Miss Determined, page 26
“If you’d someday like to meet my granny, sir, she was on staff there years ago. Has a sharp memory, though her eyes aren’t what they used to be.”
Trevor had no earthly idea what Jones was going on about, and he had a lawyer to sack. “Most kind of you, Jones. Now be off. I’ll see myself into Purvis’s office.”
“But, my lord…”
Trevor waved a hand toward the door. “Vite, vite!”
He crossed the room full of clerks all nose-down over their scribbling. A very young lad in the corner appeared to have fallen asleep, head bent, pen in hand, arm curled protectively about his document. The boy could not have been more than nine years old, and he’d been worked to exhaustion.
Trevor opened Purvis’s office door and sailed through, finding his hardworking solicitor fast asleep at his desk, snoring audibly. The blotter was bare, the pen in its tray, the desk devoid of correspondence. A plate holding an empty mug and a half-eaten hot cross bun sat on the corner of the desk.
The temptation to have a look around was compelling, but a gentleman did not snoop when he was intent on evicting squatters.
“Have I come at an inconvenient time?” Trevor affected the sneering drawl he’d heard so often from his father. “I do beg your pardon, but I was under the impression this is the appointed hour for our meeting.”
Purvis’s eyes opened, and for a moment, he looked like a cranky old man clutching at the flailing ends of his wits. The ship of lawyerly dignity righted itself in the next instant. Purvis rose, tugged down his waistcoat, and bowed.
“My lord. You have literally caught me napping. I was up late last night with a flood of correspondence. I’ll see Jones’s pay docked for failing to escort you into my office.”
“Jones was nowhere about, and neither was Young Purvis. Pressing business, apparently.” Trevor took a wing chair by the fire. “It’s you I wanted to see. I have questions, and you had better have answers.”
Purvis took the second wing chair. “Has anybody told you, my lord, that you put one in mind of your late father?”
Too many people had done exactly that. Trevor had Papa’s height, his blond hair, his nose, his title. Surely that list was not the entire measure of a fellow?
“Thank you for the compliment, however unoriginal. Why did you fail to list Lark’s Nest among my unencumbered holdings?”
Purvis was not good enough at his deceptions to hide a small start of surprise. “An oversight, my lord, nothing more. You have seen for yourself that the offices are kept very busy this time of year, and one tends to think of Lark’s Nest and the adjoining property as one estate.”
“Though they’ve been separate tenancies for two hundred years. I see. Was it also an oversight that Twidboro Hall has been paying hundreds of pounds more in rent than you listed on the tally sheet for that property?”
Purvis gripped the arms of the chair. “What in blazes were you doing discussing rents with the DeWitt women? I know they’re back in Town, the oldest daughter swanning about as if her fortune can overcome the stink of the shop. Whatever they told you, they were playing on your sympathies, my lord. Ladies all alone in the world, not a penny to spare when I have generously tripled their allowances in hopes they can finally get the damned girl launched.”
Amaryllis’s money was hers, promised to her by her father, held in trust for her and her alone. That Purvis saw himself doling out those funds like a weekly coin given to a child in exchange for good behavior… That he was ever so helpfully trying to assist the DeWitts in a hopeless cause…
How did I ever trust this pompous, lying old windbag?
Trevor rose and went to the window. “I’ve inquired of my other tenants, and if the property is unentailed, then the rents were raised without my permission, and much of the higher sum went unreported on the tally sheets you gave me. You are embezzling at a great rate, Purvis, and the tenants will happily testify to that effect. You will be held accountable for your actions, of that I am certain.”
To inform the man of his long-overdue fate brought little satisfaction, merely a sense of a distasteful obligation approaching its conclusion.
“This matter need not go to the courts,” Trevor went on. “You can simply pay back to the tenants the funds you unlawfully took from them—I’ve done the accounting, though I want Jones to have a look at my figures. From what I’ve deduced, your larceny dates from the time Smithers retired, and five years’ damage shouldn’t be that hard to undo. I don’t expect the whole sum overnight, but you will pay on a regular schedule.”
