Chapter 18

"Your Grace's mind appears to be elsewhere. I wonder if this matter should not wait?" Elliot Russell said.

He was a young man with fair hair, neatly combed. His face was long and his eyes serious, with flat, dark brows. Nimble, long-fingered hands closed the ledger he had been talking Marcus through and he sat back. The principal room on the ground floor of Marcus' rented accommodation in Lambeth was spacious, made more so by the lack of furniture, with a high ceiling and a bay window. Beyond was a mass of rosebush, half obscuring the daylight. The sash window was open to let out the smell of must and vacancy. Marcus had been staring at the wild rose, not taking in a single thing his solicitor had been saying.

"I do apologize," he said, shaking himself, "you're right, I do have some weighty matters on my mind. It makes it rather difficult to concentrate. But I will try harder. This is a subject I must get my head around."

"Indeed, I quite agree. I have been working on little else for the last month. Your father's estates were…are extensive. His business dealings are…were labyrinthine. I do not wish to speak ill of the dead, but it is almost as though he wanted to avoid scrutiny."

Marcus rubbed at the bridge of his nose, sighing. "I am not sure that particular thought would be too wide of the mark. Though I did not know my father well."

"Quite, two men may share a house their entire lives and know little of each other's nature," Russell observed.

Marcus realized his slip and nodded sharply. There had been no way to change solicitors from the one that his father had employed without raising some suspicion. Russell had signed a contract in which he was retained as solicitor to the Roy family for a number of years. And Marcus had found no way around it. He needed the man in order to come to grips with his father's accounts and business enterprises. But every interaction risked discovery.

"I must confess that our previous correspondence led me to believe that you were a very different man. I suppose that is the difference between an acquaintanceship based on correspondence and one carried out in person," Russell said.

"Yes, do not forget that I have been somewhat unwell since inheriting. You have not known me at my best," Marcus said.

The intent young man colored and straightened in his seat. "Of course, Your Grace. I did not mean to imply anything. Of course, ill health will transform a man's personality. It certainly will. Do you wish to proceed or shall we draw a line under our work for today?"

Marcus stood from the table, feeling restless. He paced the room, dressed in breeches and a waistcoat. His cravat was blue, breeches cream, and shirt white. An onyx glittered in the pin of his cravat.

"I must understand or I am lost. A man who is not an expert on his own affairs is doomed," Marcus said angrily.

The truth is, when I am not thinking of my wife-to-be, I am thinking of the ruffian who might destroy the illusion I have been trying to maintain.

London felt like a hostile environment. It had been a mistake to come here. There were too many people who might have met Arthur.

How could I have been so foolish? This all stemmed from the asylum my mother was incarcerated in. Had I ignored that information, I would still be safe. And I would be in the company of Selina. Five years of effort torn down by one misstep.

Selina had written to him innumerable times since he left for London, and it had only been two days, constantly giving him updates of how her dress-hunting was going. He had finally broken down and replied to her last letter when she had noted having picked out her dress. The image of his wife-to-be in a wedding dress swam before his eyes just then. Her long blond curls and sky blue eyes. Skin so pale, perfect, and soft. A swan-like neck that just made him ache to kiss it. Bosoms so perfectly rounded and… With a growl, he forced his mind to the actual business before him. He had sent for Luke, asking him to come to London, and hoped that with Luke's help, he might find a solution to the problem posed by Bill Baxter.

I cannot enter into a spiral of blackmail. A man like that would never be satisfied. It would be an open wound from which my wealth would pour.

"Is there something that Your Grace is not telling me, but perhaps should be?" Russell inquired as Marcus resumed his seat.

"Such as?" Marcus snapped, using anger as a shield.

"I cannot imagine. Yes, actually, I can. I am a solicitor and it is a part of my duty to assist my clients in whatever way they need. That is not always in the realm of laws, ledgers, and accounts. Your Grace has my utmost discretion."

Marcus looked at him sharply. There was an insinuation in the man's face. Something in the tone of his voice that was encouraging Marcus to confess a secret.

He believes I am hiding something shameful. An affair with a married woman or even a courtesan. A duel or black market dealing. Some knavery.

He could vehemently deny it, throw the weight of his rank behind it. But it might not quench Russell's curiosity. Might lead him to go digging for answers. Could Marcus guarantee that there was not something left behind by Arthur or his father that wouldn't incriminate him?

