Page 23 of My Viscount’s Madness
Chapter 23
Family Matters
“ T hree separate callers this morning, all bearing identical tales.” Dinah’s voice broke across the morning room’s complete silence at Fitzroy Manor. “Perhaps you should explain why Lady Morton believes you compromised Lord Guildford to escape marriage to Edgecombe?”
Marguerite’s hands stilled on her embroidery. Her sister paced before the window, her cotton dress battling with the carpet with each turn.
“Lady Morton believes whatever suits her current fancy,” Marguerite replied, forcing her fingers to resume their neat stitches. “As does half the Ton.”
“Half the Ton hasn’t arrived bearing increasingly creative versions of your supposed indiscretions.” Dinah paused, pacing to fix Marguerite with a piercing stare. “Miss Edgecombe claims you were discovered in Lord Guildford’s library well past midnight.”
“How fascinating!” Another stitch, perfectly placed despite her pounding heart. “Perhaps you might share what other delights Miss Edgecombe’s imagination has conjured?”
“This isn’t amusing, Marguerite.” Their mother’s voice wavered from her seat near the fire. The Marchioness twisted her handkerchief between trembling fingers. “Your father…”
“Has received another letter from Lord Edgecombe,” Dinah finished when their mother’s voice failed. “Demanding immediate resolution of certain financial matters.”
The embroidery hoop slipped from Marguerite’s grasp, striking the floor with a soft thud. “What manner of resolution?”
“What manner do you imagine?” Dinah retrieved the fallen needlework, pressing it back into Marguerite’s hands so softly it alarmed her. Dinah and softness didn’t go together. “He’s made his offer again. To forgive Papa’s debts in exchange for your hand.”
“How generous of him.” Marguerite’s fingers clenched around the embroidery hoop. “To place such reasonable value on the future happiness of someone of my reputation.”
“Happiness?” Their mother pressed her handkerchief to her lips. “What of duty? Family obligation? Our very survival depends upon—”
“Upon selling me to a man who uses blackmail and fraud to achieve his aims?” Marguerite set aside her embroidery, facing her mother. “Who spreads vicious rumors about Lord Guildford’s war service while hiding his own corruption.”
“You speak of corruption,” Dinah said quietly, “yet your own engagement began as mere convenience, didn’t it? Don’t lie to me, please. With how sudden it was, can you blame society for questioning its validity?”
“Society may question what it pleases.” Marguerite lifted her chin. “Perhaps they might direct their curiosity toward Lord Edgecombe’s sudden wealth? Or the mysterious accidents befalling those who refuse his investment schemes?”
“Marguerite!” The Marchioness half-rose from her chair. “You cannot make such accusations against a peer.”
“Can I not? When he threatens our family? When he uses Papa’s weakness for gaming to force my compliance?”
“Better compliance than ruin,” their mother whispered. “Better an advantageous marriage than watching your father destroyed by scandal.”
Before Marguerite could respond, the door opened to admit their butler. “The Marquess requests Lady Marguerite’s presence in his study.”
Dinah’s hand caught Marguerite’s arm as she rose. “Remember who you’re dealing with. Lord Edgecombe won’t hesitate to destroy everyone you love.”
“Then perhaps it’s time someone destroyed him instead.” Marguerite squeezed her sister’s fingers before withdrawing. “Even if it means defying Papa to do so.”
Her slippers barely made a sound against the carpet as she followed the butler through familiar corridors. Though she knew she might be advancing towards her own doom, she felt oddly calm. The same fearlessness that had overcome her in the magistrate’s presence steadied her now.
She found her father at his desk, a half-empty glass of brandy at his elbow despite the early hour. His evening coat looked slightly shabby in the morning light, his rumpled shirt bearing signs of agitated fingers.
“Close the door,” he ordered without looking up from the papers before him.
Marguerite obeyed, though she remained standing rather than taking the indicated chair. “You wished to see me, Papa?”