Trevor watched the street below, a hurly-burly of carts, foot traffic, the occasional elegant conveyance or farm wagon wending along as well. England in all her noisy variety, which he had not missed, but ought not to have turned his back on so thoroughly.
“My lord seeks no compensation for himself?” Purvis asked evenly.
“My trust in you is why the tenants could be fleeced, so no. I want nothing for myself, but to see the tenants made whole and you gone from the practice of law. That you have embezzled funds other than the rents is beyond doubt, but again, I was too trusting and left you unsupervised for too long.”
If Purvis begged, Trevor would leave the room. If he pleaded, if he tried any other tactic but contrition and complete reparation, Trevor would—
Purvis chuckled, a sound which struck Trevor as obscene.
“You are so noble, my lord. So commendably selfless. Your father would have been appalled, though I find your devotion to honor equal parts amusing and tiresome. Sit down.”
Trevor remained standing by the window, as far from Purvis as he could get. “I do not take orders from criminals.”
“Yes,” Purvis said, rising. “You do. You shall in the future as well, and that includes courting Miss Hecate Brompton and in due course meeting her at the altar of St. George’s.”
This again. “Miss Brompton is in every way a lovely and estimable woman, but she and I will not suit.”
“You will suit, and you will take long holidays on the Continent, confident in the knowledge that your affairs are secure in my capable hands.”
“Are you daft? You’ve stolen from me and from my tenants, and now you think to expand your thievery with my blessing?”
“Oh, curse me if you like,” Purvis said, striking a pose beneath the judicial portrait. “You will nonetheless leave me to deal with your finances as I see fit. I’m not greedy, you must admit that. I didn’t bleed your properties dry, as some would. I charge a reasonable rent and leave you a great enough sum to effect repairs and keep yourself in adequate style.”
He sounded pleased with himself, proud even. The Marquess of Malfeasance.
“And why, Purvis, would I be complicit in your schemes?”
Purvis rocked back on his heels, his smile beatific. “Because if you aren’t complicit, as you put it, then I will let all of polite society know you have a deformed, dim-witted brother for an heir—the fellow is legitimate, lest you get to speculating. Your father thoroughly researched that avenue, but your mother for once put her dainty foot down.”
Phillip was neither deformed nor dim-witted. Trevor’s mind produced that thought before logic assembled the puzzle pieces for him.
Lark’s Nest left off the list of properties.
Lark’s Nest paying only nominal rent.
Lark’s Nest run by Phillip Heyward however he pleased with no toadying to any landlord.
The name Heyward—assumed, apparently, of all the ironies.
Phillip’s unwillingness to venture into the wider world.
The spark of warmth Trevor had felt in Phillip’s company.
The truth settled around Trevor’s heart, whole and happy, albeit… complicated.
“The poor mite couldn’t even crawl properly,” Purvis went on. “I’m told he’s a Squire Lumpkin with one good arm and a positive obsession for all things agriculture. Not even the village girls will marry him. Your father denied the boy’s existence before the lad was a year old. Even the aristocracy suffers the occasional chrisom bereavement.”
What response did Purvis expect to this news? What reaction would most thoroughly gratify him and give Trevor time to adjust to this revelation?
Amaryllis had said that London was like one big stage play. Trevor again adopted the disdainful tones he’d heard so often from his father.
“I cannot possibly have a brother, much less one full grown and somehow farming—of all the impossibilities—with one arm. Papa went to extraordinary lengths to ensure the title had both heir and spare, and he would have told me if I had a legitimate younger brother.”
Purvis settled behind his desk, no doubt an intentional rudeness when Trevor remained on his feet.
“No, he would not. A child who could not crawl, who was slow to speak, who didn’t look much like him? Your mother never forgave the marquess for separating her from the boy, but she did make the occasional journey to Lark’s Nest. That was the bargain she struck: Lord Phillip would be raised in obscurity, albeit in reasonable comfort, and he’d be provided for. Your mother had you to dote on and a duty to produce more little lordlings just like you—a duty she failed.”
