In the drawing room, he found Sir John standing at the cold hearth, hand propped atop the mantel, staring at the ashes within.
Lady Mayfield walked to the decanter on the sideboard and lifted the stopper. She paused when she saw him in the doorway. “Mr. Lowden, I believe? Nice of you to join us. Yes, I do see a resemblance to your late father, now I see you more closely.” She poured herself a tall drink. “May I pour you one as well?”
“No, thank you.”
“You will join us for dinner, I hope?” She formed a vague smile. “That is, if we still have a cook?”
James wondered what the Mayfields would do now—rebuke and rage at one other? Attempt some civil, stilted domestic scene? James found he could not stand the prospect of either. As tempted as he was to keep silent, it was time to put an end to this sham once and for all.
“Sir John,” James began, “do you honestly plan to live withthis woman?” He flicked a glance at Marianna, who was staring down into her drink as though for answers.
“You are the one who counseled me against divorce,” Sir John said dully. “Unless—have you found the evidence we’d need?”
“Not exactly. Though I have discovered something that bears on your situation.”
Sir John’s eyes narrowed. “What is it?”
“As you and I have discussed before, divorce is nearly impossible to achieve, scandalous, and typically unconscionable. But there is nothing typical about your case. Because you were never legally married to Marianna Spencer in the first place.”
Marianna’s head snapped up.
Sir John frowned thunderously. “What?”
James continued, “You are only too aware of Marianna’s longtime lover. But Anthony Fontaine is not only her lover—he is her husband.”
“Ha!” Marianna blurted. “I wish!”
Sir John’s scowl deepened. “What are you talking about?”
James glanced at the woman—saw her dark look—but addressed his client as though she were not present. “Marianna Spencer eloped with Anthony Fontaine before her marriage to you. Her father found the wayward couple in Scotland a few days later and, knowing any attempt he made to publicly annul the marriage would end in scandal and ruination for his daughter, he instead bribed Fontaine to hide the elopement and not object to Marianna’s marriage to you. A marriage that would bring his daughter not only the advantages of title and situation, but wealth as well. Wealth that would benefit all three of them.”
Marianna scoffed. “That is preposterous!”
Sir John ignored her. “After everything else we’ve been through today, you must be joking.”
“No. I am perfectly serious.”
“That’s impossible,” Sir John said. “I heard nothing of any elopement. And why would Fontaine go along with such a scheme?”
“I imagine Marianna assured him that her marriage to you would be a marriage in name only and would not hinder them from being together.”
Sir John ran a hand through his hair. “Can you prove any of this?”
Marianna’s lip curled. “Of course he can’t.”
“I can, actually,” James said. “All of it. I have the testimony of the coachman who drove them to Gretna Green, a certificate attesting to the marriage, and—”
Marianna protested, “No such evidence exists!”
James looked at her. “You mean, because the coachman burned it? He only pretended to—burnt a playbill or some such in its stead.”
Marianna stiffened in her chair, white-faced, but met his gaze straight on. “Any certificate you have is a forgery, no doubt.”
“Oh, I think you will find it all too real,” James said. “As would a judge and jury.” He then again focused on his employer.
Sir John’s eyes pierced his. “How long have you known?”
James took a deep breath. “I learned of it just before I received your urgent letter summoning me here.”
