Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The gentleman Elizabeth now danced with reminded, oddly, of her husband. He was as tall and lean, and exuded a similar predatory stance. He had the same coloring, same build somehow, as Milton. The resemblance was so uncanny she began to suspect them somehow—
“Lady Milton, I hope you’ve not suffered too much at the hands of your husband this night.”
She stiffened in his arms. “I suffer only your comment, sir.”
His lips curled. “I am referring to the slight paid you by Lord and Lady Stevens.” His words sank in. “The Ton do not look favorably upon a purchased Scottish Barony.”
“And who are you, sir”—Elizabeth’s eyes blazed up at him—“to question my husband’s title?”
His laugh made her skin prickle. “But I introduced myself to you already, miss.” He demeaned her further. “I am Lord Mathers, the Duke of Lennox’s heir.”
“My lord, I must insist you call me by my—”
“I beg your pardon, Lady Milton, for the slip,” Mathers murmured, though his face began to frown, and not unlike her husband when he looked displeased. “I say, madam, is that not your sister being carried off?”
Elizabeth turned, gasped, and immediately fled Lord Mathers to follow a tidy crowd down the hall. She could not believe Annabelle was here after all. Not once had she laid eyes on Bella or Papa; she’d assumed they’d forgone their invitation altogether.
The scene she stumbled onto, however, left little doubt her sister was in great distress.
Annabelle reclined upon a chaise, looking both disheveled and flushed, her ankle bandaged with her stocking while a fair-haired gentleman spoke in measured tones to Papa, whose face shone bright with disagreement.
Two ladies, meanwhile, fanned the Countess of Denbigh in rapid flutter as onlookers whispered words Elizabeth only thinly caught: disgraceful — just like the sister — utterly ruined — shameless!
She pushed her way through the crowd toward Annabelle before—
“Ooh Lizzie, is it not romantic?” gushed Lady Stanton.
Elizabeth gaped at her former neighbor. “I … beg your pardon?”
“Why, Mr. Harris has just proposed and been accepted by your sister! Such a handsome young man too, as handsome as your own charming husband. You Winthrop girls do know how to catch them.” She stifled a giggle.
Elizabeth was beyond all patience for this lady. She shoved past her to envelop Annabelle in a protective embrace. “Bella, dearest, what has happened?” she whispered into her sister’s ear.
Annabelle sank her head to Elizabeth’s breast. “I am ruined, Lizzie.” Her voice caught. “Mr. Harris has ruined me.”
Elizabeth righted herself. “Out, everyone,” she commanded as multiple heads swiveled. “This is a family matter requiring great delicacy, so I beg you, please, return to the dance. Lord Winthrop and I will see to my sister’s wellbeing.”
The Countess of Denbigh pursed her lips in clear disapproval but allowed herself to be led from the room by her entourage. The remaining gawkers followed suit, including Lady Stanton, who blew Elizabeth a parting kiss.
She ignored the impossible woman’s cheek and turned her attention to her father and the man she presumed was Mr. Harris. “I will hear from each of you now as to what has occurred.” She fixed her gaze on Harris first. “Starting with you, sir.”
“Lady Milton, I have been courting your sister ever since the happy occasion of your wedding, being so enamored of her that I—”
“Lizzie, do not listen to a word this man says!” Papa cut in. “Why, he is the very cheat who forced my hand the night I lost you to the Baron! It was in his gaming den.”
Annabelle’s face drained of color.
“Gaming den? Which?” Though recognition slowly dawned as Elizabeth looked from Harris’s hangdog expression to her father’s blustery denial to Bella’s awkward demeanor.
All three knew something she did not.
“Annabelle.” She shifted her focus. “What have you been keeping from me, sister? Is it true Mr. Harris has been courting you? Is it true you just accepted his suit?”
But before Bella could answer, the Duke of Allendale strode in with Elizabeth’s husband two steps behind him. Milton looked alarmingly unkempt.
Her husband immediately addressed Mr. Harris.
