Chapter Twenty-Eight

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

V ERITY KNEW SHE should have told Nathan no. There was no reason, no excuse for going to Lady Lockwood's. She needed to go upstairs and start packing. She would be leaving soon, now that it was all over. It was too risky to continue operating anywhere near Stanhope, now that he knew she was alive. It hurt to leave her business, though it paled beside the hurt of leaving Nathan. She'd have to trust that Poppy would be fine, even if Verity couldn't check in on her sister herself anymore.

Only nothing felt over. Not the case, not her life in London, and most of all, not her relationship with Nathan. Today had been the strangest tangle of emotions—happy, sad, excited, nervous—one moment awkward silence and the next sweet familiarity and comfort, followed by a sudden stab of pain and longing. How can I bear to leave Nathan?

She loved him. Maybe she couldn't say it to him—outside of that one unguarded moment where it had accidentally tumbled from her lips—but Verity had to admit it to herself. She loved Nathan and wanted to be with him. Part of her wanted to throw caution to the winds and marry him as he'd asked. But that would be an entirely selfish thing to do; she would ruin Nathan's life. It was one thing to put herself in danger, but it was quite another to lay waste to Nathan's name, staining him with her crimes and even putting him in danger.

Verity didn't regret what she had done in the past—she'd do the same thing today if it meant saving her sister from Stanhope—and she had accepted the consequences. But Nathan didn't deserve that. She wasn't going to ask him to sacrifice himself for her.

Which was exactly why she should not go with him to Lady Lockwood's tonight. She shouldn't have agreed, shouldn't be thinking of what dress she would wear and how she would arrange her hair and whether she would try that new perfume she'd bought the other day.

She told herself that after tonight, she would be stronger. Firm. This evening, when they left Lady Lockwood's, she would make him see that marriage was out of the question.

But surely it would be all right to let herself have this last evening with him. To spend a few hours near him, committing every expression, every gesture, every smile or laugh to memory, to be taken out and pored over when she was alone.

Having tossed away her widow's veil, Verity chose that evening to wear a half mask as they went to Lady Lockwood's, and she kept a careful lookout for anyone lurking around her house or following them, as she had earlier today. She didn't think that Stanhope had tracked her down yet, but she wasn't about to take any chances. Especially not when she was with Nathan and his family.

Nathan was charming, as he always was with women of every age and status, not pushing Verity to any familiarity, but not treating her with the awkward stiffness that he had shown earlier that day. He treated her, in short, like a casual acquaintance, a stranger, and Verity could not decide whether he had decided to accept her decision and distance himself from her or was setting out to woo her as if they had only met. Whichever it was, she found it a trifle unsettling...and perhaps that was his purpose. Nathan was being conniving, and for some reason, she found it as endearing as it was irritating.

Nathan's mother and aunt were at the dinner, along with Sloane and Annabeth, and, of course, Marcus Rutherford, Sloane's father and Lady Lockwood's frequent companion these days. In her role as Mrs. Billingham, Verity had learned that their relationship was the subject of much speculation among family and friends, not to mention the entire ton . But no one had the courage to broach the subject with her ladyship.

Verity knew that Lady Lockwood was brimming with curiosity about the trip they had made to Scotland and what they had found there, but the presence of Nathan's mother and aunt kept her silent on that score.

But partway through the third course, Marcus Rutherford asked, "How was your trip to Scotland, Nathan?"

"Oh, um...it was quite pleasant." Nathan glanced at his mother a little apprehensively.

"Ow." Marcus cast a wounded look at Lady Lockwood and reached down to rub his shin. "Why did you ki—oh..."

Verity brought her napkin up to her mouth to muffle the laugh that threatened to tumble out. Clearly Sloane had not inherited his skill at deception from his father. Verity glanced down the table to see that Annabeth was focused intently on her plate, her shoulders shaking a little. Sloane closed his eyes in a resigned way.

Under Lady Lockwood's fierce gaze, Marcus scrambled to cover his mistake. "Now, Brighton is the place to visit for me. Don't you agree, my de—um, Eugenia?"

Before Lady Lockwood could respond, Rose Dunbridge said, "Scotland?" She looked at her son in surprise. "Did you go to Scotland, dear? I didn't know that."

