Mr Smith-Withers chortled. ‘It is not working so far.’
He said something in a low voice to his friend and laughed. My cheeks burned, imagining he had said something indecorous about me.Oh, I was right in calling that man a weasel!
‘No, not that,’ replied Mr Hart. ‘Even if I have beenthinking it. I have to keep my eye on the prize. I will propose to Lucy soon and consummate our engagement. She is practically begging for it anyway, and I do not want to wait for the wedding.’
Mr Smith-Withers guffawed drunkenly at that. ‘Indeed!’
‘Then with the will signed, I will be heir, and Harry shall have his loose change. When Father eventually carks it, the castle shall be mine. And with Lucinda’s generous dowry, I shall have a stipend to fund my lifestyle plus capital to restore it to its former glory. And you shall have your cut, of course, Smithy, and visit whenever and with whomever you like.’
There was another clinking of glasses.
‘And what will you do with your wife in the meanwhile?’
‘She can live here, while you and I partake in the pleasures of the Season in Bath and London. I’ll tell Maurice to relinquish his nursemaid duties of father to her andshecan empty the old man’s pisspot.’
The two of them laughed uproariously, fuelled by port.
I could not believe my ears. So this was Mr Hart’s devious plan: to marry Lucinda for her money and cast her aside without a care so he could continue his reprobate ways when she doted upon him—even loved him. It was clear that he did not love her one jot and was involved in a terrible deception—of his own father no less! A fury rose inme so great that I nearly burst through the door and clawed his eyes out.
However, before I could move a muscle, something ran over my foot and started scrabbling at the crack in the door. A small brown field mouse shut up in the passageway had seen its chance for escape and life and decided now was the ideal time to make a run for it. Luckily, I did not mind mice and did not think to scream, but that did not matter because it started squeaking—very loudly—and roused attention anyway.
‘What the devil is that noise?’ asked Mr Smith-Withers from within.
‘It sounds like amouse,’ replied Mr Hart, sounding equally perplexed. ‘It seems to be coming from the ...’
I shrank back from the door and fled as quietly as I could down the passageway, with the mouse hot on my heels.
Chapter 16
The next morning, I was awake at dawn, having slept fitfully. Staying in bed was tempting. But I had locked all our bedroom doors, even Jane’s, and pocketed the individual keys. After what I had heard last night, I wasn’t taking any chances with Mr Hart or Mr Smith-Withers either, especially as they had been on the port.
But now I had to unlock the doors before Lucinda and Jane awoke and wondered why they were locked in. Thankfully, both were still dead to the world as I undertook my task and then padded shawl-less and shivering back to my room.
Lying in bed, the covers pulled up to my chin, I wondered what on earth to do now. One thing was very clear: I could not let Lucinda marry Mr Hart. Unfortunately, he was right—his plan to beguile her had worked, and she was now besotted. If he proposed to her, she would definitely accept him.
There were only two ways I could think of to prevent the union, and neither of them was guaranteed to succeed. The first way was thus: Before Mr Hart proposed, I couldprepare Lucinda and tell her that I had an inkling that he might. She would no doubt be excited to hear it, but then I would say, ‘But, dear, it would be best to tell him you would like to wait until your father has given his blessing. It is the proper thing to do, and you do not want to upset him, do you?’
Lucinda was very close to Tobias, so the fear of angering her father might hold some sway over her. If I could get her away from the castle and back to Bath, Mr Hart would not have as much power. And I could gently sow the seeds of doubt about his character with Jane’s help (of course, I would have to tell my friend the truth about him beforehand). Hopefully, by the time Lucinda went home to York, she would have come to see Mr Hart as the rogue he was and refuse him.
However, one big problem with this was that Mr Hart might start his own campaign in retaliation and persuade Lucinda, by letters and visits to Queen Square, that everything I said was a lie because I was jealous or bitter or some such nonsense. He might pursue her to York and charm his way into the hearts and minds of her family, and the marriage could still take place.
The second way was to rip the bandage off and tell her in no uncertain terms what I had overheard in the parlour last night. But this, I knew, would upset her tremendously—tothe point that she may not want to believe it and turn against me and run straight into Mr Hart’s tangled web like a little fly. If I tried to pry her away from him, then I might have an elopement on my hands.
What a blasted mess! I wished I had been strong enough to withstand the pressure from everyone to come to the damned castle in the first place. If I had also told Elizabeth and Jane of Ceci and Dory being caught in bed together immediately after I had learned it, then I might have prevented this distressing scenario. It was my own fault. I had not wanted to be the ‘dull, boring aunt’ and spoil everyone’s good time.
Even Max had sensed something untoward and written instantly to express his concern, but I had been too proud to tell him the truth and ask for his help. In fact, I had blatantly fibbed to give the impression everything was under control so he thought I was capable and mature. Oh, if only I had written saying I needed him and to please come and take us back to Bath immediately! He would have leapt into his carriage and shown up at the castle before Mr Hart could enact his wicked plan. I blinked away bittersweet tears.
But if he knew the truth of the situation, Max would be loath to let me go away again, and he would certainly loseany faith in my ability as a chaperone. I had to sort out this matter on my own. As I lay there pondering, I realised I was overlooking the most obvious solution and another way I could save Lucinda—it was time to confront Mr Hart.
I chose my moment after breakfast and asked discreetly, out of hearing of the others, for a private meeting. Mr Hart looked at me curiously but did not reject my request. With a shrug, he said, ‘By all means. We can talk in my study.’
His study was located on the other side of the parlour. But unlike the parlour, which was sizeable even though it had a low ceiling, the study was a compact room. It had space for a flat-top mahogany desk featuring several brass-knobbed drawers, as well as a small settee, but no other furniture. The castle was odd in that respect. Some rooms, like the dining hall, were absurdly large, as Jane had pointed out. Others, like Mr Hart’s study, were miniscule. The architecture had no sense of logical proportion. It was as if the inhabitants’ comfort was a low priority on the scale of things.
Indeed, when it came to comfort, I would rather have been in a larger room for this meeting as the size of it placed Mr Hart and me in rather closer proximity than I would have liked.
He indicated that I should take a seat on the settee whilehe perched on the edge of the desk.
I glanced around at the framed pencil sketches on the panelled walls, mainly of birds and country landscapes. ‘Did you do these?’ I asked, recognising his style of sketching.
