Chapter 9
Nine
The Archbishop of Canterbury agreed to issue the special license only after Jane’s father signed his consent.
To Richard’s frustration, the Archbishop disregarded her grandfather’s consent because Lightwood had not been charged with a crime.
Despite his resources, Richard had not gotten any closer to finding Sir Lightwood than her grandfather had.
Since the day he learned of Lightwood’s attack on Jane, The Earl of Whitstone had been searching for the scoundrel.
Blast Hardwicke and the Marriage Act! Even if he would have voted for the legislation if he had been alive. The shortsighted law did not cover dealing with villainous fathers. Richard would personally draft an amendment if necessary.
Only two days before he must leave for Redbridge House or move the wedding date, Richard was running out of time.
His man Birch, a former Bow Street Runner originally hired to rid Richard’s estates of servants loyal to the late duchess and keep Duncan at bay, hired more men and announced a reward in every gaming hell in the city. Lightwood still eluded him.
Richard stared at the bottle of brandy on Michael’s shelf.
He had not had a drop of liquor since the morning he woke up at the house party that changed his life.
He and others suspected that a heavy sleeping draught laced the single drink he swallowed that fateful night, but he refused to risk dulling his faculties with alcohol again.
Yet sometimes he wished his inner turmoil less intense, especially the anger, and longed for a drink.
A sip to drown the grief for the daughter whom he would never know, though glad she could not grow up to learn her mother’s ways.
A glass to calm his rage at his father for putting him in a position to wed once again against his will.
A drought to alleviate his guilt for proposing to a woman desperate enough to wed him.
He was no better than the worst mercenary for asking what he was of Jane Lightwood. The brandy would dull those feelings, but only for a night. He turned away from the temptation of the bottle. Even before, he had never been given to drink to hide away his problems.
He would make this right.
He would give Miss Jane time, of course. It was one thing to force her into a quick marriage, another to demand an immediate heir. He never would demand, not even if in five years…
He had never forced the duchess physically, though he begged and bargained with her to give him an heir. Capitulating to the duchess’s many demands. They had both been selfish. Neither gaining what they wished.
Dash it all! Was there a way this mess or a rushed marriage could end well? Was destroying a young woman’s life worth saving the dukedom?
Richard answered the question many times over the past week.
Hundreds of people relied on him. Most would be destitute after only a year or two under Duncan’s direction.
And if there were another year like this where summer did not exist, resulting in poor harvests, there would be more devastation and even death.
Michael entered the room. “You are angry.”
“Not at you.”
“I know.”
How did his cousin who missed so much, and without guidance would be swindled at every turn, know his emotions so well?
“Is it about Jane?”
“Partially. I am doing your young sister-in-law wrong.” Unable to stand his cousin’s scrutiny. Richard turned to the window.
Michael sat. “I think not. Her current situation has become untenable. Lightwood has little control over any other aspect of his life other than the estate at York and Jane. With Rose’s schooling provided by his father-in-law, he has little say in his youngest daughter’s life.
He detests York. That leaves Jane. We protect her all we can, but when he demands she return to Kellmore Manor we can only be grateful the summons is not Lightwood Manor.
At Kellmore she has the Godderidges nearby to look out for her. ”
The darkened window reflected Richard’s face back to him. “She will be free of her father soon enough. She will never be free of me.”
“You are a far better situation.”
“But she deserves better than me.” The incessant chatter about finding a love match from Michael’s youngest sister Moria, drilled the fact that most women wanted love in their marriages into Richard’s skull. Love which he could never give.
Oblivious to Richard’s thoughts Michael continued, “Philippa has long suspected that their father takes his anger out on Jane. The attempted theft and assault after Michaelmas is the worst Philippa knows about. However, that comes a month after Lightwood killed Jane’s beloved dog.”
“He what?” Richard balled his fists. When he found Lightwood, the man would pay.
“Sir Galahad died a week after Lightwood kicked the dog down the stairway. It was not the first time the dog had been injured. Jane is trading her current situation for one where she will never be slapped again or worse. You saved Philippa and George from Felton. This marriage saves her.”
“I would never raise my hand against a woman.” But a man? One who hurt his own daughter? Richard had no qualms about hitting such a person.
“I know. You never ever yelled at the duchess, though you often grumbled rather loudly.” Michael had the audacity to laugh. “Jane will be safe with you. Which is more than anyone else can offer her.”
“He killed her dog? And she named the mutt Sir Galahad?” Richard was not fond of the yappy little dogs some society matrons kept. It was ten times worse when their daughters kept them.
“Yes, on both counts. Only not a mutt. Purebreed, the runt of a foxhound litter. Smart little thing. Hated Lightwood.”
That was something. At least the ghastly named animal was a proper dog, even if he was little. The dog had good taste.
A footman came to the door. “Your Grace, my Lord, Sir Lightwood is here.”
“Alone?” Richard turned from the window.
“Yes. He wants the reward for finding himself.” The well-trained footman’s face remained impassive.
“I did not anticipate meeting him here. Where would you prefer we go, Michael?”
Michael thought for a minute. “The mews would be fitting. However, the drawing room might be best. It is the furthest from the nursery, and I have no wish to wake my son.
I assume you would like my presence?”
“Yes.” Richard turned to the footman. “Please send for my solicitor with all haste.”
The footman turned to leave.
