Julia Justiss - A Most Unconventional Match

If the miscreant had so much as touched Elizabeth, he was a dead man.

‘Did he hurt you?’ Hal demanded.

Evidently startled by the volume and intensity of his voice, Elizabeth jumped, her gaze darting back to Hal. ‘N-no. He…he only frightened me a little, as I’m sure he meant to do.’

‘Sure you are unharmed?’ Hal persisted, already envisioning his hands around the tough’s thick neck.

He must have looked as fierce as he felt, for her eyes widened and a smile quirked her lips. ‘There is no need to track him down and tear him limb from limb, I assure you.’

‘Won’t bother you again, swear it. Check my contacts at Bow Street. Take care of him.’

Her wry smile gentled. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly. ‘I feel safer already. To reiterate, he said his name was Smith and his employer a Mr Blackmen, although I cannot be sure those are their actual names. He said that Mr Lowery had borrowed money to fund his antique purchases.’

She frowned, her gaze thoughtful. ‘My husband delighted in his collection. I know he bought several fine new statues just the month before his…his death. Shall I make a note for you of what he purchased and when?’

Hal gave a negative shake of his head. ‘No need. Have it here.’ He pointed to his head. ‘Not much conversation, but good memory,’ he said, his mind racing through the possibilities.

Bow Street knew most of the moneylenders. Even if the man had given a false name, Hal was confident they could run him to ground.

If Lowery had indeed borrowed money from a usurer, there was no legal way the lender could recover more than the principal. Whatever that sum had been, Hal would repay it at once to ensure Mrs Lowery received no further friendly little visits. If upon review the Lowery estate hadn’t the funds to reimburse him, he knew Nicky would pay him back when the family returned from their holiday.

And despite Elizabeth Lowery’s reassurance that she was unharmed, he still intended to pay a little visit on the man who’d invaded her house today.

‘I don’t know why Everitt would resort to consulting a moneylender,’ Mrs Lowery’s troubled voice recalled him. ‘He’s always been an avid collector—’ she gestured toward several marble busts on the shelves in the studio that even to Hal’s untrained eye looked particularly fine ‘—but I had no idea we were in financial difficulties.’

‘Man of business said nothing?’ Hal asked. ‘When he called to read the will?’

Her eyebrows winged upward in surprise. ‘He hasn’t called. Nor, to my knowledge, has there been a reading of the will. I suppose Everitt had one, but I know nothing about it.’

‘Who is solicitor?’

‘Mr Scarbridge.’

‘Eustace Scarbridge?’ Hal echoed, astonished and taken aback.

‘Do you know him?’ Elizabeth asked. ‘He is—was—a distant cousin of Everitt’s. They attended Cambridge together. Though I don’t believe Everitt consulted him very much.’

Unsure what to reply, Hal remained silent. Eustace Scarbridge. He barely refrained from groaning. So much for his happy vision of paying a single visit on the bewitching Elizabeth and being able to conclude the rest of his dealings about the Lowery estate with the deceased’s solicitor.

Hal was not surprised Lowery hadn’t consulted Scarbridge often. He would have to have been dicked in the nob to have confided anything of importance to a man Hal knew to be a gambler and a ne’er-do-well always looking for a high-stakes table at which to lose his blunt—if he wasn’t throwing it away on some expensive barque of frailty. Hal hadn’t even known the man was a solicitor, rather eloquent evidence in itself of the amount of time Scarbridge spent pursuing his supposed vocation.

Hal considered himself as reverent of the bonds of kinship as anyone, but he couldn’t help damning Lowery for feeling so constrained by them that he’d not retained a solicitor worthy of the name.

‘Should Mr Scarbridge have called?’ Elizabeth asked anxiously, recalling Hal from his consternation. ‘I’m sorry to keep asking questions, but as I suppose is quite obvious, I know nothing about finances. Or anything else useful,’ she added with a twisted smile.

She looked weary and cast-down, almost as woebegone as her son. ‘You know the state of household accounts,’ he replied, wishing to encourage her.

She brightened imperceptibly. ‘I was just looking over them. And I have paid the servants.’

‘Know balance? After expenditures for house, mourning clothes.’

Her momentary look of confidence faded. ‘I’ve only begun to look over the accounts and…I’m afraid I’m not very good with numbers. Besides, Sands, our butler, took care of ordering the wreaths and mourning dress. I already had some older gowns that would do, so I have no idea what all the necessities cost.’

‘Old gowns?’ Hal echoed, astounded. His mama never missed an opportunity to expand her wardrobe. For the death of a close relative or acquaintance, she invariably purchased at least half a dozen new gowns, plus bonnets, scarves, stockings, pelisses and slippers to match. After all, she’d told him on the last occasion, styles had changed since she’d last worn mourning, and he couldn’t expect her to appear in public shabbily dressed.

Mrs Lowery, however, looked distressed. ‘Are you thinking I should have purchased new ones? I assure you, I meant no disrespect to Everitt. Perhaps I should have made the effort, but I was already so beside myself, I couldn’t bear the thought. Shopping is so taxing, all the material so lovely, with so many different textures, weaves and colours ’tis nearly impossible to choose.’

‘Mama has same problem,’ Hal replied. ‘Chooses one of everything.’

That elicited a brief smile, though Hal’s reply had been entirely serious. ‘And it’s so time-consuming. My husband and his cousin Miss Lowery, who lives with us, have always been kind enough to handle those purchases for me. Miss Lowery delighted in discussing the latest fashions with Everitt, who was always willing to escort her to the dressmaker’s. Since I care little about what I wear, as long as ’tis comfortable, I’ve been happy to let them.’

‘Don’t like to go to the shops,’ Hal repeated. Staring at her incomparable loveliness, he just couldn’t get his mind around that incredible statement.

‘No,’ she admitted with another apologetic shrug. ‘I expect it was unkind of me to foist such a…a feminine matter off upon my husband. He…he spoiled me dreadfully, you see,’ she said, her voice hitching.

A beautiful woman who didn’t delight in spending a man’s blunt. Hal shook his mind away from that conundrum back to the matter at hand. ‘First, I’ll call on Scarbridge. See what he knows.’

‘What of the loan?’ she asked. ‘Mr Smith said he would be back.’

‘Won’t be. I’ll take care of it.’

‘But what if Mr Scarbridge tells you there’s not enough money to repay the loan?’

The anxiety in her eyes cut at his heart. Wanting to reassure her and unable to voice a sufficient number of appropriately soothing words, without thinking, Hal stepped over and took her hand.

Immediately he realised what a bad idea that was. He looked at it, her small slender fingers, gloveless as if she’d just put down one of her paintbrushes, clasped in his big ones. Her skin softer than he’d imagined, the feel of it sending shivers of fire straight to his loins. Her scent, some attar of roses that reminded him of the flowers he’d had planted in the gardens back at the Hall, wafted through his nostrils and clouded his head.

He wanted to wrap her in his arms, tell her everything would be all right, that he would protect her from every danger, watch over her and guard her with all the strength he possessed for the rest of his days.