Secret Heiress (10 page)

In Mr. Stokes's office, things were not going well for Crippen, the clerk. Emboldened by a pint at lunch one day, he had indiscreetly revealed to Stokes's assistant how he'd put one over on Bradford when he'd tried to get information about Caroline Chessington. The assistant, appalled at this breach of a client's trust, had told Mr. Stokes, who had called the clerk in.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Stokes?” asked the clerk.

“I hope that I have misunderstood what Mr. Potts has told me,” said Stokes, with awful restraint. “Is it true that Adrian Bradford offered you money to reveal confidential information about one of our clients?”

Crippen looked from Stokes to Potts.

“Well, is it?” repeated Stokes.

“Yes, sir,” said Crippen slowly.

“And is it true that you actually told Mr. Bradford about Miss Chessington's circumstances?”

“Well, sir . . .” He hesitated.

“Is it?” demanded Stokes. “Out with it!”

“Yes, sir,” answered Crippen miserably.

“I cannot believe my ears,” Stokes said, shaking his head. “That an employee of mine would violate the sacred trust that exists between a client and a man of business . . . and that client a lady! I am altogether shocked!”

“I'm sorry, sir,” said Crippen, hanging his head.

“Sorry will not help, my lad, in these circumstances,” Mr. Stokes replied. “I shall have to let you go.”

“But, sir . . .”

“There is nothing else to be said,” said Mr. Stokes. “I shall give you your wages for this week, but you must go.” He stood up. Crippen opened his mouth as if to speak, but thought better of it and hurried out. Mr. Potts followed him.

Mr. Stokes sat back at his desk and examined his hands. Obviously, his responsibility dictated that he warn Miss Chessington, but it was a very delicate matter. Not only was he reticent about discussing such personal matters with his client; he also did not relish explaining to her how he had come by his knowledge. Mr. Stokes sighed. His duty, however disagreeable, was clear. He would have to call on Miss Chessington as soon as possible. He penned a note requesting the favor of a meeting and sent it with Potts, who returned with word that Miss Chessington would see him the following morning at eleven o'clock. Mr. Stokes was not looking forward to that meeting. No, indeed. He was not looking forward to it at all.

The next morning, Caroline awaited Mr. Stokes's arrival with a great deal of curiosity. The only other time he had requested a meeting with her was when she had come of age and assumed full control over her fortune. Then she had felt that he was easing his own mind, reassuring himself that she could handle it. Caroline smiled. How nervous he had been, how ill at ease! He was so unaccustomed to dealing with women, and he had been so nonplussed when she had asked him hard questions about her financial situation. Since then, with the exception of her visit to his office, their dealings had been through the post. Last week, he had sent a note indicating that he was still awaiting information on her request for money for Brampton, so he was not coming to see her about that. She could not imagine what he wanted.

When he was announced, Caroline was reading. She stood up and greeted him, requesting Briggs to bring some refreshments. They exchanged commonplaces for several minutes, and then Caroline said bluntly, “There is something on your mind, Mr. Stokes. I wish you would tell me what it is.”

Mr. Stokes cleared his throat. “It is my unfortunate duty to discharge a most unpleasant task,” he said. “To think that such a thing could have happened in my office. I am only thankful that my honored father, in whose footsteps I followed, is not here to see it.”

Totally bewildered, Caroline stared at Mr. Stokes.

“What can possibly be the matter?” she asked. “Has a clerk absconded with my funds? Am I now penniless?”

“Do not jest, Miss Chessington, I beg of you,” said Stokes somberly. “This is no jesting matter.”

“What is no jesting matter, Mr. Stokes?”

“I scarcely know where to begin,” he replied. “You are . . . I believe . . . acquainted with Adrian Bradford.”

“Adrian Bradford!” exclaimed Caroline. “What has he to do with this?”

“You met him, I believe, in my office,” said Mr. Stokes.

“Yes, that's true,” replied Caroline. “But I did not truly become acquainted with him until a chance meeting at the opera.”

“I fear it was not chance that brought you together,” said Mr. Stokes.

“Mr. Bradford did say that he had been hoping to see me again,” said Caroline. “But I still do not see how this concerns you.”