“Lord Edgecombe has made another offer.” He lifted his glass, amber liquid trembling against the crystal. “A most generous one, considering the circumstances.”
“Generous?” The word tasted bitter on her tongue. “To offer marriage in exchange for silence about his own misdeeds?”
The glass struck his desk so harshly that it sloshed brandy onto the papers on his desk. “You dare speak of misdeeds? When your own behavior has set every tongue in Surrey wagging.”
“My behavior?” Marguerite’s fingers curled into her palms. “Was it my behavior that lost thousands at his gaming tables? That mortgaged Mother’s jointure to cover mounting debts?”
Color flooded her father’s face. “Do you realize who you speak to? You stand here—”
“Do you realize who you speak to?” The words were intended to strike, even though she barely held herself together. “Your own daughter, to whom you forgot your duty long before Lord Edgecombe began spinning his web of lies.”
“Duty?” He surged to his feet, brandy all but forgotten. “You lecture me about duty while maintaining this farce of an engagement? When Lord Guildford’s reputation lies in tatters, his own aunt questioning his sanity?”
“His aunt says no such thing.” Marguerite held her ground as he rounded the desk. “These are Edgecombe’s lies, designed to force my compliance through your weakness.”
Her father’s hand rose as though to strike her. Marguerite lifted her chin, refusing to even flinch.
“You will end this engagement,” he bit out. “Today. Now. Before Lord Edgecombe’s patience expires entirely.”
“I will not.”
“You dare defy me?” His fingers caught her arm, his tight grip bruising through her sleeve. “When our very survival hangs by a thread?”
“I dare much more than that.” She met his gaze with the bravery of a madwoman. “I dare to choose my own path rather than let your mistakes dictate my future.”
His grip tightened. “You will marry Lord Edgecombe, or so help me—”
“Take your hands off her.” Tristan’s voice cut through the study like a blade.
The Marquess released Marguerite’s arm as though burned. She turned to find Tristan in the doorway, looking commanding as always. Marguerite’s mouth fell open as their eyes met. When did he arrive?
“This is a private family matter,” her father managed, though his voice had lost its earlier force. “You have no place here.”
“I have every place where Lady Marguerite’s welfare is concerned.” Tristan crossed to her side, his hand settling at her waist in support. “Though perhaps you might explain why you manhandle your daughter over a blackmailer’s demands?”
“Blackmail?” The Marquess grabbed for his brandy glass. “You dare accuse a peer—”
“I dare much more than accusations.” Tristan’s voice remained steady, though Marguerite felt the strain in his fingers where they pressed against her side. “The magistrate has already begun investigating Lord Edgecombe’s activities. His schemes cannot survive proper scrutiny.”
Her father’s complexion turned ashen. “Investigation?”
“A most thorough one.” Dinah’s voice joined the fray as she appeared in the doorway. “Lord Guildford was just telling Mother and me about it. Though perhaps you’d prefer to hear the particulars from James? He has provided Guildford with interesting information about Lord Edgecombe’s military connections.”
“What information?” The Marquess sank into his chair. “What have you done?”
“Protected this family,” Marguerite said quietly. “Since you seem incapable of doing so yourself.”
Her father flinched as though struck. Good. He deserved that much, at least. “You cannot understand—”
“I understand perfectly.” She stepped forward, though she didn’t break contact with Tristan. “I understand how Edgecombe uses men’s weaknesses against them. How he creates debts, then offers salvation through false investments and ruinous matches.”
“Your father sought only to secure your future,” the Marchioness said from the doorway, her lips quivering. “To protect us all from scandal.”
“By sacrificing Marguerite to a known predator?” Dinah’s voice was so cold that it even unnerved Marguerite. “What manner of protection justifies such cost?”
The Marquess’s hands shook as he reached for papers on his desk. “The debts…the mortgages…”
“Will be addressed through legal means,” came Tristan’s voice. “Not through forcing Lady Marguerite into an unwanted marriage.”
