Sam returned to Dunnock Park with the weight of a desperate task on his shoulders. How could he convince Gemma that whatever people might say of her didn’t matter to him?
The answer to that question, and a dozen others born in the same vein, would have to wait, however, because the Dowager Duchess of Vale was standing directly ahead of him in the corridor, clutching the missive in her hands.
“Have you seen her, Lord Ellery?” she asked, her voice shaking.
He could not help but push his own ragged nerves aside and soothe hers. “I have, and she appears to be well. If it helps, she did not tell me otherwise.”
Her fretful gaze darted over his shoulder in the direction of the garden. “She has asked me not to go to her but only to ready the carriage. Even with only a garden between us, essentially she has separated herself from the people she is most fond of in the world.”
Sam noted the error in her statement—people, instead of person—but did not speak it. Apparently, the dowager duchess was under the same misguided notion that he was. “What is in her heart, I cannot say. She refused my . . . invitation to return to the manor house. And I suspect she wishes to leave Dunnock Park altogether, as soon as possible.”
When Sam saw that they were no longer alone in the corridor, he straightened his shoulders.
“Pardon the intrusion, m’lord, but I thought you’d want to hear this immediately,” Mrs. Harkens said. “Lady Tillmanshire is above stairs and screeching about a lost brooch. And worse, she is blaming Miss Desmond, claiming to have found it in her bedchamber.”
“Impossible,” both Sam and the dowager duchess exclaimed at once. He’d returned the brooch directly to the baroness’s room last night and placed it on the vanity beside her other jewelry. There was no way she could have missed it.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t reveal what he’d done without implicating Gemma.
“No. No. No.” The dowager duchess shook her head. “I do not believe it for an instant. There is something dastardly afoot, to be sure.”
Mrs. Harkens nodded in agreement and waved her hand for a chambermaid, who was lurking off to the side, to step forward. “It’s true, m’lord. Betsy confessed that she’d seen Miss Ashbury and Miss Leeds coming out of Miss Desmond’s bedchamber.”
“Are you certain of it, Betsy?” Sam asked.
The freckle-cheeked maid nodded. “I stayed in the shadow of the stairwell until they were gone, but it looked like they were up to no good, m’lord.”
Fuming, Sam drew a breath between his teeth before responding. “Thank you both. I might require you to give this same testimony later this morning. Until then, send word to the stables to have Lady Tillmanshire’s and Lady Cantham’s carriages readied at once.”
“Oh, my poor Gemma,” the dowager duchess said, casting a stern glance toward the ceiling above her, as if to send a bolt of lightning down upon her enemies. “She has already had to deal with so much, living with a father who’d kept her from her family for so many years. When she was old enough to understand about his business dealings, he began locking her in their apartments and reading her correspondences to make sure that none of his own illicit actions would be discovered. All she’d wanted to do was escape it. And now she must be confronted with this heinous accusation?”
Sam was stunned. From their conversations, he knew that Gemma had had a less than conventional upbringing, but she’d never revealed to him how imprisoning it had been. Learning this, he could well understand her desire to flee. Who wouldn’t, in her circumstance? And to add this boundless accusation . . .
He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth to keep from storming upstairs that instant. He thought he was angry before. Now he was enraged. How dare they!
“No,” he said to the dowager duchess. “Miss Desmond will not have to worry. I will snuff this out once and for all.”
She turned to leave but then hesitated and lifted her troubled gaze to him. “If my niece is determined to leave, I can only think of how that action will make it appear as if we are fleeing. The gossipmongers will not be kind to her.”
“I will not allow that to happen,” he vowed without knowing how, but only that he would do anything for Gemma. “I will come up with a plan to ensure her reputation is safe from further harm.”
The dowager duchess offered a decisive nod. “Then you’ll need time, and I’ll make sure you get it.”
Sam stormed down the corridor toward his study, cursing Albert Desmond under his breath.
Did that man even care about what Gemma would suffer because of his wrongdoings? Likely not. While Sam had been raised by the best of parents, she’d been left under the care of a self-serving criminal. And after all that, she still had to deal with the petty-mindedness of women like Lady Tillmanshire and Lady Cantham.
Sam wasn’t pleased with his own behavior either. He shouldn’t have lost his temper. He should have held on to his patience. He should have fallen at her feet and begged her forgiveness.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Holt stagger into the study after him.
Sam was in a vile temper and not fit for company. “Isn’t it a bit early for you?”
“Why are you not in high spirits this morning?” Holt asked, sinking down into the overstuffed chair by the hearth. “I’d thought after engineering last night, your nauseatingly romantic heart would be bursting out of your waistcoat and your servants rushing around to prepare for your wedding.”
Picking up the quill pen on his desk, he unintentionally snapped it between his fingers. Well, better it than Lady Tillmanshire’s neck, he supposed. “Perhaps, if not for interference from another guest.”
Sam withdrew another quill from the drawer and began to sharpen it with his penknife. It felt good to inflict violence on the tip, sending opaque shards scattering to the tidy surface of his desk.
“Would that be the same guest who is now upstairs bellowing about how Miss Desmond robbed her?” Holt asked.
