless night plagued with worry, Harry retrieved the envelope from the writing desk and read it again. She was convinced that it came from Martin Fowler’s law office, and was determined to learn the address and beard the lion in his den. She weighed whether to take Rose along and then decided against it.
“Rose, we are invited to Montagu House tonight and everyone will be dressed to the nines. I’ve decided to wear my jade velvet. Will you lay out my corset and a starched petticoat? I have matching shoes and fan somewhere in the dressing room.”
“Don’t worry, Lady Harry. I’ll find everything you need.”
“I have to go out. I should be back by early afternoon.”
Harry took a hackney to the law district and got out at Chancery Lane. She entered the first law office she came to and made inquiries. She learned that Martin Fowler’s office was in a building on Cursitor Street.
After much searching, she found a soot-blackened building bearing a sign that read FOWLER, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW. Harry gathered her courage, raised her chin, and entered the offices. The smell of musty books assailed her nostrils. She assumed the thin young fellow with ink-stained hands, wearing wire-rimmed spectacles, was a clerk.
He looked at her agog. “Can I help you, my lady?”
“Yes. Kindly inform Martin Fowler that there is a lady here to see him.”
The fellow disappeared through a door and after a few minutes that seemed like an hour to Harry, he returned. “I will make an appointment for you, my lady.”
She tossed her head. “Appointment indeed!” She swept past the clerk, threw open the inner door, and entered the office. She stared at the man behind the desk.
He is malevolent—I mustn’t underestimate him.
“I’m here to see Martin Fowler.” She reached into her reticule, pulled out the letter, and slapped it down before him.
He is malevolent—I mustn’t underestimate him.
“I’m here to see Martin Fowler.” She reached into her reticule, pulled out the letter, and slapped it down before him.
He read the name on the envelope. “Lady Lichfield?”
“You know who I am, and you know what the letter says, since you wrote it.”
“Won’t you have a seat, Lady Lichfield?”
She picked up the letter and sat down, covering her apprehension with an air of assumed confidence. She composed her features and braced herself to hear the revelation.
No matter what the wretched man says, I must not let him see my reaction.
No matter what the wretched man says, I must not let him see my reaction.
“Since your intelligence is obvious, I will dispense with subterfuge. When the Earl of Lichfield engaged me as his attorney-at-law, I enjoyed his full confidence and became privy to his wishes regarding his estate.”
“You mean the
late
Earl of Lichfield.”
late
Earl of Lichfield.”
His eyes hardened. “In May, I prepared the Last Will and Testament for the late Earl of Lichfield and at that time he confided that he was urging his son to marry. The cost of the upkeep and restoration of Shugborough weighed heavily on his mind. Since the earl had no wealth, he pressed his son to contract marriage with an heiress.”
Harry felt her mouth go dry.
“Anson refused his father’s advice and it became a bone of contention between them. In June, Lichfield changed his Last Will to read that if his son wished to inherit Shugborough, he must wed an heiress before his father died.”
Thomas and I met in June at the Crystal Palace.
Her throat tightened.
Her throat tightened.
“Anson was determined to control his father, whose health was deteriorating rapidly. They fought on a daily basis and by July, Lichfield had no choice but to prepare a signed affidavit stating that his son would be disinherited unless he wed a wealthy wife.”
It was July when Thomas told D’Arcy that Trixy was mad about him.
Harry had difficulty swallowing. “I warrant you cannot wait to show me the signed affidavit.”
Harry had difficulty swallowing. “I warrant you cannot wait to show me the signed affidavit.”
“It was stolen from my files along with the Earl of Lichfield’s rightful Last Will and Testament.”
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