After the Pembroke family left, McCalpin and his brother returned to work. Several hours later, they’d finished a review of the estates’ monthly budgets, and McCalpin had approved the plans for a renovation of the gardens at McCalpin Manor.
“Seems Lady Miranda has her sights on becoming your duchess.” William sat in the chair in front of McCalpin’s desk and took a sip of brandy as he stretched out his legs. “Clever how her father is constantly inviting you to dinner.”
“A lot of good it will do. She can stand in line behind the others.” A wave of distaste rippled into a grimace. McCalpin hated society chits whose only thoughts centered on luring him into matrimony. He wanted to be the one to pursue his mate and future wife, not the other way around.
He had very specific criteria for a wife. He wanted someone who would support his political work, perform marvelously as a hostess, and be someone well respected by the ton. However, the lady in question must have a strong aptitude and interest in the management of his estate and the future duchy. He didn’t want just anyone prying into his business, but a wife, a life-long partner, whose values and talents would make his life all the easier.
“What did your little embezzler have to say for herself when you confronted her over the thousand-pound directive she’d forged?”
McCalpin took a swallow of the warmed spirit and let the liquor bathe his throat in a welcome relief that eliminated some of his weariness. Even with a fine glass of brandy, he dreaded to answer. “I didn’t ask her. It would have been unspeakably cruel since she practically melted into her chair with embarrassment when I offered proof of her other withdrawals.”
William took a deep breath and released an audible sigh. “Did Miss Lawson explain the smaller sums?”
McCalpin closed his eyes. All he could picture was March leaning over his desk with fire in her eyes insisting she was twenty-five. “Perhaps the smaller amounts were a test to see if I’d notice what was happening with the money. She claims the estate isn’t profitable. When you took Mr. Hart and Miss Faith Lawson on the tour of the house, did you discover anything?”
“Nothing of importance. Miss Faith is a starch defender of her sister. She did share that Miss March has been supervising the estate since she was sixteen.” He took another swallow of brandy. “I had a devil of a time keeping her with me. She insisted she return to her sister’s side.” Will rested his elbows on his knees and regarded him. “She seemed to think you would be rather harsh with her sister. What exactly did you do?”
“Nothing, really. I asked her how she got my seal. She told me she had one made from a letter our uncle had sent to her father years ago. Pretty ingenious if truth be told.” He took another sip of brandy. “I told her to send me the seal. I instructed her not to use it again.” He remembered the expression of utter defeat that had made her normal peach tones turn almost pasty in color. “She looked devastated.”
Will shook his head. “Whatever they’re spending the money on, it’s not fashions. Miss Faith’s dress was threadbare and several seasons out of fashion.” He hesitated a moment, then continued. “On our way back to rejoin you in the study, Miss Faith asked if I minded if she took the last tart from the tea service for her brother.”
He pressed his eyes shut. To think they didn’t have enough food made him want to pound a wall. He should have done more for the Lawson family when he first discovered he was responsible for the trusts.
“Do you think your little embezzler is spending it on herself?” Baffled, William stared at him.
“Not likely. Her clothes were in worse shape than her sister’s was. There were several spots on the elbows that appeared to have been patched from underneath.” He released a breath of frustration. “Perhaps their circumstances are as dire as their clothing appears to be.”
“There’s only one way to find out. You or I could take a trip to Leyton and see exactly what the situation is at Lawson Court,” William suggested.
“I better make the effort as I’m responsible for the Lawson sisters’ dowries. I’ll visit tomorrow.” McCalpin released a breath he had not been aware he was holding. “Miss Lawson said she used part of the money to buy a new shearing tool.”
“Your little embezzler shears sheep? My, my, a woman of hidden talents. I imagine she probably possesses a depth of farming knowledge that would make an ingénue call for the smelling salts. If you change your mind and want company, just send word to Langham Hall. I’m going out tonight with Mother and Father to some dinner. Are you coming?” Will stood to take his leave.
“No. Nevertheless, do pay attention. You know how father is. He’ll want to discuss everything in detail the next time we all gather to have dinner. The man thrives on politics.”
William propelled himself away from the blue velvet chair and swept a hand through his hair. “McCalpin, I hate listening to political dribble. You’re the one who enjoys it and gets everyone to listen to your arguments. Your talent for finding common ground between your adversaries is becoming renowned.”
He enjoyed politics as much as his father did. However, he walked a fine line in such discussions. Any talk that spiraled into conversations about revenues, taxes, or money made his head spin.
“At next week’s family dinner, Father is going to discuss you taking a seat in the House of Commons.” Will eyed him warily. “You’re forewarned, brother. Your reward for the way you handle people. ‘A natural-born politician’ is what father calls you.”
McCalpin’s indignant arched eyebrow melted, and he loudly exhaled. His so-called talent was simply a ruse to keep his weaknesses hidden.
“I’ll do anything to help you. You know that,” William offered.
His brother’s simple words conjured up a long-ago memory that never ceased to haunt McCalpin.
He would steal away into the nursery and laboriously work on his numbers. Sitting for hours, he tried to win the battle of learning to add and subtract correctly. One day, William had completed an assignment within a half-hour, and his reward was an extended riding lesson.
Finding the task almost impossible, McCalpin had refused to cry in front of anyone. After several hours alone, he let the tears slip free. The hot splashes fell to the paper, causing the ink to run like black rivers and ruining his work. He’d worked all morning and had only completed half of the assignment.