Now this quill snapped too. Growling, he flicked a murderous gaze toward the ceiling. “That bitter baroness is attempting to sully Miss Desmond’s reputation by branding her as a thief in order to dissuade my interest in her.”
“Is this your own supposition or”—Holt stood and smoothed his hands down the front of his gray waistcoat—“are you taking Miss Desmond’s word?”
Sam tossed down the broken quill and rounded the desk. “Just what are you implying?”
Holt shrugged in his usual indifferent manner, but his gaze was watchful. “During my sleepless hours, I finally remembered where I’d heard Miss Desmond’s name before. I cannot remember the details, per se, but it was in association with Lord Markham.”
Sam took another step until he was within strangling distance. “If you value our friendship and any of your teeth, do not speak another word.”
“You’re that sure of her character?” One dark brow lifted.
“I am,” he said, with utter certainty pulsing through every vein.
“It’s about bloody time.” Holt clapped him on the shoulder and flashed a grin. “This self-doubt of yours has grown wearisome. And, by the by, I knew right away where I’d heard her name. You see, there was a tiny rumor that during Miss Desmond’s first and, apparently, only attendance at a ball, Markham insulted her honor. Then, coincidentally, Markham broke both of his hands and fled London. No one knows for certain what happened. All I can say is that Miss Desmond must have friends. And any debutante who has a slew of people prepared to rally to her defense . . . well, she might be worthy of you.”
Sam thought about the way he’d spoken to her this morning. It was unforgivable, especially after all that she had endured. “But am I worthy of her? When Gemma explained that she found Lady Tillmanshire’s brooch in her room, I should have marched up to the baroness, handed her the bauble, and ordered her to leave immediately.”
“And have the biddy wondering how you knew the brooch was in Miss Desmond’s bedchamber?” Holt clucked his tongue but also waggled his eyebrows. “What happened to the brooch then?”
“I returned it to Lady Tillmanshire’s chamber, of course. Then, this morning I learned from one of the chambermaids that Miss Ashbury and Miss Leeds were seen leaving Miss Desmond’s room last night.”
“Ah. So the rumors regarding their dogged determination to wreak havoc all Season were not overly exaggerated.” He stopped with a quizzical arch of his brow. “What?”
“You were touring the continent, and yet you’ve heard more about the Season than I have. And I was there.”
“It is your own fault for trying so hard to catch a bride that you paid no heed to rumors. Even when I am away, I keep my ears tuned to the buzz of society. How else do you catch an heiress, after all?” Holt cast a glance out the open doorway and toward the stairs, as if he were thinking of someone who wasn’t quite an heiress but possessed a wealth of dimples. Then he shook his head, his expression resolute. “As for Miss Leeds and Miss Ashbury, apparently their alliance has sent many a tearful debutante rushing out of ballrooms and garden parties all Season.”
“Then it’s high time they got what they deserve.” Suddenly Sam knew exactly what to do. Not only would it stop any chance that Lady Tillmanshire’s accusations would hold any merit, but it might even free Gemma from the overwhelming desire to escape. “If you are willing, I could use your assistance.”
“I am at your disposal.”
“Ill?” Gemma repeated, to the marquess and marchioness. With her packed satchel waiting in the foyer, she’d assumed that Lord and Lady Russford had called her into the parlor to bid her farewell, not to tell her about Aunt Edith’s sudden illness.
Although, knowing her aunt’s tendency to believe herself a matchmaker, Gemma was skeptical. “In her note this morning, my aunt said she was prepared to depart at once.”
Lady Russford shifted her eyes to her husband. “Yes, well, apparently her illness was rather sudden.”
“But slight,” Lord Russford added carefully. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Just something that would make it uncomfortable to travel,” Lady Russford added, a little too brightly and received an encouraging nod from her husband.
If Gemma were watching them at a gaming table, she’d believe they both had cards up their sleeves. Yet while her suspicions were on alert, she wasn’t certain what their intentions were.
“Then I should go to her, I suppose.” Yet at the thought of returning to the manor house, where Sam was right this instant, her heart and stomach began to turn in opposite directions. She didn’t think she could face him.
“No, no, no,” Lady Russford said quickly. “You mustn’t just yet. According to her maid, the dowager duchess wishes for no visitors at this time.”
Lord Russford nodded agreement. “And of course you are more than welcome to stay here.”
“In fact, we insist upon it.”
Gemma wasn’t certain what to make of this development. Though perhaps she’d read them wrong from the start and they were only being nice. And perhaps Aunt Edith truly was too ill to travel. It might have been something she ate at breakfast. Gemma wouldn’t put it past Lady Cantham to slip soured milk into someone’s tea.
Resigned, Gemma offered a smile. “You are both too kind. I feel as if I wore out my welcome hours ago.”
“Nonsense. Mr. Wortham and I are glad for the company. In the meantime, would you like to help me finish the counterpane?”
“Miss Desmond is a thief, just like her father,” Lady Tillmanshire declared with a haughty sniff, her coterie nodding in agreement. Lady Cantham, Miss Ashbury, and Miss Leeds all gathered around her in his study with their noses in the air.
