Page 54 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)

The next day

“A re you certain you’re up for this?” Lucius paced the chamber, stopping and spinning to Meredith until she thought she would keel over from dizziness.

Meredith let out a frustrated sigh. “Absolutely.” She came to her feet and went to the mirror. She adjusted the square modest bodice of her deep sapphire-blue gown, smoothed her hands over the long tapered sleeves that ended in a subtle point just past her wrists.

“You looked as grand as Victoria,” he murmured, lifting her chin with a forefinger for a brush of her lips.

These tiny touches he showered her with seeped under her skin, turned her insides to a quagmire of mush. It was messy and not so easy to sort out… except… she adored him. She wrapped her arms about his neck. “And she would happily trade Albert for you.”

The sharply tailored coat he wore was of the finest wool—not three years out of date like that of her own gown. His charcoal gray trousers were cut straight to fall cleanly over black leather shoes.

“We shall outshine even Docia,” he said.

Her fingers touched her forehead. “But for my bumps and bruises,” she said with a wry smile.

“You’ve never been so beautiful.” His lips turned down and his expression grew serious. “You must be prepared for the worst, darling. Your father is in a world of trouble.”

“It would be infinitely worse not knowing the extent of his misdeeds. Especially in light of the contract we uncovered. We both have much to learn regarding our fathers. I would ask you the same. Are you sure you are up to this?”

He laid his cheek against her temple. “With you at my side, I can face anything.” His breath stirred her hair.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Meredith took his arm, and they descended the stairs after a quick stop for the journals and documents to lay out their case.

He led her to the grand dining hall. At the door, she hesitated.

His patience warmed her, gave her the courage she required.

He looked askance at her. Meeting his eyes, she inhaled a deep breath then nodded.

He patted the starched cravat at his chest as if to shore up his own resolve then threw open the doors and strode in with a confidence she latched on to.

The sight of her father hunched in on himself stunned her, looking every year of his fifty-eight.

Thornfield’s wrists were tied to the arms of his chair though armed men were stationed at the various entry points of the room.

Their attire blended military precision with a sense of gravitas: coats of dark navy, sharply tailored, and high collars.

Polished brass buttons gleamed from the gas-lit chandeliers overhead and both sported epaulettes of gold fringe on their shoulders indicating their higher rank.

The most disturbing aspect, she found, were the pistols holstered at their waists and the sabers sheathed to their sides.

On the other hand, the most comforting aspect was their imposing stance with an alertness that remained at the ready.

The tension was palpable, and Meredith’s heart thumped loudly.

At the head of the table was a man she didn’t recognize. He came to his feet when she entered.

“Lady Pender,” Lucius said. “May I present Mr. Albert Forsythe and Mr. Oswald Vayne—”

“Oswald Vayne?” Meredith turned quickly to Mr. Forsythe. “Mr. Vayne’s name is most familiar,” she said.

Mr. Vayne bowed deeply. He was younger than she’d thought he should be.

Considerably so. He was polished and somewhat unassuming in appearance, with sharp, intelligent eyes that suggested ambition.

His neatly combed hair was dark and brushed from his face, and he sported a lean, refined build.

He projected a professional demeanor, in his understated elegant clothing.

“You must be thinking of my father, or perhaps my grandfather,” he said.

“I regret to say, my father met his demise some two years past.”

“I-I see,” she said softly almost faintly. “My condolences on your loss.”

He responded with a sharp smile and incline of his head, then stepped back.

“Mr. Forsythe is a senior member of Parliament and is known for his unflinching investigations,” Lucius said with a light squeeze of her hand.

Mr. Forsythe’s lips turned down at her presence, but she lifted her chin. She inclined her head. “Mr. Forsythe. Welcome to Perlsea Keep.” Slowly, she surveyed the rest of the occupants—the clerk from the mine office and Mr. Ashcroft—

She tilted her head to one side. “Good afternoon, sir.” She was startled to find him so well-dressed, a stark departure from the unassuming practicality she had come to associate with him.

Though his outfit lacked the precise polish of a nobleman’s wardrobe it was clear he had made an effort to appear dignified and composed.

