The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(17)
“Seems Lady Miranda has her sights on becoming your duchess.” William sat in the chair in front of McCalpin’s desk and took a sip of brandy as he stretched out his legs. “Clever how her father is constantly inviting you to dinner.”
“A lot of good it will do. She can stand in line behind the others.” A wave of distaste rippled into a grimace. McCalpin hated society chits whose only thoughts centered on luring him into matrimony. He wanted to be the one to pursue his mate and future wife, not the other way around.
He had very specific criteria for a wife. He wanted someone who would support his political work, perform marvelously as a hostess, and be someone well respected by the ton. However, the lady in question must have a strong aptitude and interest in the management of his estate and the future duchy. He didn’t want just anyone prying into his business, but a wife, a life-long partner, whose values and talents would make his life all the easier.
“What did your little embezzler have to say for herself when you confronted her over the thousand-pound directive she’d forged?”
McCalpin took a swallow of the warmed spirit and let the liquor bathe his throat in a welcome relief that eliminated some of his weariness. Even with a fine glass of brandy, he dreaded to answer. “I didn’t ask her. It would have been unspeakably cruel since she practically melted into her chair with embarrassment when I offered proof of her other withdrawals.”
William took a deep breath and released an audible sigh. “Did Miss Lawson explain the smaller sums?”
McCalpin closed his eyes. All he could picture was March leaning over his desk with fire in her eyes insisting she was twenty-five. “Perhaps the smaller amounts were a test to see if I’d notice what was happening with the money. She claims the estate isn’t profitable. When you took Mr. Hart and Miss Faith Lawson on the tour of the house, did you discover anything?”
“Nothing of importance. Miss Faith is a starch defender of her sister. She did share that Miss March has been supervising the estate since she was sixteen.” He took another swallow of brandy. “I had a devil of a time keeping her with me. She insisted she return to her sister’s side.” Will rested his elbows on his knees and regarded him. “She seemed to think you would be rather harsh with her sister. What exactly did you do?”
“Nothing, really. I asked her how she got my seal. She told me she had one made from a letter our uncle had sent to her father years ago. Pretty ingenious if truth be told.” He took another sip of brandy. “I told her to send me the seal. I instructed her not to use it again.” He remembered the expression of utter defeat that had made her normal peach tones turn almost pasty in color. “She looked devastated.”
Will shook his head. “Whatever they’re spending the money on, it’s not fashions. Miss Faith’s dress was threadbare and several seasons out of fashion.” He hesitated a moment, then continued. “On our way back to rejoin you in the study, Miss Faith asked if I minded if she took the last tart from the tea service for her brother.”
He pressed his eyes shut. To think they didn’t have enough food made him want to pound a wall. He should have done more for the Lawson family when he first discovered he was responsible for the trusts.
“Do you think your little embezzler is spending it on herself?” Baffled, William stared at him.
“Not likely. Her clothes were in worse shape than her sister’s was. There were several spots on the elbows that appeared to have been patched from underneath.” He released a breath of frustration. “Perhaps their circumstances are as dire as their clothing appears to be.”
“There’s only one way to find out. You or I could take a trip to Leyton and see exactly what the situation is at Lawson Court,” William suggested.
“I better make the effort as I’m responsible for the Lawson sisters’ dowries. I’ll visit tomorrow.” McCalpin released a breath he had not been aware he was holding. “Miss Lawson said she used part of the money to buy a new shearing tool.”
“Your little embezzler shears sheep? My, my, a woman of hidden talents. I imagine she probably possesses a depth of farming knowledge that would make an ingénue call for the smelling salts. If you change your mind and want company, just send word to Langham Hall. I’m going out tonight with Mother and Father to some dinner. Are you coming?” Will stood to take his leave.
“No. Nevertheless, do pay attention. You know how father is. He’ll want to discuss everything in detail the next time we all gather to have dinner. The man thrives on politics.”
William propelled himself away from the blue velvet chair and swept a hand through his hair. “McCalpin, I hate listening to political dribble. You’re the one who enjoys it and gets everyone to listen to your arguments. Your talent for finding common ground between your adversaries is becoming renowned.”
He enjoyed politics as much as his father did. However, he walked a fine line in such discussions. Any talk that spiraled into conversations about revenues, taxes, or money made his head spin.
“At next week’s family dinner, Father is going to discuss you taking a seat in the House of Commons.” Will eyed him warily. “You’re forewarned, brother. Your reward for the way you handle people. ‘A natural-born politician’ is what father calls you.”
McCalpin’s indignant arched eyebrow melted, and he loudly exhaled. His so-called talent was simply a ruse to keep his weaknesses hidden.