Page 3 of The Lyon’s Paw

“Many find they can survive with only a butler, cook, maid, and coachman.”

This was madness. A headache began to throb in the back of Geoffrey’s head. “What about the dowry that has been set aside for my sister? She’s to be presented at court in the spring and will be coming out in Society. Surely her portion is intact?”

Slowly, the steward shook his head. “Apparently it was borrowed against several times most recently…,” he picked up a different set of documents, “in late August of last year.”

Frowning, Geoffrey shook his head. “Alyce’s wedding was in September. But I don’t recall borrowing against Joanna’s dowry. And Alyce’s was intact when it was given over at her marriage.”

“Is this your signature, my lord?” Folger handed over a single sheet. “This is the note with the bank from the very end of last August. The second one against Lady Joanna’s dowry.”

Geoffrey glanced at it and nodded. He was handing it back when something told him to take a closer look. Holding the paper closer, he stared at the signature that was very like his own—but not quite. “No, damnit. It is a clever forgery, but it is not my writing. But who…” Good God. “Griffin. The man had seen my signature a thousand times. Of course he could have forged it. But why? I cleared up his accounts after his death and he had no more than a hundred pounds to his name.”

“I suspect, my lord, that he was borrowing from Peter to pay Paul for some years to keep the truth of your financials from you. If he’d borrowed against Lady Alyce’s dowry before, he’d have to borrow against Lady Joanna’s to keep up the deception when your elder sister married.” Folger shook his head. “Had he lived much longer, it was bound to have come out.”

“But why not tell me the truth about the estates? Then I could have done something.” If he’d only known about the dire straits of his finances, Geoffrey could have made decisions about so many things, made other investments with the dwindling funds.

“Pride is a dangerous thing no matter which man values it, master or servant. I suspect Mr. Griffin, who you say was your father’s man, felt it keenly that he couldn’t keep things running as well as in your father’s time. He tried to keep you safe, and in the end has done you a grave disservice.”

Was a betrayal an actual betrayal if it was done with only good intentions? Geoffrey shook his head. He would have to put all thoughts of Mr. Griffin out of his mind for now and concentrate on how to get out of the mess his former steward had landed him in. “How much money are we talking about to keep the earldom from ruin, if we do sell Hillcrest and Dudley House?” He still hoped to hold onto Charring Park, for his mother’s sake and simply to keep some remembrance of his childhood alive. The thought of his own children spending summers there was too precious to discard at a moment’s notice. “If I could raise at least part of that sum, and speak with my creditors, perhaps it would keep us solvent long enough to be able to salvage the rest.”

Mr. Folger shook his head, then quoted an amount that almost made Geoffrey’s jaw drop. He’d had no idea the situation was so dire. Head reeling, Geoffrey couldn’t say anything for several minutes as the staggering sum kept repeating itself over and over in his mind. At last Geoffrey pulled himself together and rose. “Thank you, Folger. I appreciate your candor and together I believe we can begin to turn things around.”

Rising as well, the steward sighed. “Lord Longford, I am heartily sorry to do this, but I must tender my resignation. I’ll serve out my two weeks’ notice and help you in any way possible during that time, but I fear I cannot in good conscience remain in your employ.”

“Why not?” The sharpness of his voice covered the disappointment in it as Geoffrey’s heart sank even further. Folger was an intelligent man. Geoffrey had hoped he would stay and help him find the funds to turn the situation around.

“When I said you must live more simply and reduce your staff, I meant it.” The man looked as uncomfortable as if he were standing on hot coals. “My salary alone would be a considerable drain on your finances. I truly would like to stay and assist you, my lord, but to put it bluntly, you cannot afford me.”

“Mr. Boniface is here to see you, Miss Edgerton. Shall I bring him here?”

At those fateful words, Diana Edgerton’s heart began to race. She’d been expecting this visit from her uncle’s executor almost since she’d moved back in with her Aunt Frances just after Uncle George died. At long last the anticipation was over. She could scarcely believe it.

“Fetch my aunt first, Lucy. Then bring Mr. Boniface here.”

Waiting for word from her uncle’s executor that, after more than a year of disputes, Uncle George’s will had finally been settled had been excruciating. When she’d offered to be her uncle’s housekeeper and caretaker for the last years of his life, she’d never expected him to leave her such an astonishing inheritance. She was certain, had her cousins realized the extent of their uncle’s wealth, they would have clamored and fought her for the opportunity to take care of him. They had not, however, and he’d treated them accordingly.

She’d really been terribly fond of her uncle, feeling him her only link to her father after her parents died. All her life, Uncle George had spun her stories about his travels in the Orient. As a little girl she’d listened spellbound to his talk about China and India, hunting tigers, riding elephants, meeting with great sultans and rajahs. It was a world she could scarcely imagine. When she’d grown older, she’d listened to the stories still, but by then hadn’t believed them to be anything other than tales made up to amuse her and her cousins.

When Uncle George had died, however, and Mr. Boniface had contacted her, she discovered her uncle’s stories had all been true. After returning to England for the last time, he’d sold the shares he’d owned in the East India Company and, in his will, had left all the considerable proceeds to her, citing her devotion to him as the reason for his generosity.

Her cousins had, of course, protested and disputed the will, but Uncle George had apparently expected that and made provisions for them, though leaving Diana the bulk of his estate. It had taken her aback—she’d been in mourning for her uncle when the first letter had arrived from Mr. Boniface and she hadn’t quite believed it at first. But her aunt—her mother’s sister on the other side of the family—had read it thoroughly and assured Diana that one day in the not-too-distant future, she was going to be a very wealthy young woman.

Apparently that day was today.

“Aunt Frances,” Diana turned to her aunt as she entered the comfortable drawing room, her whole body shaking “Mr. Boniface has come to call.”

“So I hear, my dear.” Her aunt settled herself on the sofa next to Diana and grasped her shoulders. “Get yourself well in hand before Lucy sends him in.”

Diana wasn’t sure she could get herself together well enough for this meeting, but she took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. With a glance at her aunt for reassurance, she set what she hoped was a serene smile on her lips and waited for her life to change.

They rose as Mr. Boniface entered, a small, thin, unassuming gentleman with spectacles who smiled broadly when he saw them. “Mrs. Beaumont, Miss Edgerton, so nice to meet you at last.” He bowed then straightened and beamed at them anew. “It has been such a long process, however, I am very happy to tell you all is finally at an end.”

“We are very happy to meet you as well, Mr. Boniface. Do have a seat.” Aunt Frances indicated the comfortable Queen Anne chair across from the sofa and they all sat, calm to the eye, though Diana could scarcely sit still. Her aunt rang the bell. “Will you take tea, Mr. Boniface?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Beaumont. That would be nice.” The gentleman busied himself taking papers out of a satchel. “These are the papers detailing all the disputes regarding the terms of the will put forward by your cousins. They have been duly noted by the courts and in each and every instance were struck down.” Mr. Boniface gave a little chuckle as he shuffled the papers. “Your uncle’s prudent bequest to each of your cousins in the amount of one shilling assured the courts he was of sound mind when making his will, which both courts took into consideration.”

“Such an intelligent gentleman, your uncle.” Aunt Frances murmured, then looked up as the maid opened the door. “Please bring tea, Lucy.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The servant bobbed a curtsy then backed away and shut the door.