The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(11)

March smiled at his kindness, a wonderful omen for her upcoming meeting. An ogre wouldn’t employ a nice staff. “No, thank you, Mr. Buxton.”

The butler nodded and left. With her stomach dancing a jig, she could only manage one tart. Faith and Hart ate everything except one lone pastry. Faith eyed it with an ardent yearning, but left it. Buxton returned within a half hour and escorted them into the marquess’s study. By then, March wasn’t at all certain this visit was such a good idea. Her palms were slowly turning into water pots, making her kidskin gloves rather sticky.

Perhaps she should have taken the time to respond to the marquess’s demand by writing a letter. What would she have written?

My dear marquess, please excuse my embezzling.

*

McCalpin pushed his fingers through his wet hair in an attempt to tame the renegade locks. After his quick bath, he’d found a fresh change of clothes laid out for him in his dressing room. William strolled into the room with several documents. “Thank God you’re late for your audience with Miss Lawson. You should see this. You’ve made another withdrawal request from Miss Lawson’s trust. This time in the amount of one thousand pounds.”

McCalpin finished buttoning the gray waistcoat and took the papers. “Same as before?”

William nodded.

McCalpin quickly read the document. When he reached the numbers, his mind stumbled to comprehend, but his eyes couldn’t decipher the amounts. His heartbeat started to race, and he forced himself to breathe deeply. Why did those little symbols cause him such agony? “It looks like my signature, but I didn’t instruct anyone to do this.”

Will’s brow creased as he considered the documents in his brother’s hand. “That’s why I knew it was forged. I instructed Mr. Russell to discover where they’re coming from.”

What would he do if William wasn’t by his side? McCalpin adjusted his neckcloth. His entire life would be in an uproar. “And? Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“The directives are coming from Lawson Court in Leyton.”

“Are you suggesting that a nine-year-old boy is forging my name to steal from his sister? That’s preposterous. How could he master my signature? How did he get my seal?”

Will plopped his large frame on an upholstered stool beside the looking glass that McCalpin stood before.

“I don’t know,” Will answered running his hands through his hair in frustration. The blue of his eyes resembled McCalpin’s own, but his hair was a shade darker. The color always reminded McCalpin of sable. “But someone from Lawson Court is forging your name. By the penmanship, I’d say it’s one of his sisters.”

“What kind of a family would steal from one another? How old are the siblings, again?” McCalpin adjusted his cravat then slipped on his morning coat.

“According to the birthdates in the trusts, the oldest daughter is twenty-four, the middle sister is nineteen, and the youngest is eighteen. I’ve written their birthdates and ages on a piece of paper next to the trust for your ease. Apparently, their parents died during an influenza outbreak years ago.” William rested his ankle on his other leg. “The eldest daughter has repeatedly written to Russell and claims she’s twenty-five. Usually women claim they’re younger, not older.” He shook his head and laughed. “Congratulations, McCalpin. You’re responsible for not only the trusts, but a Lawson daughter who lies about her age, and an embezzler as well.”

It boggled the mind to think he was entrusted to protect the funds for the Lawson sisters. He couldn’t even keep simple household accounts straight. “I don’t even know these people.”

William lifted a brow. “You have quite the mystery on your hands.”

“My lord?” Buxton had entered the dressing room. “I apologize, but Miss Lawson, her sister, and a Mr. Hart are in your study. I had tea served.” He cleared his throat as if suddenly uncomfortable. “The eldest Miss Lawson appears nervous. She has a death grip on the letter you sent.”

William shot out of the chair. “Oh, you must let me join your cozy little chat. We might be able to have some fun with this.”

“Perhaps the eldest is stealing her own funds.” McCalpin lifted one brow. “I wouldn’t dream of keeping you away from the festivities. How shall we spring the net?”

*

March sat across from Faith and Hart in a small sitting area in front of a large window that overlooked the street below.

“March, shall we leave?” Hart’s deep gravelly voice broke the eerie silence.

Twisting and untwisting her fingers into knots must have been the first visible clue she wasn’t at all confident in her purpose. As if on cue, the study door swung open and her David walked in accompanied by another equally handsome man. Resplendent in a black coat, gray waistcoat, and tan breeches, David surveyed the three of them for a moment. The large fire in the hearth crackled, almost as if calling out in greeting. He made his way to stand in front of them. A blast of heat hit March’s cheek. Her purpose today dictated she succeed in getting her funds released, not moon over a man.

The simple truth? He was a man, nothing more and nothing less. Such a thought should lessen his effect on her concentration.

Unfortunately, it didn’t.

“Miss Lawson.” Her David took her hand in his and sketched a perfect bow. “I’m Lord McCalpin.”