“Legal means?” Her father let out a cruel laugh. “When half my properties are mortgaged? When Edgecombe holds enough vows to ruin us thrice over?”
“When the magistrate proves those vows were obtained through fraud?” Marguerite pressed her advantage. “When his entire house of cards collapses under proper investigation?”
The Marquess stared at her as though seeing her clearly for the first time. “You’ve truly involved the authorities?”
“We’ve done what you should have done months ago.” She gathered her courage. “Faced the truth of our situation rather than seeking increasingly desperate solutions.”
“The truth?” He gestured to the papers before him. “The truth is that Lord Edgecombe can destroy us with a word. Can expose every debt, every secret—”
“Let him.” Tristan’s voice cracked like a whip. “Let him show society exactly what manner of man he is. How he preys on vulnerable families forces unions through manufactured obligations.”
“While you force nothing?” The Marquess rallied slightly. “When your own engagement began under suspicious circumstances?”
“Our engagement began as mutual convenience,” Marguerite admitted finally. “But it has become something far more valuable than any arrangement Edgecombe might offer.”
Tristan’s hand pressed tightly at her waist. She covered his fingers with her own, gaining strength from the contact.
“You cannot truly believe he cares for you?” her father demanded. “When his reputation for instability—”
“Is yet another of Edgecombe’s fabrications.” Dinah moved to stand beside Marguerite. “Though perhaps you might explain why you believe his lies so readily? What hold does he truly have over you, Papa?”
The Marquess’s face filled with color. “I don’t—”
“The truth,” Marguerite insisted. “No more evasions. No more desperate schemes.”
Her father’s shoulders slumped. “He knows about Jamaica. About certain investments that…that were not entirely proper.”
“Of course he does.” The Marchioness pressed her handkerchief to her lips. “Just as he knows about the missing trust funds. The mortgages were taken without proper documentation.”
Silence fell over the study. Marguerite’s heart sank, taking her father’s confession in.
“Then we shall endure through it, all of us,” she said at last. “As a family. Without sacrificing anyone’s future to protect past mistakes.”
“How?” He said desperately in a shuddering voice. “When one word from him could destroy everything we have ever had?”
“Let him try.” The surety of Tristan’s voice did away with her remaining concerns. “The magistrate’s investigation will reveal his own crimes long before he can damage your family further.”
The Marquess looked between them, noting their joined hands and the way they stood together without wavering.
“You truly mean to defy him?” he asked Marguerite. “To risk everything for…for this?”
“Not just for this.” She squeezed Tristan’s fingers. “For myself. For the right to choose my own path rather than let Edgecombe’s schemes dictate my future.”
“And you?” The Marquess turned to Tristan. “You’d stand beside her knowing the scandal that might follow?”
“I would stand beside her through anything,” Tristan replied simply. “Perhaps you might consider standing with us rather than against us?”
Another silence fell as her father considered their words. Finally, he lifted his glass in a gesture of surrender.
“What would you have me do?”
“Tell the magistrate everything,” Marguerite said softly. “Every debt, every scheme, every truth you’ve hidden. Let justice take its course.”
“While society watches? While our name becomes synonymous with scandal?”
“Better scandal born of honesty than destruction through cowardice,” Dinah interjected. “Maybe we should focus on protecting our future rather than hiding our past?”
The Marquess looked to his wife, who nodded almost imperceptibly. “Very well,” he said at last. “Though God help us all if this gamble fails.”
“It won’t fail.” Marguerite’s certainty surprised even herself. “We have plenty of support, Papa. All of us do. God is with us. Then who can stand against us?”
Marguerite leaned slightly against Tristan’s tall frame as her family discussed practical matters. He turned his eyes slightly, his gaze falling on her, and she nodded at him, smiling. Suddenly, his eyes glistened as they often did these days, and then a teardrop rolled down his cheek. He brushed it away, still holding her gaze.