Valentine

Chapter Thirteen

Lawyer Crighton was not comfortable. His neighbor on the London-to-Dorchester stagecoach was a particularly fat lady festooned with boxes, parcels, and hampers. She was on her way to her daughter's confinement and clearly transporting all her worldly goods. She was also an inveterate talker and rattled on continuously with a minute description of every member of her large family and their own extended circles, until he wished every one of them a peaceful but speedy demise.

The man opposite did nothing to alleviate Mr. Crighton's discomforts. He slept throughout the journey, snoring loudly, his open mouth exuding a fetid aroma of stale beer and onions. His farmer's boots were caked with manure and his legs stretched across the narrow space between the two benches, his feet firmly planted between the lawyer's own.

A nervous lady with a canary in a cage and an obstreperous little boy completed the stage's way bill, and after the child had kicked the lawyer's shins for the umpteenth time and the fat lady had offered him a greasy bacon sandwich that turned his stomach, Mr. Crighton was ready to abandon his seat inside for the seat on the box next to the coachman. But he had on his best coat and new Hessians, and the roads were thick with white dust in the still sweltering summer heat.

It was late morning when the stage drew up in the courtyard of the Dorchester Arms, and the lawyer climbed stiffly down, bidding a heartfelt farewell to his fellow travelers. He stood pressing his hands into the small of his back to relieve the ache, squinting up at the bright sunshine.

"Well, good day to ye, Lawyer Crighton." The landlord bustled across the cobbled yard, wiping his hands on his baize apron. "It's that time again, is it?" He snapped his fingers at a liveried inn servant. "Take the gentleman's bag to his usual room, Fred. Yes, sir," he went on to Crighton, his good-natured face wreathed in smiles. "Can't think where the time goes. It'll be Christmas before we blink."

Lawyer Crighton nodded his agreement to this and followed the landlord into the cool, oak-beamed tap room.

"Ye'll take a bumper of porter, sir," the landlord said, rhetorically. The lawyer paid quarterly visits to the Dorchester Arms when he came to do routine business with his landowning clients in the county, and his tastes and habits were well-known to the innkeeper. He set a pewter tankard on the shiny mahogany surface of the bar counter. "The missus is preparin' a nice saddle of mutton for dinner, and I'll fetch ye up a bottle of best burgundy."

Mr. Crighton took a deep, revivifying swallow of porter, wiped his mouth on his handkerchief, and declared, "I'll be going to Stoneridge Manor directly, Mr. Grimsby. If you'd be so good as to have the pony put to the gig."

The innkeeper nodded, understanding that the lawyer expected an invitation to dine at Stoneridge, as had been standard practice in the days of the old earl. Of course, things might be different now, no one had yet formed a definite opinion on the new Lord Stoneridge, but with Lady Theo still at the helm things couldn't change too drastically.

"I'll be doing business with Squire Greenham tomorrow," the lawyer said deliberately. Again Mr. Grimsby nodded. The squire was not known for his hospitality, and a saddle of mutton at the Dorchester Arms would not come amiss on that occasion.

"I'll tell the ostler to see to the gig, then," he said comfortably. "But maybe ye'd like a nice meat pie as a spot of nuncheon before you go."

Lawyer Crighton acceded to this and settled down in a window alcove looking out on the busy main street of the county town. He enjoyed these quarterly visits to his country-based clients. It was more like a holiday than business, he reflected with a little nod of satisfaction, and a real pleasure to leave the dust and grime and noise of London for a couple of days.

Theo was walking down to the dower house in the early afternoon with an armful of roses for her mother's drawing room. It was very hot, and halfway down the drive she stopped and perched on a fallen log in the shade of an ancient oak, closing her eyes, inhaling the fragrance of the roses, listening to the drowsy bumbling of a bee in the clover-strewn grass at her feet.

"Theo? What are you doing?"

Rosie's curious tones brought her out of her reverie, and she turned with a smile. "I might ask the same of you. Aren't you supposed to be doing lessons at this hour of the day?"

The child took off her spectacles and wiped them on a corner of her apron. Her blue eyes were weak and vulnerable as she peered myopically at her sister. "Reverend Haversham had to go to see the bishop, so he gave us a holiday this afternoon. I'm foraging."

"For what?"

Rosie shrugged. "Anything that takes my fancy. Nothing's wasted."

Theo laughed. "So what's happening at the dower house?" She patted the log beside her.

Rosie sat down. "Emily's still weeping about Edward, and Mama's starting to become a bit exasperated, and Clarry cut her finger on the carving knife yesterday. She almost sliced off the whole top, there was blood everywhere, and she had to have the sal volatile."

