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“I would be honored to assist you in his stead,” he finished for her in as neutral a tone as he could manage. A thrill raced through him at the prospect of being her champion. Unfortunately, he would have to wait until after she tried to dissuade the blackguard herself. He almost hoped the bastard would provide him with such an opportunity. “Let me know when you plan to speak with him so that I may make myself available.”
“Easily done,” she said with a grim smile. “People might arrive at the wrong conclusion if I allow him to call on me at home, so I’ve decided to address him at the Cleveland ball—discreetly of course. My purpose is not to humiliate him, but simply to make him understand that I am uninterested in his suit.”
He nodded. It was just a week away. “That seems a wise course. He’s less likely to react poorly in a public setting.”
“Just so,” she confirmed, her expression softening. “I knew you would see the logic of it at once.”
An hour later, Sorin strode into John Stafford’s office.
“I was just going to send you a message,” said John, looking up with a smile. “I found the information you wanted.”
“Let us hope it is enough to frighten the bastard off and keep me from having to shoot him.”
John’s brows rose. “Things have not been going well, I take it.”
“Not particularly.” He didn’t feel like elaborating. “What have you discovered?”
“Well, the Yarboroughs’ financial dealings, while they appear to be disappointingly legal, indicate that they are quite thinly stretched. Your fellow is up to his eyeballs in debt.”
Sorin frowned. “But what of the Irish property?”
“Oh, it was sold,” said John, smirking. “But not for anywhere near the amount they would have everyone believe. The estate was small, only about a third the size of yours. The proceeds from that along with the sale of their old London residence were enough to pay for the house in Golden Square as well as a few relatively minor purchases—a new carriage and four, some jewelry. As for the improvements to the property in Golden Square, they were contracted to the lowest bidder who would require only half the money up front. The new furnishings were all bought on credit as was the majority of their new finery. I would venture to say that Yarborough’s very teeth are in danger if he does not marry exceedingly well.”
“They are frauds, then,” Sorin muttered. “They haven’t a penny to their name, yet they’re living like kings—on credit.”
John nodded. “A practice all too commonly employed, I’m afraid. I also discovered that their house in Somerset has been rented to a family from Derbyshire. A solicitor friend of mine at Bailey & Gerald informed me the contract has been drawn up, signed, and that a deposit has been made—and doubtless already spent.”
“They never intended to return to Somerset,” Sorin said, experiencing a twinge of guilty relief at the knowledge that he wouldn’t have to put up with the pair on the return trip. “They plan to remain in London and live off his bride’s inheritance.”
“A right assumption, if you ask me,” agreed John. “He’s going to look for the biggest purse he can find and marry it quick as you like—before his creditors can come after him and have him locked up in Marshalsea. It’s no wonder the fellow is so reluctant to give her up.”
All of London knew Eleanor’s inheritance was substantial, but few knew the exact amount. Charles and Rowena had done everything in their power to keep that information a secret. The family’s solicitor was one person who knew. Sorin was another. Though they’d passed her off as no wealthier than any of half a dozen other heiresses currently on the market, he knew she was ‘worth’ a little more than two hundred thousand pounds. The question was, did Yarborough know it, and if so, how?
“And you say he’s done nothing illegal?” he asked John.
“Naught that could land him in prison—yet,” added John with a wink. “Best be having an eye on that lady of yours, though. He’s not afraid of dirtying his hands to get what he wants. The man that oversaw the work on his house said he feared for his life after he demanded the rest of what was due. Said Yarborough threatened harm to his wife and daughter if he said aught to anyone about anything. The only reason the fellow talked to me was so that if something did happen, we would know where to look first—an idea I’m proud to say I helped plant.” He sucked his teeth and shook his head. “Any man who would threaten another man’s family, well, I would not
put it past him to try anything. Especially if he’s desperate.”
“Thank you, John,” Sorin replied, his thoughts spinning as he declined a visit to the pub and departed. It was clear now that the whispers about Town concerning the pair, no doubt largely generated by Yarborough’s mother, were part of a greater plan.
The pieces began to fit together. They were laying a siege and had planned their battle strategy down to the smallest detail. Yarborough’s familiar and suggestive manner with her, the constant barrage of letters, the way he was always lurking about watching her, and the intimidation of her rivals. As with the previous two Seasons, there should have been swarms of men beating down Ashford’s door to court Eleanor, but there had been only a few this year and they’d not lingered very long.
Taking a step back, he could see it all clearly. Everything Yarborough had done from the moment he’d arrived in Wincanton was carefully constructed to discredit Eleanor’s public rejection of him, to make people believe there was a secret relationship between them that did not, in fact, exist. No doubt he planned to come forth with news of a secret engagement or something of that nature. Eleanor would deny it, of course, but the damage would be irreversible.
All the elements were against her. They were from the same county. They’d known each other from childhood. She’d refused all her other suitors. Though she would deny any relationship, her character would fall under suspicion. There would be enormous pressure to marry him in order to avoid a scandal. It was clever. Quite clever. And it showed the Yarboroughs capable of playing a long game indeed—if he could confirm his suspicion.
Upon returning home, he received an invitation from Charles for an evening at White’s along with Marston. Blessing his good fortune, he replied acceptance at once. It was the perfect opportunity to have a look at The Book. A most useful tool for enlightenment concerning current gossip, it should provide confirmation, if any existed. He played a few hands of cards before quietly going to consult the infamous Tome of the Ton. An unpleasant prickle spread across his flesh as he turned back through the more recent pages to find an alarming number of wagers concerning Lady E. and Sir Y.
Charles must be informed immediately and action taken before it was too late.
As he was preparing to leave, however, Marston pulled him aside. “You’re not going to like this. I just overheard a man say that Yarborough boasted to him—in strictest confidence, of course,” he added with a snort, “that on the way to London he and Eleanor had become ‘very close,’ but that she’d given him the cold shoulder upon arrival because her redheaded friend had advised her to try for a bigger catch. The man claims Yarborough is heartbroken but determined not to give up.”
Beneath his breath, Sorin uttered a stream of blasphemy that would no doubt earn him several days in purgatory. “I knew something like this was brewing, but I did not expect it quite this soon.”
“If you are to act, it needs to be swiftly, before something untoward happens,” said Marston.
“He won’t harm her. I’ll kill him first, and he knows it.”
