March picked up the heavy iron knocker shaped in a lion’s head, and banged it against the massive mahogany door. “Thank you both for coming with me.”
Standing beside her, Uncle Hart studied March with a frank, assessing gaze. Such a look coming from him was akin to a thousand spiders dancing across her back. Slim, fair of face with light brown hair streaked with gray and blue eyes, he stood a little over six feet. Even though he was her father’s age, the years had been kind to him.
Faith took her hand and squeezed. “We’ll get through this. Your forbearance has kept our family safe and sound. You’ve done everything in your power to protect us. Don’t worry.”
Her sister’s face reflected a steadfast and serene peace. March swallowed that strength as if feasting after a weeklong fast. She couldn’t crumble into a mass of doubts, not yet.
“This is a side of you I’ve never seen before. Nothing to be frightened of, my miss,” Hart whispered. “The marquess has most likely summoned you to discuss you and your siblings.”
“Of course.” The words failed to calm the icy fear that slowly twisted and twined inside her chest. A nervous gasp escaped on her next breath of air. The door swept open, revealing a footman dressed in a navy-blue velvet double-breasted coat, matching pantaloons, and a perfectly fitted powdered wig. In silence, March stood with Hart and Faith on either side and waited for the invitation to enter the Marquess of McCalpin’s home.
Almost as if the handsome servant saw through her ruse, a slight grin crossed the man’s face then disappeared. “May I help you?”
“I’m Miss Lawson and this is … is Miss Faith Lawson and Mr. Hart. We’re here on a business matter to see the marquess.” March resisted the urge to turn and run back to the cart. She held out the summons as proof they were invited. She forced her feet to stay planted and waited for what seemed liked hours. “He requested my presence.”
The footman motioned them forward, and March followed him into the vestibule. Her breath caught in her throat at her first glimpse of the home. Tiles of alternating black and white marble lined the floor of the large entry. A massive mahogany table stood in the center with a flower arrangement of more than three-dozen red roses surrounded by other exotic flowers that March didn’t recognize. She inhaled the scent and immediately thought of summer. The marquess must have a greenhouse on the premises. Only the wealthy could afford such extravagances during the cold winter months.
To her right, an expansive circular staircase led to the second floor. Her eyes swept the length of the stairs but stopped at the sight of the most handsome human to have graced the earth with his presence.
On the stairs and dressed in a moss-green riding jacket and buckskin breeches covered in mud, he had turned when they’d entered. March’s gaze collided with his, and her heart stumbled as if missing a dance step. From the distance, there was no doubt his blue eyes matched the brightest feathers of a kingfisher. His chestnut hair sported wet curls, most likely from the exertion of an afternoon ride. Time stood still as she studied his face. Radiant sunshine from a window next to him caressed his check and surrounded him in a ring of light. He could have been the model for Michelangelo’s David. She’d never seen such perfection in a real man before.
Obviously, this vision was not as impressed with her as she was with him. Without acknowledgment, he continued his way upstairs, leaving her and his halo behind. March’s breathing relaxed, but regret gathered like a gray haze over her.
How fitting that a luminous light courted him while nimbus clouds seemed to be her bosom companion. She could have stared at David for hours and still not grown tired of the vision. He couldn’t be the marquess, since her banker, Lady Somerton, bore little resemblance to this man. Whoever he was, his bearing exuded strength and a graceful confidence that demanded attention.
The footman gave a slight nod to another servant, presumably the butler, who came forward.
“Miss?” The butler tilted his head slightly and waited for her response.
“Miss March Lawson, Miss Faith Lawson, and Mr. Victor Hart. Lord McCalpin requested I call upon him … on a matter of importance.” March delivered a slight smile and clenched the missive demanding her visit.
“Please accompany me. You may wait in the salon while I inform his lordship you’ve arrived.” Without waiting for a response, the butler executed a precise turn and walked away. March followed with Hart and Faith close behind.
After they took their seats, the butler left the three of them alone. Hart was the first to break the silence. “Would you like for me to speak on your behalf?”
“No, thank you. Our family’s happiness and security are my responsibility.” March straightened her back as she adjusted her well-worn gloves. They were her Sunday best.
