Chapter 15
Ipray that all you say is true and will prove itself to be.
Quite why those words tumbled repeatedly through his mind, Jonathan did not know.
They had lingered there ever since Lady Susanna had spoken them a full week ago, and even as they had danced the waltz, he had heard them whisper back into his thoughts.
Seven days had passed since then — seven days of restless nights, of pacing the study until the candles guttered, of composing and discarding letters he could not send — and still the words clung to him.
How much he wanted her to trust him! He could not berate her for feeling as she did, for it was more than understandable given what she had endured at his hand.
“You are scowling again.”
Jonathan turned his eyes towards his brother as the carriage made its way towards their solicitors.
The streets were busy with the noise of London — the rattle of other carriages, the calls of street vendors, the distant bark of a dog somewhere in the alleys behind Cheapside.
Morning light fell in patches through the carriage window, and Jonathan watched the shadows pass across his brother’s face and thought, not for the first time, how much their positions had reversed.
Last year, it had been Tunbridge in crisis, Tunbridge who had needed saving.
Now it was Jonathan who felt the ground shifting beneath him.
“You would be too if you had the same thoughts as I.”
“And what are they?”
With a grimace, Jonathan looked away. “I was thinking about the ball last evening. Lady Theresa was very forward indeed, and I had a somewhat unpleasant conversation with Lady Maude later in the evening.”
“Lady Maude?”
Jonathan glanced back at his brother. “The second daughter to the Duke of Somerset. She and I were introduced last Season but she did not seem to remember the acquaintance. Once she was reminded of it, she scowled very darkly indeed and suggested to me, in a quiet voice so no one else might overhear, that my attentions would be better served fixed to another.” Remembering that he had not shared with his brother anything about his own interest in Lady Susanna, Jonathan snorted.
“I still cannot be certain what it was she was attempting to suggest to me, but I have to admit, both herself and Lady Theresa brought some unpleasantness to the evening.”
“And yet,” Lord Tunbridge replied, “that is not what is sitting heavily on your mind, I am sure of it.”
Jonathan dropped his gaze to the floor of the carriage, irritated that his brother had been able to ascertain such a thing. Then again, he thought, Tunbridge had always been able to know when Jonathan had been lying.
“You will need to tell me something, brother,” Lord Tunbridge said firmly.
“We are on our way to the solicitors so that you can demand some answers from them over some matter or other – something you have not as yet shared with me which leaves me in a very great confusion. I am sure that you did struggle last evening with Lady Maude and Lady Theresa but I am also quite sure that they are not the reason for the frown on your face which you have been wearing ever since you stepped into the carriage.”
Casting his brother a sidelong glance, Jonathan looked out of the window again.
He could not hide from this. “Very well.” His eyes jumped from one thing to the next.
“The reason we are going to speak to the solicitor is that I have discovered that with one particular request, they gave me some false information instead of the truth.”
There came a breath of silence. “That is serious indeed.”
“Yes, it is.”
“And you do not trust them now?”
Jonathan hesitated, then looked back at his brother.
“It is not that I cannot trust them. I want to understand where they gained their information from, for it is highly related to another situation, another circumstance where I found myself deeply involved with another. I then stepped back from that connection because of what they told me.”
“And if it is false, then you have done so for nothing.” Lord Tunbridge’s expression cleared. “Might I ask the name of the person you were connected to?”
Closing his eyes briefly, Jonathan let out a breath of frustration. “You will not relent, will you?”
“I simply cannot understand why you would not tell me the truth,” his brother responded. “It is not as though I am a dreadful gossip, nor that I intend to share whatever it is you tell me with the ton.”
“You have had enough to endure,” Jonathan responded, with another glance at his brother before tugging his gaze away again. “This is my own doing and my own fault.”
His brother’s only response was to fold his arms and lift an eyebrow.
Jonathan sighed loudly, but Tunbridge stayed silent.