“No, I have a better idea. Prepare the Viscount’s oldest and most uncomfortable carriage. Lightwood will face me in my own study.” A place Richard could control. He gave orders to Michael’s butler to have the necessary witnesses summoned to Kenworth House, his London residence.
Richard traveled in his own coach along with Michael. While Lightwood, accompanied by well-paid footmen, traversed the roughest meandering route possible. Richard arrived at the residence with a full ten minutes to prepare.
Richard’s footmen flanked Lightwood as he entered the room.
Richard sat behind his imposing mahogany desk.
A neat stack of papers, pen, and ink the only items on the highly waxed surface.
Michael at one side in a comfortable leather chair, and the solicitor sat at a small table to the other side of the desk.
“I’m a here fa ma reward, Ya’Grace,” slurred Lightwood.
Richard turned to his cousin. “Viscount, is it not proper for the highest-ranking peer in the room to speak first?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Carmichael, is it legal for a man as inebriated as Sir Lightwood to sign legal documents?”
“While not expressly against the law, it is unadvisable,” answered the solicitor.
“Lightwood, I need you to sober up quickly. I understand shocking news can have that affect on people, as well as copious amounts of coffee. We shall try both.” Richard nodded to a footman. “Now sit, Lightwood, before you fall down. I have no patience for you.”
The footmen frog marched Lightwood to a mouse-eaten chair that had been pulled from storage above the mews. The worst chair his staff could find on short notice. It was a wonder such a thing existed, as Richard and his mother tried to keep even the lowest of servants’ rooms in decent order.
Lightwood squirmed immediately upon sitting. Good, the man would not doze off if he were uncomfortable. Which may have something to do with the horseshoes hastily stuffed in the holes of the semi-hollow cushion.
“Viscount, do you attest that this is your father-in-law, Sir Felton Lightwood, Baronet?”
“Yes. Though he looks somewhat thinner than when I last saw him.”
“That is to be expected. Did you know what my friend Sir John Ryeland, Earl of Whitstone discovered while searching for his disgraceful son-in-law?”
Michael smirked, playing the part they rehearsed. “Would that be that the Baronet’s mistress threw him over? Or that his debts are so enormous that even the seediest of gaming hells refuse him entrance?”
“Dat darn Dalrymple’s fault.” Lightwood swayed in his chair. “‘E ruined my good name.”
Carmichael made a strangled sort of cough.
Richard ignored the sound as he too struggled not to laugh at the foolish man before him.
The man who would soon be his father-in-law.
What had he ever done to be shackled with two such relations in his life?
At least his former father-in-law taught him how to deal with the future one.
Unlike his deceased wife’s father, Felton Lightwood would never get the best of Richard.
The footman returned with a carafe of coffee.
“Lightwood, your coffee is here. Since I need you to sign these contracts, I suggest you start drinking until you are fit to understand what you are hearing, reading, and signing. As far as Mr. Dalrymple, your spreading falsehoods caused any ruin you have experienced. Even my late wife didn’t believe the rumors and defended Dalrymple.
” A fact as shocking as it was true as the woman reveled in gossip and the ruin of others.
Yet even she could not countenance the false rumor spread by Lightwood was aimed at Isabel Godderidge, now Dalrymple.
His wife had even urged him to interfere, since Michael’s older sister was married to Isabel’s brother.
It may have been the only decent thing his wife had done this past year.
Lightwood took the tin mug from the footman without answering or defending himself.
Richard drummed his fingers on his desk. “Lightwood, do you know why I offered a reward for your location?”
“Because my arse of a —”
Richard stood and his heavy chair scraped along the marble floor. “You mean the Earl of Whitstone? You will refrain from name-calling in my home.”
“Correct ya’Grace. My father-in-law falsely accuses me of breaking into my own home. But I needs the money, so I came to collect.”
“Your home? Do you mean Kellmore Manor, which is one of the three entailed properties of Whitstone?” The growl in Richard’s voice needed no acting.
“Er, yes.” For the first time, Lightwood looked nervous.
“And did you not violently attack and injure one of your daughters that night?”
Lightwood lifted his chin. “The law gives me the right to punish my own children, and she was being impertinent.”
With effort, Richard kept from balling his fist. “And how was she doing that?”
Lightwood finished a long draught of his coffee. “That would be personal, between father and daughter.”
“Viscount, can you enlighten us?”
Michael narrowed his eyes at his father-in-law. “Jane refused to give him the jewelry she inherited upon her mother’s death.”
“I see. So Lightwood, you broke into a property not owned by you and attempted to take by force items that by law belong to your daughter.” Richard fought to keep his tone even.
“It was not like that. I needed—”
“I don’t recall asking you a question, Lightwood. However, I believe that most judges would find both to be crimes. Do you concur, Carmichael?”
“I believe so, Your Grace.”
Lightwood’s eyes widened. Good, he was beginning to sober.
Richard sighed dramatically. “If it were up to me, I would propose a Bill of Attainder to have you stripped of your titles and lands when Parliament convenes in January. Unfortunately, I do not think your crimes equate to treason, so it will probably fail.”
“Pity that,” said Michael. “However, such extreme action would harm his family, and Jane and Rose are still underage.”
“Yes, you would na want to hurt my dear Rose or Jane.” Lightwood’s slur almost disappeared.
Progress.
Richard waited until Lightwood looked directly at him. “Fortunately, Jane has accepted a proposal of marriage.”