Love's Patient Fury (The Deverell Series Book 3) (15 page)

He took a step back and placed a light kiss on her hand. “Be careful, Christina. My dear friend.”

She stood in the garden, her eyes following his brisk strides toward the house. The door closed and a sharp pain struck her heart. It hurt so much more than she had feared it would.

~~~

When Varian entered his bedroom, he found Merry curled in a chair waiting for him. He had not expected otherwise.

Her bluebell eyes fixed on Varian damningly. Merry lifted her chin and assumed a noble posture. It was a touch endearing and a tad amusing, and both added to the sharp bite of his regret in this.

“I want that woman gone. Gone from this house. Gone tomorrow.”

Her stare was like a knife cutting his flesh. “She is your mother’s guest. I cannot un-invite her.”

Her eyes were sparkling pools of hurt. “Don’t pretend this insult was not of your doing. You humiliate me by having her here.”

“I have done no such thing. She is an old friend. Nothing more.”

She stared at him a moment and then looked away. “She is your mistress. Do not pretend otherwise with me. I will not believe your lies over what I have seen with my own eyes.”

“I have not been with another woman since I took you to my bed, Merry,” Varian said, his low voice potent with emotion. “There would be no pleasure with another woman because I adore you. You need never have fear of that, Merry.”

Merry searched his eyes. What was in them frightened her. She wanted so badly to believe him. Suspicion, unwanted, rose its ugly head. Varian’s handsome face could be so cleverly beguiling and misleading when it suited him. Another woman would most probably believe him. The distress of her heart would not let her. She did not know for sure when Varian spoke truth or lie. She could not trust her heart to him and she could not step away.

She was not yet ready for either direction, and it was agony.

~~~

The Lady Wythford departed shortly after breakfast the next day. Two days later, Andrew Merrick returned from London. He had made a fast crossing over land to Falmouth, and would have preferred fresh clothes and a bath, but this discussion with his brother could not be delayed.

Time seemed to move quickly with cruel whim and unexpected events these days. England seemed a much changed place since Varian Deverell had returned to its shores. Coincidence, perhaps, a product of his own disdain and distrust of the man, but Andrew Merrick only half-believed in coincidence.

He entered his brother’s study in fast agitated strides and made a harsh gesture for Moffat to leave. As the door closed, he began to spread documents across Lucien’s desk.

Lucien sat back in his chair. “What has you so impatient, Andrew, that you cannot greet your brother?”

“There is much happening in London which we will soon discuss, but I thought it important to share first with you my discoveries on Varian Deverell.”

Lucien arched a brow. “A simple accounting will do.”

Andrew’s eyes fixed intensely on the papers. “A simple accounting this is not. Varian Deverell is an unimaginably wealthy man. He has accumulated a remarkable fortune, and these are just his holdings in England.” Andrew’s hand swept over the documents. “And he’s done it with care, Lucien. Each enterprise artfully concealed, as if he did not want the pieces of what he was doing to ever join.”

One by one Lucien lifted the sheets, gave them a thorough study and went to the next. It went on and on. Unthinkable in scale. It was unfathomable the vast wealth contained on the ledgers.

“This is not a fortune, Andrew. This is an empire.” Lucien Merrick sat back and stared at the copious bundles of reports spread across his desk. The tally of assets—land, ships, investments, gold, currency—it went on and on. It was staggering. “How does one man accomplish all this in a decade? He was nearly impoverished when he left England ten years ago.”

 “Not by legitimate means, I assure you. There is no greater time for a man without scruples to profit than during a time of war. He’s put to good use our conflict with Napoleon and America.”

They both understood the deeper meaning of that comment. Lucien Merrick met his brother’s eyes. The worry he felt was unconcealed in Andrew’s expression. He shook his head. “It is as if he’s worked at nothing else since quitting England.” He lifted a sheet and scanned it. “It is a puzzle. It is not meant to make sense. Look at the tally of those he holds credit for. The notes he’s purchased. Such an odd assortment of men he has maneuvered into indebtedness of him. Whitehall. The admiralty. Parliament. Bankers. Titans of Commerce. I wonder if they even know he is the man they are indebted to.”

