The Maid of Fairbourne Hall(54)

“I will, sir. Thank you.”

As he climbed up and drove on, Margaret wondered if he would have been as kind and attentive had Betty or Fiona fallen from his cart. Probably, she thought.

But she hoped not.

When she reached Fairbourne Hall and delivered the powder and rouge, Helen asked how the errand had gone.

“Fine.” Margaret answered vaguely.

Helen’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Did Mr. Upchurch . . . notice you?”

Is that what Helen hoped would happen? “Not especially. But he was very kind.”

Helen lifted one eyebrow. “Was he?”

Margaret felt her cheeks heat under Helen’s watchful gaze but did not elaborate further.





A few days later, Nathaniel sat in the library, reviewing sketches for a proposed new row of laborer cottages. But he had difficulty concentrating. His mind kept wondering, replaying the scenes from the last weeks. Dancing with Miss Macy at the servants’ ball. Standing near her on the balcony, staring up at the stars. Strolling with her along the moonlit arcade. Carrying her in his arms. . . .

A knock roused Nathaniel from his reverie. He looked up, feeling almost guilty, as if caught doing something he ought not. He was surprised to see Robert Hudson in the threshold.

“Hudson, hello. I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“Is this a good time, sir?”

“Yes, of course.” Nathaniel straightened and cleared his throat. “How did it go?”

“Very well, I think.”

Nathaniel gestured toward the chair before the desk. “What did you find out?”

“Several interesting things.” Hudson sat and pulled a small leather-bound notebook from his coat pocket. “First, Sterling Benton is indeed in financial straits, over head and ears in debt, according to a talkative banker.”

“You were discreet in your inquiries, I trust?”

“Sir.” Hudson tucked his chin, mouth down-turned, offended he even needed ask.

Nathaniel rotated his hand, gesturing for his steward to continue.

“Sterling Benton has borrowed too much, spent too much, and gambled too much, and refuses to retrench. Evidently very keen on keeping up appearances.”

Nathaniel was reminded of Lewis’s spend-all ways. “Go on.”

“Marcus Benton is Sterling’s nephew and apparent heir—assuming Sterling’s marriage to the forty-something Macy widow results in no offspring.” He opened the leather cover and consulted his notes. “Marcus is three and twenty years of age and is the son of Sterling Benton’s younger brother—a law clerk—who resides in Greenwich. Apparently Sterling sponsored his nephew through Oxford, where he read the law. Marcus has no profession at present and lives the life of a gentleman supported by his uncle’s generosity.”

“Generosity that may be coming to an end.”

Hudson nodded. “So it seems. Marcus has lately come to reside with his uncle and new wife in Mayfair. The wife has three children, but the eldest daughter had been the only one residing at Berkeley Square regularly. Except at school vacations, Caroline Macy boards at a girls’ seminary and Gilbert Macy is at Eton.”

Hudson hesitated. “I know you did not ask me to investigate the missing Margaret Macy, but I did learn something during my inquiries that bears on the situation.”

Nathaniel steeled himself, fearing he might hear something unsavory about Miss Macy’s conduct.

“Go on.”

“Apparently, she will come into a good deal of money from a great-aunt who left her fortune in a trust, which is set to mature at Miss Macy’s twenty-fifth birthday on . . .” Again Hudson consulted his notes.

“November the twenty-ninth,” Nathaniel murmured, lost in thought. He became aware of the high arch of Hudson’s eyebrows but ignored his expectant expression.

“Might explain why an eligible nephew has come to stay,” Hudson said.

Nathaniel screwed up his face in thought. “I wonder why this inheritance has been such a secret before now. I never heard it mentioned before—by her or the gossipmongers.”

“Perhaps she hoped to avoid—what is the term?—fortune hunters. Not that I include you in that lot, sir.”

“Thank you,” he said dryly. “Does she even know of the trust, do you think?”

“I did not gather it was unknown by her, but rather that she and her parents made a point of keeping it secret from society at large.”

“I wonder if Benton knew before he married into the family.”

Hudson coughed. “Do you mind a little hearsay along with the facts?”

“I suppose not.”