This matter-of-fact recital filled Theo with nostalgia and an uprush of emotion that she had to fight to control.

"I wish you hadn't married Stoneridge," Rosie stated, tuning uncannily into her thoughts. "It's not the same without you."

"Don't be silly," Theo said bracingly. "If I hadn't married Stoneridge, we'd have lost the manor. Anyway, you can always come up and see me whenever you like."

"Mama said I wasn't to bother you for three weeks," Rosie informed her. "I wanted to come up yesterday and the day before, but she wouldn't let me, and I most particularly wanted to ask your advice about my white mice. Mr. Graybeard is getting very fat, and I'm wondering if perhaps it's not a boy after all. He could be pregnant. Do you think he could?"

"Only if he's a she," Theo said absently, her ears catching the sound of wheels on the gravel from around the corner. "I wonder who that is." She stood up as the gig from the Dorchester Arms bowled around the corner, Lawyer Crighton on the driver's seat. He drew rein as he saw them.

"Good day to you, Lady Theo," he said with clear pleasure.

"And Lady Rosalind. I trust you're both well."

"Very well, I thank you," Theo said, wondering how she could have forgotten the lawyer's invariable practice of visiting his Dorset clients on the fifteenth of every quarter. He'd be hurt and embarrassed if he realized he was unexpected, so she smiled warmly and said, "It's a pleasure to see you, Mr. Crighton. I'll come up with you to the house." Turning to her sister, she gave her the armful of roses. "Take these to Mama, there's a dear."

Rosie nodded agreeably, burying her nose in the blooms. "Are you coming to visit Mama, too, Mr. Crighton?"

"I shall certainly do myself the honor of calling to pay my respects to Lady Belmont," the lawyer declared ponderously.

"I'll warn Mama, then," Rosie said, as always saying exactly what she meant. Theo stifled her grin, hoping that Crighton hadn't noticed. Her mother found the lawyer a dead bore, not that she'd ever show it.

She swung herself up into the gig, dispensing with the lawyer's helping hand, and settled herself on the seat beside him, waving good-bye to Rosie as the pony set off up the drive again.

"Allow me to tender my congratulations, Lady Theo," the lawyer said with a little half bow. "A most satisfactory arrangement, if I might be so bold."

"Yes, I suppose it is," Theo said, thinking it was a somewhat lukewarm way of describing a marriage.

"There are a few outstanding matters to deal with," Crighton continued, taking out his handkerchief and pushing up the brim of his hat to mop his perspiring forehead. "But the details can be seen to after we've had our usual little discussion on the matter of the investments and the trusts, and the rent rolls."

"What outstanding matters?" Theo inquired with interest.

She sensed the sudden stiffness in the lawyer as he cleared his throat awkwardly. "Oh, just a few details," he said vaguely.

"Details?" Theo frowned. "My grandfather's will struck me as crystal clear."

The lawyer succumbed to a coughing fit, his face reddening under the paroxysm. When he'd recovered, he said, "Oh, dowries, Lady Stoneridge… that's it… the matter of your sisters' dowries. And your own jointure. It needs to be made all right and tight."

"I see." Theo's curiosity was well and truly roused. She didn't think Lawyer Crighton was telling the truth, or at least not the whole truth.

But they'd accomplished the short drive to the front door before she could decide on a fresh tack.

When they drove up, Sylvester was in his book room reading a pamphlet by Coke of Norfolk on the rotation of crops. It was a subject about which Theo and Beaumont were enthusiastically knowledgeable, and one about which he knew nothing. In fact, the mysteries of agriculture were a closed book, which wasn't that surprising, he supposed, considering that he'd been a soldier for the best part of the last fifteen years. But he was also aware that Theo's taunt about the Gilbraith estate being like Lilliput compared with the Stoneridge lands was not that far off the mark. The Gilbraiths were definitely the poor relations, and even if he'd been interested, he'd have had no opportunity to master the knowledge that Theo had acquired.

God, how it must have galled the old man to think of his great landed wealth falling into the hands of a man not educated for it. Someone who wouldn't know how to appreciate the complexities of estate management, the techniques of farming.

He shook his head with a rueful grimace. He'd probably have felt the same in the same circumstances. Maybe there was more than simple malice behind the old devil's trickery.

He glanced casually toward the open window behind him at the sound of wheels on the gravel sweep outside and then pushed back his chair to get a better view. What he saw brought a cold sweat to his forehead and sent the blood pounding through his veins.