Most shocking was the absence of his beard, cleanly shaven that revealed a strong jaw amid a fierce demeanor.

His coat, though slightly worn at the seams, fit him well, and the waistcoat, while not overly ornate, hinted at a sophistication she hadn’t realized he possessed.

Even his boots, polished to a shine, seemed to speak of a man stepping into a role far removed from the one he had carefully displayed until now. The transformation unsettled her.

“Meredith.”

With a sharp gasp, her eyes shot to Lucius.

He winced. “I, er, forgot to mention…”

“I’m Rathbourne’s heir.” Mr. Ashcroft stepped forward, took her clenched hand, and bowed over it. “The Marquess of Blackstone.”

“Your… mother…”

His lips tightened and his eyes flashed to Papa. “We shall speak of it later,” he said softly.

“Gentlemen and, er, my lady. If we may get started?” Mr. Forsythe moved to the head of the table.

Lucius took the journals and documents—the letters and maps she’d unearthed in the wine cellar’s compartment—and set them on the table before him.

“Come, my dear.” Lucius escorted her to the far end of the room to observe without drawing too much attention.

She lowered onto a winged-back chair near the fire, her nerves shattered. Mr. Ashcroft was her brother? She gripped the armrest, her mind racing. The men sitting around the table were an imposing group with their dark coats and serious expressions. Meredith forced herself to concentrate.

Mr. Forsythe stepped forward. He glanced toward her dark corner frowning again—still—but then seemed to pull himself up.

His voice cut through the room. “Your Grace, my lords, gentlemen. We are here on behalf of the Crown and Parliament to investigate allegations of corruption, unsafe working conditions, and the mishandling of funds tied to the Penhalwick mine. There is damning evidence that implicates members of this estate.”

He’d forgotten murder. Meredith’s gaze went to Lucius. His face was as unreadable as her recollections of the falling debris she couldn’t remember.

Her father shot to his feet. “This is an outrage! I demand to know the source of these so-called allegations.”

Mr. Forsythe’s lips curled into a thin smile. He shuffled through another stack of papers. “The Marquess of Blackstone, Your Grace.”

The inspector pulled over the familiar aged, yellowing papers.

Papa lowered back to his chair, his expression faltering, his face darkening.

Mr. Forsythe slid a paper in his direction. “Do you recognize this signature, Your Grace?”

Her father’s lips tightened in a compressed line.

Mr. Forsythe held up another paper. “This correspondence, dated 1828,” he went on, “details bribes paid to members of Parliament to stall safety regulations. The signatories include the late Earl of Pender… and you, sir, the Duke of Rathbourne.”

Meredith kept her gaze steady, though her pulse quickened. Lucius leaned forward, his brows furrowed. She wondered if he was realizing for the first time, as was she, the depth of their fathers’ betrayals.

“These are fabrications,” her father blustered with the disdain and disgust that only a man of his station could effect. “Forgeries! I’ll not stand for such baseless accusations.”

Before Forsythe could respond, Meredith spoke up, her voice clear but firm. “The papers are genuine, Your Grace. I found them myself, hidden in a secret compartment in the wine cellar. They are a record of decades of deceit.”

The room fell silent. All eyes turned to her in various degrees of surprise. As if they’d forgotten her presence altogether. Lucius’s gaze was a mix of surprise and something deeper—admiration? She wanted to bask within the warmth she found there, but Papa’s face had twisted into fury.

“You dare accuse me, girl?” he snarled.

“I speak the truth,” Meredith said evenly. “You have exploited the people of Penhalwick for years and tarnished the name of this estate. The inspectors are here to see justice done.”

Lucius cleared his throat. “In addition to my wife’s finds, I also recovered detailed payout information from a safe in Thornfield’s office.”

Mr. Forsythe’s eyes narrowed on Lucius. “I see.” He drummed his fingers on the polished wood.

“Lord Pender, there are questions regarding your involvement. These papers suggest your late father and the duke orchestrated these schemes. Even so far back as the Marquess of Aylesbury. Did you have knowledge of these actions?”