“I gather there was quite a row in the Benton house when Sterling learned the details of the trust. From the tenor of the argument, it seemed evident that he thought his wife was the one inheriting the money.”

Nathaniel stared at his steward, incredulous. “How on earth did you learn the details of an argument between man and wife in their own home?”

“My dear Nathaniel”—Hudson gave him a tolerant smile, reverting to Christian names as they had used in Barbados—“if one wishes to learn what really goes on in a house, one need only sweet-talk the right housemaid.”

Sweet-talk the right housemaid . . . Nathaniel mused. He wondered if he ought to give it a try. And he had just the right housemaid in mind.





Despite his intentions, Nathaniel didn’t manage to see Margaret all day.

That evening, he and Helen had just sat down to dinner when the second footman opened the dining room door and announced their brother. Lewis strode unceremoniously past the young man, and flopped into a chair.

“Lewis,” Nathaniel said. “We did not expect you back so soon.”

“Not that we aren’t glad to see you,” Helen added quickly.

“Hello, old girl. You are looking well, I must say.”

Helen self-consciously touched her curled and styled hair. “Thank you.”

Nathaniel gestured to the under butler. “Another place setting, Arnold.”

“Right away, sir.” Arnold signaled to the first footman, who languidly turned to do his bidding. Arnold, meanwhile, set several glasses before Lewis and poured wine.

Lewis took a long drink, then said, “I had to come and tell you the news.”

“Oh?”

“I saw Sterling Benton in town. You remember him—married the Macy widow?”

Nathaniel felt Helen’s quick look but kept his focus on Lewis. “Yes, what of him?”

“I spent a most diverting evening at White’s, I can tell you. I won several guineas off an obliging solicitor-friend of mine. Well, not friend exactly, but a useful acquaintance.”

Nathaniel frowned at the thought of Lewis gambling away family money—money needed for the estate, but he bit back a reprimand. “I thought you were going to tell us something about Benton?”

“I’m getting to that. Be patient.” Lewis took another drink and gestured for a refill. “I was in a generous mood, having won for once, so I bought this solicitor-friend several rounds. Don’t scold—a wise investment, as it turns out.”

Nathaniel felt his jaw tighten. “How is that?”

“Well, he was well in his cups when Sterling Benton comes in, puffed up and slicked down as usual, that pup of a nephew at his heels.”

Lewis took a long swallow of burgundy. “My friend takes one look at the haughty pair of them, then leans near and tells me he has a few ideas about why the Macy girl went missing.”

Lewis had Nathaniel’s full attention at last.

His brother’s eyes glinted. “He hinted that Miss Macy has quite a tidy fortune coming to her on her next birthday. She’s to be quite the little heiress.”

Helen’s eyebrows rose. “Really? I had no idea.”

“Nor I,” Lewis said, turning to him. “Did you know?”

Nathaniel hedged, “She never said a word to me.”

So, Nathaniel thought, the once-secret inheritance is becoming generally known. He supposed Margaret’s disappearance had loosened the tongues of the few who knew about it, whoever they were.

Lewis returned to his tale. “At all events, I called Sterling Benton over, ignoring the sharp kicks my companion delivered under the table, and asked after Miss Macy. Benton feigned such fatherly concern, but I could tell it was balderdash. So I told him he need not worry about her.”

Helen’s brow furrowed. “What? But how . . . ?”

Lewis grinned. “I believe I may have hinted that I knew where she was . . . and planned to elope with her or some such. I don’t remember exactly, for I had kept pace with that solicitor in all those drinks, sorry to say.”

“Lewisss . . .” Helen scolded.

Lewis waved away the lecture before she could begin. “I’d wager he doesn’t care a whit about the girl, just wants to keep the money in the family. Stab me, I’m half tempted to find the chit and marry her myself. I wouldn’t have to live on the meager allowance Nate wants to leash me to—”

“Don’t.” Nathaniel bit out the single syllable.

Lewis regarded him, one brow raised. “Why not? Want a second shot at her yourself, do you?”

Helen laid a hand on Nathaniel’s forearm. Had she not been there, Nathaniel knew he would probably have lost control and punched his brother again.