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“Margaret shall be my wife. A decision has been made, and now we need confirmation. Jane, I can pay for the viscount’s debts, but Darkmoor cannot.”
This time, both Jane and Margaret turned towards one another in shock. This was all new information and difficult to comprehend.
“Brother, I do not know what you speak of, but I trust you.”
“Come, let us go inside,” John instructed, escorting the ladies in.
All the while, Margaret’s heart beat wildly in her chest. What was going to transpire next? Indeed, John seemed entirely confident in his ability to pull it off. Would Margaret be able to witness it, or would she be led out of doors? Once the viscount’s study was reached, John made it quite clear. “Come inside with me, Margaret,” he said, putting out his hand.
Once inside, Margaret viewed her father seated behind his desk, a bottle of brandy beside him. His brow was knit as he slowly stood from his desk. “What is going on here?”
“Lord Benton, I wish to speak,” John said, helping Margaret to a chair.
The viscount gritted his teeth. “Margaret, you are supposed to be with Darkmoor.”
“We were waylaid,” Margaret said softly, looking into John’s eyes. “By the man that I truly love.”
Her father leaned into the desk, placing his hands upon it. “And Darkmoor shall return for you,” he said with certainty.
“I’m afraid that is not so,” John went on. “Darkmoor shan’t be returning unless he cares to have a bullet in his chest.”
The viscount cocked his head to the side. “So, this is the mysterious man that has stolen my daughter’s heart. And I suppose that you have come to inform me that you can support her.”
“I very much can,” John assured him.
Her father laughed, and Margaret felt a quickening in her chest. “Explain yourself. What is your name, and how is it that you now insist upon having me killed?” the viscount asked, seating himself and pouring another drink.
John stepped in. “I am John Harrington, brother to Margaret’s maid, Jane. Margaret and I have fallen for one another, and what’s more, I have the funds to support not only her, but also you.”
The viscount appeared dumbfounded. “And how can you prove it?”
“Just as soon as Margaret and I have your consent to wed, I shall provide the funds that Darkmoor was supposed to… the founds that he never had.”
Margaret’s jaw dropped open. Was this the secret that John had been hiding all the while? She listened as John continued.
“You see, Benton, Darkmoor liked to you. He told you that he could pay off your debts, but sadly, this was never true. What’s more, he gravely abused his past wife, and I will not see the same thing happen to Margaret.”
Her father darted her a glare and said, “This man cannot be telling the truth.”
“He always speaks the truth,” Margaret assured him. “Please, hear what he has to say.”
The viscount scratched his chin. “Go on.”
“Darkmoor had a wife greater in years than himself,” John went on to explain. “Upon their marriage, the woman never left the home. And when she took ill, she did not receive the care that she needed. This is why the former Lady Darkmoor perished.”
“And who informed you of this?”
“Several well-trusted servants in Darkmoor’s home, as well as the doctor of Farthington, who did not receive word of his late wife’s illness until she was on her death bed.”
Margaret could not take her eyes off her father, trying to glean if any of this was setting in. There did seem to be a look of horror upon the viscount’s face. “And the funds? How do you know of that?”
“Well, the servants that I spoke with had been let go from his estate and in much the same manner as your own servants have been let go. As it turns out, you and Darkmoor have much in common.”
“That is a very strong accusation.”
John took a sheet of paper out of his pocket. “This is the name and address of his accountant in London. If you are curious, then seek him out yourself.”
Margaret was dumbfounded. For how long had John been doing this research, and why had he not told her of it? Still, she was ever so grateful for what he uncovered and deeply hoped that her father might comply.