The butler reappeared with an army of maids and a footman with a formal tea service. Cakes, tarts, and candied nuts towered over a triple-plated serving dish. Bennett would have been enthralled with such treats.
“Miss Lawson, I had refreshments prepared in case you might be famished after your travel from Leyton.” The butler smiled reassuringly. “Shall I serve?”
March jumped to her feet. “That’s very kind, but I’ll pour. I’m sure you have better things to do than wait on us.”
The butler’s mouth tilted down as he considered her comment. “Of course. A lady such as you would want to do the honors. We don’t have many guests—” As if he misspoke, he changed the subject. “Lord McCalpin is regrettably detained. I hope you don’t mind waiting.”
“Not at all.” God, she sounded desperate. No, she was desperate. The summons had to change her family’s fortune. “Thank you, Mr.…?”
“I’m Buxton, his lordship’s butler. Is there anything else I can get for you?”
March smiled at his kindness, a wonderful omen for her upcoming meeting. An ogre wouldn’t employ a nice staff. “No, thank you, Mr. Buxton.”
The butler nodded and left. With her stomach dancing a jig, she could only manage one tart. Faith and Hart ate everything except one lone pastry. Faith eyed it with an ardent yearning, but left it. Buxton returned within a half hour and escorted them into the marquess’s study. By then, March wasn’t at all certain this visit was such a good idea. Her palms were slowly turning into water pots, making her kidskin gloves rather sticky.
Perhaps she should have taken the time to respond to the marquess’s demand by writing a letter. What would she have written?
My dear marquess, please excuse my embezzling.
* * *
McCalpin pushed his fingers through his wet hair in an attempt to tame the renegade locks. After his quick bath, he’d found a fresh change of clothes laid out for him in his dressing room. William strolled into the room with several documents. “Thank God you’re late for your audience with Miss Lawson. You should see this. You’ve made another withdrawal request from Miss Lawson’s trust. This time in the amount of one thousand pounds.”
McCalpin finished buttoning the gray waistcoat and took the papers. “Same as before?”
William nodded.
McCalpin quickly read the document. When he reached the numbers, his mind stumbled to comprehend, but his eyes couldn’t decipher the amounts. His heartbeat started to race, and he forced himself to breathe deeply. Why did those little symbols cause him such agony? “It looks like my signature, but I didn’t instruct anyone to do this.”
Will’s brow creased as he considered the documents in his brother’s hand. “That’s why I knew it was forged. I instructed Mr. Russell to discover where they’re coming from.”
What would he do if William wasn’t by his side? McCalpin adjusted his neckcloth. His entire life would be in an uproar. “And? Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“The directives are coming from Lawson Court in Leyton.”
“Are you suggesting that a nine-year-old boy is forging my name to steal from his sister? That’s preposterous. How could he master my signature? How did he get my seal?”
Will plopped his large frame on an upholstered stool beside the looking glass that McCalpin stood before.
“I don’t know,” Will answered running his hands through his hair in frustration. The blue of his eyes resembled McCalpin’s own, but his hair was a shade darker. The color always reminded McCalpin of sable. “But someone from Lawson Court is forging your name. By the penmanship, I’d say it’s one of his sisters.”
“What kind of a family would steal from one another? How old are the siblings, again?” McCalpin adjusted his cravat then slipped on his morning coat.
“According to the birthdates in the trusts, the oldest daughter is twenty-four, the middle sister is nineteen, and the youngest is eighteen. I’ve written their birthdates and ages on a piece of paper next to the trust for your ease. Apparently, their parents died during an influenza outbreak years ago.” William rested his ankle on his other leg. “The eldest daughter has repeatedly written to Russell and claims she’s twenty-five. Usually women claim they’re younger, not older.” He shook his head and laughed. “Congratulations, McCalpin. You’re responsible for not only the trusts, but a Lawson daughter who lies about her age, and an embezzler as well.”
It boggled the mind to think he was entrusted to protect the funds for the Lawson sisters. He couldn’t even keep simple household accounts straight. “I don’t even know these people.”
William lifted a brow. “You have quite the mystery on your hands.”
