The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(94)
At the word “mathematics,” McCalpin’s heart had clenched tight as a fist. What if she didn’t steal the money, but he couldn’t prove it? It would ruin her life. The thought spiraled him into a near panic. How would he ever discover the truth? He couldn’t even add a column of numbers together, let alone discover an embezzler within his own employ.
Whatever moral high ground he stood upon was fast eroding in a storm of doubts.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Langham footman quickly deposited March’s trunks and bags inside Lawson Court. Soon thereafter, the carriage, emblazoned with the Duke of Langham’s crest, exited the drive. Its quick speed was a sore reminder of her banishment from Michael and her family. The heaviness she’d fought on the way home descended with a fervor that even Hercules couldn’t lift. The life she’d dreamed of as she’d toiled the fields evaporated before her eyes.
Inside the familiar entry, she leaned against the door of the home she’d known all her life and closed her eyes. One tear escaped, followed by another, then another. She’d never realized how alone she was until she came home. She had no one.
“My miss, what’s happened?” A masculine voice followed by a sure step greeted her. Her heart fluttered at the welcome sound. She opened her eyes to find her darling Hart before her. He reached out with a gentle hand and brushed away one renegade tear.
“I’d heard you were in London yesterday.” She pushed away from the door and straightened her shoulders.
“He’s gone.” Hart’s voice cracked, but he presented a small smile. “Erlington’s not suffering anymore.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. Hart opened his arms and, without hesitation, she flew into his embrace, intending to give comfort, but like the thief she truly was, she took every morsel offered.
“Thank you.” He pulled away and tucked an unruly lock of hair behind her ear. “Have you eaten?”
She shook her head.
Without hesitating, he escorted her to the modest but comfortable sitting room decorated in bold burgundy and navy, the favored colors of the viscountcy. Mrs. Oliver stood guard and welcomed her with her own hug before leaving and returning with a tray.
Everything March tasted reminded her of paste, so she concentrated on her tea. Soon Hart had her on the sofa in front of a blazing fire.
“Should we be wasting firewood like this? Just for the two of us?” God, she despised the constant worry over funds for the estate. Now with her new status as a social outcast and displaced from her old life, it became all the more critical to worry over money. She didn’t have the security her father had set aside for her, nor did she have access to the estate funds. What little food she ate twisted into a ball and bounced in her stomach. She didn’t own one shilling to her name. The only thing of value she possessed was her mother’s earrings.
“Tonight, let’s not worry about such trivial matters,” Hart coaxed. “Tell me what happened in London.”
Hart’s face was so earnest in his wish to share her troubles, she couldn’t refuse him. Perhaps if she told him the horror Rupert had inflicted when he confronted her at the ball, her old friend might have some insight why her father hadn’t provided any money for her.
“What didn’t happen in London?” She bent her head until her chin rested on her chest. “Several days ago, we were attending a ball, and Julia’s suitor asked if he could visit and discuss his intentions to marry her.”
He smiled. “You mean the perfectly estimable Lord Queensgrace?”
She nodded. “Perfect” wasn’t the description she’d use, but she continued with her tale. “Rupert confronted me in a ballroom full of people and announced I was a bastard. He said he found proof in Chelmsford.” The horror of that night still gave her nightmares. She’d never forget the guests watching, almost thirsting for her annihilation. “I went to Chelmsford the next day, and what he said was true. I saw it with my own eyes. My parents were married five years after I was born.”
Hart’s look of horror quickly transformed into doubt. “That’s preposterous. Your parents were married when I went to work for your father.”
“How do you know?” The humiliating pain had never left her side since she found out the truth at the vicarage—except when she was with Michael. “I saw the marriage registry myself.”
He opened his mouth to refute her charge, but she wouldn’t let him.
“I am a bastard.” He shook his head, but she raised her hand to stop the denial. “But what I don’t understand is why would my father leave me money as his legal heir? I can’t fathom why he’d purposely hurt me.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Hart took her in his arms and squeezed. “Your mother and father were married. She always wore her ring. It was even a cause of conversation when we were over in the States. Women had never seen the color of gold your mother wore. Remember the red tint? Copper had been mixed with the gold?”
She nodded in his arms. “Perhaps it served as a ruse to hide their true relationship. She wore it to protect father’s career.”
“I doubt that,” he whispered. “Your mother had the kindest heart and loved your father. However, she would have never jeopardized your future happiness by having you out of wedlock. Neither would your father.”