Theo in the company of Lawyer Crighton.

What the hell was the man doing here? Without a word of warning? And dear God, what had he been saying to Theo?

He drew a deep breath, waiting for his pulse to steady. Stupid to panic. It wouldn't make a blind bit of difference now if Theo discovered the truth about her grandfather's will. He had his inheritance, and no one could take it from him.

But he knew he was fooling himself. The thought of that deception coming into the open filled him with a dreadful revulsion. It was a despicable secret that he must live with to his dying day… so long as Crighton had let nothing slip, nothing to provoke Theo's needle wit.

His expression schooled to a calm neutrality, he walked into the hall just as Theo and the lawyer came in from the bright sunshine.

"Oh, Sylvester," Theo greeted him, blinking and bedazzled in what seemed like darkness after the brilliance outside. "Lawyer Crighton has come from London for his quarterly business visit. I forgot to mention to you this morning that he always comes on the fifteenth." Sylvester might be affronted at her negligence, but at least the fib spared the lawyer's feelings.

"Just so, my lord," the lawyer said, advancing, hand outstretched. "I have several other prominent landowners in the area whose affairs I'm honored to be entrusted with, so I do the rounds." He gave a hearty laugh at this, but there was a touch of uncertainty to it. He was remembering that the fifth Earl of Stoneridge was inclined to be even more irascible and impatient than his predecessor.

"Indeed," Sylvester said coolly, taking the offered hand in a brief clasp. "Then pray come into my book room, and we'll get on with it." He glanced at Theo, standing in the shadows. He could detect nothing untoward in her manner or her posture. It would seem that the lawyer had let nothing slip to arouse her curiosity, and a smile of relief softened the harshness of his features.

"Theo, perhaps you'd ask Foster to bring some refreshment to the book room," he suggested, turning aside to usher the lawyer in the required direction.

"He'll do so of his own accord," Theo said cheerfully, following them.

He realized abruptly and with a sinking heart that she expected to take part in this business discussion. Presumably she'd always done so in her grandfather's day and couldn't see why anything should be different now.

At the door he let the lawyer walk past him into the room; then he drew the door half-closed and said quietly, "I don't know how long this will take, Theo, but perhaps later we could go duck hunting on Webster's Pond."

Theo blinked, frowning, for a moment not understanding what he was saying; but then he opened the door farther and stepped backward.

"Just a minute," Theo said as he began to pull the door closed. "I'm coming in too."

He sighed and said as quietly as before, "No, Theo, I'm afraid you're not. I prefer to conduct my business affairs alone. I always have done, and I see no reason to change the habits of a lifetime."

"Well, neither do I," she said in a fierce undertone. "For the last three years I have always taken part in Crighton's discussions with my grandfather – that's my habit and I'm not changing it."

Her pointed chin jutted at him, the wide, generous mouth set in a taut line, every inch of her slender frame bristling with anger and determination.

"In this instance I'm afraid you must," he said, curtly now, anxious not to prolong this any further. The lawyer must be wondering about the whispered colloquy. Firmly, he stepped back and closed the door in her face.

Theo stared in disbelief at the heavy oak timbers. Her hand lifted of its own accord to raise the latch, but some voice of caution stopped her in time. She couldn't cause a scene in front of the lawyer, and she knew that if she barged into the room, there would be one. Sylvester wouldn't yield simply because she put him in an embarrassing situation.

Seething, she swung on her heel just as Foster appeared with a tray of decanters and glasses. Three glasses – it wouldn't occur to him that Lady Theo would be banned from the book room.

Flushing with anger and mortification, she stalked outside into the sunlight. What was going on? What outstanding matters did the lawyer have to discuss with the earl? Was there something she wasn't to know about?

Theo was not suspicious by nature, but she had a logical mind, and she could see no logical reason for Sylvester to ban her from the discussions. She took part when they talked with the bailiff and the estate agent; why should the lawyer's affairs be any different?

Without making a conscious decision she went back into the house, her steps taking her into the library.

The earl's book room was a small corner office adjoining the library at the side of the house. Sometime long ago in the history of the manor, presumably during one of the many religious and political persecutions that had raged across the country, a Belmont had blocked the inglenook in the library fireplace, creating a small but adequate hiding place that abutted the book-room fireplace.

Theo had discovered it as a child when playing hide-and-seek with her sisters and Edward one Christmas Eve. She'd never expected to put it to such good use.