“My lord?” Buxton had entered the dressing room. “I apologize, but Miss Lawson, her sister, and a Mr. Hart are in your study. I had tea served.” He cleared his throat as if suddenly uncomfortable. “The eldest Miss Lawson appears nervous. She has a death grip on the letter you sent.”
William shot out of the chair. “Oh, you must let me join your cozy little chat. We might be able to have some fun with this.”
“Perhaps the eldest is stealing her own funds.” McCalpin lifted one brow. “I wouldn’t dream of keeping you away from the festivities. How shall we spring the net?”
* * *
March sat across from Faith and Hart in a small sitting area in front of a large window that overlooked the street below.
“March, shall we leave?” Hart’s deep gravelly voice broke the eerie silence.
Twisting and untwisting her fingers into knots must have been the first visible clue she wasn’t at all confident in her purpose. As if on cue, the study door swung open and her David walked in accompanied by another equally handsome man. Resplendent in a black coat, gray waistcoat, and tan breeches, David surveyed the three of them for a moment. The large fire in the hearth crackled, almost as if calling out in greeting. He made his way to stand in front of them. A blast of heat hit March’s cheek. Her purpose today dictated she succeed in getting her funds released, not moon over a man.
The simple truth? He was a man, nothing more and nothing less. Such a thought should lessen his effect on her concentration.
Unfortunately, it didn’t.
“Miss Lawson.” Her David took her hand in his and sketched a perfect bow. “I’m Lord McCalpin.”
She stood and dipped a curtsy. Ripples of heat radiated up her arm from where his hand held hers. The warmth he created with a mere touch could melt the sea ice in the Arctic Ocean.
With an elegant turn, the marquess extended the same greeting to Faith, who did her best to curtsey. To his credit, he didn’t bat an eye at her sister’s difficulty mastering the movement.
“Mr. Victor Hart.” Her old friend stood tall and didn’t shy away from the formidable ducal heir in front of them.
“I’m McCalpin.” The marquess shook Hart’s hand in greeting. “Allow me to introduce my brother, Lord William Cavensham.”
Lord William greeted everyone. The smile he extended to Faith was simply spectacular, but Faith pulled her hand away as if wary of the gentleman before her.
She’d do well to follow Faith’s lead. These two men were stunningly handsome and could steal every argument she possessed. She released a silent sigh.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice.” The smile on Lord McCalpin’s face transformed him from a handsome mortal to a breathtaking Greek god. “I think we’re long overdue for an introduction.”
“Indeed.” March cleared the bevy of bullfrogs that had decided to take up residence in her throat.
The marquess quirked an eyebrow, then smiled warmly. “Follow me.”
Her stomach slipped to her knees along with the delicate cherry tart she’d eaten. Her perfect man was the new trustee, and she needed his help. That was the only reason she was there. If she kept up that mantra, she’d survive this interview. With a hefty dose of apprehension, she followed him to the far end of the room.
Beside his massive desk, the marquess turned and faced her direction. He extended his arm toward her with his palm face up. Without thought, March clasped his large hand tightly in hers. He would quickly deduce her desperation if she didn’t comport herself with a little more dignity. His hand contained an inherent warmth and strength that caused a slight tremble to erupt from her toes to her head.
“I thought we’d already introduced ourselves,” he whispered with a wink. “But if you’d like me to do the honors again, I’d be happy to.”
After a slight bow, he released her hand and again, motioned toward a chair in front of his desk. The impish smile on his face could’ve charmed a roomful of sour dowagers.
She pressed her eyes closed in an attempt to settle the butterflies that flittered in her chest. He was simply pointing what seat she was to sit in, and she had thought he wanted to take her hand again.
He must think I’m an artless fool. Good God, could this be any more mortifying?
Faith and Hart settled on a lush sofa toward the entrance of the room, but March felt the comforting heat of her sister’s gaze on her back. She took a deep breath to gain some order over her scattered senses. Her family’s welfare depended upon her surviving this conversation and convincing the marquess to release her money. His brother settled in the chair next to her.
