“That is for me to decide.” The prince stood and the rest of the table followed suit. “Remain here until the marquess arrives.” He departed.
“Will he inform the Queen of this?” Julian asked as they took their seats again.
“He may, after the fact; he is one of her closest advisors. Queen Victoria abhors this type of behavior in the peerage. We are saving the prince from embarrassment, since he and Sutherhorne are friends of a sort,” Oliver replied.
Servants entered, carrying trays of fresh fruit and a pot of tea. More than thirty minutes later, as they sipped their tea, Sutherhorne was shown into the room. The older man startled when he noticed the Wollstonecrafts sitting around the table.
“What is the meaning of this…”
The door opened, and the prince entered followed by his secretary. After the bows, the men sat.
“You will remain standing, Sutherhorne,” the prince stated in a flat tone as the marquess moved toward an empty chair.
Sutherhorne actually looked worried. Good.
“There is a law, not used since 1820, the Bill of Attainder. What it states, in essence, Sutherhorne, is that I have the authority to strip you of all lands, money, and title. Your son and his son will never be marquess. Complete and utter ruin. Public shaming. By God, I am tempted to recommend it to the Queen.” The prince frowned, clearly annoyed. “Charges have been laid before me. Shocking charges. I require the complete truth. Did you shoot Garrett Wollstonecraft?”
Sutherhorne cleared his throat. “Outrageous and insulting. I never—”
The prince lifted his hand to silence the marquess. “This young man, sitting next to the earl, is a witness. He heard what you said to your man. Described you perfectly. This is the man you observed in the woods, Mr. Eaton?”
“Yes, Prince—I mean, Your Highness. It is him,” Jonas answered, his tone firm and resolute.
Sutherhorne sputtered. “Your Highness, you would take the word of the village idiot over me? Your trusted friend and advisor—”
“How do you know enough about this young man to call him such a disparaging name, unless you have been to Kent recently?” Oliver accused.
Sutherhorne pulled out a lace handkerchief and wiped his brow. “It was an accident, Your Highness. I only meant to scare Wollstonecraft and his party by firing shots overhead. It was a response to an insult. The beast had manhandled me, you see.”
Garrett had to use all his self-control to keep himself from vaulting out of his chair and pummeling the sniveling marquess into a bloody pulp. Yes, he could batter the bastard easily with only one arm. Abbie and Megan could have been harmed—killed—all because this puffed-up, privileged peer took insult. He gritted his teeth as his blood boiled.
“I care not for your petty squabbles. Your response was excessive, and beneath your dignity as an aristocrat. As a peer of the realm. And what of having Riordan Wollstonecraft’s wife kidnapped?” The prince demanded, no longer keeping his anger tethered. “Do you deny it?”
Sutherhorne looked down. “No, Your Highness. But she was to be my bride before—”
“Enough. I have heard enough. Tempted as I am to invoke the Bill of Attainder, I will give you a singular option. If you agree to leave these shores and never return in your lifetime, your son can inherit all entailed property and money, along with the title. You are to have no further contact with anyone in the peerage or at the palace.” The prince paused. “However, all nonentailed lands and money will become the property of the crown. It will be used to further education reform and assist in the Irish potato famine relief. Meanwhile, until arrangements can be made for your transport to a remote locality, you will remain here as a guest and under guard.”
Sutherhorne gulped deeply. “As you wish, Your Highness.”
“Is this suitable, my lord?” the prince asked the earl.
What could his father say? It is exactly what they had hoped for, though Garrett wished they were still in the era of Henry VIII, where a stretch on the rack would be welcome and well deserved.
Oliver stood and bowed. “It is, Your Highness, and thank you.”
Two Grenadier Guards entered the room, resplendent in their red uniforms. They marched toward Sutherhorne, intent on escorting him to a part of the palace where he would be kept under surveillance.
“Wait. I wish a private word with Garrett Wollstonecraft,” the marquess cried.
What? Everyone looked to Garrett and he gave a quick nod in response. Might as well hear what the villain had to say. One of the guards escorted Sutherhorne to the corner of the large room and Garrett followed.
“Speak, and make it quick,” Garrett snapped.
“I had Delaney travel to Standon to find out what he could about your woman and the girl.”