Andrew shrugged. He had thought it best not to probe further before speaking to his brother. Lucien’s reaction was not unlike his own as the pieces of this had started to pull together. It was baffling and it was grim; grim to see a well laid plan and know not what it represented.  Even grimmer was the sensation that Varian had led him here and wanted them to find all this. It had fallen into Andrew’s lap too easily.

Wryly, Andrew stated, “So, Lucien, I think it is safe that we may put aside the concern he married Merry for her fortune.”

Lucien laughed gruffly. “He could buy and sell us both, Andrew. And worse he knows it. No wonder the blackguard was so amused by my discussion of settlement contracts. He must have been laughing at me the entire time over my confusion of his refusal to accept settlement for Merry.” His eyes sharpened. His expression stiffened. “This is not an aimless pursuit. This is a battle plan. This took time and patience to construct and conceal so expertly.  It smacks of something sinister. There must be a connection among these men, though I admit I cannot see it now! He is garnering influence over the men of our government, Andrew, do not doubt it. Holding them in debt and maneuvering them God knows where. But why? Find out Andrew. Whatever this is, I don’t want Merry in the middle of it.”

Andrew pulled another document from his valise. “This was slipped under the door at the rooms I have in keeping.”

Lucien arched a brow. Andrew had stayed in Town with his mistress and not their mother. “So, you did not make call upon our mother while there? We will be hearing from her soon enough about this hideous hole-in-corner marriage and our unwillingness to take her counsel in this.”

“I saw mother the last day. She had much to say about many things, Lucien. She sent me with a correspondence to you.  I was wise not to join her at Merrick Hall. She is suspicious and plotting something, and as shrewd as ever. I did not want her watchful eyes trying to make reason of the haste of my endeavors. My investigation of Windmere is only a small part of what occupied my energies while in London. I thought it best to keep my purpose of this journey one unlikely to be speculated upon.”

Lucien laughed. “Though I imagine you got a lecture regarding having stayed in your rooms.”

Andrew sank into his chair and accepted a glass of brandy from his brother. “I did that. I would not be so gloating on the matter. Mother has sent a correspondence to you, with curt instruction to shove it directly into the hand of that insolent whelp she spawned.”

A chuckled slipped from Lucien, though he fought it. For all her vexing interference in every life she touched, Lucien adored his mother, Margaret. All of London adored Margaret and had for eight decades. The Dowager Duchess of Dorset would not permit otherwise.

Andrew set down his drink and pointed at the sketched cartoon laying on Lucien’s desk. “That is not in circulation as of yet. I think I was its sole intended recipient.”

Lucien eyes rounded. The crude image in flowing black capes was not difficult to distinguish. Varian Deverell. However, it was the verse contained on paper that claimed Lucien’s full attention.

A murderer from shore to shore, claims a gentle bride, from a family he does scorn. Treason, piracy, murderer, thief. He cannot escape justice, behind the skirts of one so sweet.

“Ah. Crude verse. Not a particularly good rhyme.” Lucien set the verse down on his desk. “Have you discovered who sent this?”

“No. Warton is working on it as we speak. There are so many street verses. The streets are flooded with ballads. It seems organized and a deliberate pursuit. There are others about Windmere. Merry. The Merricks. But this one was a warning personally sent to me.”

Lucien studied the sketch again. Why dress Windmere that way, in a flowing cloak of black over such common clothes? Treason? Piracy? Those were not part of those old accusations and rumors. The wheels began to turn in his head and he was not comfortable in the direction it was taking him.

He looked up at his brother. “You said much was going on in London. What other matters are there to concern me.”

Andrew made a detailed and concise report on the accusations that only recently surfaced in the Press. Accusations of crimes and war profiteering among some of the most powerful peers and their government offices. The arrest of Lord Branneth. Castlereagh’s investigation of the war and customs offices. Lord Liverpool’s fury over the Regent’s interference and want to leave matters exclusively in Castlereagh’s hands. Maneuvering and fracturing had already started in Parliament. There was rumor of more arrests yet to come.

