Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Leonard leaned against the wall, staring out the front window.
Everything passed by like a blur, his eyes open but unseeing.
So much had happened three days past, and now he seemed incapable of believing any of it had truly occurred.
And yet, the ring sitting on the table in the other room proved otherwise.
Not to mention the cuts and bruises all over his body being a constant reminder as well.
Even though the pain was no longer as sharp, it still remained.
A familiar form coming up the front steps of his family’s townhouse grabbed his attention.
Ambrose, ever levelheaded, would be a comfort to speak to in such times as this, when Leonard’s own mind couldn’t seem to find rest or solace.
He had called a meeting of sorts with him and Andrew, two of his most sensible friends, hoping they would speak some sense into him.
“Stanton,” Ambrose said on a rush of breath, quickly crossing the room. He had forgotten to leave his hat at the door with Fitzroy, who followed after him.
“Sir, your hat,” Fitzroy said, holding out a hand.
Ambrose jerked, then nodded as he took off his hat and gloves, then ran a hand through his sandy blond hair. “Thank you.”
Fitzroy dipped a quick bow, then turned to Leonard. “Need you anything before I leave?”
“No,” Leonard said, shaking his head. “That will be all.” And then his man of all trades was off.
“Now,” Ambrose said, taking a seat and gesturing for Leonard to do so as well. “What is going on? You had me completely worried. I almost came yesterday as soon as I received your letter.” His eyes traced Leonard from head to toe. “Whatever has happened to your face?”
“Perhaps we should wait for Andrew to arrive before I get into the ugly whole of it.” Leonard scrubbed his brow. “Fitzroy,” he yelled out.
The man scurried back into the room. “Yes, sir.”
“I do believe I will take some tea after all.” Then Leonard looked at his friend as Fitzroy took his leave. “I do not even know where to begin with the insanity of the last two weeks.”
“Does this have to do with that Gillingham woman?” Ambrose leaned back into his seat, but his gaze was direct. He would not be leaving without hearing the whole of it.
Leonard rubbed a hand over his mouth. “It might.” His heart now ached like the rest of him, remembering Honora and her bright smiles . . . and her lying, deceitful lips.
“I knew it. Something seemed off at Tristan’s.”
“Let us wait for Andrew to arrive before I get into it.”
With a sigh that spoke of impatience, Ambrose nodded. “Very well.”
The tea was rolled in by a kitchen maid, and she handed both men a cup. By the time Leonard was halfway through his drink, Langford strode into the room.
“What in heaven’s name is going on.” He took a seat beside Ambrose, helping himself to tea. “You had me worried sick after your letter.” His eyes widened. “Gads, man. Your face.”
Leonard sighed. “I do not believe I was that dramatic in my writings.”
His eyes flitted about Leonard, as if not believing what he was seeing.
“No, but for you, any form of dramatics is enough cause for concern.” He added cream to his cup, stirring it in before taking a more relaxed stance in his seat as if settling in.
“Please, do not keep us in suspense. Based on your appearance, this will surely be quite the tale.”
Where to even begin? Probably with everything that set this whole ugly affair in motion.
“I will try to keep this brief,” he said. But deep down, he wasn’t sure how he could manage that without everyone being entirely lost. “It all began with the wager.”
“I still don’t have my money, by the way,” Ambrose said, then took a rather loud sip of his tea.
“All in good time.” Leonard sat forward, clasping his hands together. “Now, Langford, you already know half the story.”
Nodding, he said, “I figured as much.”
“Yes. Well, there is much more.”
Ambrose’s brows scrunched. “Wait. What did I miss?”
Goodness, Leonard wasn’t explaining this well at all. “I had decided to sell a family heirloom to procure the funds needed to pay you all off. And in doing so, someone stole the item.”
“By golly, that is awful, Stanton.” Looking at Langford, Ambrose scowled. “How did you know about this?”
“Because I’m the one he came to for financial advice.”
Ambrose’s scowl softened as he nodded. “That makes sense, I suppose.”
“Anyway,” Leonard continued. “That is what brings Mrs. Gillingham into the equation.”
“Mrs. Gillingham? How is she involved in all of this?” Ambrose asked, leaning forward in his seat.
The room seemed to quiet in anticipation of Leonard’s story. “Because she was the one who stole the ring from me.”
And then he laid out the entire story. Every conversation, every ill-judged action on Leonard’s part, the physical fight, and how Honora returned his ring at the end of it all.
His friends sat there, eyes wide and practically bulging.
“That is what happened. And I thought you would be glad to know that your money should be delivered within a week.”
Ambrose shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m going to need a minute.”
“What am I to do about her as a client?” Langford asked, looking between the men as he gripped the arm of the settee. “If she is a thief, I cannot in good conscience keep doing her business dealings.”
“That is something you will have to decide for yourself, Andrew. If it was an inheritance from her husband, however, there is nothing dishonest about that.”
Andrew rubbed his mouth. “She is a whizz with numbers. I gave her my opinions, but she knew just where she wanted her money invested and when to move funds around.”
“Now what?” Ambrose asked, and all their eyes moved to the ring in the center of the table.
