Silk and Shadows (34 page)

It would be easy. Since Eliza and Sara were friends, all that needed to be done was coax the girl away for a holiday with Sara while Weldon was told that his daughter had been kidnapped. Sara and Eliza would both be happy, and Weldon would be in hell. Absolutely perfect. It would have to be done carefully, since Sara would not approve if she knew what Peregrine was doing, but she would not have to know. Next to
daughter
, he jotted "kidnap/brothel."

That left only
life
. He gnawed on the end of his pen. Since the injury Weldon had done had been vicious and personal, revenge must be equally vicious and personal. Peregrine craved the sight of his enemy's fear; he must administer the death stroke himself, feel the hot splash of Weldon's blood, for nothing less would balance the scales of the past. But marrying Sara meant staying in England, so if Peregrine were to personally execute his enemy, he would have to do it in a way where he would not be detected.

He was still pondering the best method of administering death, when a knock on the door was immediately followed by the entrance of Lord Ross. Smoothly Peregrine returned the file to the secret drawer, closed it, then stood to greet his friend. "Good afternoon. This is an unexpected pleasure."

There had been a flicker of curiosity in Ross's eyes when Peregrine had hidden the file, but he was too polite to ask about it. Instead he dropped a heavy folder on the desk. "I've been going over the material you lent me on Weldon. For God's sake, Mikahl, why not take it to the authorities and stop the bastard now? All the evidence may not be firm, but there is more than enough to hang him."

"I have reasons for waiting." Peregrine sat down again, gesturing for Ross to do the same. "But I promise that it will not be much longer before Weldon's sins catch up with him."

"The sooner the better." Ross's lips were a tight line as he took a chair. "I've just heard that he's been slandering you and Sara all over London."

"Trying to," Peregrine corrected. "We have gone to several social affairs in the last fortnight, and while there was some whispering and curiosity at first, by the end Sara had won everyone over." He smiled with pride. "She is splendid. No one can talk to her and believe that she has an immoral bone in her body or an unprincipled thought in her head. As a result, Weldon's slander is rebounding onto himself. Soon he will find that he has less friends than he thought."

Ross's expression relaxed. "I can believe that Sara is outfacing all gossip, but how are people treating you?"

"The usual—curiosity, some titillated disapproval. But since they think it likely that marriage to Lady Sara means that I will be among them for some time, most people seem to be willing to give me the benefit of the doubt for her sake." Peregrine gave a faint smile. "I find it vastly amusing to be achieving such respectability."

Ross laughed. It was hard to see the wild Kafir in the urbane, well-dressed man in front of him—except when Weldon was mentioned. Then Peregrine's eyes held the mercilessness of the falcon he had named himself for. Ross had a strong intuition that the sooner Weldon was dealt with, the better for everyone.

* * *

"Something unexpected has happened, Sir Charles." Walter Baines shuffled through his papers uneasily, knowing that his employer was not going to take this news well. "The bank has sold your notes at a discount, and the new creditor is demanding payment in thirty days."

Weldon stared at his accountant, slack-jawed with surprise. "Why the devil would they do that? I've done business with that bank for years."

"Mmm, yes, but you've only been paying interest on the loans—the principal has been outstanding for quite some time. The bank has always trusted that you were good for the money, both because of your business success and certain other—mmm—intangible considerations. However, your personal debts have mounted to a rather substantial figure in the last eighteen months. Plus…" Baines coughed into his hand. "A clerk at the bank told me in confidence that the directors had become anxious because your betrothal had ended. It is well-known that Lady Sara is a considerable heiress, but now…"He spread his hands apologetically. "It's nonsense, of course, but you know how conservative bankers are."

After swearing a string of vicious oaths, Weldon asked, "How much money do I have in reserve?"

"Apart from a small account for daily household expenses, nothing. You liquidated everything for the recapitalization of the L & S Railway."

Weldon frowned. "Much as I hate to do it, I may have to borrow against my shares in the railway. Find a lender who will give me what I need at a decent interest rate." He thought a moment. "Incidentally, who bought the notes?"

Baines shuffled his papers again. "That isn't clear. The demand came through a solicitor who is acting on another solicitor's behalf. I couldn't learn the name of the principal."

"Find out," Weldon ordered. "Also, ask if the new creditor will accept less than the face value of the notes—enough to make a profit on his speculation, but less than the full amount."

"Very good, Sir Charles." Baines gathered his papers and left with alacrity.