Once seated behind his desk, Lord McCalpin leaned forward to close the distance between them. “Miss Lawson, tell me about you and your family,” he commanded in a low, composed voice.
March answered quickly over the cacophony of her beating heart. “I seek the money my father left me.”
He tilted his head and lifted an eyebrow.
Her cheeks flamed, but she continued to blather on without answering his request. “In truth, I turned twenty-five over three months ago. I’m not certain why you haven’t released my funds. Whatever the reason, I just want to clear up this misunderstanding and get my money.”
There was no question. She was an absolute utter buffoon.
The way she’d bumbled her presentation proved it. She stared at her clasped hands so she’d not have to witness his inevitable disdain. There was no turning back now.
Normally, men didn’t have any impact on her. She was not a woman whose looks lent any type of persuasive power to an argument with the opposite sex. She’d always prided herself on her wits and ability to negotiate the highest sale prices for the estate’s wool. It was more productive than a coy smile or a dramatic bat of the eyelashes, neither of which she had mastered effectively. Nevertheless, what little talent or intelligence she possessed had completely deserted her.
“Humor me before we discuss money,” McCalpin drawled. “In reviewing your family’s situation, I’ve discovered there’s not a guardian for your siblings or the estate named in your father’s documents. After Lord Burns’ death, no one has helped you, I take it? How have you managed?”
“I live with my two sisters and our brother, Bennett. I’ve been running the estate for the past eight years.” She delivered a slight smile. “I plan to retain a solicitor. I … we need a guardian appointed for the estate. I’m perfectly capable of looking after my family.”
His mouth dipped into a frown and, for a moment, his eyes studied her with a curious intensity. “Miss Lawson, you have my sincerest apologies for not contacting you sooner after Lord Burns died. We’re both aware that you’re not of age to receive your trust money. I had my solicitor review the documents to insure I was correct, which he verified. You may not receive your inheritance until next year.”
With a slight shake of her head, she struggled to comprehend. If the man had jumped on his desk and danced a jig naked, she wouldn’t have been more shocked. “Sir, does my trust not end when I’m twenty-five? I was born in 1788, making me, indeed, of age.”
McCalpin reviewed the parchment on his desk then returned his gaze to hers. “The trust states you were born on the twenty-third of November, 1789.”
She bit her lip and clenched her hands into fists. He stared at her mouth before his eyes narrowed. She might steal from her own trust, but she wasn’t a liar.
Completely out of her realm, she wasn’t prepared for this meeting. She should have written a response requesting the reason for the interview. He had already grown suspicious of her, and he held her future and her family’s happiness in his hands. Not to mention, he held her teetering career as an embezzler on the precarious edge of ruin.
“Rest assured I will do everything in my power to perform the duties as dictated by your father’s request. Perhaps it’s best if I have my solicitor inquire about your brother’s estate.”
“This is pure madness,” she blurted.
“Perhaps on your part, Miss Lawson, but I can assure you that I’m quite sane.” A grimace crossed his perfect mouth. The effort prominently displayed a full lower lip that deserved a firm bite in retaliation. The sliver of emotion in the marquess’s cool eyes warned her things were going from bad to disastrous. “Surely, the estate is flush with funds? It pays for itself, I assume?”
She tapped her foot to keep from stomping it in anger. “Sir, flush? We’ve received nothing. There hasn’t been any allowance for the estate’s operation all year.”
“Miss Lawson, I don’t manage the viscountcy estate. Just your trusts.” He leaned back in his chair and delivered the coldest stare she’d ever received in her life. It could have turned a summer shower into a blizzard. She lifted her chin in response. His attention suddenly snapped to Hart. “Could you explain who Mr. Hart is?”
Immediately, she regretted her snappish tone. She pushed aside an unwelcome wave of embarrassment. Ever mindful of her cause, a logical argument was always more persuasive than raw emotion. “May we continue to discuss my trust? My father’s solicitors must have copied the birth date wrong, or perhaps poor penmanship causes the eighty-eight to appear as an eighty-nine in my birth year. That has to be the explanation.”
