“I’ve always felt it a duty,” Arabella placed a hand on her chest, “to help others when we can, regardless of their station in life. You are to be commended, Lady Higgins, for your generous heart.”
Another blush of pleasure pinked Lady Higgins’s cheeks. “I knew we were of like mind, Lady Malden. Sir Richard has been ridiculed by some of our acquaintances because he does care for those less fortunate. Viscount Pendleton has fortunately embraced such reforms.”
“I understand him to be one of Parliament’s brightest stars,” Arabella said.
“I’ve never seen anyone so passionate and devoted to the welfare of others,” Lady Higgins said, her admiration for Pendleton evident.
“How gratifying for you, Lady Pendleton,” Marissa said, struggling to hide her amusement as Lady Higgins extolled Simon’s virtues. She wouldn’t be quite so effusive in a month or so.
“Incredibly so. Pendleton has made something of his life.” Lydia’s eyes, like bits of flint, glared at Marissa. “Unlike other young, overindulged gentlemen who due to their poor upbringing lack the discipline to finish their studies and make something of themselves. Breeding itself is no guarantee a gentleman won’t fall in with disreputable company. One wonders how such men avoid the gallows given their cutthroat tendencies.”
Lydia really needed to work on her insults. Perhaps she was out of practice. Her mild slurs against Brendan and Spencer barely roused Marissa’s anger.
“True. I do wonder how Lord Pendleton became such a paragon, but then I recall you had an excellent nursemaid for him. And a governess.” She smiled sweetly.
Oh dear. When Lydia’s eyes bulged, she was very unattractive.
“Are you enjoying the round of parties this season, Miss Higgins?” Marissa turned to the girl Lydia meant to have as a daughter-in-law.
Miss Higgins, shy to a fault, murmured something adequate and stared back down at her slippers.
Marissa had the inclination to shake the docility right out of prim little Miss Higgins. She didn’t subscribe to being well-mannered to the point you disappeared. A girl must possess some spirit.
She cast a sideways glance at Lydia, taking note of her bloodshot eyes and the deeply etched brackets around her lips. A whiff of the air around her brought forth the scent of spirits.
Brandy.
Arabella purposefully placed her hand on Lady Higgins’s forearm, leading the woman and her daughter away, asking if they’d been to the opera.
Her niece disliked the opera.
As soon as Lady Higgins and her daughter moved several paces away out of hearing range, Lydia pounced, as Marissa knew she would, curling up to her like the venomous snake she was.
“If you think you’ve somehow outsmarted me, Marissa, think again.” The brandy on Lydia’s breath was sharp. “No court in London will entertain your ridiculous request that we repay the proceeds of the Blue John mine dating back over twenty years, especially since you can’t prove the mine even belongs to the Earl of Morwick.” Lydia gave a flutter of her beringed hands. “All you have is an old survey which is likely a forgery.”
“If you feel that way, Lydia, one wonders why you would have bothered to murder my husband all those years ago.”
Lydia’s left eye twitched. “Hearsay,” she hissed, the brandy fumes floating out in a cloud. “You’ve not a shred of proof save a private conversation overheard by some tart your worthless son married.”
“That tart is now the Countess of Morwick,” Marissa reminded her. “She outranks you.”
“Sour grapes. She’d say anything to hurt Simon after he had to end their betrothal. What else was Simon to do? Especially after she debased herself with your son. No one will believe her. I can’t wait to drag her reputation through the mud now that I’m in town.”
“But Simon gave his word.” Marissa blinked, wide-eyed. “I can’t imagine. Your son is so incredibly honorable.” A snarl flitted about her lips. “Like his father.”
Lydia flinched. “You can do nothing to us. I won’t stand for your nonsense another minute, Marissa. I’m not sure what you hoped to accomplish with your little stunt. My husband has been dead for years, and you’ve no proof. The entire case will be thrown out of court.”
Marissa nodded as if agreeing. “Perhaps. Or maybe,” she moved closer to Lydia, “I’ll drag this dispute out for years. I’ve scores of solicitors who’d like nothing more than to waste my substantial fortune on such things. Whereas you can ill afford a lengthy court battle if the rapid pace at which you are selling off your valuables is any indication. Goodness, next you’ll be prying the Blue John from the fireplaces of Brushbriar.” She shook her head. “You should have told me, Lydia. I would have happily bought up the entire lot.”
“You—” Lydia’s eyes bulged dangerously again.
“Have the resources of my very powerful, wealthy family at my back. You always seem to forget I started life as the daughter of a duke,” Marissa said with false disbelief.
“An infamous one. Your family is reviled in London.”
“I prefer respected. Feared.” Marissa’s voice hardened. “And with good reason. You’d do well to remember that, Lydia.”
Lydia faltered slightly, her slender figure wavering as if buffeted by the wind. Spittle formed at the corner of her mouth as the scent of brandy and breath mints filled the air above her. “Is that your game, Marissa? Will you hide behind your nephew and hope to frighten me?”
Marissa shrugged. “Frighten you? Perish the thought. I’ve better things to do. By the way, how is your daughter’s pursuit of Mr. Kendicott progressing?”
Lydia paled until she resembled a bowl of day-old, curdled cream.
“Oh dear.” Marissa made a tutting sound. “Are you feeling well, Lydia? You look as if you could use a glass of brandy. I’m sure you assumed you could sneak a nip into your tea today, perhaps when Lady Higgins turns her back. Or are you planning to disappear for a moment to . . . collect
