“I traced as best as I could,” Teller continued. “By most accounts, it seems the boy is dead, Your Grace.”
A sigh left him. “That is what I expected.”
“I do regret giving you this message,” Teller offered.
“I won’t have any of it. Thank you for your industrious work,” Dorian declared, while extending a hand for a shake. “I’ll settle the rest of the account by this evening.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Teller replied while heading to the doorway. “I hope you have a good evening.”
Dorian nodded. “Safe journey.”
As he fell sprawled in his chair, his neck itched with consternation. Finally, one unresolved matter had been put to rest.
Now, he had to deal with Sterling—buthow?
“Your Grace,” Baxter’s voice chimed from the threshold of the study. “Mr. Sharpe, your solicitor, is here to see you.”
“Oh, what fresh hell is this,” Dorian rubbed his eyes. “Send up a pot of coffee, please. I sense that I will need it.”
Dorian barely managed to pull out his ledgers before Baxter returned with a pot of coffee on a tray with the solicitor behind him. The solicitor touched up his round spectacles and fixed his satchel.
He bowed, “Your Grace.”
“Sharpe,” Dorian nodded. “Forgive me for being in my shirtsleeves, but what was so urgent that it required anything more than a simple note?” he added, trying to keep the rising impatience from his tone.
“Yes, Sir,” the solicitor nodded. “For the first matter of the evening, the enterprise you have endeavored for months is coming through, Lord Harcourt has accepted your bid for the horse breeding business—”
Dorian wanted to shout in liberation.Finally, something good.
“—I need you to—” Sharpe searched for a paper, “—sign this contract I have drawn up. Upon filing, the money will be transferred, and so will be the title.”
Breathing out, Dorian mentally ticked off another item on his mental checklist. “Good.”
As he made a cup for himself, the solicitor pulled out various papers and shuffled them, “As for the second matter, I have the trust created for Her Grace, and the funds of her dowry are deposited inside from her father’s account.
“Though I should note, the Langfords have launched a petition to the courts to have the funds returned to them, on the grounds that they are owed renumeration for fostering Her Grace before her marriage,” Sharpe said.
Liberally rolling his eyes, Dorian scoffed. “I’ll have the judge throw that petition out by tomorrow. The paper, please.”
Setting the cup aside, Dorian reached for his quill and ink. He added his signature, date, and his seal, with relief flooding his heart. At least now, he could finally reveal to Ellie some of his secrets.
Just outside Dorian’s study, shock rammed into Evelina as the air escaped her lungs.
Dowry— whatdowry?
Her father had died a pauper, not a rich man. Where had he left a dowry for her?
Her aunt and uncle had certainly not told her about that. Did they know? According to Dorian’s statement, they did know and were primed to steal it after her marriage.
Even if therewasa dowry—was Dorian now taking it? Was that one of his many secrets? Wasthatthe ultimate reason he had stolen her from Sterling, just to take her future for himself?
Suddenly, she felt the gnawing tendrils of heartache and despair curl at her chest… and realized that she may have jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire pit.
She had fallen in love with him… Was she only a pawn on the men’s boards?
Swallowing, Ellie turned and silently walked away to her chambers, unsure of how to deal with this new development. Who was truly lying to her? Her aunt and uncle? Or Dorian? Or all of them?
Dorian had been leaving out so many things, from the moment he abducted her on the eve of her wedding, to the true reasons behind his slapdash marriage proposal and ceremony. And yet, the secrets continued bubbling to the surface unbidden, and she was not sure for how much longer she could trust anything he said anymore.
