Ithadbeenthreedays since she had last seen Michael. Three days since her parents sequestered her in her own home. And even here, as soon as she stepped a foot outside her bedchamber, a footman was always loitering in the hallway to follow her around.
She had racked her brain looking for a way to get a note to Michael, but to no avail. What must he be thinking? Would he come for her? Could he reach her even if he wanted to?
Tonight, for the first time since her arrival, she was home alone. Her mother had gone to some ball, and her brother, as usual, had gone out for his nightly entertainment. It was so immensely unfair that her brother was free to do as he wished, even though he was drinking, whoring, and, if her suspicions were correct, gambling himself into deep trouble. Yet she was the one confined to her room, practically a prisoner in her own home, merely for wanting to marry the man she loved. She couldn’t dwell on it, or the injustice would make her go mad.
Better to spend her energy trying to figure out an escape route, or at least a way to get a note to Michael. Which servant could be trusted to deliver a letter in secret? Her lady’s maid was a big gossip who reported to her mother. All the other servants were too afraid to lose their position to disobey her parents. Maybe she could bribe a footman or one of the kitchen maids. But it would be impossible if she couldn’t talk to them in private. She peeked out her bedchamber door and found the corridor deserted.
This was her best opportunity. It was now or never.
Walking silently through the house, she sneaked into the study, her father’s domain, and closed the door behind her. Heart hammering in her chest, she stole behind the desk, opening the drawer in search of writing materials. She immediately found foolscap sheets. She retrieved some for herself and was about to close that drawer when she noticed something odd. A piece of paper covered in signatures. Her father’s signature, repeated numerously.
How peculiar. She pushed the drawer and something rolled inside. Opening it again, she found her father’s signet ring. The one he never took off his finger. Her stomach somersaulted. Was her father here? She looked this way and that, expecting him to stride through the door and yell at her for going through his desk.
But no. She was being ridiculous. Of course her father was not here. The earl’s arrivals were quite noticeable, with much pomp and fanfare and servants scurrying this way and that. What was his ring doing here, then? He never took it off.
She opened a second drawer, searching for ink and pen, but what she found was a letter folded and sealed. It was dated and addressed in her father’s hand and sealed with her father’s seal. But if her father was not here, how could he be sending letters? Wait, in her father’s absence, her brother was the one who usedthis study, and as far as she knew, her father had not visited London in months.
An ugly suspicion took root in her mind. Was her brother signing documents on their father’s behalf? Had her father authorized him to do so? She very much doubted it, as her father rarely, if ever, ceded control. If her father had not allowed it, was her brother acting on his own? Forging their father’s signature for his own purposes?
She knew he gambled, and what she had seen so far seemed damning, but she needed further proof. Otherwise, nobody would believe her. She opened a third drawer and found a stack of letters. It contained correspondence from the earl to his bank, arranging for a line of credit for his son in the amount of ten thousand pounds.
Josephine gasped. The amount was a veritable fortune. Larger even than her dowry. There were other letters as well, promising payment to lenders and sundry merchants. All containing her father’s signature. Not for one moment did she believe that her stern and acetic father would consent to support her brother’s profligacy.
Good God, was it possible? If her brother was forging their father’s signature, he was committing fraud. Worse than that. When the earl found out that his son and heir was defrauding the earldom to finance gambling and other vices, he would be livid. And the earl would find out sooner rather than later. Her brother was in a tremendous predicament.
The sound of the door opening made her jump. For a moment, she feared her father had found her, but it was her brother who walked through the door. The severity of what she had uncovered weighed heavily on her mind, and she didn’t know what to do with the information. She wished she had never come to the desk. There might be a storm approaching and she would rather not be in the middle of it.
“What are you doing here?” her brother asked.
“Good evening, brother. I came looking for ink and paper.” She lifted the sheaf of papers she held in her hand, offering proof of her words.
“Next time, send a servant to get your writing supplies. Do not rifle through our father's desk.” His tone was severe, but there was fear in his eyes. Did he fear she had found proof of his misdeeds? Was he worried that she would report it to their father? She had no intention of doing so, but then, this situation was going to explode soon.
His gaze fell on a paper on top of the desk. With a sinking heart, she realized it was the letter of credit. She had left it on top of the desk after reading it.
“What are you doing with those papers?”
Josephine decided the best course was to feign ignorance. “These? Oh, I don’t know, I was just moving the contents of the drawers here and there to look for ink. Do you know in which drawer father keeps the bottles of ink?”
With a narrowed gaze, her brother came to the desk, plucked the paper from its surface and shoved it into the drawer with all the other letters. Then he locked it and pocketed the key. At last, he bent to the lowest right drawer and retrieved a bottle of ink.
“Here you are. Now run along and don’t ever rifle through our father’s desk again.”
“Of course not. Thank you, brother.” She practically ran to the door but could still feel his narrowed gaze on the back of her neck.
CHAPTER 13
DesperationspurredMichaelonas he arrived at his family’s London townhouse. He was frantic to see Josie again. To bask in her smile and kiss her lips. He could kick himself for his stupidity, for all the time he had wasted in Cumberland on a wild goose chase. He had spent a week—a week!—in the godforsaken place, attempting to catch a glimpse of Josie. He had tried to call at the house first, an ugly building of gray stone that resembled a fortress. Only to be told that the family was not in residence.
He hadn’t believed it, of course. Rumors had it that the earl had arrived and was staying at the estate. And he would lay odds that Josie was being kept there as well.
Michael would have lost that wager. After almost a week of staking the house, he had finally been able to bribe one of the maids who had come to the market, and the girl had said that the earl was in residence, but the rest of the family was not.
Now he felt like an idiot. Why had he instantly assumed they had brought her there? The least he could have done was check the other family properties before haring all the way to Cumberland! His research had revealed that the earl had a hunting lodge in Scotland and a smaller estate in Lincolnshire. He did not think she was being kept in Scotland. That would make it too easy to marry her if he found her.
A quick check on the Lincolnshire property on his way back convinced him she was not there either. The manor house was smaller and a lot more accessible. It was easy to discern there was no one living there at the moment. Which only left London. Why, oh why, had he not checked the London townhouse first?
No matter. Before the day was over, he would see Josie, even if he had to break into the townhouse. The time for subtleties was past. They could not keep her away from him. His long strides carried him straight into his father’s study. As much as he would like to march straight to her family’s townhouse and demand to see her, he knew that would get him nowhere.