"Briefly, yes. Went to, um, visit a friend of mine."

"Oh." His mother looked disappointed. "I hoped you might have gone to meet your half brother."

Nathan dropped his fork, and everyone at the table froze, staring at Rose. Finally Nathan choked out, "You—how—you knew about Malcolm Douglas?"

"Why, yes, dear, of course. I'm sorry. Were you not aware? I assumed your father had told you." Rose glanced around the table at all the startled faces. "I thought everyone knew the story."

" I never knew it," Lady Lockwood said in an affronted tone.

"No, Father didn't tell me," Nathan said. "I had no idea."

"Oh, dear." Rose looked guilty. "I am so sorry. I shouldn't have—though I don't know why George would—"

Nathan broke into his mother's floundering words. "How did you know, Mother?"

"Why, George told me, of course," Rose replied, as if the matter should have been obvious. "He wouldn't have married me without telling me everything about his first marriage."

Verity stifled a groan. Nathan looked bereft of speech.

"Well, don't just sit there, Rose," Lady Lockwood barked. "Tell us what happened."

Rose quickly obeyed. "It was a tragic story, really. Quite romantic." She turned to her sister-in-law. "Did you not know either, Jossy?"

"No, I didn't." Aunt Jocelyn sounded as offended as Lady Lockwood. "I knew there was some sort of trouble with a Scottish girl, but that is all."

"George went to visit a friend who had a lodge in Scotland. Goodness, I can't remember his name," Rose said. She looked again to Jocelyn. "The fellow he knew from school—you remember him, don't you? Had some sort of accident when he was still young."

"Never mind him," Lady Lockwood said sharply. "Stay with the story, Rose."

"Yes, of course. George was quite young, only nineteen, and he met a Scottish girl there. Their ancestral home was near Duffy's lodge—Duffy—yes, that was his name."

Lady Lockwood cleared her throat loudly.

Rose hurried on, "Her name was Margaret, and she came from a good family, but her parents were dead set against the English. And I must say, that seems terribly unfair. George didn't have anything to do with all that. He didn't even know what Culloden was . Anyway, her parents forbade her to see him. But that sort of thing never works out the way one intends, does it? The two of them simply met in secret. After a time, well, you know..." Her cheeks turned pink.

"Yes, yes, she became pregnant," Lady Lockwood put in. "We're all aware of that. What happened? He married her?"

"Not then. When he left Scotland, they didn't know about the baby. He was madly in love with her, though. They sent letters to each other through Duffy, but then George stopped receiving any from her, and Duffy told him that Margaret had gone somewhere with her mother. George believed that she no longer loved him. He was quite sad, of course, but he accepted it."

"But he must have found her," Annabeth said, clearly caught up in the story. Verity had to admit the whole thing sounded much like a novel—one of those where the woman who'd sinned suffers a terrible life full of tragedies and dies at the end. Which seemed, really, rather unfair.

"Yes, George saw Margaret one evening at a party. Apparently she had not been well since the birth of the baby. I think it was that she was wasting away from grief—losing the man she loved and then her son."

"The baby died?" Jocelyn interrupted. "But you said Nathan had a half brother."

"No, the boy didn't die, but to avoid the shame of her daughter bearing a child out of wedlock, her mother, Flora, moved them to some remote place in the Highlands for the birth, and when they went back to Edinburgh, they pretended that it was Flora who had borne a child. Margaret had to appear to be only his sister, and of course it grieved her. But what else was she to do? Label her child illegitimate?"

"I would think she would have fought to keep her child," Annabeth said with all the emotion of impending motherhood.

"Yes, but she wasn't a strong woman like you, dear. I gather she was quite cowed by her mother. She pined for her son and got paler and more downcast, so finally her parents let her go visit some cousins in the hopes she would improve. The cousins brought her to London for the Season. And she and George met. Of course, when she explained it all, George told her she should have sent for him—he would have whisked her away from her family and married her. Then they got married in London and went racing back to Scotland to get their baby. But along the way, there was a terrible accident—the coach went off the road, and poor Margaret died."

"How sad," Annabeth said.

"Yes, isn't it?" Rose nodded. "I always felt very sorry for the poor girl."