“I believe I betray no confidence if I tell you that Mr. Bradford, the scion of an ancient and honorable family, has lost most of his fortune through gaming and other—er—unsavory pursuits. It has saddened me to see his name sullied, for my connection with his family is a long one. I am aware that, for a long time, he has been seeking to contract a financially advantageous marriage to save him from ruin.”

“But Mr. Bradford does not know that I am wealthy,” replied Caroline.

“I regret to inform you that you are wrong,” Mr. Stokes responded. “This is the aspect which so distresses me. One of my clerks—a man, I might add, who is no longer in my employ—was offered compensation if he would reveal information about you.”

“What?” exclaimed Caroline. “I cannot believe it!”

“I am afraid it is true,” replied Mr. Stokes dolefully. “You cannot imagine my feelings. Miss Chessington, on learning such news. It seems that Mr. Bradford is aware of your circumstances. He knows that you are a woman of large fortune.”

For a moment Caroline stared at Mr. Stokes as if she were in a trance. Then, shaking her head slightly, she looked up at him and smiled.

“I can imagine how distressing this must be for you,” said Caroline. “My family has always placed its trust in Stokes and Son, and we have never regretted it. I am certain that this was a great shock to you. However, there is no real damage done, and I hope we can continue as we always have done.”

“Your graciousness is much appreciated, Miss Chessington,” said Mr. Stokes, mopping his brow. “Had you known the trepidation with which I approached this meeting! You would have been justified in terminating your connection with my firm.” He shuddered perceptibly at the thought.

“Nonsense,” said Caroline briskly. “You refine too much upon the incident. After all,” she said with a weak smile, “it is not as if I had married Mr. Bradford and he were now in control of my fortune.”

“Do not think of such a terrible prospect!” replied Mr. Stokes. “I am only grateful that your acquaintance with him is slight.”

At that moment, Briggs appeared with a tray.

“You will stay for some refreshment, Mr. Stokes,” said Caroline.

“I must be going—well, perhaps a glass of Madeira would be welcome. I do not usually partake of spirits during the day, but this has been a most shocking experience.”

Caroline continued to converse calmly, and soon Mr. Stokes was more relaxed. As he prepared to take his leave, he turned to her and said, “I cannot thank you enough for your kindness, Miss Chessington.”

“Pray speak of it no more,” said Caroline. “The matter is at an end.”

Mr. Stokes bowed and left.

Caroline returned slowly to the parlor. Her thoughts were jumbled, one quickly following another. Her initial reaction to Stokes's disclosure had been shock, and she had responded to him mechanically, scarcely realizing what she was saying. What stayed in her mind and would not go away was the knowledge that Adrian had known from the first that she was an heiress. He had been truthful when he'd said that he'd sought her out, but it was not because he had been impressed with her. No, she had been purely incidental. It was her fortune he had sought, not her. He would not have approached her at the opera, would not have danced attendance on her at all if she had not been an heiress! She was hurt, but more than that, she was angry, as angry as she'd ever been.

“How dare he!” she exclaimed aloud. “How dare he make such a fool of me! And how stupid of me not to have realized. He gave me enough clues. His constant references to his financial situation, which I thought evidenced his frank and open nature, his fawning attention to Aurelia, which I thought so gallant of him. What a fool I've been!” She paced around the room. “Oh, when I see him, he is going to be very sorry. I will think of a plan to make him regret the day he ever met me in Mr. Stokes's office!” She sat down to compose herself by trying to think of a way to make Adrian Bradford pay for his perfidy.

And then the worst aspect of all hit her. Giles Kendal had warned her about Adrian Bradford, and she had sent him away. Now she would never see him again. And Giles had been right. That hurt more than anything. Not only had she been made a fool of by Adrian Bradford, but Giles Kendal would know that he had been right. Oh, it was unendurable!

In the charming pink bedroom that Arabella had loved from the moment she'd first seen it, she sat sobbing on her bed. What she had feared had come to pass. Lord Warriner had approached her father, and Mr. Chedworth had given his blessing to the union. He had called Arabella in while Lord Warriner was still there and had told her of the great honor paid her. He had told her that the final decision rested with her, but Arabella knew this was not so.

That morning, Mrs. Chedworth had called Arabella in to see her. She had begun by admiring the flowers that Lord Warriner had sent. Then, she had asked Arabella if she were enjoying the Season.

“Oh, yes, Mama. Who would not?” she had replied.

