Page 16 of Snowed-in with Scandal
Her blood turned to ice. “How do you?—”
“I make it my business to know things, my dear. Especially when those things concern my family.” He reached into his waistcoat and withdrew a familiar-looking document. “Speaking of which, I believe you were looking for these earlier.”
Arabella’s papers. Her written confession demanded by her husband. A full accounting of all the false testimony she’d given. All the evidence of her crimes, right there in his hands.
“You see, I’ve been thinking about your situation. A young widow overwhelmed by grief, clearly not capable of managing her own affairs... It would be such a kindness to arrange for someone reliable to take care of everything for you. Permanently.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Marriage, my dear. I have a friend—a very understanding friend—who would be more than happy to take on the burden of caring for my cousin’s distracted widow. Marriage would mean that you’d no longer have the care of all these interminable financial details that are not the purview of a poor female.”
The full horror of his plan crashed over her. He intended to have her declared incompetent, marry her off to an accomplice, and then...
“You cannot force me to marry against my will!” She gasped.
“My cousin did.” Algernon held up the papers, his meaning clear. “These documents would make for fascinating reading at the War Office, don’t you think? Especially now that your brother is trying to reopen his case. They might find it quite interesting to learn to what lengths his sister went to save him.” He tapped the letter. “A hanging offense, I believe.”
Arabella felt the walls closing in around her. If she refused, he would destroy both her and James. If she agreed...
“Of course,” Algernon added casually, “there is always the possibility that dear James might meet with some unfortunate accident before he can present his evidence. These are dangerous times, after all. So many tragic mishaps befall unwary travelers.”
The threat was unmistakable. Her brother’s life hung in the balance, along with her own freedom.
“You’re a monster,” she breathed.
“I’m a practical man who sees opportunities where others see obstacles.” He rose from his chair, tucking the papers back into his waistcoat. “Now, I’m afraid I must insist you remain here as my guest while I make the necessary arrangements. The tea was lovely, by the way. I do hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.”
As he spoke, Arabella became aware of a strange heaviness in her limbs, a growing lethargy that seemed to spread from her stomach outward. The tea. He had drugged the tea.
“Sleep well, my dear,” Algernon said, his voice seeming to come from very far away. “When you wake, we’ll begin planning your future.”
The last thing Arabella saw before darkness claimed her was his satisfied smile, and the last thing she thought was that Nicholas would never know the truth. He would go to his grave believing she had chosen wealth over love, and she would never have the chance to tell him how wrong he was.
CHAPTER 12
Antoinette was not used to being crossed.
Or rather, she knew how to get her way when her sister or—in this case, a recalcitrant gentleman—needed to be steered towards her way of thinking.
“Absolutely not,” her dear, misguided houseguest, Nicholas Morley was saying, crossing his arms as he stood in the drawing room of Quamby House. “I will not be party to one of your theatrical schemes, Lady Quamby.”
Antoinette tapped her foot in frustration, though she continued to smile. Albeit a forced smile. “You simply must listen to me, Mr Morley! That horrid man has taken our dear Lady Lushington prisoner. Or that’s what he fully intended to do when he rode off. I’m certain of it!”
“Prisoner?” Colonel Shankshaft chuckled from his position by the fireplace. “My dear lady, your imagination runs away with you. The new Lord Lushington seemed perfectly respectable to me.”
“Respectable?” Antoinette whirled to face him. “Did you not notice how his eyes never quite met ours when he spoke? How he knew far too much about Lady Lushington’s movements while claiming to be merely concerned? And that business aboutmanaging her affairs? Since when does such a man have such authority over his late cousin’s widow’s estate?”
Fanny looked up from her embroidery. “She does have a point about the estate management, Nicholas. It struck me as rather irregular.”
“Perhaps,” Nicholas said curtly, “but that hardly constitutes evidence of kidnapping. Lady Lushington made her choice to leave. She is exactly where she intended to be.”
“Oh, you stubborn, stubborn man!” Antoinette cried, throwing her hands in the air. “Can you not see past your wounded pride for one moment? That woman loves you. It was written all over her face when you returned from the pavilion. No woman looks like that after an afternoon of passion unless her heart is entirely engaged!”
Nicholas flinched. “Lady Quamby, please?—”
“No, I will not be silenced! You men are all the same—so quick to believe the worst of us, so eager to nurse your injured feelings that you cannot see what is right before your noses!” She rose suddenly and began to pace. “Mark my words, that serpent Algernon, Lord Lushington has done something dreadful to our poor Lady Lushington, and while we sit here debating propriety, she may be in mortal danger!”
“Really, Antoinette,” Fanny said gently, “don’t you think you’re being a trifle dramatic?”