"But if they were married, why did Father keep Malcolm a secret?" Nathan asked. "Why wouldn't he have brought him back and raised him?"

"George wanted to, but the Douglases were terribly against it. Flora loved the baby and everyone thought he was her son. The boy was almost a year old by then. Your father realized that to take him away from the only mother and home the child had ever known would be cruel. John and Flora doted on him."

"But couldn't he, I don't know, have had Malcolm come to visit us sometimes?" Nathan sounded wistful.

Rose smiled fondly at him. "George and I would have loved that. I so wished you had a brother to play with. It always grieved me that I could have no more children. But Margaret's parents were adamant. You see, John—that's Margaret's father—was glad to have a son who could inherit his estate. If Malcolm spent any time with us, people would start to wonder why, especially given the Douglases' aversion to the English. There would be gossip, and it was all too likely that the true story would get out. Even if it wasn't proved, the rumor would follow him all his life. And Margaret's memory would be irreversibly besmirched. George couldn't do that. He understood it would be better for everyone that way." Rose sighed. "I really believed George had told you and I had hoped that perhaps when you were adults, you and Malcolm might get to know each other. Become friends."

"I don't think that's very likely," Nathan said.

"Why not, dear?" Rose asked. "I mean, now that you know, you could meet each other."

"I have met him," Nathan replied and began to explain the whole story to his mother. The others had heard the first part of the tale, but everyone hung on his account of Malcolm's kidnapping and their subsequent rescue of him.

There was a long silence after he finished, then Rose said faintly, "Oh, my."

"Well, they're Scots," Lady Lockwood declared, as if that explained the matter. "What can one expect?"

"Not that , one would think," Sloane replied sardonically.

Nathan snorted out a laugh, quickly covered with a napkin, and Lady Lockwood favored both of the men with a stern look.

"I rather like the Scottish myself," Marcus said mildly. "You remember that chap McSweeney, don't you? Capital fellow."

"Sean McSweeney?" Rose said. "I thought he was Irish."

"He was," Jocelyn said.

"Six of one, half a dozen of the other," Lady Lockwood put in, and from there the conversation devolved into a discussion among the older group about their various acquaintances of both nationalities.

Verity, struggling to suppress a grin, looked across at Nathan, and he grinned back, and a pain pierced her at the thought of never again sharing a thought with him without even needing to speak. She swallowed and looked away.

Nathan and Verity left as soon as the meal was over—even Nathan couldn't summon up enough social graces to remain long enough for a properly courteous departure. Verity thought about the fact that this was the last time she would be with these people, and her throat tightened with tears. She had never before felt this way—at least, not since she had left her sister with her new parents. After that, Verity had come and gone, slipping in and out of lives without a regret. But, then, she had never had a group of people she was close to before. That had been the wiser course, she thought. She hated the way this felt.

"I can't believe it!" Nathan exclaimed as soon as they were in their carriage. "All this time, all the effort we made to keep Mother from learning about Malcolm Douglas—and she knew all along."

"It would have been a bit easier just to have asked her to begin with," Verity agreed, glad to be distracted from her blue mood. "I'm glad, to hear the whole story though, even if it is late."

Nathan smiled at her. "It's much more in keeping with the father I knew. I'm glad he wasn't aware Margaret had borne his baby and that he married her as soon as he found out. He wanted his son, he didn't abandon the boy, but instead did what was best for him."

"Many men would have hidden that knowledge from their wives."

"Yes. He trusted my mother enough to be honest about the matter—and she loved him enough to accept his past."

What must it be like to be that certain of love? Verity wondered. To know that the person who held your heart took you as you were, to believe that your love would hold even through your troubles? Verity had never seen the likes of it.

She had seen infatuation that turned into indifference or dislike. She had seen young love, but there was no assurance that it would last a lifetime. But Nathan's parents had had that sort of love; they had known each other's faults and loved each other still, had weathered their troubles together.

It was no wonder that Nathan was the man he was, growing up with their example. Verity had more than once considered him naive, too ready to trust, too prone to leave his heart unprotected. But it wasn't naivete; it was seeing that love between his parents all his life that made him believe in things she didn't dare hope for.