“Indeed,” said her mother. “You have had every opportunity a girl could desire. Gowns, bonnets, balls, and beaux. . . . What more could a girl wish for in her first Season?”

“Oh, nothing more, Mama,” Arabella had answered. “I am very grateful for all that you and Papa have given me.”

“You are a good girl, Arabella,” said her mother.

“Thank you, Mama,” replied Arabella.

“And you are no longer a child. That is why I am going to speak to you on a matter of importance and why I know your sense of responsibility will lead you to do just as you ought.”

“Yes, Mama,” said Arabella, this time barely audibly.

“You're aware, I am certain, of the growing attentiveness of one of your suitors. I need not mince words: it is Lord Warriner. I believe that he is about to approach your father.”

“Oh, no,” said Arabella involuntarily.

Mrs. Chedworth ignored the interruption. “There are many who would envy your position as Lady Warriner. In addition to consequence, a county seat, and a house in town, you would have a fleet of servants and one of the largest fortunes in England. While Lord Warriner is older than you, there are many successful alliances where such is the case. There is much to be said for an older, more settled husband.”

“But I do not love him. Mama,” said Arabella.

“Love often comes after marriage,” said Mrs. Chedworth.

“Mama, I know things are not as they were, but we are not poor, are we? Must I marry for fortune and position?”

“My dear,” said Mrs. Chedworth with a little laugh, “you must know that taking this house for the Season, your ball, and all of your gowns have cost a great deal! Your sisters must also be provided for, and there is the settlement to consider. You are a fortunate girl, and your papa has done what is proper. Now it is time for you to do your part. Your affections are not engaged elsewhere?”

“No, Mama,” said Arabella untruthfully, feeling that she had no choice.

“At first I thought you had conceived a tendre for Jeremy Tarkington,” said Mrs. Chedworth, “but I was correct in assuming that the infatuation would pass. If it had not, or if you had met someone else who was eligible, we would have dealt with that. As you have not, I think you know what you must do.”

“Yes, Mama,” replied Arabella.

“You do not dislike Lord Warriner?” asked Mrs. Chedworth.

“Mama,” Arabella answered, avoiding the question, “Lord Warriner is not very handsome or young. And he looks at me so strangely.”

“And I repeat, my dear,” said Mrs. Chedworth, holding her impatience in check, “that Lord Warriner's age is not to be despised. An older man will pamper you. He will have his own interests and will not interfere in yours. I need not remind you, I am sure, that your pleasures must be handled discreetly. As for handsome, that is romantic foolishness which has no place in something as important as a marriage alliance. I know I can trust you. You have always been prettily behaved and done just as you ought.”

“Thank you, Mama,” said Arabella. “And may I go now? I have a letter I must finish to Susan Farnham.”

“Certainly, my love,” replied her mother. “And please tell Maria to lay out your pink muslin gown. You are looking a trifle pale, and you will want to look your best if Lord Warriner does call.”

“Yes, Mama,” said Arabella. She turned quickly and ran from the room.

That had been this morning. Lord Warriner had called, and she had appeared in the pink gown. She had accepted his offer, and he had not seemed to notice the trembling in her voice. Now she was back in her room and she could not seem to stop crying. But she had to! She had to think quickly. There was only one thing to do. She would have to run away. She could not marry Lord Warriner, but she could not tell Mama or Papa either. Papa would look unhappy, and Mama would call her an ungrateful girl. No, she would have to run away. Maybe she could become a governess. She could teach sketching; people had always admired her sketches. But how did one become a governess? And where could she go? She couldn't go home where she knew everyone, and anyway, none of Mama's friends would hire her. They'd be much more likely to send a messenger to Berkeley Square and she'd be carried back in disgrace. No, she would have to go someplace where she didn't know anyone. On the way to London, she remembered, there was a town called Bedford, where they had changed horses. There had been an inn, which had appeared quite respectable. Perhaps she could go there and stay until she found a suitable position. But she couldn't go without her maid—unless—unless she contrived a story. She could say that her maid had been taken by highwaymen. No, no one would believe that. But perhaps she could say that her maid had been taken ill on the journey. Yes, that would do. And she'd have to pack a bandbox after Maria went to sleep, so she could disappear before anyone awakened. Oh, there was so much to do! She wiped her eyes. There wasn't time for any more tears.