Chapter Fifteen
That afternoon Adrian met Ophelia, Josiah James, and Lady Elise in Mr. Soane’s chambers off Lincoln’s Inn.
Soane received the unusual party without visible surprise. A coal fire smoked in the grate, doing little against the January chill. He was a spare, dry man who had managed the Calder affairs for twelve years and considered most displays of emotion evidence of disordered bookkeeping.
The signed marriage articles lay on his desk beside Fenwick’s note and the rejected draft. Around them were several memoranda produced by the inquiries Adrian had authorised.
Soane had learned a great deal in a few days.
He had traced several of Markham’s principal creditors and acquired one small gaming debt through an agent. Better still, he had secured the promise of first refusal upon two larger notes, and he had discovered that Sir Hugh Fenwick was not the only lender shown an interest in the James portion.
“A Mr. Bellamy advanced Lord Markham a substantial sum in October,” Soane said. “Bellamy was assured that his note would take priority against the bride’s fortune after marriage.”
The same priority Fenwick had been promised.
Josiah swore under his breath.
Soane rested one finger on the rejected draft.
“The difficulty is that neither promise corresponds with the signed articles.”
Ophelia sat beside Adrian, reading the documents closely, missing nothing. The shy, dull Miss Jones had vanished entirely. Her pen moved over a sheet beside her, dates and sums accumulating in a small, decisive hand.
Josiah watched her work with an expression Adrian could not read.
Ophelia looked up.
“The final articles were signed nine days before Sir Hugh advanced the money, twelve days before Bellamy signed his agreement.”
“Yes,” Soane said.
“Markham knew by then that the portion would pass to trustees. He would receive the agreed income after the marriage, but he could not assign the principal because it would never become his.”
“Correct.” Soane was watching her with interest.
“Yet he showed Sir Hugh the rejected draft, which gave him wider control, and promised Fenwick the very first claim upon money to which Markham held no title at all: and then he promised the same first claim to Bellamy.”
Soane inclined his head. “Precisely.”
Josiah rose and began to pace.
“He borrowed on my daughter’s fortune before the wedding. Borrowed twice upon the same expectation and lied about the terms.”
“At least twice,” Soane said. “There may be others.”
“Is it fraud?” Adrian asked.
“It may be actionable misrepresentation. Whether it amounts to fraud that could be proved in court is a question for counsel. The immediate value is practical rather than criminal.”
Ophelia set down her pen.
“If the creditors learn that the security does not exist, they will call the notes.”
“And others will follow,” Soane said. “Markham’s credit may collapse before his claims against Mr. James reach a hearing.”
Josiah stopped pacing. “Then call them.”
Adrian looked at Ophelia. “What do you want?” he asked.
Josiah made an impatient sound. “He has threatened to ruin us.”
“He threatened you both,” Adrian said. “The decision belongs to both.”
Ophelia studied the columns she had made.
“If we destroy his credit without warning, he will have no reason to withdraw the suit. He may pursue it out of spite even while the bailiffs carry away his furniture.”
“Likely,” Soane said.
“Then the debts are a lever, more useful to be used for that purpose rather than vengeance.”
Pride flared through Adrian, sudden and unwarranted. He had no right to display it, so he said nothing.
“What terms?” Josiah asked.
“Mutual releases,” Ophelia said. “Markham abandons every claim against me and Papa arising from the engagement, settlement, or wedding expenses. Papa abandons any claim concerning Markham’s false representations, provided the creditors are satisfied from another source.”
“I will not pay his debts,” Josiah said.
“No,” Adrian replied. “I will.”
Ophelia turned to him. “Not as a gift to me?”
“No. I would take assignments of the debts. Markham would owe Calder instead of Fenwick, Bellamy, and the others. I could suspend enforcement for as long as he abided by the agreement.”
“And call them if he did not,” Soane said.
Adrian nodded.
Ophelia considered.
“It might work.”
