Love's Price(9)
“Really?” Fanny had no other blood kin, and at the news, she was inordinately thrilled.
“So you know that Trent is their natural father,” Phillip said.
“Oh, yes,” Nigel admitted. “We’ve always known. Their mother was madly in love with him. It was never a secret.”
“And what about Helen and Harriet?”
“They weren’t apprised until they were sixteen.”
“How did they take it?”
“Not well. They were away at school, and they left. We never saw them again.”
“Where did they go?”
“We assume to London—to confront Lord Trent. They wrote a note to the headmistress.”
“But they never arrived or returned?”
“No.” Nigel shrugged. “We searched for them, but London is a large place.”
“And you haven’t had a clue since?”
“No,” he said again. “May I ask why you’re hunting for them?”
“As their siblings,” Phillip claimed, “we simply want to introduce ourselves.”
“I’m sorry I can’t be of more help,” Nigel said.
“So am I.” Phillip stood and offered Nigel his card. “If you should ever hear from them, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know.”
“I will.”
Fanny stood, too. “Thank you for seeing us.”
“It was my pleasure.”
They collected their things, and Nigel escorted them out, waving them off with a friendly goodbye. It was all very correct, very affable, but once their carriage pulled away, Fanny peered over at Phillip and inquired, “What do you think?”
“I don’t like him.”
“Neither do I.”
“I can’t put my finger on it,” Phillip said, “but there’s something dodgy about him.”
“I agree. Did you notice the rug or the sofa?”
“No. Should I have?”
“You’re a typical male, so no. The house is elegant and well-designed, but it’s in a terrible state of disrepair.”
“Interesting.”
“Isn’t it? The carpets are tattered, the drapes and couches badly worn. There were dust balls under the writing desk—as if they have no maids for cleaning.”
“So Mr. Stewart is broke, but exhibiting a public show of affluence?”
“Precisely.”
“And Helen and Harriet? Do you suppose they’re actually missing?”
“I’m not certain,” Fanny said, “but we ought to keep searching. I wouldn’t take Nigel Stewart’s word for anything.”
“Mother! Mother!”
“What is it, darling?”
Nigel rushed up to his mother, Barbara, knowing that he was her dearest favorite, her one true joy in life.
“You’ll never believe what’s happened,” Nigel said.
“Tell me,” she urged, swept up in his excitement.
“We’ve had visitors.”
“Who?”
“A fellow from London named Phillip Sinclair and his half-sister, Viscountess Henley.”
“A viscountess!” Barbara imbued the appellation with the same awe that Nigel had used when speaking to Fanny Wainwright. “What did they want?”
“They were here to see Helen and Harriet.”
“But why?”
“Their father, the Earl of Trent, is looking for them.”
“You don’t say.” A shrewd gleam came into Barbara’s eye.
At age thirty-six, she had a deceptive air about her that made her appear to be a tragic figure, a damsel in distress, but it was all a ruse. She was as tough and cunning as any woman alive.
Nigel had her flair for melodrama, and he yearned to exploit his personal charm to become a dashing man-about-town, and it was simply a crime that he didn’t have the resources to carry on as he deserved.
He’d received an inheritance from his father, but it had been very small and swiftly spent, and he was anxious to wed a rich bride. Under ordinary circumstances, a gentleman of his status shouldn’t have had a problem, but there had been several incidents in the neighborhood, a few jealous girls who’d done things with him that they oughtn’t have, and because of it, his reputation had suffered.
Parents who should have been begging for a union were wary, so he had to persuade someone from outside the area, someone who wasn’t cognizant of recent events. “I was thinking about Lord Trent,” Nigel said.
“So was I,” Barbara replied.
“I’ve heard that he offers dowries to his illegitimate daughters.”
“He’s reported to be extremely generous”—Barbara grinned from ear to ear—“and I’ll bet I can guess exactly what you’re going to propose.”
“I’ll bet you can, too. I should marry Helen or Harriet.”
“Yes, darling, yes! We’ll keep it all in the family. It’s always best when it’s done that way.”
Barbara had often suggested such a match, but previously, he hadn’t been as financially strapped as he currently was.
“And if I wed one of them, we could finally get Attorney Thumberton to disburse the trust fund that Grandfather set aside for them.”
“I never understood why your father couldn’t break the trust terms. It’s outrageous that your grandfather’s will was so carefully drawn. When the twins’ mother caused him so much heartache, I never could fathom his affection for them.”
Nigel’s grandfather had provided for the twins—not a lot, but a fair amount—and when Nigel’s father had learned of the bequest, he’d been livid. He’d spent the last years of his life, trying to redirect the money for his own use, but Thumberton was a wily, ethical character who’d thwarted his every scheme.
The account had languished, accumulating interest and growing in size, with Nigel and his father happy to let Thumberton believe that the twins had vanished and couldn’t be located.
As with his father, Nigel intended to secure the windfall for himself, and a wedding was the perfect solution.
Helen and Harriet were not going to have that money! They were not going to marry outside the family and take it away. Not if Nigel and Barbara had anything to say about it.
“I’ll probably ask Helen,” he announced.
“She’s much more agreeable,” Barbara concurred. “Harriet is too coarse and unruly. She’d make a horrid wife.”
“I should travel to London to speak with Helen immediately.”
“Yes. Fetch her home before Mr. Sinclair stumbles on her. If Trent’s people find her first, they could ruin everything.”
“Do we still have the information about where she’s working?”
“It’s in my writing desk.”
Contrary to the rumors they’d spread, Nigel and Barbara were constantly aware of the twins’ situations.
“Just imagine it, Mother. I’ll have Trent’s money, and I’ll have Grandfather’s money, too. We’ll be back on track in a snap.” “I’m so relieved.” Barbara preened. “What a smart, clever boy you are!”
She pulled him into a tight hug and ruffled his hair as if he was still a lad in short pants.
“Find her!” Bentley Struthers seethed. “Find her and bring her to me.”
“Where would you like me to search?”
“How the hell should I know? You claim to be a detective, Mr. Radley. How about doing some detecting?”
“I plan to. It would simply help to have some idea of where to begin. She’ll hide out, but where would she go? Does she have relatives in the city? Friends? Acquaintances? A beau?”
“She was a housemaid! She meant no more to me than a gnat. I know nothing about her.”
“I’ll need to question your staff.”
“You do that.”
“From the looks of things”—Radley scrutinized Bentley’s cuts and bruises, the stitched gash on his cheek, the black and blue eyes—“she appears to be dangerous. I’ll have to hire extra men to guarantee she doesn’t hurt anyone else.”
Bentley scowled. He could swear that Radley was laughing at his injuries, and he couldn’t quite figure out himself how he’d been bested by the vicious sprite.
One minute, he’d been swept away by passion, and the next, he’d been whacked unconscious and had awakened on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood. His head throbbed incessantly, and he felt as if he’d been trampled by a herd of wild horses.
“A large reward would be beneficial,” Radley said.
“See to it.”
“And I’ll have to have notices printed, and employees to place them around town. I’ll have to have people out on the street, following up on leads.”
“I don’t care who you hire. I don’t care what it costs. Just bring her to me. If you catch her by the end of the week, I’ll pay double your fee.”
Radley tipped his hat and started out. At the last second, he glanced back. “I’m curious.”
“About what?”
“Once we have her in custody, what will happen to her?”
“I have a personal score to settle—”
“You certainly do.”
“—and when I’m finished, I’ll turn her over to the authorities.” Bentley nodded to a table by the door. “Peek in that bag.”