The morning passed agonisingly slowly for Henrietta. She was relieved to know that her father and Uncle Gabriel were sitting in with Raphael during the interrogation – not because she feared what the King’s agent would do left to his own devices, but more what he wouldnotdo after his declaration of the night before.
Raphael Augustin had told her that he loved her. The tone in which he’d said it was more akin to a confession that he had some incurable disease, but Henrietta wasn’t about to be picky.
His admission might not have been couched in flowery language, but to Henrietta it meant far more than just three words. It meant there was a possibility of a future betweenthem. How that future would look was anybody’s guess. But the knowledge that her feelings were reciprocated was enough. Somehow, they would make it work.
Today, however, there was no room for sentiment…
Halfway through the morning, Madam Durand came looking for Tristan. Initially, the new Marquis was less than inclined to speak with the old housekeeper, preoccupied as he was in trying to make some sense of his uncle’s almost nonexistent accounting. When Madame Durand refused to speak with anybody else, however, he relented and invited her into his study.
Half an hour later, Tristan came out, just as Raphael, Roan and Gabriel finished their interrogation.
Roan immediately headed to the brandy decanter on the sideboard. ‘May I?’ he asked Tristan. The new Marquis nodded. ‘It’s yours as long as there’s some left,’ he quipped.
‘Fontaine seemed genuinely surprised that we were aware of theRevisionists,’ Rafe stated, accepting the brandy. ‘As we suspected, he actually believed that Tristan was here solely to reclaim his inheritance.’ He paused, shaking his head. ‘I’m beginning to think he was actually a very small fish in the pond and his only usefulness was continued access to the Montclair name and fortune.’
‘He’s admitted the involvement of Lord Pemberton,’ Gabriel announced tiredly, ‘but claims he has no proof.’ The Viscount’s distaste with the whole procedure was obvious as he added, ‘In truth, I find it hard to believe that Pemberton’s a traitor. He’s a decorated Admiral for God’s sake. He and his wife were guests at our wedding.’
‘Without proof, we have nothing anyway,’ Raphael grated. ‘If he’s cornered, Pemberton will only deny it – and it’s a felon’s word against that of a peer.’
‘What if Finn’s able to identify him?’ Faith asked.
‘An orphan who’s the adopted son of a country curate,’ Rafe answered bluntly.
Beyond giving permission for the brandy, Tristan had so far contributed little to the conversation. On his lap he held a leather-bound book, which he was studying intently.
‘What’s that you have, Tris?’ Roan quizzed him at length - just as Tristan uttered an exclamation.
Looking up, the Marquis held out the book. ‘My father’s diary,’ he explained hoarsely. ‘He gave it to Madame Durand the day he died with instructions to give it to me when she saw me again...’ He stopped abruptly and covered his face with his hands, unexpectedly overcome with emotion for a man he couldn’t even remember. Roseanna laid a hand on his arm but gave him the space he needed to grieve, while everyone else waited silently until he was ready to go on.
‘It seems my father had long suspected his brother’s treachery,’ Tristan managed at length, ‘so he transferred the Montclair fortune to England to prevent Claude accessing it.’ He paused, then gave a sardonic laugh that was almost a sob. ‘Here is my father’s last entry…
“God help me, the money is in trust with Admiral Lord Pemberton, the very man who has conspired against me with my own brother…”’
The silence was absolute.
‘There’s more,’ Tristan went on, his voice stronger now. ‘An envelope containing dates, payment records and letters my father discovered between Fontaine and Pemberton. Everything you need to see the bastard swing.’ He held out the envelope to Raphael. The King’s agent took it without speaking.
As always, it was left to the Reverend to say what everyone else was thinking. ‘Well then, we’ll just have to pray old Pemberton hasn’t spent the deuced lot in the meantime.’
Fortuitously, the Duke and Duchess of Blackmore were still in London when the urgent missive arrived naming Lord James Pemberton as the leader of theRevisionists. Nicholas immediately contacted his brother-in-law, Jamie. As a magistrate, Jamie Fitzroy had been very much involved in the investigation of Etienne Babin and would set the wheels in motion for Pemberton’s arrest before the peer had a chance to flee the country.
The Duke’s next stop was naturally the King. He didn’t have to wait long. Lord Castleton, his majesty’s chief Gentleman’s Usher, was showing him into the King’s chamber within the hour, and by the end of the day, Pemberton had been taken into custody and charged with treason.
The peer’s questioning had gone on long into the night. While he readily admitted to syphoning funds from the Montclair coffers in his charge, he denied using the coin to support theRevisionistcause, maintaining he knew nothing of the conspiracy. Unfortunately for Pemberton, the evidence collected by Philippe de Montclair was for the most part unarguable, anddespite the lack of a confession, it seemed certain he would face the gallows.
At long last, due in no small part to assistance from beyond the grave, theRevisionistConspiracy had finally been laid to rest
What was left of the Montclair fortune was returned to its new Marquis and, though Pemberton had used it carefully, taking great care to cover his tracks, Tristan feared there wouldn’t be much left after the chateau had been restored. That said, the estate ledgers going back nearly a century were a good indication of just how fertile the land surrounding the estate had always been. In fact, it had traditionally supported the family through the leaner times, and Tristan saw no reason it couldn’t do so now. The fact that the land had remained fallow for so long would ultimately prove a good thing, though, as Tristan commented drily, he was unlikely to be playinggentlemanfarmerany time soon…
Since both the Marquis and the soon-to-be Marquise were understandably eager to begin the renovations to their future home, Gabriel reluctantly gave his permission for the wedding to be brought forward. After everything that had happened, it was to be a small, intimate family affair at Northwood within the month – although the wordssmallandintimatewere not generally used when referring to Shackleford family gatherings…
‘When are you going to tell me exactly what’s wrong, darling?’ Faith finally managed to corner her daughter in the library a full week after their return – not an easy feat since Henrietta had spent nearly every waking moment in her bedchamber.
Though Faith had held back in the hope that Henri would choose to confide in her, she could no longer bear to watch her usually ebullient daughter fade into the wallpaper. ‘You look dreadful, sweetheart,’ her mother went on, resolutely, ‘and we both know this can’t go on. Your father is on the verge of calling Raphael Augustin out…’
She left the sentence hanging, watching Henri’s reaction carefully. She wasn’t disappointed. The emotions flitting across the young woman’s face veered from disbelief to horror to downright misery, and seconds later she burst into tears.
‘Oh, sweetheart,’ Faith murmured, taking the sobbing woman into her arms. ‘Do you think your father and I are blind? We guessed you were developing feelings for Raphael Augustin. Please tell me he hasn’t harmed you in any way?’