Lord McCalpin assessed her with a wary intelligence. “Excellent theories, Miss Lawson.” He glanced at the trust document before him, then pushed it toward her. “Unfortunately, the gentleman who wrote this document had a hand that was neat and precise.” He turned his attention to the front of the room. “Mr. Hart, it appears Miss Lawson refuses to comment on your relationship to the family—”
“Mr. Hart was employed by my late father when he served under the Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary to the United States. He was my father’s aide de camp and stayed with my family after we lost our parents.” She drew a breath and prayed for control and patience.
“Mr. Hart, are you related to the family?” The marquess’s sinfully dark voice floated over her as if tasting her. She shook her head at such thoughts in a desperate attempt to gather her wayward senses.
Without a hint of emotion, Hart answered, “No, my lord.”
McCalpin propped both elbows on his desk. “Miss Lawson, tell me more about your living arrangements.”
She clenched her fists once more. What more did the man want from her? “We have one servant, Mrs. Oliver, who helps me run the house. She’s been with us since I was a baby.”
“Do you have any other family?” He straightened the papers in front of him.
For some odd reason, it reminded her of Bennett’s recent attempt to fire her as his housekeeper. “We have one cousin, but he lives in his own home close to Leyton.”
“Is there perchance a suitable chaperone who lives with you and your family?”
“No. At my age, I’m a perfectly acceptable chaperone for my sisters.” She squared her shoulders and refused to turn away from his direct gaze.
“It’s hard to fathom that the solicitors bungled your birthdate. However, if you are twenty-five as you claim”—his gaze pierced hers—“I will gladly give you your money with the proviso you present me proof. I will not shirk my responsibilities as trustee.”
This man dared to keep her property under his control, when by all rights it should be in her possession. March struggled to remain calm. She lost the battle as her temper rose, and that never boded well for anyone, particularly her.
In a flash, she stood with her well-worn brown muslin dress rustling in protest against her movements. “You’ve shirked your responsibility to us before. Why hasn’t your solicitor answered my correspondence? You can’t withhold those funds. I’m twenty-five. That’s my money. You’ve never even visited Lawson Court,” she challenged.
“Is that an invitation, Miss Lawson? If so, then I readily accept.” Matching her movements, McCalpin stood and leaned over the desk to bring his eyes level with hers. “I have a duty to protect your money, and I plan to carry out that responsibility. Even if it means protecting it from you. Remember, I can and I will keep those funds.” A light flashed in his dark blue eyes that indicated his anger matched hers. “Do you have proof of your birthdate? A letter from a clergyman verifying it perhaps?”
March swallowed, then leaned in closer. In a crisp dictation, she answered, “Such records are usually kept in the family bible. The one recording my birth was lost when my parents left New York to return to England. You’ll have to accept my word.”
“That’s not enough,” he said tersely, tightening his stance.
March remained standing. To sit would mean she was giving up her claim. “There are repairs that must be made to the tenant’s home, and our home was damaged in a winter storm. Some of the roof damage has been repaired, but the estate still owes money to some local businesses that have kindly extended credit.”
“You would use your own funds for these repairs and debts?” He narrowed his eyes.
“Lord Burns didn’t provide any monies last year. When he died, there was no one to give me money for the estate management. I have no other choice than to pay for it myself until I can choose a guardian for the estate.” She clasped her fingers together in a desperate attempt to gain control over her anger. “As there is no guardian to say otherwise, I’m opening our family townhouse this spring and will move my sisters and brother to London for the Season. My sisters are of such an age they should take their rightful place in society. Bennett, my little brother, inherited my father’s title and should experience the educational offerings only London can provide. Since you, sir, are in charge of my sisters’ monies also, I hope they aren’t prey to the same sort of mistakes rampant through my documents.”
A brief scowl shadowed Lord McCalpin’s face, and his lips thinned in displeasure. “If what you say is true, then I readily agree your situation warrants immediate attention. Allow me the opportunity of seeing the estate for myself. Is that too much to ask?”
He ran a hand down the length of his face. The effort seemed to eliminate some of his anger.
“Let me evaluate your requests for tenant repairs and the estate’s debts. The idea of bringing your family to London isn’t to be taken lightly. It’s a massive undertaking. That’s all I can promise today.”
