CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The following morning, Colin awoke in his study, slumped in his chair before the cold remnants of the fire.

He had dreamed of paper and awoke to paper. It seemed that the documents, missives, and letters were multiplying before his eyes.

He could feel the legacy he had worked so hard to redeem, crumbling all around him. It had taken years of endeavor to secure the investors who were supporting the estate renovations, yet apparently, to lose them could be done overnight.

With a long sigh, he rubbed a hand over his face and looked out of the window at the dawning of a new day.

Only the evening before, he had dismissed the idea of running from his responsibilities, but now the thought of escaping the scrutiny of society and the despair of the last few days was almost irresistible.

He glanced down at his desk, familiar nausea rising within him at the almost illegible and increasingly erratic notes in his father’s hand. He lifted a ledger in order to close it, and as he did so, a piece of folded paper fell out onto the floor.

Bending down to pick it up, he froze. It was a letter he had not seen before from his father to Lord Richard Wentworth.

With quivering hands, he unfolded it. It had been written the day before his father’s death but had never been sent.

Dear Lord Wentworth,

I write to you with the pain of many years behind me in the hopes that we might make amends for the feud that exists between us.

Long have I sat at this desk, considering what could have become of my life if things had turned out differently—if I had acted more honorably.

I regret the decision that led to you losing the seat in the House of Lords. I was not the one who spread the rumours, but I did not dissuade anyone else from encouraging them. I know your character and your integrity now. I understand that the allegations of fraud would have been deeply hurtful to you.

In truth, there is more to our history than you may be aware of, and I allowed that to cloud my judgment.

I contact you now, in order to attempt to right a future wrong. In the next few lines, I will give you details of my life that no one knows, that I have kept close to my chest all these months, praying I would be able to escape. But alas, I believe my time is upon me, and I have been unable to do so.

I have been embroiled in a very serious matter that has caused me great unhappiness, of late. I trusted the wrong man and have been unable to see a way of extricating myself from what is a dire situation.

You and I were both at the Watson’s soiree several months ago. I, too, spoke with the gentleman of the house about the investments that he had made and was intrigued by them. I chose to follow the same path, along with some other men—including Lord Percy Kilby.

Colin’s fingers were shaking so violently that he had to steady the paper between both hands.

I was most gravely deceived by Kilby’s character. He is a braggard of the first order, and I am telling you this—as my greatest rival—in the hopes that my destruction will fuel your own will to destroy him also.

Every investment I have made with him has come to nothing. He is a thief and a liar—a cold and heartless man. You will recall Lord Watson’s tragic death some weeks ago. I believe Lord Kilby has also led him to despair.

I beg you—as a friend I might have had and as a gentleman—to investigate Kilby in the strongest terms. I will send you the papers I have collected tomorrow, and I pray that you can discover the truth and expose him where I could not.

My health is failing me, and I do not have the strength to tell my wife and son how foolish I have been. I implore you to spread the word and expose Kilby for the liar he is before more lives are destroyed by his hand. I am sorry, old friend. As my life fades before me, I have seen the error of my ways and the hurt I have dealt you, and for that, I beg your forgiveness…

There, the letter broke off unfinished, never to be sent, lost in a ledger until this moment. Colin was on his feet, staring at the final paragraph with rage whirling through his mind.

Kilby.

He had seen that name a few times in his father’s correspondence but never in any capacity as an investor. Kilby had sent several letters, but Colin had dismissed them as mere trivia.

What a fool I have been.

With renewed determination, he dove back into the papers upon his desk, poring over the documents and cross-referencing their names and dates.

Slowly, a picture began to form as though a candle had been lit in a darkened room where he had been fumbling about for weeks. There were many letters that had been exchanged between his father and Lord Kilby, yet it seemed that any detail of what they were discussing was omitted.

Colin searched frantically for anything that might have included Kilby’s name, certain now, from his father’s own hand, that he had found the answer to this impossible riddle.

Suddenly the picture that had been forming was becoming clearer and clearer.

Lord Kilby was the third-party investor who had worked with his father. Lord Kilby had sent him down every wrong turn available to him.

But why did my father not expose him sooner?

Colin shuffled through the papers on his desk until he found the ledger. It was the only record where he had kept track of the number of withdrawals his father had made from all his assets. They were not always the same amounts, but they came out of his bank once a month without fail.

Blackmail.

He picked up page after page of accounts, seeing the regularity of the loans now, not as investments but as payments . They could only have been for Kilby’s silence. Kilby had taken the late duke’s money and continued to promise him returns. It could only have been a matter of time until his father grew wise to the scheme and confronted him.

If the investments had been made against suspect organizations that might have implicated his father in illicit activities, he would have been terrified of exposure—just as Colin was now. Kilby had clearly taken advantage of that fact and forced the duke to pay him to keep quiet about where his money had ended up.

Colin collapsed into his chair, his hands trembling violently, as a final thought occurred to him.

Since she had returned to society, with barely any time to grow accustomed to this new world thrust upon her, Kilby had been there to woo her. Colin’s jaw clenched as he imagined the motivations behind such a scheme. Lady Wentworth was beautiful and accomplished, to be sure, but a man like Kilby would only see what he could gain from such a match.