Andrew delivered to his brother the rest of Lucien’s correspondence. “There are letters from the Regent, Castlereagh, Liverpool and Montrose. I am sure they will want you in the center, unraveling this coil that is taking hold of England. Oh, and this is from mother. I suggest you read it first.”

As grim as the day’s findings were, Lucien nearly laughed. He took Margaret’s correspondence and sat tapping it against his hand. “What progress have you made on annulment.”

“There will be no interference from the Regent or the Queen and there is enough support if you make petition.”

Lucien nodded. At least one good turn of events this day. He used the opener to cut through his mother’s seal. A moment into the letter, which started
insolent whelp
, his brother stood up abruptly, his brow furrowed into a scowl.

“Blast,” he growled between gritted teeth.

Andrew said nothing. He knew what the letter contained. He watched Lucien move briskly from the study.

Lucien found his wife busy at work in her flower garden. “Is this your doing, Rhea? Have you taken to plotting behind my back to achieve your own ends?”

Rhea arched a brow, but she was calm. She was used to Lucien’s temper. “Really, Lucien, what a dreadful accusation to make to your wife. I’ve done no such thing. What has you so irritated?”

“We’ve been ordered to London.”

Rhea’s brow puckered in a worried frown. “The Regent?”

“No,” Lucien placed the letter into her hands dusted of hummus and dirt. “Mother.”

“Oh dear,” Rhea said, before anxiously scanning the harshly penned note. There was not much more she could say.

CHAPTER NINE

Rhea gently touched her daughter’s cheek. “Merry? Netta has brought your breakfast. We are leaving for London within the hour.”

Reluctantly, Merry opened her eyes. “I don’t wish to go to London, Mama.”

Rhea arched a brow. “We are going, my dear. Even your father does not dismiss a summons from your grandmother.”

Merry tossed the blankets off. Whatever her grandmother was plotting, she wanted no part of it. No one gave her opinions much notice. It was clear she could refuse to go until two Sundays ran together before anyone would care what
she
thought. Her father had been impossible to have a rational discussion with. Varian had been no better. Quite simply, he had said
we are going
. She could not fight them both.

Once bathed and dressed, she went downstairs to the waiting carriages. Merry paused for a moment on the top step. The row of carriages and riders was very long, her parents did not usually do things with such ceremony, and she noticed with the fine livery bestowed of her father’s crest was an equally fine livery with Varian’s crest as well.

The luggage was packed and her family was waiting. The horses were thrashing the moisture softened earth, their haunches with their short cropped tails, and their rolling massive shoulders straining against their collars betraying they had been standing in the drive for some time.

She went quickly toward her parents’ carriage. Kate stopped her with a gentle hand. “I am to ride with you and His Grace. Your parents are to ride ahead.”

Merry’s jaw tightened, but she allowed Kate to guide her to Varian’s carriage. Everything about this journey would be done in formal and unpleasant correctness. Except perhaps having Kate riding with them. That was neither correct nor reasonable. Pure nonsense forced upon her by her father’s continued apprehension over her marriage to Varian. There were times her father made no sense to her at all.

Shortly after she climbed into the carriage, Varian joined her.  It was hard not to have her unease heighten as she rolled in the jolting carriage toward London. There was tension in the air, though no would share with her why her grandmother’s summons had stirred such strange and varied reactions among her family.  Nor would they explain why each detail of this endeavor had been handled with special care. Her parents were putting on a flawless show. A perfect charade of rank and celebration of marriage, a marriage that’s future was uncertain at best, and her husband was a more than willing participant. It was a nightmare in every way.

Staring through the window at the melancholy grandeur of the Cornish hills, the sweeping lonely valleys, and the jagged tumble of cleft boulders, through the stark villages, she could not help but wonder why Varian had agreed to this. As bad as the scandal was in Falmouth, it would be worse in London. Why had he insisted on going there?

It was well into night before they stopped at an Inn. Merry was so tired, she did not protest as Varian carried her from the carriage into the slant roof structure of tawny yellow and handed her over to Kate.  In her bedchamber, she was helped to bathe, given hot food, and then assisted to a feather bed with a warming pan. In the morning, she opened her eyes to Kate again, and the order was reversed; bed to food to carriage to Varian.