“It may not,” Soane warned. “Markham could refuse and dare us to expose him.”
“Then the creditors learn what he promised them,” Adrian said.
“And London learns why,” Josiah added.
Ophelia’s face tightened. She shook her head.
Adrian understood. A public battle would spread Markham’s words about her through every drawing room. And her name had been bandied about quite enough already.
Josiah sat down heavily. “I should have heard you before, my girl.”
Ophelia looked at her father. “Hear me now.”
“I am trying.”
It fell short of an apology, but it marked a beginning all the same.
Soane gathered the documents into order.
“I will have counsel draft the releases. No debts will be purchased until Miss James and Mr. James approve the language. In the meantime, I shall continue tracing the remaining creditors.”
“And Markham?” Adrian asked.
“Someone must offer him the terms.”
“I will.”
Ophelia’s gaze sharpened. “Do not fight him.”
“I had planned to crush him with the weight of my moral disapproval.”
“I mean it, Calder!”
“So do I.”
She held his gaze a moment longer, then nodded.
It felt less like permission than trust. Adrian intended to deserve it.
He had sent Markham a note asking him to meet at their club, and went straight there from the meeting with Soane.
Markham arrived clearly expecting an ally. The card room was hushed at that hour, all worn leather and the smell of coffee and old cigar smoke.
“There you are,” he said, dropping into the chair opposite Adrian. “Your mother has been in despair over your disappearance. Wales, of all places. I should have thought you knew better.”
“I have learned several things in Wales.”
“So I hear.”
Markham’s smile sharpened.
“The James girl has been taken up by your aunt. A clever bit of theatre, bringing her back under ducal protection. It will not alter the articles.”
“I asked you here to give you the opportunity to withdraw your claims.”
Markham laughed, incredulous. “Why should I? There’s a fortune at stake, whether I marry the chit or not!”
“The marriage will not happen. Ever.” Adrian felt a hot flash of rage that Markham still thought it might.
“That remains to be seen.”
“No. It does not.”
Markham’s amusement faded.
“Miss James has refused you. Her father will not compel her.”
“Josiah will do whatever preserves his business.” Markham sneered.
“You misjudge him.” Adrian kept his hands loose on the arms of his chair. “You will abandon the suit and sign releases concerning Miss James and her father.”
“Or?”
“The terms will be put to you formally. I advise you to consider them.”
Markham leaned back, eyes narrowing, clearly turning over his mind what terms Adrian might be offering.
“Do not be a fool, Calder. Whatever tale she told you, she is a merchant’s half-caste daughter with more money than judgment.
You cannot mean to set yourself against a man you have known half your life for her. ”
The last remains of an old friendship settled into ash inside Adrian. “I believed her before I came here,” he said. “I came to give you the opportunity to withdraw before this became public.”
Markham’s face changed. “You want her.”
“That is none of your concern,” Adrian said stiffly.
“It is very much my concern if a duke is bedding my betrothed.”
Adrian stood, and only the promise he had made to Ophelia not to fight Markham restrained him from putting his fist in Markham’s face. “Speak of her so again and you will learn the limits of my restraint.”
Markham rose too. “You are threatening me?”
“I am warning you. There is a difference. Mr. Soane will send the terms tomorrow. Read them carefully.”
“You always were weak, Adrian. Your grandfather knew it. Charming, pleasant, and soft at the centre.”
The words found the old wound, but they did not sting.
“Perhaps,” Adrian said. “Yet here I am, the one dictating terms to the man who borrowed against money you never owned.”
Markham went still.
It was only an instant, but Adrian saw the fear.
Then the smile returned.
“I do not know what you mean.”
“You will.”
Adrian left him standing beside the fire.
He did not look back.
Daventry House was in splendid disorder.
The Twelfth Night party would be that very evening.
Chandeliers had been lowered for cleaning, mirrors polished, furniture shifted, and fresh greenery brought in to replace what had browned.