“Sir, I’m not asking you to take over the estate. I’m asking for—”
Lord William placed several letters on the desk. March’s heart stopped mid-beat when she saw her forged requests for funds. Bile scourged her throat as her face heated with humiliation.
She could face anything except for the marquess’s beratement in front of Faith and Hart. For her shame to be made public to her family was a burden she didn’t think she could bear. McCalpin reached for the letters. Without a second thought, she placed her hand over his, a completely inappropriate gesture hidden from Faith and Hart. It made little difference at this point. He would ruin her if she didn’t stop him.
“Please, not in front of them,” she whispered, the words so faint she wasn’t certain she’d said them.
He continued to pull the documents toward him, but regarded her. It had to have been her imagination, but his eyes seemed to soften. She almost missed the slight dip of his chin in acknowledgment. His gaze went to his brother. Silently, they communicated with one another, and Lord William stood and walked to her sister and Hart.
“Miss Faith, there’s a lovely portrait of my late uncle, the previous Duke of Langham. When he was the Marquess of McCalpin, I understand he became a close friend of your father’s. May I show it to you? He was a handsome fellow. People say I favor him, and I’d like your opinion.”
Faith reluctantly nodded, and Hart rose to join them. Protective, he wouldn’t allow Faith to wander off with the young aristocrat without his presence. The trio left the room, and she found herself alone with the marquess. She sat back down in the chair and waited for her sentence.
* * *
“Do you know what these documents are?” McCalpin asked. By the absolute defeated expression on Miss Lawson’s face, he had his answer.
She cleared her throat. “Yes.”
“Did you forge my signature?”
She nodded gently, and a thick wave of dark brown—almost black—hair escaped from her simple chignon.
He regarded her carefully. Their earlier conversation had grown quite heated. What type of woman would dare impersonate him? One who must have spent hours practicing his signature. She had used his identity and his standing in society for her own purposes. Impersonating a noble was a high crime, and she’d done it anyway.
She wasn’t a classic English beauty by any means. She was more exotic in her looks. Her brown eyes sparkled with intelligence. Before he’d shown her the forged withdrawals, he’d found her stalwart confidence intriguing. He’d even found her earlier awkwardness over their second greeting charming.
Through it all, his title or wealth didn’t faze her. She only saw him as a stumbling block. Truth be told, he enjoyed going toe-to-toe with her. The rapier-quick retorts and bold challenges were refreshing.
“How did you get my seal?” he gently asked.
“My father kept all of your uncle’s letters. I found an intact wax seal of the Marquess of McCalpin and took it to a family friend who’s a retired engraver, and he made it for me.” She stared at her clasped hands and refused to look at him. “I kept your first letter of introduction as our new trustee. I used it to practice your signature.”
Her face had turned scarlet red. She was mortified. Instead of pleased that he’d received her confession, McCalpin hated that he made her feel such embarrassment. However, it was his responsibility to protect the family’s funds.
“Have you used it for anything besides withdrawals from your trust?” he asked.
She stiffened at the question, but managed to stare into his eyes. She shook her head. “Never. I would never harm you or my family. I only did it for my…”
What could his little embezzler possibly say to justify her behavior?
“We needed new shears, or I couldn’t finish shearing the sheep. I need to sell that wool to cover our household expenses.” His lips trembled for a moment before she continued. “The estate isn’t profitable.”
He gazed at her in disbelief. “You shear the sheep on the estate?”
“Yes. Hart helps if he’s at Lawson Court, but he travels frequently. Besides, I’m faster than he is and can shear two sheep to his one.” When she swallowed, the movement emphasized her long neck.
He collapsed in his chair and stared at the woman. It was inconceivable what she was claiming. She was the daughter of a well-respected member of the nobility.
“I understand how trite this must sound, but I’m truly sorry I used your identity.” Her eyes dipped to her lap. Whatever she studied must have given her courage since she soon met his gaze. “Lord Burns had control over Lawson Court and was never generous.” She drew a deep breath. “For the past several years, he didn’t see fit to give us much money. When I learned he’d passed, I wrote to you as the successor—”
Buxton entered the room. “I beg your pardon, my lord. Lord and Lady Pembrooke have arrived.”
