To Love a Tormented Earl - Bridget Barton Page 0,60
door and walked to stand beside her precious Broadwood. She ran a hand over the polished mahogany veneer, her heart so full of sorrow, she thought it would burst.
I must sell this.
The knowledge weighed on her with unquestionable certainty.
The piano would fetch a fine sum. Enough, perhaps, to take Papa to Bath, at least.
Even if I catch some wealthy man’s fancy...tis what I must do, nevertheless. To buy time.
There was no escaping it.
Emilia’s legs weakened, and she allowed herself to sink onto the pianoforte’s bench. Draping her arms over the closed instrument, she laid down her head, and was silent.
Chapter 20
On the morrow of his distressing visit to Chesham Place, Max was surprised when Roberts arrived well before midday.
‘I hadn’t looked for a visit from you so early,’ Max said after they greeted each other.
Roberts nodded. ‘I wished to inform you of my progress,’ he said. ‘Or the lack of it, I’m afraid.’
Max gestured for him to accompany him to the morning room, where Samuel had begun to serve breakfast. ‘Another place setting,’ he told the footman as he and Roberts took seats at the table.
‘Cook has acquired a very nice peach jam,’ Samuel told Roberts with a smile.
‘Jolly good!’ Roberts exclaimed, pleased.
Max picked up his fork and knife, then set them down again, uneasy. His appetite had fled. ‘Now, do tell me of your efforts, old chap.’
Roberts, Max thought, looked fatigued. His colouring was poor and it made the scar by his mouth more pronounced.
‘I trust my uncle has offered you hospitality?’ Max inquired.
Roberts waved this away with one hand. ‘He has been perfectly welcoming, and indeed when one considers I represent a threat to his position, he has shown excellent character.’
Max took in this information, a twinge of hope growing that his uncle’s behaviour toward Roberts might indicate that he was innocent of any plot to secure Max’s fortune and title.
‘It’s the letter,’ Roberts said after a sip of tea.
Samuel returned bearing a tray of jams and rolls.
Roberts and Max waited until he was gone again to continue.
‘The letter?’ Max prompted.
Roberts nodded grimly. ‘I’ve had no success in locating it. It is most definitely not in the black writing desk any longer.’
‘You were able to access the secret compartment?’
‘I was,’ Roberts confirmed. ‘The compartment is empty.’
Max bunched his napkin in his hands. ‘Hell and damnation.’
As he plucked a roll from its dish, Roberts said, ‘It’s possible she kept it, I’ll warrant.’
This made Max most uneasy. If Miss Whitmore kept the letter, how could he hope to recover it from her? She wanted nothing to do with him.
‘She returned the key,’ he said. ‘Surely if she had the letter, she would have returned it as well, at the same time.’
‘That may appear the logical course of action,’ Roberts said as he spread peach jam on the roll, ‘but the lady was highly agitated. I doubt logic was what guided her at the time.’
‘Have you searched elsewhere?’
‘I investigated every crevice in the drawing room where the desk is located quite thoroughly. And of course I’ve kept my eyes open the rest of the time. But only consider the size of the house, old boy. I am not capable of searching everywhere.’
Max’s shoulders slumped as the realization of the impossibility of the task he had set Roberts became undeniable. It was hopeless. If Miss Whitmore had left the letter somewhere at Ceastre—somewhere that could not be guessed at—Roberts had little chance of locating it. If, instead, she had kept the letter, he felt it certain that she would never give it to him. He expected that if he tried to call on the lady again, she would have the butler turn him away from the door.
‘I’m certain I may succeed in acquiring the samples of handwriting,’ Roberts said, as if to comfort Max.
The latter was not comforted. ‘What good will that do, without the letter for comparison?’
Roberts gave him a nod and then set about consuming his roll.
All is lost.
What options remained to Max?
If he made himself known without the letter, what then?
Max had counted on knowing the identity of his accuser before proceeding.
If he were to reveal himself to society without that, what hope had he of disputing the accusations Charlotte and any accomplices might throw at him?
Should a man be found guilty of the crime of ravishment, the consequence was capital punishment. Charlotte’s reputation might be stained, but his uncle Edward would remain the earl if Max was dead.
If I cannot exonerate myself, I shall have to leave.