Lyn Stone - The Arrangement

He shook his head and looked eager to be on his way. “I’m afraid I haven’t time to wait.”

“Oh, I promise you it will be short and to the point,” she assured him.

When he stood back, she preceded him down the stairs and into the ballroom. Amid the scatter of music sheets, she located a blank page and sat down on the floor to write.

Dear Uncle, On Tuesday night, the fifth of September, I was married to Mr. Nathan Lyham. We are residing at his country house until my birthday. Your niece, Kathryn

Jon peered over her shoulder until she had finished. He cleared his throat and rocked back on his heels when she looked up. “Is that all?”

“It ought to do the trick. His plans are definitely foiled. Will you post it for me?” She folded it in thirds and handed it up.

“I shall have it delivered. Will he come looking for you, do you think?”

Kathryn laughed as she took his hand to get up from the floor. “He won’t know where to look, now will he?”

Jon crouched and picked up the little harp Pip had played the night before. He stuffed her letter in his pocket and tucked the harp under his arm as he rose.

“Won’t Pip mind if you take away one of his ladies?” she asked.

“He will weep buckets, Kathryn, but there’s no help for it.” The look on his face was pure grief. She knew then that he felt the same affinity for the instrument that Pip did.

Kathryn took his free hand in hers. “You will sell it? Are we really so desperate for funds, Jon?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and blew out a long breath through his nose. “Everything will come right, Kathryn. Not to worry.”

Then he shifted the harp to a more comfortable position and offered her a rather forced smile. “Leave Pip to his own devices today. He’ll wander for a while and then return late this evening to work in here. Food’s in the pie safe and there’s fruit in the orchard out back. Make yourself at home.”

Kathryn followed to the back door and watched him stride across the yard. “Anything else I should know?” she called out.

He turned and walked backward as he answered. “The cat’s name is Dagnabbit, and he bites. So does Grandy. Have a care!” Then he laughed and disappeared into the stables.

Kathryn felt deserted, but she also felt rather adventurous. Never since she was a child had she been quite so free and left to her own inclinations. She could do whatever she wanted!

After wolfing a few slices of bacon and a handful of biscuits, she washed it all down with the remains of Jon’s ale. Next thing, Kathryn thought, was to get rid of the corset.

The freedom of it all went right to her head, and she laughed aloud as she ran up the stairs. Married life was wonderful already, Kathryn thought, even without the money!

A midafternoon message caused a crisis at the Wainwright town house.

Rupert Wainwright crushed the letter from Kathryn into a wad and threw it into the grate. “The little fool! She’s gone and got herself wed!” He raked his hand through what was left of his graying hair and scratched his bushy side-whiskers.

“That’s it, then,” Randall Nelson said, slumping his gangly frame down on the horsehair settee.

“You limp-wristed nodcock! You’re giving her up? Just like that?” Rupert threw up his hands, wondering whether he had chosen the right man after all. He needed Kathryn wed to someone malleable enough to go along with the scheme. And someone stupid enough to share the wealth. Pity the lad didn’t have more gumption, though, when it came to overcoming obstacles.

“What we have to do is find the bastard she married and get rid of him!” Wainwright settled himself behind his scarred oak desk and pounded a fist on the blotter. “Now then, think hard, boy. Do you know any Lyhams? Unusual name. Can’t be many of ’em. Check the census records first. The fellow has to be from here in town, or she’d never have met him, eh?”

Nelson’s gray eyes widened and his head came up with a start. “You mean to kill the man, sir?”

Rupert snorted with disgust. “You have a better idea?”

Nelson winced. “I hadn’t thought to do murder, Roop.”

“How else can we pull this off? You think she’ll simply divorce him and fall in your lap for the asking? We’ll have to make it look an accident, of course.”

Nelson stared out the window, saying nothing.

Rupert nodded and breathed out a gusty sigh. “Shame we can’t just do away with her. Wouldn’t get anything that way, though. Charities would get it all. Damn that brother of mine!”

He noticed Nelson’s brooding silence. “What is it?” Then louder. “What is it, man? I know that look! You’re hiding something from me, I can tell. Let’s have it.”

“I knew a Lyham once. Was up at school with him. Eton, when we were just lads.” He shook his head. “Couldn’t be the same one.”

“And why not? Well, spit it out.” Rupert wanted to cuff him, but he held off. No sense in alienating his only hope.

“Name wasn’t Nathan. Edward, I believe we called him. Surname was Chapton, or something like that.” Nelson nodded, satisfied he’d remembered correctly. Yes, I believe it was Edward Chapton, or perhaps Chudwyn.”

Rupert threw up his hands again and rolled his eyes. “Well, if his given name wasn’t Nathan and his last name wasn’t Lyham, what’s the bloody point, man?”

Nelson folded his hands and returned Rupert’s glare. “Lyham was his title, Roop. The fellow was a lord. Father was an earl, I believe. Left school when the old man died.”

“Christ’s nails! An earl?” Rupert’s voice dropped to a whisper. “The gel’s gone and got herself an earl?”

“No, no. I told you this fellow’s name wasn’t Nathan. And besides that, wouldn’t Kathryn have thrown the man’s title at you if he had one? That would make her a countess, and I doubt very much if she’d forget to mention that.”

Rupert thought for a moment. Randall was right for a change. The lad hadn’t much in the way of fortitude, but he had a head on his shoulders. A fine-looking head it was, too. Rupert had been banking heavily on Nelson’s good looks to snag Kathryn’s attention. Bugger that idea now; they would simply have to resort to elimination and force.

“You find out, boy. I want to know who this rascal Lyham is by week’s end. Get on it first thing in the morning. Better yet, tonight. Ask around, check the peerage books just in case. Hire a detective, whatever it takes. We have to know who we’re dealing with and get rid of him before the girl turns twenty-five.”

Very late that evening, Jon stopped in the village and stabled Imp with the smithy, Ike Noblett. He then trudged through the woods to Grandy’s cottage, where he left his suit and the small case containing the wig, mirror and stage paint. After scrubbing himself in the lake, he donned the rough work pants he had brought with him. His heart had gone out of the charade, but he had little choice but to continue now that he was in it up to his neck.

The chilly night air revived him a little, but nothing could restore the bit of his soul he had left with his harp at Graythorne Antiquities. With a huge dose of luck, he might retrieve her someday, but that would rest with fate and the whims of Ned Bunrich.

He approached the house and noticed candles flickering in the ballroom windows. Had Kathryn waited up? “Halloo th’ house!” he called, so that he wouldn’t frighten her.

“Pip! Where have you been? It’s so late!” She caught his arm and shook it gently. “I was worried about you.”

Jon patted her hand and fought the urge to raise it to his lips. There was a stupid thought. He had always hated kissing hands. Pretending attentiveness. Watching women simper. But Kathryn’s hands were so small and so soothing, even when she was berating him for being late.