After a slight nod to the butler, McCalpin’s attention returned to the woman seated in front of him. “Miss Lawson, the hour grows late, and I have other duties that demand my attention. I’ll visit Lawson Court as soon as possible. I trust we’re in agreement that you’re not to write any more requests using my seal.”
“But—”
He wouldn’t let her have a word edgewise. “Immediately, I think it best that you have someone deliver your copy of my seal to me. You’ll find I’m generous to a fault, but I won’t tolerate foolishness or any more of your shenanigans. If you or your family needs something, I invite you to come and seek my advice. I won’t turn down any reasonable requests.”
“Is it possible I could have some money now?” She exhaled as if the weight of the world had been set on her shoulders. “You see I need—”
“From what I’ve learned today, I think it best if any disbursements wait until I have the opportunity to review the estate and learn more about you and your family.” He lowered his voice. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Her eyes glistened with tears.
Oh God, he’d done it. He’d made her cry.
“Miss Lawson, there’s no harm done,” he said quietly. “The amounts you took were miniscule. When I visit, I’ll see what repairs are required. That’s all I can offer at this point. You shouldn’t spend your money on the estate. Your father wanted you or your husband to have it.”
She nodded once, then stood. Without any farewell, she turned and left the room.
In his twenty-nine years, he’d accumulated his fair share of experiences with women of all ages and personalities. Never once did he ever remember bringing one to tears.
It was something he hoped never to experience again.
He felt lower than the mud in a carriage rut.
* * *
Lord McCalpin had issued his dismissal, and March couldn’t wait to escape. Tears welled in her eyes at his denial of her request. She should have argued more but her pride had stopped her. They were in desperate need of wood and food at Lawson Court. Now, she had no way to get any funds. To wait another year felt like a lifetime. Decorum wouldn’t feed her family, but it kept her from falling into a ball and weeping for the rest of the day. Even that selfish luxury was out of her reach. She still had to muck the barn and repair the plow horses’ tack.
She spun toward the exit, determined to gather Faith and Hart as quickly as possible. She walked with as much dignity as she could muster as she left the marquess’s presence. When she entered the vestibule, a handsome couple looked her way.
The auburn-haired woman held a bundled baby close to her chest, and her beautiful face glowed with happiness. She reached up on tiptoes to whisper something to her equally handsome husband. He laughed and wrapped an arm about her waist to pull her close. His finger traced a gentle line down the baby’s cheek.
March’s humiliation slightly melted at the sight of two people so obviously in love and delighted with their infant. She had always envisioned such a life for herself—a loving husband and a family of her own. Now, that dream was what she wanted for Faith and Julia—a love, strong and true.
The woman smiled as if she and March were dear friends. Suddenly, the woman started toward her as if she wanted to address her, so March stopped and waited.
The woman’s happiness seemed to light her from within and grew in vibrancy the closer she got. With no warning, she rushed passed without a second look in March’s direction and called, “McCalpin, you’re home!”
Heat flamed her cheeks again. She’d mistaken the friendly gesture for herself. Trying not to draw attention, she watched the group’s exchange.
The marquess greeted the couple with a warm embrace to the woman and a handshake to her husband. “What mischief did you and Pembrooke bring me today?” McCalpin’s voice echoed with true affection as he peeked at the baby and smiled. “William is roaming the halls somewhere. He’ll be delighted to see you, too.”
Aware that she was rudely staring, March turned her attention to Faith and Hart, who had joined her to watch the happy reunion. “I’m ready,” she whispered.
“Lord and Lady Pembrooke, may I introduce Miss March Lawson, Miss Faith Lawson, and Mr. Victor Hart.” Lord McCalpin’s voice was matter-of-fact.
March turned and greeted the couple.
“It’s a pleasure to meet one of McCalpin’s elusive friends,” Lady Pembrooke said.
March lost the ability to speak for a moment. No one could ever mistake her as his friend. “My lady, I’ve never met Lord McCalpin before today.”
“Fortune smiles on all of us then.” Lady Pembrooke didn’t hide the merriment from her eyes. “Do you live in London?”
