‘So you would cast the blame for your sins elsewhere. I should have expected it.’
‘No. I will shoulder the blame, my lord. But necessity can drive a man to extremes.’
Henry turned his face from the harsh lines of naked greed and desperate failure. There could be no room for sympathy here. Edward Baxendale’s glory would have cost Eleanor far too high a price.
‘But the risk you were prepared to take was nothing short of fantastic. Did you think that no one would remember Octavia and her brother? Were you so sure that you could conduct yourselves so as to blind everyone to the truth?’
‘Why not?’ A gleam of sly cunning lit his face for a moment, displacing the bitter failure. ‘After all, we nearly did it! If it were not for your interfering aunt, we would have carried the whole matter off in good style. People have short memories and mostly accept what they are told and what they see. No one other than your aunt thought to question my role as Octavia’s brother. Scandal is the breath of life to many who would call themselves your friends. Like the vultures they are, they were more than willing to pick over the bones of the Faringdon family with gleeful enjoyment. If our luck had held, Octavia would have claimed the Faringdon inheritance and would be made welcome into society.’
And, although it sat awkwardly with him, Lord Henry had to admit to the truth of it. ‘But after your confession, I can hardly believe that you were so idealistic as to do it all for your wife, can I?’ He made no effort to hide the repugnance in his voice.
‘Believe what you like. It no longer matters, does it? I think this conversation is at an end.’ Sir Edward lifted his shoulders in an elegant shrug. ‘It was worth the risk. And what do you intend to do? Drag the case through the courts? I doubt it! Think of the entertainment it would provide for the ton!’
‘You disgust me. Get out of these rooms. And it would please me if you would remove yourself and your wife from Faringdon House at the earliest opportunity. No, I shall not take the matter further. You are not worthy of my consideration!’ His lordship strode to open the door.
‘Don’t dare preach morality to me, my lord.’ Baxendale did not move. The sneer on his face was heavily marked as he realised the depth of his failure. ‘Your precious sister-in-law made sure that she ensnared your brother, did she not? She has been no better in her dealings with the Faringdons than the sins that you are prepared to heap at my door.’
‘What?’ Henry’s hand closed on the door knob and was still.
‘Don’t tell me you did not know!’
‘There is nothing to know.’ But his eyes were watchful.
‘So she has not told you? Well, I don’t suppose she would. Females are always more devious than you would expect. And more mercenary, as exhibited by my dear sister Sarah, who has sold me for the price of her independence.’
‘Tell me.’ It took all Henry’s control not to seize Sir Edward by the throat and shake him as a terrier would shake a rat, to wipe the contempt for Eleanor from his thin lips.
‘Miss Eleanor Stamford was carrying your brother’s child before their marriage,’ Baxendale informed him, teeth glinting in vindictive pleasure. ‘Of course he would have to marry her, as a man of honour, whether he wished it or not. Her birth is no more distinguished than Octavia’s. A respectable gentry family, but with no claim to aristocratic supremacy. But Miss Stamford won the prize. You did not know?’ He sneered again as he read correctly the tightening of muscles in Lord Henry’s jaw. ‘Ask her how long after the bridal nuptials the child was born, my lord. You were in New York and so would not see the clever scheme being unfolded. She and her ambitiously devious mother were determined to get the Marquis before the altar. Your dear brother was well and truly trapped by a beautiful face and the promise of a bastard if he did not act quickly. So he married her.’ Sir Edward shrugged again. ‘So don’t talk to me about plotting and intrigue!’
‘Your unsubstantiated opinions do you no credit.’ There was barely a hesitation before Henry collected his scattered wits and replied, ‘The Marchioness is a lady of unquestionable integrity and principle. If I discover that you have spread such gossip around town, I shall have no hesitation in making it a matter of law. Believe it, sir, before you choose to meddle further in the concerns of my family.’
He flung open the door and bowed, coldly and formally, the merest inclination of his head. But his thoughts were in a turmoil.
Hoskins returned, having delivered the ladies to a waiting cab. As he approached the open doorway, Sir Edward pushed his way past to storm out of the room.
‘Get out of my way!’
They watched as he stalked to the door leading on to the street, flinging it back so that it hammered against the wall. Hoskins glanced at Lord Henry with raised brows.
‘Let him go,’ Lord Henry answered the silent question. ‘He has no more demands on my family.’ His voice was firm but a little weary as he eased his shoulders against the strain.
‘What do you wish, my lord? To pursue the matter through the courts? To obtain recompense? I have to say that I don’t advise it.’
‘No. Let the matter die a natural death. I don’t wish to provide the scandalmongers with any more salacious detail to discuss. I will make provision for Mrs Russell. The Baxendales will doubtless retire from town—I doubt that we shall see them again in the near future. They would not wish to draw further attention to themselves. And I believe that the Reverend Broughton’s membership of White’s will also lapse!’ Lord Henry showed his teeth, more of a snarl than a smile. ‘It will give me considerable pleasure to ensure that a man capable of such immoral dealings is no longer received at a gentleman’s club.’
Hoskins was moved to smile at the prospect. ‘It was well done, my lord.’
‘Yes. And I have to thank you for your timely support.’
He left the lawyer’s rooms with a lightening of the heart, but he could not dislodge a persistent worry that kept him on edge. He could not quite banish Edward Baxendale’s final accusations from his mind. A sour note that spoilt his sense of completion. Baxendale had been mischief-making, of course. Eleanor would never stoop to such devious means. Surely she would never deliberately use the conception of a child to force his brother into a marriage—simply to ensure a glittering title and untold wealth. He would never believe it of her. And yet the malicious words, delivered in Baxendale’s smooth, sly voice would not quite go away.
The Faringdon family chose to gather once more in the intimate family parlour in Park Lane. Sarah Russell, returning earlier with Eleanor, had retired to a guest bedchamber with her son and one of the maids who would look to their needs and act a nursemaid for the distraught but determined lady. Exhaustion had finally taken its toll. Although she had recovered from her bout of tears, she did not feel capable of sitting down with all the members of the family whom her brother had so ruthlessly pursued and exploited