The scent of beeswax polish and hothouse hyacinths fought for dominance in the hall.
The kitchens roared below stairs. His mother stood in the middle of the drawing room, directing footmen, florists, and musicians as though she commanded a small, mutinous army.
She saw Adrian and dismissed everyone within earshot. “Where have you been?”
“With Markham.”
“Then you know how shamefully he has been treated.”
“I know how shamefully he has behaved.”
The Marchioness stared at him.
Adrian had imagined this conversation through half the night. In none of those imaginings had his mother looked suddenly old. Firelight caught more grey in her hair than he remembered from Michaelmas.
“What has he told you?” she asked.
“Very little. Ophelia James told me what he said of her before the wedding. I believed her. I confronted him today and heard enough from his own mouth to end any doubt.”
“Ophelia James.”
“Yes.”
“So it is true. Elise has been hiding her.”
“With Miss James’s permission, I can tell you the whole of it.”
His mother sat.
Adrian remained standing until she gestured impatiently at the chair opposite.
He did not repeat every word Markham had used. He told her enough. He described the false promises made to creditors, the threats levelled at Josiah, and, worst of all, the contempt beneath Markham’s intention to marry a woman whose money he wanted and whose heritage he despised.
His mother resisted each point.
Crispin had been angry, and young men often spoke carelessly among friends. Ophelia must have misunderstood him. Josiah James had pursued the match as eagerly as anyone, a tradesman looking to marry his daughter to a peer. A frightened girl’s report could not outweigh years of knowing a man.
Adrian did not charm her away from anger when she turned it upon him. He answered each objection plainly.
At last she said, “You have known Crispin since Oxford.”
“Yes.”
“I have loved him like a second son.”
“I know.”
“And you ask me to believe this woman against him.”
“I ask you to hear her before you decide she is lying.”
His mother looked at him with a searching intensity. “Do you love her?”
Adrian could have evaded. He had evaded questions more difficult and less dangerous.
“Yes.”
The word altered the room.
His mother closed her eyes and sighed. “Oh, Adrian.”
“I did not come to ask permission.”
“No. I see that.”
“I came because tomorrow is your house and your party. I will not use either without telling you what I intend.”
“And what is that?”
“If Markham signs the releases, Miss James will return to society under her own name with her father and Lady Elise beside her. If he refuses, she may choose to confront him openly. Either way, I intend to stand with her.”
“At my party.”
“Only if she wishes to attend and you are willing to receive her.”
The Marchioness rose and walked to the window. Beyond the glass, servants were lighting the lamps along the entrance.
“You ask me to set London by the ears.”
“London is already listening at doors. We may as well give it something true to hear.”
“That sounds like your father.”
“I hope not entirely.”
A reluctant sound escaped her. It was not quite a laugh.
She turned back.
“Bring Miss James to me tomorrow at noon. Alone, except for Elise. If I am to receive her before half of London, I will first hear her with my own ears.”
“Whether she comes is her decision.”
His mother’s brows rose.
“You have become tiresome in Wales.”
“So I am told.”
“And if she refuses to meet me?”
“Then she refuses.”
The Marchioness studied him for another long moment.
“Very well. Ask her.”
Adrian rose.
At the door, his mother stopped him.
“If what you say is true, I have been a fool.”
Adrian thought of every time he had laughed at Markham or allowed silence to stand in place of courage.
“Then we have both been fools.”
“That is not comforting.”
“No. But it is company.”
He left Daventry House and went out into the wet January night.
Tomorrow Markham would receive the proposed agreement. Tomorrow Ophelia would decide whether to face the Marchioness and, after that, the glittering judgment of London.
Adrian could open doors for her. He could place money, rank, and influence behind her choice.
He could not walk through them in her stead.
For the first time, he understood what love actually asked of him: not to carry another person’s weight for them, but to stand near enough to take hold when they asked, and to trust them to say when.