Garrett lunged for the marquess, but the guard halted him.
“Stop fretting; no harm will come to them. While there, however, he saw your nephew in a wheeled chair outside of a private clinic. You see, your wretched, drug-addled relative sold himself at a particularly debauched party I had attended in December. I bought him…for Delaney’s personal pleasure.” A cruel smile curved about the marquess’s mouth, as if he were savoring this shocking reveal. “I believe Colm Delaney covets your nephew, for some strange inexplicable reason. I tell you this because I have no control over the man. Any action he takes is not at my urging. Fair warning: Delaney is rather a brute, and dangerous when denied what he most desires.”
Rage tore through Garrett at this revelation and his heart ached in empathy for his wayward nephew. Now he knew how Aidan had sustained the violation injuries. Damn this man to a fiery hell.
The smile widened. “Such a murderous look on your face. It is quite amusing. A parting shot: I have seen to it that this gossip makes the rounds, although I did not reveal your nephew’s current location. Your family will be humiliated. Perhaps ruined. ‘Destroy the young heir.’ I can only hope my plan comes to fruition.” He raised his chin in the air and sniffed, “Guards, I am ready.”
The guards escorted Sutherhorne from the room as Garrett clenched his fist, his cheeks flushing red-hot with fury.
“Alas, there is no time to discuss the education reforms, but Mr. Riordan Wollstonecraft, I expect a complete accounting of all your achievements and successes. Send it to Anson, and we will meet again later in the spring.” The prince gave Riordan a genuine, but brief smile.
“I look forward to it, Your Highness,” Riordan replied.
With leave-taking bows, the prince departed, his private secretary following closely behind.
Jesus. Did Aidan even know what he had been doing? Did he remember any of it? Delaney is rather a brute. Garrett glanced at his family, who gave him quizzical looks. They would want an accounting of what Sutherhorne had said to him. How could he lie, especially if the gossip was spreading throughout London? Peers liked nothing more than to crow over salacious tittle-tattle. Damn Sutherhorne to hell. The morally bankrupt marquess would probably live out his days in sunny Spain. How was that punishment?
He must head to Standon immediately and warn Aidan. If Aidan would even see him. But what caused his heart to skip several beats was the fact that the bully knew of Abbie and Megan and where they lived. Stop fretting, no harm will come to them, Sutherhorne had said. As if he could trust what the putrid marquess claimed. Garrett soon found himself surrounded by his family.
“What did the despicable miscreant want?” Riordan asked.
Hell, what to reveal. They were in London. The gossip could reach their ears while he traveled to Standon. They should be prepared. Obviously the story that Aidan was in Italy recovering from a chest infection would soon be questioned and parsed over by society.
Hang it, they were alone in the room; might as well tell all. But Jonas should not hear this, for it was private family business and would be difficult to explain. “Jonas, wait for us in the hallway, if you please.”
“All right, Garrett.”
Once the young man stepped outside and closed the door, Garrett relayed what Sutherhorne said, word for word. Julian and Oliver blanched, while Riordan sprinted toward the door. “I will kill the old reprobate!” he yelled. Julian and Oliver grabbed his arms, halting his action. Tears trailed down his cheeks, his face grim and sorrowful. “It is not true. Sutherhorne made up this scandalous story to discredit the family.”
“It is possible he fabricated the entire story. However, Dr. Bevan did tell me that those gripped by an opium addiction will sink to unknown depths in order to obtain the narcotic. When I found him, Aidan was living in squalid conditions with dubious company.” Garrett would not mention the injuries, not until he heard Aidan’s side of the tale. If Aidan would even see him. To hell with it—he would insist that his nephew give him an audience.
“Blast the gossip, we can weather the storm, but what has Aidan gone through?” Julian whispered.
“Perhaps one day he will tell us. I believe it prudent that I leave for Standon immediately. Alone.” The men all protested, speaking over each other, but Garrett firmly shook his head. “We cannot swoop in on Aidan like a convocation of white-tailed eagles. But if I go alone, he may see me.” Garrett patted his coat pocket. “I have all your letters and I will leave them with the doctor, or with Aidan himself. Besides, I also need to talk to Abbie. It is private, and if she refuses my suit, I’d rather be alone for the trip home.”