Chapter 5 #2
Lord Vernon huffed. “Morris was meant to do it, along with whomever else they could find, the steward or Archie’s valet. The steward was not around that day. Morris is dead, and the valet took off a day later for parts unknown.”
“Maybe the countess persuaded the late earl to change his mind about the new will.”
“Blythe wasn’t there at the signing.”
Graeme’s temper spiked at the lout’s familiar use of Blythe’s name. Had they been intimate? She’d given Lord Vernon the cold shoulder tonight but perhaps there’d been a lover’s quarrel.
The thought of her with this fellow made his hands curl into fists.
“Archie’s nurse passed through the room and said she saw Morris and the valet bent over a document on the table. Heard Morris promise to deliver it when he left after lunch.”
“Archie had a nurse?”
Lord Vernon sent him a sly smile. “He called her that. She tended to his, er, medicine and, er, other needs.”
In other words, Archie’s mistress had lived there in the family home, dosing him with opium and servicing his carnal needs. Damnation. Why had Blythe tolerated it? he wondered… Had she found a way to retrieve that new will? Would she tell him, the new earl, if she had, or would she lie?
“Devil of a thing.” Lord Vernon stubbed out his cheroot, leaving a dark circle on the stone balustrade then tossed the butt into a bush. “Suppose I ought to tell you. Archie felt bad about leaving Blythe nothing.”
“Then why didn’t he leave her another property or an income?”
Lord Vernon shrugged. “He asked me to take care of her. Good friends for years, you know. I promised him I’d marry her.”
Heat rose in him, blood pounding into his ears. The urge to throw this dastard over the balustrade to join his cheroot butt was overwhelming.
“And what does Lady Chilcombe say to that?”
“She’ll go along with it. It’s the best possible choice for her, isn’t it?
She’s been desperately trying to repair her reputation—hid away for months at some countess’s estate that only allows widows in, and now this reappearance.
Shunned all of us who were Archie’s friends even before he kicked up his toes.
But I’m afraid there’s still gossip. It’ll be the best thing for her, and I’ll get her out of your hair. ”
And if the old will holds, she’ll bring that property into your marriage. Either way, the Marquess of Diddenton would get that property he wanted so desperately.
“Lady Chilcombe is not in my hair, as you say. She is my cousin by marriage, and the Chilcombe estate will support her as long as is necessary.”
Graeme recognized another figure in the doorway.
Lord Vernon’s eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth, but Graeme spoke first.
“I should not like to hear that you’re one of those spreading gossip. I’m sure her brother will feel the same way.”
“I say.” Will Lynford appeared at his elbow. “Been looking for you, Chilcombe. What’s this about gossip and my sister?”
Lord Vernon shot Graeme an angry look and dipped his head to Blythe’s brother. “Lord Vernon Falfield at your service.”
Blythe’s much taller brother stared down at Lord Vernon. “I’m Captain Lynford. Thought I’d left the fighting behind.”
Falfield held up his hands, palms out. “No gossiping on my part, Lynford. I have the highest regard for Blythe.”
Will’s jaw moved. “You mean Lady Chilcombe.”
“Yes, Lady Chilcombe. I say, Chilcombe, you ought to bring this fellow along to White’s tomorrow. Lynford, I’ll introduce you to some of the fellows there. But now I must bid you adieu and go and mingle.”
Falfield scuttled away, and Will turned an angry gaze on Graeme.
“Who is he?”
“A close friend of the late Lord Chilcombe. He says he means to marry your sister.”
“Over my dead body. I don’t know much yet about what she’s gone through these last fifteen years but…
Blythe was made to marry one donkey’s arse; I’ll not have her forced to marry another.
Anyway, I’m pretty sure Blythe don’t want him.
” He bit his lip. “She sent me to ask if she and Lady Hermione can take the carriage home and send it back for you.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Graeme said. He’d had enough for one evening. “I’m coming too.”
Sir William Taylor's clerk greeted Graeme with a nod and then ushered him to an interior door, opening it without knocking.
“He’s here, sir.”
Graeme had sent a note arranging this time and was gratified that he wouldn’t have to wait. A good sign probably. He meant to answer any questions about the report he had sent, and more importantly, let the Foreign Office know of his interest in another assignment.
He passed through into the room lined with dark wooden shelves and paneling.