“Miss Lawson is here on a business matter. She resides in Leyton. Her younger brother is the young viscount, Lord Lawson.” McCalpin stealthy sidled next to March and addressed Lord and Lady Pembrooke. “Will you wait for me in my study? I’ll only be a moment.”
With her husband by her side, Lady Pembrooke ignored the marquess and stood closer to March. “I have friends in Leyton. Mr. Roger Jordon and his niece Miss Lucy Porter? Do you know them?”
March nodded. “Mr. Jordon is kindly teaching my brother chess.”
A dazzling smile lit Lady Pembrooke’s face. “I visit them quite often. The next time I’m in town, perhaps you’d join us for tea. You must bring Miss Faith also.”
“Thank you, my lady. We’d be delighted,” she answered.
Lord William joined them and held out his hands. “There’s my namesake. The rascal is growing more handsome every day.” It became apparent he had little experience with babies as he took the infant in a fumbling embrace.
Without thinking, March rushed forward and placed her hand under the baby’s head. “You must cradle him close.” She kept her voice soft as the infant was sleeping. “He doesn’t have the strength yet to support his own head.”
The group turned and stared at her as if she’d grown horns on her head. She swallowed, hoping to stave off another round of mortifying flushes. “I … I apologize for my forwardness.”
“No need to apologize, Miss Lawson.” Lady Pembrooke shook her head. “Liam does need the support. I was about to take him from William’s clumsy hands.”
“You wound me, cousin.” Lord William cradled the baby close to his body and hummed something in a deep tenor.
“Have you had much experience with infants, Miss Lawson?” McCalpin peered intently at her.
“I’ve been responsible for my brother since he was one,” she whispered, always mindful of a sleeping infant. She glanced at Lady Pembrooke. “I won’t keep you any longer, my lady. Good day, Lord Pembrooke.”
The Marquess of McCalpin turned toward her, but she didn’t bother to extend her hand or wait for a good-bye greeting. She nodded at Faith, and the trio exited the hall for the entry.
The faster she could leave, the less chance she’d say something she’d regret. How in the world had she ever looked upon him as Michelangelo’s David?
He was more like the devil with donkey ears.
* * *
McCalpin escorted the Lawson sisters and Mr. Hart to the front door. March refused to look in his direction as she took her leave while Miss Faith just nodded her farewell.
As he watched the trio make their way to the street, McCalpin’s gaze narrowed on March’s back. When he’d asked her about the forgery, her humiliation had caused her cheeks to darken to a deep pink. He’d immediately recognized her as a kindred spirit, since he understood her embarrassment.
He experienced paralyzing shame every time he believed someone would uncover his utter stupidity when it came to numbers. Always on the verge, he felt it every waking hour—always speculating if today would be his downfall, the day he failed in his duty.
McCalpin exhaled a painful sigh. If he’d been more diligent, perhaps he’d have caught her forgeries immediately and saved them all the extra effort and heartache. Now, he had to put more work on William’s shoulders with the Lawson family affairs.
Miss Lawson’s dismissal without a word made him grin. The young woman was obviously uncomfortable around him. However, no one would ever describe her as missish with the intent to get her way through flattery. Tall with beautiful dark brown hair and matching coppery brown eyes that flashed like molten gold when challenged, she would do very well in society. Men would no doubt flock around her.
He chuckled at her claim she could shear a sheep. He’d pay money to behold such a sight. More importantly, her audacity to come into his house and demand money intrigued him. For some absurd reason, he wanted to find out more about the woman. Unlike others, she didn’t seem impressed with him or his title, a refreshing rare event these days.
Buxton silently stood beside him. He lifted his eyebrows and watched the guests leave. “My lord, I had the kitchen prepare one of my famous tea services, much like the one you and Lord William can never finish. Your guests ate every bite. Very unusual for ladies to indulge so freely.”
“Perhaps the hour-long trip from Leyton gave them a ravenous hunger,” McCalpin answered.
Buxton clasped his hands in front of him and continued his watch as the trio climbed into a pony cart. “Indeed. I’d hate to think they hadn’t had a proper meal before arriving.”