She pressed the catch in the granite slab inside the vast empty fireplace, and the stone swung creakily inward. It was dark and musty, the air smelling thickly of soot and wood smoke. It was an insane thing for the Countess of Stoneridge to be doing, she thought, but it didn't prevent her from slipping into the cramped cavity. She was going to come out black as a sweep.

She left the slab a little ajar, seeing no reason to enclose herself in blackness. It was her house and she wasn't doing anything illegal – merely somewhat disreputable.

Lawyer Crighton's voice came clearly through the stone, pedantic and ponderous, joined by Sylvester's deep tones full of impatience at the lawyerly long-winded precision.

They were talking about the will.

"Now that you've satisfied the late earl's conditions, my lord, I have pleasure in handing over to you the documents relating to the estate," Crighton said.

Conditions? What the devil was he talking about?

"I now have title, free and clear, to the entire estate?"

"As of your wedding day, my lord."

Cold crept up Theo's spine. A graveyard coldness. She pressed closer to the stone.

"The late Lord Stoneridge's private fortune passes into your hands since you've complied with his condition, but under the terms of the will, you must set up trust funds for the three remaining Belmont girls."

"It's understood."

"I have the papers here, my lord. If you'd sign each one… on the line at the bottom. Thank you… and I'll witness your signature."

"The estate is to provide them each with a dowry of twenty thousand pounds." Stoneridge's voice was reflective, as if he was reading the fine print. "A generous dowry."

"Indeed, my lord, but one easily afforded by an estate as wealthy as Stoneridge." The lawyer sounded a little bristly.

"Quite so," the earl responded in his level tones. "With such a dowry Clarissa should have no difficulty finding a husband. And I daresay Edward Fairfax will welcome Emily with even more enthusiasm. They're personable girls… Even young Rosie behind those spectacles hides a certain charm." There was a hint of laughter in his voice as he said this.

Theo was feeling sick, her hands tightly clenched, the nails biting into her palms. She wasn't sure she understood what she was hearing, and yet she knew she did.

"Now, for Lady Stoneridge's jointure," the lawyer was continuing. He cleared his throat in his irritating fashion, and Theo could imagine his glancing around the room in search of inspiration. "Perhaps her ladyship should be a party to this aspect of the discussion, my lord?" It was a diffident suggestion.

"There's not the slightest need for her ladyship's participation," Stoneridge declared curtly. "Anything she needs to know, I will explain to her myself."

Theo was submerged in a deadly rage. Still, she couldn't put words to what she suspected – it seemed impossible.

As of your wedding day. Free and clear title to the estate, as of your wedding day.

She continued to listen as the lawyer enumerated the statistics of her jointure. It was generous in the extreme. If she outlived her husband, she would be a wealthy woman in her own right. And when she had children, they would be the beneficiaries of that wealth. But Stoneridge wasn't laying down these terms out of his own generosity; Mr. Crighton was dictating the terms to him.

This was her grandfather's doing.

She was the currency for Stoneridge to inherit the estate, but by doing so he had to accept obligations that her grandfather had laid upon him.

Her grandfather hadn't abandoned them.

But what had he done to her? What had he done to his favorite granddaughter? He'd tied her body and soul to a man she now loathed with a repugnance beyond description. A man who'd deceived and manipulated her. A man who'd trapped her into a marriage that ended her independence, that destroyed all possibility of other choices for the future. With his smooth serpent's tongue, the Gilbraith had persuaded her mother that he was a generous and honorable man who would fulfill obligations to his wife's family for family and duty's sake.

But he didn't have an honorable bone in his body. He was a liar. A greedy liar.

Numbed but fascinated like the rabbit circled by the fox, Theo listened to the end of the discussion, although nothing more illuminating was said. But she had the picture, and she was convulsed with rage that blinded her to anything but the need to bring this repulsive sham of a marriage to an end, to tell that loathsome, deceiving manipulator what she thought of him.

And through her rage she heard his voice from days past promising that he would never take advantage of her passion. That she could trust him to share her passion and lose himself in lust as she lost herself. And he'd been lying through his teeth. She'd given herself to him in all honesty and trust, and he'd possessed her with cold-blooded greed… using her, using her passion.

It was all she could do to slide quietly from her hiding place, close the slab, and go to her room to wash the traces of soot from her hands. Her face was deathly pale in the looking glass, her eyes blank with a pain so deep, it was like a knife in her vitals. For the first time in twenty years her sense of who and what she was, of her own worth in her own world, was destroyed. All her life she'd been indulged and praised. She knew herself to be useful; she knew her talents. But now it was gone, trampled into the dust by a stranger who'd walked into her life and taken everything meaningful from her.