It was a subject she didn't want to dwell on.

"I have been thinking about this case," she said. "There's something odd about it. And it's not just that I hate to see those three villains get away with what they did."

"Just one thing odd about it?" Nathan raised an eyebrow.

She smiled a little. "No, the whole thing is peculiar from beginning to end. First, why was there no ransom note? Why did Tolliver kidnap Malcolm and not ask for ransom?"

"I presume he abducted him just to get him out of the way so Tolliver could impersonate Malcolm. It would have been awkward if the real Malcolm had suddenly shown up."

"But why not try to get both blackmail and a ransom? It's not as if he would have had any moral qualms about it."

"True. And the Douglases would have been much richer marks. Why didn't he choose to blackmail them instead? He wouldn't have even had to put on a charade for them, just threaten to tell everyone what they'd done." Nathan sat forward, his eyes alight. Verity knew that he felt the same compulsion she did to unravel this whole tangled web. "I cannot believe that this Tolliver chap just happened to run into Malcolm at an inn and decided to kidnap him and impersonate him in order to fool me into believing he was my father's legitimate heir."

Verity nodded. "Exactly. It had to be planned out. He would have had to know about Malcolm's background. Even if Malcolm had had a great deal to drink, it's hard to picture him letting out a lifelong family secret to some stranger he happened to meet on the road."

"Yes, it would make more sense if Will Tolliver already knew Malcolm," Nathan agreed. "But why would Malcolm lie and say the man was a stranger?"

"Maybe Tolliver was a stranger. We don't know for sure the man at the inn had anything to do with the kidnapping or the impersonation. It's very possible that Tolliver was not the same man we met. All we really know is that he had drinks with Malcolm and had the same coloring as the imposter."

"And even if Tolliver was the man we met with, he may have just been hired, as Shoemaker and Hill were," Nathan offered. "He could have just met Malcolm in order to study his speech and mannerisms."

Verity nodded, pleased that Nathan was thinking along the same lines she was. "I think the real culprit was someone who knew the Douglases better than that. Malcolm said he'd never told anyone, that it couldn't be someone close to him. But I think he's being naive."

"He wouldn't want to believe that someone he knew would do such a thing," Nathan agreed. "I wouldn't, either. But it makes more sense." The carriage had pulled to a stop in front of Verity's house, but neither of them made any move to leave.

"It wouldn't have to be a close friend," Verity went on. "That sort of knowledge gets out, no matter how much one tries to keep it a secret. A maid has intimate knowledge of the women she tends to. All of their servants and acquaintances knew that Margaret and her mother went on a trip for several months and came back with a baby. There were bound to be people who were suspicious about the tale. Flora was childless from Margaret's birth and then suddenly, late in life, she had a baby?"

"A number of people could have dug into the matter and found out the same things we did—I wish we'd asked the people in Gairmore if anyone else had made inquiries."

"Will Tolliver is the only one who can answer these questions," Verity said.

"But he's taken to his heels," Nathan pointed out.

"That doesn't mean he left the city. A Londoner could just as easily hide here in the city. I think we need to speak to our attackers again."

"Hill and Shoemaker? Shall we look for them tomorrow?"

Verity nodded. "They're the only ones who can tell us who they were actually working for." She wondered guiltily if she was only making excuses to be with Nathan again.

"And you hate that they escaped us twice." Nathan's eyes twinkled.

"Yes, I do." She scowled at the memory. "I'd really like to have another go at them." Verity looked at him. "Don't tell me you wouldn't."

Nathan grinned a little wolfishly. "You're right. I would."

That look. That smile. In that moment, Verity ached to kiss him. Instead, she opened the door and slipped out of the carriage. Nathan followed, but she was at her front door in a flash and already unlocking it when he came up behind her.

Verity opened the door but twisted back to face him, as if barring the door. Her pulse leapt in her throat, and she wasn't sure whom she was thwarting, Nathan or herself. Still, she stood fast. "Good night, Nathan."

"Verity." He gave her a little formal nod.

She tried to read his face, but for once she could not. Was that disappointment in his eyes? And how wicked of her to wish that it was.

"Tomorrow then," he said and turned to leave.

"Tomorrow," Verity murmured as she watched him walk away.