Percy's pursuit of Lady Wentworth was not just a matter of romantic interest but part of a calculated scheme to secure his own financial future and protect himself from the fallout of past misdeeds.

He does not want Lady Wentworth for anything more than securing his future.

***

For the following few hours, Colin compiled every piece of evidence he could find against Lord Kilby.

Now that he understood it, the code in which they spoke in their letters was obvious. Kilby wrote to his father with the facade of pleasantries, but, in reality, it was merely to remind him of the sword that was dangling over his head and to ensure that the duke would make his payments.

His father’s responses had started with outrage and slowly moved to acceptance over a number of months. Whatever hold Kilby had over him must have been strong indeed.

Colin knew he was at a crossroads.

Either he could confront Kilby himself or alert Lord Wentworth to his misdeeds in private. Both were equally unpleasant tasks.

He put his head in his hands. The information before him could have far-reaching consequences but Colin feared a public exposure would be needed. If Kilby were half the blackmailer he appeared to be, it was unlikely he had only been blackmailing the late duke. He might have many noblemen singing to his tune all over London for all Colin knew.

He sat back in his chair, thinking of Lady Wentworth with a burst of wretched hope in his heart, yet he was also filled with despair at what he would have to do. Lady Wentworth may not care for Kilby, but Colin did not know what damage a scandal like this might do. He did not wish to cause Charlotte any pain.

But to allow Lord Kilby to continue unchecked is unthinkable.

***

Charlotte was sitting in the drawing room when a footman announced that Lady Elizabeth Ludlow had come to see her. With trepidation, she asked him to allow her to enter, and in a moment, Elizabeth came into the room, her expression grim.

Charlotte placed her mother’s journal beside her and approached Elizabeth, attempting a weak smile.

“You have been crying,” Elizabeth said with concern as she pulled her to a chair.

“I am quite well, I assure you,” Charlotte said softly.

“Is it true that you are engaged to Lord Kilby?” Elizabeth asked, her voice disbelieving.

Charlotte sucked in a long breath. It was one thing to accept Kilby in private but quite another to know that the rumors had already spread so far and wide. Fresh tears splashed over her cheeks, and Elizabeth held her hand as Charlotte wiped them away.

“It is true,” she said softly, and Elizabeth’s eyes hardened.

“Was it your choice?” she whispered.

“No. My father was eager for me to make the match, and it is done. There are reasons I had to accept. I cannot go into them here.”

A maid entered with a tray of tea as she spoke, and the two women waited for her to depart until they spoke again. Elizabeth poured them both a cup and handed one to Charlotte, her eyes never leaving her face for a moment.

“Will you tell me what happened?” Elizabeth asked. “I had rather thought… that is, I had felt that your heart might lie elsewhere.”

Charlotte stared into the bottom of her teacup.

Can I tell Elizabeth the truth? She is the duke’s cousin…yet what do I have left to lose? I will be all alone soon enough.

Charlotte took a deep breath and speared Elizabeth with a determined stare. “I had hoped that my path might lie in a different direction, yes,” she said slowly. “But it was not to be.”

Elizabeth sipped her tea, biding her time before speaking again. She had been so certain of Colin’s feelings, not to mention those of Lady Wentworth, that when she had been told of her engagement to Kilby she had dismissed it as ridiculous. Hearing it from Charlotte’s lips was another matter entirely.

Elizabeth lowered her cup and sighed. “I had hoped for another outcome also,” Elizabeth confessed. “It is not my place to say, Lady Wentworth, and we both know it will do no good, but my cousin has never been happier than he was with you this summer.”

Charlotte gave her a sad smile, tears drying on her cheeks as she nodded.

“I have never met a man like him or enjoyed anyone’s company so much. But my father would never approve of the match. He believes Lord Kilby to be far superior in every respect, and now that there has been such a scandal around the duke’s name, it is quite impossible.” Charlotte turned to her, taking Elizabeth’s hand in hers. “I am so sorry that your family name has been dragged through the scandal sheets. I could not imagine how terrible that must have been for you and your mother.”

Elizabeth set down her tea. “We have every hope that the duke will get to the bottom of things. He has been working day and night to discover the truth. I am only sorry that it was too late for him to be able to speak with you.”

Charlotte looked up at her, her gaze momentarily open and unguarded. Elizabeth’s heart broke at the hope in her eyes. She looks just as Colin did.

“He wanted to speak to me?”

“Oh yes,” Elizabeth said, squeezing her hand. “Never doubt that for a moment, Lady Wentworth. But he still does not know the origins of the scandal, and he had to discover the truth before he could ever have approached you. How could he ask you to trust him with the rest of your life if he did not know what life it might be?”

Charlotte closed her eyes, the sadness within her growing, and Elizabeth gripped her hand more tightly. “I am so sorry for it all,” she said earnestly, “but nothing is yet certain.”

Charlotte looked out the window at the gray day looming before them.

“I am engaged to a man I cannot love. That much is certain.”