“Do I even own Lark’s Nest?” The old marquess could not have put the question more peevishly, for which Trevor silently apologized to Phil—to his brother.
“You do, but Lord Phillip has a life estate, provided he keeps to the local surrounds. A codicil to your father’s will provides that if Phillip attempts to move in polite society, then he loses his life estate. Wrote that up myself—Smithers was too delicate to come up with the actual wording—and a nice bit of draftsmanship it is too. A very lucky day for me. The luckiest.”
Probably an unenforceable bit of draftsmanship. Purvis had banished Phillip from his birthright knowing that all the conniving and chicanery gave Purvis a hold on the marquessate.
“Many aristocratic families fall far short of perfection,” Trevor said. “The current Duke of Devonshire is all but deaf, Byron has a club foot, the very king is mad. Do you truly believe I will cede control of my assets to you because of this supposed brother?”
Purvis appeared to consider the question for the first time. “I do, yes. Society takes any hint of bad blood seriously, regardless of titles or fortunes. Your brother is not only physically cursed, he’s also said to be eccentric and none too bright. Talks to the birds, wears rags, that sort of thing. Perhaps you should make his acquaintance before you champion the relationship.”
“He is my brother. No flaw, shortcoming, or human failing will inspire me to overlook the existence of my only living sibling. I hope Lord Phillip shares that sentiment.”
Purvis smiled pityingly. “Stubborn, like your father. If you’re determined to be difficult, then know that I will take it upon myself to speculate to certain parties about your step-mother. You are fond of her. She is fond of the Dornings. I am not fond of the Dornings or their connections. If that argument doesn’t convince you, let me assure you, Miss Hecate Brompton’s standing in Society hangs by a thread, and her standing is all she has to recommend her besides those settlements. She’s not pretty, not charming, and even her fortune hasn’t been enough to gain her a husband. Her spinsterhood and ruin will lie at your honorable feet, my lord. Need I go on?”
If Purvis got wind that Trevor intended to court Amaryllis… “You’ve said enough. What your schemes lack in sophistication, they make up for in simplicity.”
“You have much to think about, don’t you?”
No honorific, not even a polite sir appended to the question. “I’m not out of mourning for my cousin, and you launch this… this assault on my house. Of course I have much to think about.”
“Speaking of your cousin, my lord, the bills have started arriving from France. Jerome was living very comfortably indeed.”
Purvis’s announcement, did he but know it, was a hoped-for ray of sunshine, as if gaining a brother wasn’t marvelous enough. And such a brother. Faultless memory, voracious intellect, subtle humor, hardworking, a good neighbor.
An all-around estimable fellow, who needed to be acknowledged as such, at the proper time.
For present purposes, Trevor produced a scowl. “I cannot be expected to deal with—what was it?—invoices for beer and boot black when you’ve just upended my entire existence. If the invoices are legitimate, you will deal with them. To think that my father could be so foolish…”
“He was proud and shrewd, and my hope for you is that you can uphold his legacy in the manner he’d understand.”
I will pummel Purvis to death with Blackstone’s Commentaries.
In the midst of overwhelming delight at realizing he had a brother, Trevor was also angry. His ire was on his own behalf and even more so for Phillip. His rage was also on behalf of Miss Brompton, Jeanette, the Dornings, the wretched clerks, and every other current or prospective victim of Purvis’s scheming, which included the DeWitt ladies.
“Why do this?” Trevor asked. “The solicitor’s profession is honorable, respected, and well compensated. Why break the law you’ve sworn to uphold?”
“None of your business, my lord, but suffice it to say, your father figured prominently in my own sister’s reduced expectations. She was a diamond, the belle of the Town, accomplished in every respect. If she’d made the right match, the Purvises would have risen with her, but your father toyed with her affections, and she had to settle for a damned wool merchant. I am not breaking the law, you see. I am pursuing justice.”
Purvis rose from the desk and stood by the door. “You will pursue Hecate Brompton.”