His governess Mrs. Ivers hated him for his inability to do the calculations. When she found him staring at a page of incomprehensible scribblings, she’d taken a ruler to his knuckles.
“Your father would be better served if you were locked away in some remote tower on one of his lesser estates.” Her haughty voice paralyzed him, and he couldn’t move or protest. “I should tell His Grace that his precious heir is nothing more than a dullard incapable of counting his monthly allowance.”
She’d broken the skin of his knuckles, and pain seared a path across his hand. However, he vowed not to flinch—he’d not give her the satisfaction.
She struck him again and sneered. “If you can’t master these simple tasks, you’ll never learn your multiplication tables much less how to manage the duchy. You’ll be the Duke of Langham in name only. Someone else will be pulling your strings and running the duchy.”
She raised the ruler once again. He closed his eyes hoping it would lessen the stinging torment. The familiar whiz of air hissed as the ruler flew through the air, and he tightened his gut in readiness.
But the piercing pain never occurred.
A small wee hand covered his.
When he opened his eyes, William stood between them.
“That is the last time you hit my brother.” The quiet determination on William’s face made him appear years older than seven. “When I tell our father you’ve struck the marquess, I have little doubt you’ll be looking for a new position this afternoon.”
Incredulous, Mrs. Ivers’ mouth gaped open. Without another word, she spun on her heel and ran from the room.
As if nothing evil had happened, William placed an orange before him. “Riding lessons aren’t any fun if you’re not there.”
McCalpin laid his head on his arms to hide the tears that now streamed down his face. Once under control, he wiped his eyes. There was nothing to hide as they both knew he couldn’t do his assignments. “You shouldn’t have done that. What if she turns her ire on you?”
“She won’t be here.” William had peeled the orange and had placed the fruit before McCalpin. “I’ll never let you suffer like that again. From now on, I’ll always be by your side.”
The memory of his brother’s staunch defense that day still had the power to make McCalpin’s throat tighten.
“You’re not going to like what I have to say, but”—William’s deep tenor brought him out of his reverie—“perhaps you should think about marrying someone with enough intelligence and interest in politics that she could help you.”
“A wife?” McCalpin clenched the brandy, but thankfully the leaded glass didn’t shatter. “And how shall I go about finding this paragon? Take out an ad in The Midnight Cryer? ‘Ducal heir who can’t add two numbers seeks a diamond of the first water with implicit deportment, political savvy, and the analytical skills of an advanced mathematician as his future duchess.’”
William strode to the settee in front of the fireplace and sat with a dejected plop. “I’m not trying to start a fight.”
“Are you tiring of our arrangement, Will?” A knot rose in McCalpin’s throat.
“Absolutely not. I’ll always help you.” William rose to face him. “A wife would be a helpmate with all the trappings that comes with being the Marchioness of McCalpin.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “One day you’ll be the Duke of Langham. The perfect duchess would make your life not only more pleasant, but she could help you shoulder the responsibility.”
William had always been McCalpin’s best friend and greatest champion. Whatever was of interest to McCalpin always became a shared interest with William. When they were growing up, his younger brother always followed him around, mimicking his movements. William had made their childhood a fond memory. Time after time, they shared adventures with the accompanying scrapes and bruises.
William had never displayed or hinted that he envied it was McCalpin and not him who was their father’s heir. Their travails in the classroom under the tutelage of Mr. Maxwell were only bearable because of William. He always helped McCalpin in his assignments and never tormented him over his difficulties.
Neither did Mr. Maxwell. When reports were required of the boys’ and Emma’s progress, the tutor had focused on the areas where McCalpin excelled—languages, literature, and logic.
The kind tutor had been one of the most influential people in McCalpin’s early life. When he’d struggled with a lesson, Mr. Maxwell had patiently sat and broken the problem into several tasks that made it easier for him to understand. They’d practiced the more difficult ones repeatedly. The tutor had once confided his younger sister found reading as difficult as McCalpin’s constant struggles with numbers. The learning strategies he’d developed for her were ones he applied to McCalpin, and it resulted in one of the few times in McCalpin’s life he didn’t feel as if he needed to hide his shortcomings.
What he wouldn’t give to find that type of peace again.
With a steadying breath, McCalpin made the only decision a loyal brother could reach. “Thank you for your advice. I always thought I’d marry someday, but perhaps I should give it more consideration.”
William’s audible sigh of relief filled the room. “That’s wise. Father told me that Aunt Stella is leaving me her estate in Northumberland. Our parents think I should start to spend some time with her.” William shifted in his seat as if uncomfortable, then stood. “Let me know about Leyton, will you?”
“Will”—McCalpin lowered his voice—“a moment, please.”
William nodded, but a new uncertainty had crept into his expression.
“I know you’re sacrificing your own happiness by helping me. I’ll not forget it. All my personal investments are to go to you. Russell has drawn up the documents, and Somerton knows my wishes also.”
“God, I hate it when you talk like this. I’m your brother, and I love you. It’s not a job. It’s what family does for one another.” William’s familiar lopsided grin made an impromptu appearance. “I’m curious. What are you going to do with Miss Lawson’s one-thousand-pound withdrawal?”
McCalpin hesitated. Like a thief, disquiet stole into his thoughts. “Give it to her, but no more. When I see her, I’ll tell her it’s the last monies she’ll receive without my personal approval first.”
Will nodded.
Immediately, his thoughts retuned to the lovely Miss Lawson and her penchant to consider her trust as nothing more than her own personal bank. No matter what, he’d not let anyone take advantage of him and his weakness.