“Very well!” he exclaimed, aware of the frustration in his voice. “Last Season, I was eager to court a young lady. However, there were some… concerns which –”
“You mean to say that your concerns were over my foolish endeavors,” Lord Tunbridge interjected. “I had lost a great deal of money, and my own estate was under threat, since I had been foolish enough to wager it.”
Recalling the moment his brother had confessed that truth to him, Jonathan winced visibly. “Yes, I recall.”
“It was only because of your actions on my behalf that Lord Moncrieff gave up his claim to my estate.”
“He cheated,” Jonathan stated, as his brother scowled.
“If you recall, I played with him myself, without his awareness as to who I was. When it became clear to me that he was playing in an underhanded manner, that gave me all the leverage I required to pull back your debts. He dared not risk being exposed, given his title and standing.” His lips curved ruefully.
“I am sure if he were here in London, he would not be in the least bit pleased at my being acquainted with his daughters.”
Surprise widened his brother’s eyes.
“You need not think of that at present, however.” Waving one hand, Jonathan drew the conversation back to himself.
“As I was saying, I thought that once I was sure all was well and that Lord Moncrieff was not going to demand anything further, I would return to this young lady and make her an offer of courtship which I then intended to lead to engagement. However, I received a letter from Lord Blackwood, warning me that there were significant concerns regarding her father. There were debts he had not paid, investments which had been poorly made but also appeared to be linked to some nefarious things.”
“And you would trust Lord Blackwood’s word.”
“Indeed,” Jonathan replied, somewhat relieved that his brother understood.
“I then went to my solicitors and asked them to make some discreet enquiries regarding this gentleman. They returned to me a short time later and confirmed that yes, there were significant debts and some investments were questionable.”
Lord Tunbridge frowned. “But now you say that you are going to speak with them about the false information they gave you. Does that mean that –”
Jonathan nodded, breaking off his brother’s question.
“Yes, it means precisely that. It means that there were no debts, no questionable investments. And I want to know why they told me such a thing, or I should like to know the evidence they discovered to prove those things to me. It was only a year ago, so they cannot have forgotten the details!”
“I see.” His brother’s frown deepened. “That is a significant concern, brother.”
“Indeed, it is, which is why I want you present,” Jonathan replied, as the carriage came to a stop.
A sudden tightness gathered in his chest. He had spent so long being the strong one — the elder brother, the protector, the one who solved problems and bore burdens in silence — that asking for help felt almost like a confession of weakness.
But he was weaker without Susanna, and he knew it.
“We must together hear what is said so we can decide whether or not those we use for our most private and confidential affairs are to be trusted.”
Lord Tunbridge placed a hand on his shoulder. “You have always stood with me, Lancashire. I am honored that you would let me stand with you.” The simplicity of the words, and the quiet sincerity behind them, loosened something in Jonathan’s chest that he had not realized was closed off.
“Mr. Stevenson.” Jonathan lifted his chin, noting how the fellow before him had lost some of his color. “I have explained to you my concerns and my confusion. I now expect an explanation.”
Mr. Stevenson wrung his hands, his eyes darting from one side of the room to the other as if he was trying to find a way to escape.
“I can only apologize, Lord Lancashire. I am quite certain that the information we shared with you was correct. It may well be that the Duke of Somerset has recovered significantly since then and –”
Jonathan shook his head, then sliced the air with his hand, silencing Mr. Stevenson.
“I will not accept that. The Duke was supposedly in such a significant amount of debt that he would have been quite unable to recover so well within less than a year’s time!
I was informed that he was in a significant amount of debt and that his investments were questionable.
You told me those very things yourself. I demand to know where you found such information.
” Just as I should have demanded this time last year.
Closing his eyes, Mr. Stevenson swallowed obviously, as Jonathan and his brother shared a glance.
To Jonathan’s eyes, the man was trembling, which suggested either fear or a chill – and given it was the height of summer, Jonathan presumed it was the former.
What was the matter with the fellow that he would be so upset?
“Lord Lancashire, I must beg of you to understand. I shared only what I thought to be true. I personally spoke to the Duke’s solicitors, since we are trusted friends.”