Sam did his best to subdue his urge to have them escorted from his house. That would come soon enough, but first he would protect Gemma from their slander. “I will ask you politely, and only once, to recant your unfounded accusation.”
“Unfounded?” Lady Tillmanshire blustered. “That good-for-nothing girl crept into my room in the dead of night to steal from—”
“Impossible,” Sam interrupted. “Miss Desmond was not even here last night. In fact, she is a guest of my parents in the dower house.”
Lady Tillmanshire’s mouth opened and closed like a fish in need of water. “The . . . the dower house? But that just cannot be. You said on the first night that you would not introduce any of the guests to your parents until . . . you had reached . . . an understanding.”
“Precisely,” he said, looking out the open study door to see a team of footmen carrying down their luggage to be strapped to the waiting carriages. Then he cut directly to the point. “You are no longer a guest at Dunnock Park, Lady Tillmanshire.
“You may not know this, but the ton has a low opinion of those who sling about false accusations of this enormity. They are especially unforgiving of upstarts who reek of new money and parade themselves about town in gilded carriages that they can no longer afford.” He took a moment for his words to sink in. “Oh yes, the secret of your strained finances is on the lips of many. Out of pity, I ignored those rumors, wanting to give fairness due to you and your daughter.”
“And for that we humbly thank you,” Lady Tillmanshire said in a rush, likely not noticing how Lady Cantham took hold of her stepdaughter’s arm and retreated a step, their faces pinched in haughty disdain.
“The truth of the matter is, I was wrong to do so. I see that now,” he continued, as if the baroness hadn’t spoken. “Regardless, I have kindly made arrangements for your room and board.”
“You are too generous,” she said with a sigh of relief. “Are we, perhaps, to stay at the dower house as well?”
He was astounded by her amount of gall. “No. I have arranged for you to reside with your daughter’s betrothed, Lord Haggerty.”
The four of them gasped in revulsion, as they should. The man was beyond vile, his character lacking in every gentlemanly courtesy. It seemed fitting for the baron to marry into a family that possessed the same qualities—or lack thereof.
“I have learned that—contrary to what you have told me, Lady Tillmanshire—your daughter is still very much betrothed to Lord Haggerty. Since his estate is only a few miles from here, I have sent a missive to him that he should expect his bride’s family this very day.”
Miss Ashbury’s skin paled, tinged with a yellowish green. “Mother, I cannot marry him. He is so hideous that I can hardly stand the look of him.”
“And you will not marry him if I have anything to say about it.” The baroness turned to Sam, advancing in small, desperate shuffles. “Lord Haggerty lied to us about his fortune. The truth is that he is nothing more than a pauper, claiming that he possessed a great estate and fortune. We never would have considered him otherwise.”
Sam felt no pity but merely shrugged. “Sadly, society is used to lies of this sort. There are far worse crimes than being poor, such as”—he offered a pointed look to Miss Ashbury—“crying off after a betrothal. A young woman who does such a thing is labeled a jilt, which most often ensures a life of spinsterhood.”
Then Sam turned on the other two. “As for you, Lady Cantham and Miss Leeds, my servants have informed me that you were willing participants in the scheme to brand Miss Desmond a thief.” He walked to the door and gestured for them to depart. “And I have ordered your carriage as well.”
Lady Tillmanshire stopped, her voice rising with affront as she pointed a finger at Lady Cantham. “Is that all the reprimand she’s to receive? The stolen brooch was her idea.”
“So you say,” Lady Cantham said, lifting a hand to smooth her pale hair, “but who is going to believe you any longer? You’ve lost your fortune, and your daughter is marrying a pauper.”
Miss Leeds and her stepmother exchanged a look and snickered.
Suddenly, Miss Ashbury launched herself at Miss Leeds, claws at the ready. “And you will be a spinster because no gentleman will have you once I reveal the truth about you and your riding master!”
Then all four of the women fell on each other, brawling in the foyer. It was a pitiful display of scratching and screeching, of flying hair ribbons and ripped sashes. He even saw a brown wig skid across the floor and noted that it belonged to Lady Tillmanshire.
Sam rolled his eyes and ordered the footmen to carry the melee outside and then to bolt the doors.
Swaggering down the hall, Holt chuckled. “House parties are far more amusing than I ever imagined. Perhaps I should host my own after my father’s imminent wake.”
“I fear I cannot yet recommend it.” But if all this gained him Gemma, then it would be well worth it. As for now, he was waiting to see if his plan would work. With the help of Holt, the Hollander twins, and Gemma’s aunt, they’d written to many of their closest allies and influential members of society. “Did you send the letters?”
“Indeed. The Dowager Duchess of Vale and One and Two have all sent theirs to be posted in the village, while I sent mine with my valet to be hand-delivered. I imagine a few responses, from those living nearby, will come as soon as tomorrow.”
Sam hoped Holt was right. If everything went as it should, Gemma wouldn’t need to worry that her father’s deeds had tarnished her reputation beyond repair. If people took the time to know her, they would be as besotted as he was. All she needed was an opportunity to show them who she was.
Then, perhaps, she wouldn’t feel the need to escape after all.