30. Lord Creswell’s Disappointment
Lord Creswell’s Disappointment
The study of Lord Creswell was a sanctuary of order, where every item had its place. Law books marched in obedient rows along mahogany shelves; maps hung crisp and uncreased; and the inkwell gleamed with the smug satisfaction of a thing that had never been knocked over.
At the center of the room, Lord Creswell sat behind his mahogany desk, contemplating a document bearing a most satisfying number of clauses.
He was a man who liked his arguments air-tight, and his future arranged with military efficiency—beginning, of course, with his intended wife.
The world outside his study might be unpredictable, but within these walls, Lord Creswell was the master of his domain.
His quill hovered above his paperwork when the study door shuddered beneath three percussive knocks.
“Enter,” he called, his voice authoritative.
A footman entered. “Morning callers, my lord.” He offered a card etched with naval insignia. “They await in the blue saloon.”
Edwin smiled. “Show them in. And bring Madeira—the ‘09 vintage.” He stood, adjusting his cravat in the mirror above the fireplace. After tugging at his waistcoat, he was ready to greet Miss Harrington, a woman whose future he had already envisioned as his own.
“Admiral Sir John Harrington and Miss Harrington, my lord,” announced the footman, ushering them into the study.
“It’s an honor to receive you both. Please, make yourselves comfortable,” he gestured to the armchairs before his desk. “Miss Harrington.” He bowed over her gloved hand, as she sat. “You honor my humble home.”
“We’ve news to stiffen your mainsail, Creswell” Sir John announced, thumping the carpet with his cane. “My girl means to give evidence.”
A crystal decanter clinked as the footman poured out his master’s best vintage.
“Evidence regarding—?” Creswell kept his tone light.
“Rudi Bittermann’s propensity for abuse. And that mangy brute’s mistreatment of Miles’s hound. It must be a weak case you’re running, all smoke and quicksilver. Lulu here can blow their keel out proper.”
“Indeed, Miss Harrington? I daresay your father’s descriptions are too salty for my understanding, I believe I’m missing the point in the metaphors. Perhaps you could clarify for me. You have such a beautiful way of phrasing.”
“That’s very civil of you, my lord.” Lucinda offered a smile. “He merely suggest that beyond establishing the Bittermann’s fraudulent dealings, the matter of animal cruelty rests on shakier ground. I hope to remedy that.”
“How so, Miss Harrington?”
Lucinda leaned forward, tilting her head. “As my father said, I intend to give evidence against Mr. Bittermann, my lord.”
As Edwin heard his future bride declare her intention to incite the worst sort of public attention, he struggled for a reply. “I beg your pardon,” Creswell said, after a pause. “Perhaps I have misunderstood you, my dear. Of what can you accuse Mr. Bittermann?”
“Of ill-usage, sir, and mistreatment of an animal.”
“I see,” he said indulgently. “My dear Miss Harrington, your devotion to animal rights is admirable, but are you proposing to testify falsely for a victory on behalf of the SPCA? As a man of the law, I cannot condone such behavior.”
“Certainly not!” she replied, cheeks flushing.
“No whiff of perjury here, Creswell,” cut in Sir John. “My daughter was there, and has the bruises to prove it.” He took another gulp of wine. “An awful good drop that.” He placed the crystal ware back on the desk in front of him.
Lucinda drew her fingers through the roots at her temple to reveal a multi-colored bruise.
There was a sound like a twig snapping. Creswell discovered his quill had expired under the pressure of his grip, and laid its corpse aside.
“I’m sorry to have shocked you, my lord.
But the Bittermanns are unscrupulous. I witnessed the mistreatment of Peri myself.
I intervened, only to be struck for my trouble, but I would do so again.
Miles’s greyhound is more than a favorite in our household and he was being cruelly mistreated,” she said calmly.
“As a supporter of the SPCA, I had no intention of allowing such abuse to continue unchallenged.”
Sir John grunted assent. “Told you she’d blow the whole business sky high.”
“Purely as a matter of professional honor—may I ask whether you come now with the full knowledge and approval of the Sinclair brothers?”