“Arty, you will escort Miss Winthrop and my wife home in your carriage. Wells,” he caught the Duke’s eye, “you will make excuses to the Earl and Countess of Denbigh for our hasty departure and the other mess we left. I trust any circulating rumors can be dealt with by yourself and the Duchess?”
“You may depend on our discretion, Jasp,” the Duke replied.
“Elizabeth, we will discuss all once I am home. Winthrop, you are coming with me, now.” And without a look back, Milton hauled Papa away.
Elizabeth was unsurprised her husband should command matters thus, but it insulted her no less. She was about to protest both his interference and indifference when the Duke himself turned to both her and Annabelle.
“Lady Milton, Miss Winthrop, the Duchess and I will do everything in our power to dispel all scandal. You are in the safest of hands with Mr. Harris to see you both home. Now, if you would be so good as to follow me discreetly, I shall arrange for Arthur’s carriage to be fetched and your wraps collected before you set off. ”
Elizabeth stared at the Duke; what the devil was going on?
“Lady Milton.” He took her arm to lead her away, Mr. Harris following with Annabelle. “Your husband has everything in hand. He will ensure this entire misunderstanding blows over and is no doubt arranging matters with your father as we speak.”
Likely true, but Elizabeth chafed to have been the last to know anything. It was a truth that burned.
“Have you no idea who that man is?” Milton snarled at Winthrop, who cowered and sniveled before him. “And have you no shame? To sell your daughter so soon after I’d given you a small fortune for Elizabeth?” He was beside himself. “What is wrong with you, to have so little honor, so little control!”
“It is you who have no honor.” Winthrop whimpered his defense. “You stole Lizzie from me, you and Harris. You rigged that game at The Leaf, I know you did. And Finch confirmed it. Said you were a cheat, said you’d counted your way to duping me. So when he offered to—”
“How much do you owe him,” Milton cut Winthrop off.
“It is not a matter of owing; it is a matter of—”
“How much, damnation.”
“That’s just it!” Winthrop cried. “It is a matter of-of having already … given.” He barely exhaled the word.
“What did you say?” Something nasty slithered down Milton’s spine.
“She…” The man began to tremble.
“What. Have. You. Done?” Milton’s fists began to tingle.
“Bella was…” The old man lost it; he began to cry.
“You didn’t.” Milton seethed.
“I’d no choice! He’d cleaned me out entirely! All the money you gave me…” Winthrop continued an inchoate litany of excuses, while Milton breathed in and out, in and out, to keep from strangling the wretch.
It took every ounce of his self-control.
When he had steadied himself, he told the idiot in as calm a tone as possible, “You mean that in place of cash you wagered your daughter to Hieronymus Finch? To Finch?” He began to spiral into anger so black it—
“Fuck!” He hurled a decanter against the wall, shattering it into shards.
Winthrop cowered in full now, blubbering that he hadn’t meant to, he’d not known what kind of man Finch was, he’d thought Harris far worse. Even Milton had tricked him that night his luck had failed…
Milton knew his own actions had steered Finch to do exactly what he himself had done.
From Winthrop’s perspective, Milton’s actions were deplorable, even if he’d merely asked for Lizzie’s hand after cleaning the man out.
Finch, however, had played the table for Annabelle outright: to own her, married or not.
Milton felt physically sick.
“Listen to me, Winthrop, you will not allow Finch near your daughter again, do you understand? Stall him when he visits; say she’s fallen ill.
I don’t care how you do it, but you must not allow that man to claim her.
He is the foulest devil to walk this earth, and he will destroy Annabelle, married or not.
I shall find a way to clear your debt, but if you so much as—”
“Baron.” The simpering lord groveled. “I’ll do whatever you ask, I swear it, only why did Mr. Harris now—?”
“Harris is doing his bloody best to outwit Finch, you fool, at my behest. He’ll not harm your daughter, and we can only hope his actions this evening have thrown Finch off his game.”
Milton shuddered at just how far this situation had gotten out of hand.
“Pull yourself together, man. Go home and keep your daughter under lock and key. From now on, you let me deal with Finch.”