No, I shall not. “First, I shall finish proper mourning. Then I will look in on the family seat, the property even you could not bring yourself to pillage. If I’m to court Miss Brompton, she will be told of Lord Phillip’s circumstances prior to any settlements being signed, lest she or her family cry foul.”
“I give you a week,” Purvis said. “One week to pout and sulk in the great Vincent family tradition, and then you will stand up with Miss Brompton, ride out with her, and escort her when she goes shopping for bonnets. If you turn up contrary, you will leave me no choice but to take measures you will regret. Good day.”
He opened the door and gestured for Trevor to leave.
What a rubbishing toad. “I’m off to Surrey.”
“Godspeed, and see that you are back in London within a week.”
By virtue of supreme self-restraint, Trevor left Purvis smirking in his office.
Chapter Eighteen
“Mama, Trevor has to be told.” Lissa had changed from her riding habit to a modest day dress and was ready to beat a path to her intended’s door. “Neither he nor I want Miss Brompton’s ruin on our conscience, and the threat to her is all too real.”
Lissa left the next part unsaid: If Purvis could ruin Hecate Brompton, who was possessed of both wealth and a spotless reputation, and bring down a young couple in line for an earldom, he’d cheerfully go after Trevor as well.
Perhaps the DeWitts had fallen beneath Purvis’s notice as targets for slander—and perhaps not.
Mama collected the latest pile of invitations from the foyer’s sideboard, not even glancing at them.
“But you mustn’t be seen rapping on his lordship’s door, Lissa. His knocker will still be swaddled in black crepe, and a caller who is not family will be remarked. That assumes his staff would even admit you.”
“They will admit me.” Lissa chose the bonnet with the pink ribbons. “I will make a commotion that would shame the devil if they think—”
Footfalls on the steps that led below stairs silenced her. The housekeeper, escorting none other than Trevor, Lord Tavistock, ascended to the foyer.
“Beg pardon, ma’am, but this gent showed up at the back door.” She passed over an embossed card and gave Trevor a skeptical glance.
His lordship looked delectable and deadly serious in subdued mourning attire. His jacket sported a black armband, and his hatband was black as well.
His expression was none too cheerful either. “I apologize for my unorthodox arrival. If I might have a moment of Miss DeWitt’s time?”
“Of course.” Lissa excused the housekeeper with a nod. “Is something amiss?”
Mama took Lissa’s bonnet. “You will stay for tea, young man. If you are thumping on our garden door at this hour and looking so thunderous, you will stay for tea. Lissa, cease gawping long enough to take the man’s hat.”
Trevor passed over the designated article as Mama bustled off after the housekeeper.
“Mrs. DeWitt is quite on her mettle,” Trevor said, handing Lissa his walking stick. A substantial article of gleaming mahogany that would serve well as a cosh. “I cannot say the same for myself.”
“You’ve sacked Purvis?”
“I have not.” He took Lissa’s cloak from her shoulders and draped it on a peg behind the porter’s nook. “I don’t know as I can, but I’m determined to try. The situation has grown complicated.”
“Because you are to marry Hecate Brompton, else ruin shall befall her, you, her cousins, assorted Dornings, and, if Purvis is feeling rambunctious, likely the DeWitts too.”
“How in blazes could you know that?”
“Not here,” Lissa said, taking Trevor’s hand. “Mama will leave us some privacy.” She led him to the family parlor, not the fussy temple to social aspirations reserved for formal callers.
Grandmama’s workbasket sat open by the window. Caroline’s latest acquisition from Hatchards lay on a sofa cushion, a green ribbon marking her place. Diana’s slippers peeked out from beneath a reading chair, and the household ledger—Lissa’s intended project for the morning—waited on the mantel.
“First things first,” Trevor said when Lissa had closed the door, but for a few inches. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her. “I have so much to tell you, but…”
She kissed him, tasting that determination he’d alluded to earlier, and something else. Something fierce and angry and bold.
“Better,” Trevor muttered, giving her another squeeze, then stepping back. “Purvis is viler and more ambitious than I’d suspected. How did you come to be so well informed regarding his schemes?”