"You are under contract to act as solicitor to my family and all the confidentiality that goes with it," Marcus said, carefully.

"Of course. A matter I take very seriously, ever since your father first retained my services. I was very grateful for the assistance so early in my legal career."

There was a plan forming in Marcus' mind, a way out of Russell's suspicions and Baxter's blackmail. But it would require a swallowing of pride for himself. It would require absorbing some of his brother's crimes, taking them on as his own.

"My illness took the form of a…weakness for certain…substances," Marcus began slowly, "you understand?"

Russell's smile was beatific, as though having evidence that his employer was fallible was a source of great pleasure for him.

"I do indeed, Your Grace. No need to say more. Are we talking about a relapse into old ways?"

Marcus frowned, wondering at the particular phrasing of the question.

"What makes you say that?" he asked.

"Only that I did understand there was a…weakness…during the days before the old Duke passed away. Then a period of sobriety and clean living. Of course, I only have your father's account to go on and those of the good doctor who oversaw your recovery."

"Yes, yes. I remember him well," Marcus said vaguely, "you needn't worry. There has been no relapse of any kind."

"Most gratifying, Your Grace. By all accounts, your treatment under Doctor Lynch's care worked miracles. It was an asylum not far from here, was it not? Did I hear that correctly? Somewhere to the south."

"Streatham," Marcus said coldly, "where my mother was committed."

"Ah yes, you would have come to know that place very well during your own stay," Russell continued conversationally.

Did Arthur commit his own mother? Or was it our depraved father? I am glad I did not go in if Arthur is known to the staff there.

But despite that, he found that he still wanted to know what had become of his mother.

"I am maintaining the payments each month towards the running of the place and its upkeep," Russell said, "as is detailed in the quarterly accounts I send you."

Marcus had not been looking at them and was surprised to hear of a standing order concerning maintaining the asylum.

So, I am now paying for the asylum in which my brother was a guest and my mother may still be.

"I did wonder if you would wish to discontinue that given your mother's death last year," Russell continued.

Marcus froze. His stomach clenched and it felt as though an icy hand were clamped to the back of his neck. For a moment, he could only stare at Russell, who was pointing to a line of figures in the ledger that he had just reopened.

"As you can see, it is not a significant drain on your resources. A small amount really."

"She is dead," Marcus said softly.

Russell blinked and looked at Marcus askance. "You didn't know? I wrote to you the same day to inform you. I arranged for the funeral and was executor for your mother's estate."

"Last year?" Marcus repeated, "she was alive until last year and I did not know?"

Russell sat back, a perplexed look on his face. "Did not know? You surely knew where your mother lived and worked. After all, it was you that put her there."

Marcus' eyes went wide, anger flared. Russell shrank away as Marcus rose, hands planted against the table looming over the slender young man.

"I? I?!" he roared, "I committed my own mother to an insane asylum? You depraved wretch!"

Marcus didn't know if he was shouting at Russell or at his brother, wherever he was. At that moment, Marcus hoped he was burning in hell. He could not imagine a worse fate than to be incarcerated in such a place. Bedlam in London had a horrific reputation. He doubted other asylums were much better. Russell had gone as white as a sheet, raising his hands in supplication.

"Please, Your Grace! I apologize! But I saw the paperwork, saw your signature. You believed it was the best thing for her and I understand that it was. After a year she was declared free of her insanity and devoted herself to helping other poor unfortunates. I have the letters from her."

Marcus was incandescent. Never before had Russell mentioned any of this. He could have met with his mother, spoken to her, asked her why he had been exiled by them. Asked her if she had rejected him or was it just his brutal father.

And had I done that, my identity would have been revealed and the game would be up. Impossible.

"I was sworn to secrecy. The letters were for you at such a time that you wished to know the truth. Otherwise, they were to be kept secret and safe."

"Where are they?" Marcus hissed.

"In my office. In my safe. I can go and get them. Return at once."

Marcus sat, controlling himself with an effort. He clasped one hand with the other in a bid to keep them from the solicitor's throat.

"Do that, Russell. And then we may discuss the matter of the man seeking to blackmail me over my past. You will suggest a solution to the problem he poses. Think on it on the way back to Gray's Inn. Go!"