Wicked Again (The Wickeds #7) - Kathleen Ayers Page 0,15
Arabella pursed her lips. “Viscount Pendleton, respected member of Parliament and rising political star, is heavily in debt. That is what is important, isn’t it?”
“Indeed. I filed the survey Brendan found in Buxton and again in London shortly after I returned. Even Simon is not powerful enough to stop the court from freezing the proceeds of the mine until ownership is determined, which I may have suggested until the issue is resolved.”
“Oh, Auntie, you are terrible.”
Marissa shrugged. “It hardly matters what they agreed to when the information came to light. Simon, no doubt under his mother’s tutelage, has already stopped paying Brendan the lease and giving over half the profits, as he agreed to do. What else could I do but ensure no one has access until the courts decide? Allow my son to continue to be robbed of his birthright?”
“Pendleton has markers all over London. I assume you’ve already started to purchase them?”
It didn’t surprise Marissa her niece was well aware of Pendleton’s money woes. Nor that she had ascertained the first part of Marissa’s strategy. Rowan, Arabella’s husband, was involved in a variety of financial ventures and would have mentioned it, considering Simon had nearly married Rowan’s sister, Petra.
“A few.” Discretion at this part of her plan was required. Marissa didn’t want Lydia or Simon to catch wind of her intentions until it was far too late.
“Then allow me to handle the rest. Discreetly, of course. As you know, Rowan purchases the debts of others anonymously.”
Marissa was well aware. Rowan used debt as leverage often for property or a business he wished to purchase. Her nephew, Nick, often said his brother-in-law considered all of England nothing more than a large chessboard in which Rowan was determined to be three moves ahead of everyone else.
Henry would have approved of Rowan.
“One of Rowan’s solicitors can purchase Pendleton’s markers. No one would ever suspect you, respected widow of the ton, are behind such a thing, and we’ll keep it that way.”
Marissa laughed at that. “I am a respected widow. He’ll eventually suspect me, though I doubt he would consider me a threat. Simon doesn’t have a high opinion of a woman’s intellect.”
“It will prove his undoing. My point is that no one outside of our family knows what really happened to Reggie. Brendan never even had the lease agreement drawn up properly by a solicitor.”
“It would have raised questions. And he expected Simon to honor the bargain, which was naïve.”
“Money isn’t important to Brendan. You know that, Aunt. He has his rocks and fossils along with Petra. He’s perfectly content. And he gave his word. My cousin expects everyone to be as honorable as he is.”
Simon had not a principled bone in his body. Nor had his father, John. It was a pity John wasn’t still alive. Had he been, Marissa would have cheerfully shot him herself and left him in a hole to die.
The great Viscount Pendleton. Who knew all about his parent’s sins and did nothing. Treating Brendan with disdain while stealing from him. Marissa would enjoy destroying Simon’s brilliant political career and making him the most impoverished politician in Parliament. The shock of being poor might even kill Lydia. Or she’d become an even bigger sot than she already was.
I am remarkably bloodthirsty.
“Pendleton will need to marry an heiress if he wishes to dig himself out of debt,” Arabella mused. “One who is a paragon of virtue with not so much as a whiff of scandal attached to her skirts, and whose connections can help him politically. There’s a limited supply of such girls circulating about.” Arabella bit into another biscuit. “Of course, we cannot allow such a marriage to happen.”
“Absolutely not. Lydia needs to be reduced to someone’s poor relation living in a mud cottage somewhere.” Arabella would be an asset to Marissa’s plans. “If you are determined to help me, you must not allow Rowan to know. Or any of them.” She waved her hand. “Nick, Spencer or Brendan.” She named her sons and nephew. “I do not want or need their help.” Marissa reached for her cup again. “My father taught me well enough.”
Arabella’s dark eyes flashed at Marissa in triumph. “I won’t. I promise.”
A sharp rap at the door interrupted any further discussion. Her butler, Greenhouse, stiff and priggish, marched in bearing an embossed card upon a silver platter. “My lady.” He lowered the tray so she could read her caller’s card.
The cup of tea paused on its way to Marissa’s lips.