Weldon sat frowning for long after the accountant's departure. What a damnable stroke of luck. In the last couple of years, he had put huge sums of money into politics, both to advance his business interests and to secure a title for himself. As a result, he had been skating on very thin ice for the last six months; if he had not had the illicit income to subsidize his legitimate enterprises, he would have been ruined.

His financial situation had been a significant factor in his decision to remarry, for Lady Sara's dowry would have put him back on his feet. But when he had discovered Sara in her wantonness, he had been too furious to think through the implications of breaking the betrothal. Christ, he should have married the slut! Not only would he have had her money, he would not have had to wait to punish her for her treachery. And if she had threatened to tarnish his name—well, he had lost one wife in a tragic accident. Such a thing could have happened again.

Briefly he wondered if the betrothal was broken past mending, and reluctantly decided that it was. Neither Sara nor her lover would be likely to forgive the things that had been said that night. It was ironic that the one wealthy man who might have been willing to help Weldon through this bad patch was Peregrine. The bastard seemed to be made of money, and he had been very free with it. But it would be impossible to ask for a loan after what had happened.

A pity that relations had grown so strained with his wife's family after her death; his father-in-law could easily have afforded a loan, but he wouldn't help. Weldon knew that because he had hinted about a loan the year before, and his father-in-law had reacted very badly. Before she died, that bitch Jane must have told her father that she was unhappy in her marriage.

Might the brothels be sold? After consideration, he decided not. They generated a good income, but their only assets were the frail ones of human flesh and secret reputation. Besides, they were not the sorts of businesses that could be easily sold.

The Duke of Haddonfield was certainly wealthy enough, but Weldon suspected that he had already pushed the duke as far as possible. Haddonfield might tell Weldon to speak and be damned if more pressure was brought to bear. Still, if worse came to worse, the duke was a possibility.

Finally Weldon shrugged and left his office for the day. The situation was difficult but not disastrous; he'd come about soon. He had better start thinking about a new wife. In the meantime, thank God for the thriving L & S Railway.

Sara returned to Haddonfield a week before the ceremony, profoundly grateful to be back in the country. She and her betrothed had gone into society several times in the previous fortnight and the occasions had been stressful. While no one had been overtly rude, she had been aware of the whispers and curiosity, of people studying both her and her betrothed with fascinated, avid eyes. But the effort had been successful; the talk had not blossomed into a scandal, and the St. James's name was still unsullied.

Because of the circumstances surrounding Sara's broken betrothal, she had decided to marry from her family home rather than in London. After a week of frenzied preparations, her wedding day dawned, having arrived both too quickly and too slowly. Afterward, Sara remembered her wedding as a collection of kaleidoscopic fragments. She knew she must have acted normally, for no one said otherwise, but most of the day was a blank, punctuated by occasional moments of sharp clarity.

She had been awakened by Aunt Marguerite, who came in with a tray of tea and toast. As Sara stirred milk into her cup, the duchess had said briskly, "Since Maria is no longer with us, I suppose I should do all the things mothers are supposed to do. You are not a child and are both levelheaded and well-informed, but still, there is a shocking amount of ignorance about what takes place in the marriage bed."

She cocked her head to one side. "Need I explain what happens? Though I warn you, the description is quite ludicrous and far less appealing than the reality. Or if you feel that you have an adequate grasp of the basics, are there any special questions you would like to ask? You needn't be shy with me."

Sara had choked on her tea and gone into a coughing fit. After recovering, she said, "That isn't necessary, Aunt."

The duchess studied her niece's burning face, then said with distinct approval, "I see. Very good, my dear."

Knowing that her aunt undoubtedly
did
see, Sara had hastily risen and rung for her bath.

The next memory was of Jenny Miller. Sara had canceled the order for the elaborate dress she would have worn to marry Charles, choosing instead a simpler gown of ivory-colored silk. Privately, she made the ironic reflection that she was not entitled to pure white.

Jenny had dressed her mistress with loving skill, making sure that every glossy fold of fabric, every fall of delicate lace, was perfect. At the end, after pinning the chaplet of silk flowers in place and adjusting the veil that fell almost to Sara's heels, the girl had unashamedly wept. "You're the most beautiful bride there ever was, my lady," she whispered. "And you'll be happy. I know it."

Sara had wished she shared her maid's optimism.

During the carriage ride to the church, her father had been resigned, neither glad nor disapproving. As he assisted her out at the end, he had said softly, "Ultimately we must all work out our own fate. I wish you happy, child, and I wish your mother could have been here to see you."