The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(87)

“Did someone die?” A stony silence met McCalpin’s attempt at humor.

William took a deep breath, picked up a document, then set it before him. “This is a letter sent to Mr. Rupert Lawson from you demanding he stay off Lord Lawson’s property during the annual Leyton hunt. Note that the date is after the first time you met with March.”

His brother had his attention now. He’d never sent any correspondence to March’s poor excuse of a cousin. “Go on,” he demanded.

William placed another document in front of him. “This is a directive from you to have three thousand pounds withdrawn from McCalpin Manor’s household account and deposited directly into an account under March’s name at Fleming’s Bank. It was delivered to Emma’s bank by mistake.”

His heart pounded with a force strong enough to break through his ribs—and lay the carnage before everyone in the room. He examined the document. Perfectly centered on the bottom of the page was March’s signature of his name.

Somerton cleared his throat, then slid another document to him. “This is a request from you to withdraw twenty-five thousand pounds from your investments and deposit it into March’s account also.”

The regret on his brother-in-law’s face pierced him like a stab of a stiletto. McCalpin held his body taut as the pain coursed through every inch of his body. This was worse than a stab—a more apt description was a gutting. He wouldn’t believe she’d betray him—not like that. If true, then his carefully crafted persona of an intelligent lord who handled his estate matters with aplomb would crash to the ground.

“I didn’t proceed with the transaction.” The empathy in Somerton’s voice was unmistakable. “I told Emma of it last night. That’s why we’re here.”

Emma’s cheeks were crimson. “I don’t believe any of this. I know this woman. She wouldn’t steal. She corrected discrepancies in my own books.”

William pursed his lips. “Could that have been a ploy to gain your allegiance so these transactions wouldn’t be questioned?”

Emma snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not, Emma,” William answered. “But I’m also not blind.” He turned to McCalpin and lowered his voice. “There’s more.”

“There must be an explanation.” God, was that his voice? The weak protest barely escaped.

“My lord, Jameson was the one who discovered all these shenanigans.” Russell pointed at his bookkeeper. “He offered a reward to Rupert Lawson if he could find your seal. It was in her desk with the stationary she used to embezzle from you. Jameson went through the previous viscount’s legal papers and letters. That’s where he found the marriage certificate. Lawson offered to verify its accuracy by traveling to Chelmsford.”

He fought through the fog that had descended into his brain. How could March have done this? His shook his head to clear the miasma that was slowly choking him.

Russell turned his attention to Emma. “Lady Somerton, we believe it’s all part of her plan. She’s done these things to gain Lord McCalpin’s trust—”

“You’re wrong,” Emma bit out as she stood and faced McCalpin. The flash of her green eyes demanded his full attention. “Do you hear what they’re saying?”

The anguish in her plea caused her husband to stand abruptly. “Enough! You’re either going to have to calm down or we’re leaving.” Somerton captured her gaze. “This isn’t good for you or the baby,” he whispered.

The tenderness in his voice and the way Somerton searched Emma’s face bespoke a love true and strong, unbreakable in their troth together. The image seared McCalpin’s heart. This morning, he was so certain he shared that same fidelity with March.

After all the revelations, how could he? He didn’t want to believe the evidence, but in black and white it lay before him. He clenched his fists underneath the table to keep from roaring at the pain.

Jameson approached with an open account book. “Sir, these are the accounts at McCalpin Manor. I’ve a detailed description of each suspect transaction.” He placed the book in front of him and pointed at a page. “See here—”

McCalpin held up his hand to stop the bookkeeper. He’d enough torture in the last few minutes to last his entire lifetime. “I’m aware of it. Mr. Russell and Mr. Jameson, thank you for your efforts. Mr. Russell, try to find the funds. Hire a private investigator. I prefer Mr. Macalester. He’s discreet and works fast.”

“Should we tell the duke?” Russell asked.

“Not yet,” Michael said.

Russell nodded and gathered his belongings.

How would he ever be able to explain it while keeping up the fa?ade that he was in control of the estates? With an angry swipe, he brushed away a trickle of sweat that trailed down the side of his face. The day Mrs. Ivers had predicated long ago had finally come to fruition. His father might reevaluate his confidence in his heir’s abilities. A suffocating weight of shame smothered him.

Jameson slipped a piece of paper in front of him. “My lord, these are the funds Miss Lawson has taken from the trust fund. It totals one thousand one hundred and twenty-three pounds and seventeen shillings. Since she’s illegitimate, her fortune is to be split between her siblings.”