This made Jonathan’s eyebrows lift. “You spoke to the Duke of Somerset’s solicitor?”
Mr. Stevenson opened his eyes. “Yes, that is so. Mr. Graves and I are very good friends, you understand. We have been so for over twenty years, and I would never even think to disbelieve him.”
“Did he show you any papers or the like?” Lord Tunbridge asked, as Mr. Stevenson frowned. “We must know what it was that convinced you to take what was said as the truth.”
Looking down at the floor, Mr. Stevenson shook his head. “He showed me nothing, my lord. As I have said, he is a man that I trust without hesitation for his word is his bond.”
“But loyalties can be bought,” Jonathan muttered, passing one hand over his eyes as Mr. Stevenson lifted his head sharply, his gaze suddenly and surprisingly piercing.
“Not for Mr. Graves,” he said, his tone harsher now. “He is the very best of men – he and his whole family are upstanding members of society. You must understand, my lord, that to have even a hint of doubt over one’s loyalty is to ruin a man’s employment and take away his security.”
Taking this in, Jonathan felt humbled. He had not thought about things in that way, he supposed. Perhaps he ought to be a good deal more careful in what he said aloud. “You are quite right, Mr. Stevenson.” Rising from his chair, he nodded to the fellow. “I appreciate your honesty.”
Mr. Stevenson blinked. “You – you have nothing more for me, my lord?”
Jonathan shook his head no.
“You are not to…” Mr. Stevenson trailed off and, understanding the fellow’s concern, Jonathan looked back at him over his shoulder.
“No, there is nothing you need to be concerned about, Mr. Stevenson,” he replied, hoping this was reassurance enough. “I will not be taking my business elsewhere or the like. You have served this family for a long time and shall do so for some time still, I hope. Good day.”
As Jonathan turned to leave, his gaze caught on a leather-bound ledger lying open on the edge of Stevenson’s desk — a visitors’ log, of the sort that solicitors kept to record appointments and callers.
His mind, sharpened by weeks of suspicion, catalogued the detail before he could think to look away.
The most recent entries were written in Stevenson’s careful hand: dates, names, brief notes of purpose.
Most were familiar — estate matters, trust inquiries, the ordinary traffic of legal affairs.
But one entry, dated only three weeks prior, snagged his attention like a thorn.
A woman’s name. Mrs. Hartwell. Purpose of visit: Enquiry regarding the Somerset accounts.
Jonathan had never heard the name. He glanced at Lord Tunbridge, whose eyes told him he had seen it too.
Neither of them said a word. But as they stepped through the outer office, Jonathan catalogued the name silently, filing it away with the precision of a man who had learned to assemble evidence before drawing conclusions.
Mrs. Hartwell. Someone had been asking about the Duke of Somerset’s finances — and recently.
It was not proof of anything, not yet. But it was a thread, and threads, when pulled, had a way of unraveling entire tapestries.
There came a slight sound of relief from Mr. Stevenson, but Jonathan was already out of the door, his brother behind him. Climbing back into the carriage, Jonathan grimaced and rubbed one hand over his chin.
“Then it is the Duke’s solicitors that are of concern,” his brother said, as he rapped on the roof. “Might I presume that Lady Susanna or Lady Maude is the object of your affection?”
Jonathan smiled ruefully. “Lady Susanna, yes.”
Lord Tunbridge smiled. “I am glad for you, Lancashire.” His smile faded. “But why would the Duke’s solicitor tell our solicitor such untruths, if indeed they are untruths?”
“They must be,” Jonathan responded, leaning his head back.
“I will speak to Lady Susanna about the matter.” His lips curved as he recalled the determination with which she had spoken to him about finding out the truth.
“I have every certainty that she will want to go to speak to the solicitors herself.”
“And will you join her?”
“If I can.” Jonathan coupled his hands in his lap and frowned. “This is becoming all the more curious and confusing, but somehow, I hope that each uncovering leads us to the truth… and, finally, towards our joyous future.”