“Now, I suppose I will sell this and pay everyone off.”
“But what of Mrs. Gillingham?” Ambrose asked.
Leonard shook his head. “What of her? There is nothing there to pursue. She stole from me, lied to me, led me across the city on a fool’s errand, and got me into a fist fight.”
“So why are we here?” Ambrose asked.
Silence reigned once more. For that was the question indeed. Leonard hadn’t needed their advice regarding what to do about the wager. He now had the means to take care of that. So why had he gathered all of his friends?
Ambrose held up a hand. “Stanton, you have never mentioned a woman to any of us before. Yet you called this whole meeting simply for the task of doing just that. I want to know more before we move on from this.”
“What is there to say?” He shrugged, then fidgeted in his seat. “She is not suitable.”
“But she did claim she was going to turn a corner,” Ambrose pointed out. “And she has manners enough. That was clear when we met her at Tristan’s. But my real question is, do you like this woman?”
Leonard’s stomach tightened, but lying would do him no good. “She said she would turn a corner, and yet she didn’t at all. She had the ring the whole time.” He shook his head. “The whole blasted time!” he yelled before clamping his mouth shut and shoving his hands over his face.
The men across from him waited for his dramatics to settle. “And what did she have to say for herself?” Ambrose asked.
“Nothing. I stormed out as soon as I could.”
“I think,” Ambrose began, then paused. “You would regret it for the rest of your life if you didn’t at least go speak with her again. Something seems wrong about this entire situation.”
Langford’s head shot to Ambrose, his mouth gaping. “You are mad.”
“No,” Ambrose corrected, “I am a man in love. And I believe Leonard is as well.”
“Now, hold on a moment.” Leonard was holding a hand up, vehemently shaking his head. “I never claimed love. I had shortly found her intriguing, yes. Attractive, most certainly. Clever, without a doubt. But that is not love. Love does not do what she did.”
“What is love, Leonard?” Ambrose asked, tapping his fingers to his chin as if he were Leonard’s physician and giving him sage advice that would change his life.
“I-” He stuttered on the word. “I don’t know. You tell me since you claim to have it.”
Langford scoffed, turning his face toward Ambrose. “Now you are such an expert on love? I remember having to tell you that you were in love myself.”
Ambrose hid a smile. “What can I say? You taught me well.” He turned his attention back to Leonard. “I’m afraid this is something you will have to figure out on your own, Leonard. I would not want to take the pleasure away from you.”
Leonard’s eyes widened. “I am begging you to help me. And I am not a man to beg. But I feel like I am losing my mind.” He looked between his friends. “Please.”
“By golly,” Langford breathed. “He is in love.”
Leonard shot to his feet, his eyes wide and hands wild. “How can you tell from my incoherent musings!”
“Yes.” Ambrose nodded at Langford, and both men stood. “Most certainly in love.”
“Where are you two going,” Leonard said as the men made for the door. “I am clearly in need of help.”
They both chuckled, as if they found great amusement in his pain.
What friends they were.
“Go and speak with Mrs. Gillingham,” Ambrose said, turning back once he reached the door. “There is not much we can do for you at this point.”
And then the men had the audacity to leave.
Not even a full twenty-four hours had passed before Leonard received a letter from Langford, asking that Leonard come down to his work immediately. Which is how he came to be sitting across from him in his office.
“I did some digging,” Andrew said, shaking his head. “As I was working to get ready for my country bank, something about Mrs. Gillingham’s situation just kept nagging at me.”
Leonard nearly groaned. “Could we not discuss her, please? I know Ambrose wanted me to speak with her, and now you—who I thought was on my side—are bringing her up.”
“Yes, I am.” He stared at a file he pulled from a cabinet as he sat in the chair at his desk. “I found something,” he continued, clasping his hands over it. “And I thought you should at least know. Then you can do with it what you will.”
Leonard waited, afraid to look even more foolish than he already did. “What is it?” he finally asked.
“Honora Gillingham’s inheritance came from a woman named Mrs. Garvey.” His brow crinkled as he flipped through the file on his desk, then smoothed out when he found what he had been searching for. “Yes. A widow herself, Mrs. Garvey gave Miss Honora Gillingham two thousand pounds upon her death.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Leonard said. “Why would she say it was from her husband? Unless she wanted to make him out to be a man of better means than he was.” Ugh, he didn’t like speaking of this man. Which was petty since he was deceased and Leonard should instead be pitying him.
“I am wondering if there was ever a husband to begin with.”
“Wait.” Leonard held up a hand, closing his hands. “Why would you wonder that?”
“Because this inheritance was given to Miss Honora Gillingham. I now remember her correcting me and saying it was Mrs. But what if she truly was a Miss?”
Leonard took the paper, glancing it over. He couldn’t even speak—he just stared at it.
“But there would have to be a marriage contract,” Leonard began, but quickly stopped. It wouldn’t surprise him if she had the resources available to forge such documents. He only shook his head.
“I think Ambrose was correct,” Andrew said, tucking the page back into its folder. “You need to at least speak with Miss Gillingham.”