Lucinda hesitated. “No.”
“My clients, whom you might imagine have a vested interest in the success of this case, have not said a word of your involvement. Why is that, Miss Harrington?”
“Out of regard for my name, sir—and what remains of my reputation—neither of them would ever permit me to appear in court. They would sooner let the case collapse than see me exposed to the gossip rags.”
“Quite.” There was a pause. The light glinted off Creswell’s signet ring as he tapped the desk, considering. “Let us set aside, for one blessed moment, the implications of your name appearing in the scandal sheets. I cannot—cannot—comprehend how you came to be involved in this affair.”
“My lord, I have here,” said Lucinda producing a folded document from her reticule.
“A full and particular account of my observations. My father is of the opinion that, preferable to open court testimony, this written statement may serve to add weight to the body of evidence before the bench and, upon private submission, induce the judge to rule against Mr. Bittermann.”
Creswell’s mind raced. Lucinda’s testimony could be the key he needed to reveal a pattern of behavior, but it also posed risks.
He thought of her reputation, the potential scandal that would taint his future wife.
Pushing that miserable thought aside, there remained the matter of the upcoming trial.
“Very well,” he said with a sigh. “Let us see what kind of tempest you’ve brought to my doorstep.”
Creswell rose, took the statement from Lucinda, and walked to the other side of the desk to refill Sir John’s glass.
To which the admiral gave him an appreciative wink.
Reclaiming his seat, Creswell read Miss Harrington’s statement with slow and deliberate care.
Upon reaching one particularly graphic paragraph, his eyes darted to her face in mute horror.
“Madness!” he said quietly aghast.
“I said she’d stiffen your mainsail,” said Sir John proudly.
Creswell frowned heavily at the man and returned to complete the document. When he had finished, he said, “This affidavit will need to be witnessed.”
“Knew you’d come round,” Sir John said, cheerfully.
Creswell looked at Lucinda again. “Have you any idea the risks you took? This is conduct unbecoming a lady! I’m afraid, Miss Harrington, I no longer know what to make of you.”
“Perhaps you never did, my lord,” she said gently. “But I do what is right, come what may.”
Creswell switched his gaze from daughter to father. “Sir John, I am sure you don’t want your daughter to admit in open court that she was in the Sixes & Sevens gaming hell. Think of the damage to her reputation.”
“I’m a sailor, sir, not a simpleton. Of course, such an outcome has been anticipated. You leave what’s my business to me.”
Lucinda, seated with the poise of a queen, met his gaze. “I am prepared to do what is necessary, Lord Creswell. Justice must be served.”
As the conversation seemed to grow repetitive, Admiral Harrington rose. “We have taken enough of your time, Creswell. You should know, that my daughter and I are settled at the Pulteney now. So if the need arises, you’ll find us there for the duration.”
Creswell inclined his head out of respect.
Once they were gone, he remained standing in the center of his study, surrounded by a lifetime’s worth of well-ordered certainties—each now feeling faintly obsolete.
He leaned a hand against Burke’s Commentaries, as though a spine of calfskin might provide moral fortitude. With a sigh, he turned back to the mantelpiece, gripping it as if to steady himself.
In the space of an hour, he had seen his carefully arranged expectations utterly overturned. He had thought Lucinda Harrington a promising prospect for marriage—young and endowed with a fortune. Instead, he had discovered a woman reckless beyond reason, undeterred by propriety.
And now she had removed to the Pulteney.
He was not fool enough to think the move was to keep her father company.
Lady Marlstone must have had a hand in it.
The timing was too convenient. If Lady Marlstone expected scandal, ejecting Lucinda from her household in advance would be a logical step.
A lady of impeachable respectability would rightly not tolerate her good name being dragged into scandal, even by association.
One thing was clear: his previous notions of Lucinda’s suitability as a bride were well and truly demolished.
With renewed determination, he strode to his desk to alter his trial strategy. If Miss Harrington insisted on upending her world, he would at least ensure she did so with the least unnecessary ruin.