Lucius shook his head, his voice steady but tinged with anger.

“None. I have spent years away from this estate, ignorant of the treachery my father and…” He leveled his gaze on Thornfield then Papa.

“…others committed. There is also a compact agreement my wife found that indicates the duke’s father.

And,” he flicked his gaze on Mr. Vayne, “a Mr. Oswald Vayne.”

The room stilled where it seemed all eyes moved to Mr. Vayne in varying degrees of accusation.

The blood drained from his face. “I beg your pardon, sir.”

Lucius retrieved a tri-folded missive from an inside pocket of his waistcoat. He held it out to Mr. Forsythe. “This is a letter we believe was penned by the former Duke of Rathbourne. He speaks of a member of Parliament assisting them.”

Mr. Forsythe accepted the letter and quickly read through it.

“In the stack of documents my wife recovered, there is the ‘Compact of The Order’ I spoke of. It contains a list of the original members and is signed by each. I believe Mr. Vayne’s grandfather was instrumental in assisting The Order with their nefarious deeds.”

Mr. Forsythe thumbed through that stack and found the paper Lucius indicated.

He then handed it to Mr. Vayne who looked near to fainting.

Mr. Forsythe gave a sharp nod. “I believe the evidence supports your claims, Lord Pender. The duke and Mr. Thornfield shall accompany us to London and appear before Parliament for further action.”

A relief so profound hit Meredith in the chest, she had to bite her lip from crying out. Her hands clenched in her lap. She couldn’t pull her eyes from Lucius. How could she not love him?

*

Lucius let out a long-held breath as Forsythe outlined the next steps—placing the mine under government oversight and preparing formal charges against Rathbourne and Thornfield.

Watching Rathbourne’s mask of arrogance crumble should have given him greater satisfaction, but it didn’t.

The man had no care for anyone other than himself, but he was Meredith’s father.

He swung his gaze to Thornfield’s pale face where defeat beaded his brow and upper lip. Ah, he’d realized his protector was losing his grip.

“You can’t do this,” Papa hissed. “The mine is my legacy!”

“No, Papa. It’s mine. The betrothal agreements prove that so.

” Meredith had stood and moved into the light.

“You and Mr. Thornfield succeeded in making it a graveyard.” Her voice carried the weight of all the lives lost due to her father’s greed and neglect.

She locked eyes with him. Hers, unflinching. “And now, it’s your reckoning.”

Lucius couldn’t have been more proud of her. He rose from the table and moved to her side, entwined his fingers with hers.

Forsythe swiveled a cold glare on Thornfield. “And you, sir. Did you use a pistol with the intent of forcing a collapse?”

Thornfield’s beady eyes narrowed and his pointed chin lifted, though he refrained from speaking. The man reeked of venom.

Forsythe was unmoved, however, and directed his attention to one of the guards.

“Arrest him. He killed a man by the name of—” He glanced down at the tabletop and pulled a document toward himself.

“He killed a man by the name of Harper.” He looked back up.

“Lord Pender, I wish to thank you for your cooperation. We’ll take our leave at this time to begin the formal interrogation.

” He gathered the incriminating documents and withdrew from the dining hall.

Tension lingered after their departure.

Rathbourne stormed out, but not before casting a venomous glare at Meredith.

Lucius squeezed her hand. “You sent the documents to Forsythe?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “Also the document Bray Cardy was forced to sign the day before he died. It was the only way.”

His exhale was fierce and sharp. “You’ve done more for this estate—and these people—than I ever have.”

“It’s not about me,” Meredith replied. “It’s about justice. For all of them.” She turned to Blackstone. “A word, with you, my lord?”

Lucius caught Blackstone’s eye, and a grin erupted from Lucius watching the two depart.

There was a similarity between them he hadn’t noticed before.

Something in the way they held their heads, perhaps the stubborn look about their mouths.

A flicker of something unfamiliar fluttered in his chest. He wasn’t certain what it was.

Hope? Yes, that felt right. Hope—and for the first time in his life… a brighter future.

He saw to the guards leading Thornfield and Rathbourne out then made his way to the library to witness Blackstone’s fallout.