Sir William was not alone. A man in perhaps his sixties sat in a well-padded armchair angled to view both the man behind the desk and anyone entering.
Graeme had a quick impression of fine tailoring over a fit frame, white curly hair, sunken cheeks, and amber eyes, under the austere mien of a man looking down from a high place in the world.
A peer of the realm but which one?
Sir William rose and greeted Graeme; the other man did not. His superior quickly made introductions.
Lord Vernon had been wrong about his father. The Marquess of Diddenton had apparently decided to wait on the Earl of Chilcombe after all, albeit in the lair of a government official.
“I’ve had a chance to read your report. I’ve a few questions which I’ll deal with later,” said Sir William, glossing over the apparently less important business of the Crown. “Diddenton asked for some of your time this morning.”
Then Sir William left, closing the door behind where Graeme was standing.
A second chair had been placed in front of the desk. No invitation was forthcoming to utilize it.
The rudeness pricked Graeme’s temper. Pompous old prig, his son had called him, and he was reminded of one old sheik he’d encountered—stiff, haughty, and disdainful. And as dangerous as a viper.
He was an earl now, with a license to play that same game. He seated himself and nodded to the older man.
Diddenton raised an eyebrow. “You’ll know why I’m here, Chilcombe.”
Graeme settled back into his chair and picked an invisible spot of lint off his sleeve. “It would be helpful for you to tell me.”
The older man’s mouth primmed and his gaze sharpened. “I hope that you do not plan to be coy with me. My son has informed you about the problems with your predecessor’s will.”
He couldn’t very well say no. “It’s true that he has spoken to me.”
“Then you will know the court has delayed proving the will because the signed copy could not be found, nor did they wish to proceed on the matter until you returned.”
“I understood that the delay resulted because you were contesting the late earl’s will.”
“The earl made a new will before he died. There were two signed copies of that new will. I want at least one of them found.”
“Yes, I understand that would be to your advantage.” Graeme let the comment hang in the air before going on. “How do you know there were two signed copies of this new will?” he finally asked.
The color rising in Diddenton’s cheeks flamed higher and a finger twitched on the arm of the chair. “Your superior here is a close friend of mine. He has told me of your ambitions, and I am not without influence. It would be to your advantage to take this matter seriously.”
The words had dripped with disdain. What sort of person would discover a last minute will so punishing to a widow and so favorable to himself?
The sort that would send his son scurrying and sniffing around Blythe and himself. But he wasn’t Diddenton’s son and he didn’t have to kowtow to him. He’d been schooled by some of the greatest snobs in international diplomacy. “And what is it you suggest I do?” he prodded.
“Find it.” This time, two fingers had twitched.
“I know it was signed. There were servants who saw that it was signed. The one copy never reached the solicitor in London. The late Lord Chilcombe claimed the other was placed in the muniment room for safekeeping. It’s not there.
Both copies might be somewhere at Risley Manor. Or someone took them.”
“The steward—”
“Bah. Claims to know nothing of it. He wasn’t there at the signing. He didn’t return to Risley Manor until just before the earl’s death.”
Would Blythe have taken one or both copies? It would be understandable. Unethical, illegal, as well. A crime, but an understandable one.
“Speak with Jarrow, the magistrate. He searched the house for me.”
“For you?”
Diddenton’s eyes gleamed at his reaction. He stood. Reflexively, Graeme did as well and regretted it almost immediately. Diddenton didn’t deserve such courtesy.
“There’s a plum assignment at the Persian court.” Diddenton walked to the door. “It won’t be available for long.”
Graeme watched as the door closed on the man, shaking his head. He’d wanted a juicy assignment, one in a hotbed that challenged his skills. He didn’t have to leave England at all.
Diddenton wanted that land badly. Why?
If the will couldn’t be found, Diddenton would sue Graeme for the property, but that meant the marquess would have to produce more documents related to the land dispute, documents that perhaps didn’t at present exist.
If the new will was found, Blythe would sue the new Earl of Chilcombe to honor the contract made by his predecessor.
He settled back into his chair and waited for Sir William’s return, contemplating his next steps. After this meeting ended, he would call on the Chilcombe solicitor. It was time to have a look at those records. And then he’d run Morley down at White’s.
It was a fact that Diddenton traded in opium, and Archie had been addicted to the vile substance. Would Diddenton have gone as far as murder to push the matter along?