The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(92)

For his own sanity, it became paramount that he remove March from the library. He took her by the elbow and ushered her to the door.

When they reached it, she gracefully turned to face him. The movement forced him to release her arm.

“Why are you doing this to me?” The agony in her whisper nearly brought him to his knees. “Why are you sending me away? I can help you.”

“It’s the best solution for now. You can’t be involved in the investigation.” Every second that she stared at him made his mind more muddled. “You need distance from this house and London. My solicitor, his bookkeeper, and my brother believe you’re the guilty party.”

“You also believe me guilty.” Her honeyed alto voice normally soothed, but not now.

“March, I don’t want to believe it.” He stepped closer to ensure his father couldn’t overhear them. “I don’t know how to prove your innocence.”

“I can help you.” Her shallow breath indicated her stress.

Was it a lie? She’d lied to him before. She’d used his seal and sent a letter under his signature after he’d instructed her not to.

He closed his eyes in a silent prayer that this was all a bad dream. “It’s best if you go now. I must have time to resolve this. You above all others know I have a duty to the title, duty to my family, and a duty to the estates and all the people whose livelihoods depend upon the Langham duchy. Because of those responsibilities, sometimes hard decisions are required.”

When his gaze returned to hers, he was the one to stumble backward. The revulsion in her normally warm eyes stunned him.

“You’re choosing duty over me.” Her words were a bitter accusation. “My lord, I’ve told you how to find the thief.”

Suddenly, guilt fell upon him as if he’d been the one to steal and lie. Perhaps he had by holding everyone’s high regard under false pretenses. The simple truth? He’d stolen March’s newfound security.

Nausea threatened to overtake him. He had no idea how to untangle them from this mess.

*

Before March left Michael and her shattered heart in London forever, she had to secure one more promise. “Please, my family can’t suffer because of this,” she whispered with as much dignity as she could muster. “Allow me to tell them.”

He stared at the floor.

“Promise me they’ll not suffer,” she repeated more forcefully than before. She’d not leave without his agreement.

Without looking at her, he nodded.

“I’ll be gone within the hour.” Without a glance back, she left the study and the life she’d dreamed of as she toiled for years on the estate. Why did she think she deserved any happiness?

Just as the Leyton vicar had warned, it made little difference whether it was an apple or a necklace. She was as soiled and dirty as if she’d actually taken the missing five thousand pounds from the Langham and McCalpin estates. She’d stolen property from her family through a trust that wasn’t hers, and it was within the Langham family domain.

When she’d taken those funds by fraudulently signing Michael’s name, she’d taken the first step into her own damnation. Now she had to find her siblings and tell them of her exile and the reasons why. Only afterward, when she walked the grounds of Lawson Court, could she silently descend the rest of the way to meet the devil. Perhaps then, she’d be able to shed the cold that had invaded her veins.

Acting as if nothing were amiss, she walked down the hall with her head held high. Inside, gossamer-thin pieces of her heart broke apart and floated away—lost forever.

*

After March had silently left his father’s study, McCalpin spoke with him about hiring Macalester to find the remaining stolen monies. Both agreed such an independent party was necessary. After taking his leave, he roamed Langham Hall, hoping that March would find him and privately explain her actions. She’d explained quite a bit earlier, but still a biting nag wouldn’t quiet and relentlessly pounded his head. Why would she use his seal to steal his money? He’d taken care of her family without exception. Why did she need the money?

When she’d left the room, he’d retrieved his household accounts journal and his relief had surged in waves. The land stewards and the auditor would not discover the true extent of his idiocy—at least not today. More importantly, his father, the invincible Duke of Langham, wouldn’t have to decide whether his heir was unworthy to bear the title of Marquess of McCalpin and all its responsibilities.

That was only part of his burden. Today his heart had crashed as if hurled from the heavens to the cold ground. Two hours had passed when Pitts informed him that, as he had demanded, March had left the premises after she’d spoken to her siblings.

Numb, he found himself back at McCalpin House with a glass of brandy, trying to soothe the pain drumming through his head. If he had any luck, the spirit would take control of his senses and tamp down the continual ache in his chest.

“My lord?” Buxton had silently entered the study. “Lord Lawson is here to see you.”

McCalpin stood quickly. Since March had left London, the first hint of relief swelled within his chest. Bennett would share his sister’s conversation and her current mood.

The young viscount stood resolutely in the doorway. His big green eyes and piercing gaze belied a wisdom that not many adult men possessed.