Trent swished the whisky around in his mouth, letting the taste soak into his gums. Bitch. “Is there a point to this discussion? My personal life is truly none of your concern.”
“May I be direct?” Her fingers fluttered delicately over the teacup.
“Please do. I’d like this visit to be as short as possible,” Trent replied smoothly. Would Pendleton miss Lydia if Trent lost his temper and just snapped her neck? He thought not.
“My, how things have changed. You used to be much more cordial. But you wanted money then, which we gave you.”
Trent drained the remainder of his glass. “That was a long time ago.”
“Marissa Tremaine. I find it easier to call her by the name she was born with than the multitude of names she’s carried since then. I’m almost embarrassed for you, Trent. You’ve made such a fool out of yourself over her in public. All of London is twittering about the scandal brewing. Pretending she was your daughter’s chaperone.” Lydia shook her head. “I fear Lord Stanton will never give you his daughter now, not when you’ve made such an ass out of yourself.”
“Fortunate, because I never had any intention of offering for her.” He strolled back to the sideboard. “I’d ask if you’d like some brandy, Lydia, but I can already smell that you’ve helped yourself. I hope you’re enjoying it.”
Lydia’s ghastly white complexion paled further. Her left eye twitched. The teacup rattled against the saucer.
Trent really didn’t want the added scandal of Lydia dropping dead in his drawing room. She didn’t look well.
“I would thank you for finally repaying the great favor my husband bestowed on you so many years ago when you were so desperate—”
“As I recall, Lydia, you advised John not to help me. Anne relayed how you raged about your parlor insisting he might as well have set the money on fire than give it to me. I believe you told your husband I’d be impoverished in a fortnight.”
“John was far too sympathetic when Anne came begging. He always had a soft spot for her, sickly, weak kitten that she was.” She glared at Trent. “The point is you owe my family a debt.”
“Which I’ve repaid. Pendleton has the funds to pay off his markers.” Trent swallowed a mouthful of whisky.
“A truly honorable man wouldn’t expect his money to be returned.”
A slow burn of anger caused Trent’s fingertips to flutter against his thigh. So that was why she was here; she expected Trent to forgive the loan to Pendleton, even though the sum he’d advanced him was far more than what John had given Trent years ago to save the quarry.
“An honorable man wouldn’t have such a sum in dozens of markers all over London.”
Lydia’s cheeks turned a blotchy red. It wasn’t a becoming look. Hard to believe she’d once been considered a great beauty.
“Did you know Marissa is trying to take the Blue John mine from us?”
The words startled Trent. “Why would she do such a thing?” he said, confused at Lydia’s declaration. “Perhaps you’ve had too much brandy.”
Lydia’s lips pursed into a tiny hill, as if reluctant to speak, which he doubted, or she wouldn’t be here. Brandy fumes filled the air as she opened her mouth.
“Her late husband is reason enough. Reggie was jealous of our luck in finding Blue John on our land. He came to my husband with some fairy tale,” Lydia waved her hand around, “that the mine was actually on his property. Shortly before he disappeared, Reggie even approached John, insisting he’d found a survey, of all things.” Lydia chuckled as if it were the most insane thought in the world. “It was obviously a forgery. A poor forgery, at that, which only fed Reggie’s jealousy and delusions. Reggie was always a little addled. He and John argued. Then Reggie disappeared.”
Trent’s eyes narrowed on Lydia, watching her twitch about like a drunken squirrel as she sipped her tea. “I’m not as well-versed as I should be in the law in regard to such things, but if the survey is such an obvious forgery, how is it possible Marissa could challenge you for the mine? Surely a forgery would be thrown out of court. And Reggie has been dead for years. What would be the point of doing such a thing now?”
Lydia jerked again. “Marissa has her powerful family and the Duke of Dunbar’s solicitors behind her. Forgery or not.”
“Again, I have to ask, why in the world would she be interested in doing such a thing?” Marissa’s family was so wealthy, a Blue John mine would be no more than a pittance to them.
“She blames us for Reggie’s death. The truth has become twisted in her mind. Madness does run in her family.” Lydia was warming to her topic. “She’s even gone so far as to accuse John of murder. Can you imagine my husband guilty of committing such a crime?”
Trent could. The previous Lord Pendleton had been a greedy man.
“Until Reggie’s bones were discovered, we all thought he’d run off with some gypsy and left Marissa. I’m still not sure that isn’t what happened.”
Trent kept his face carefully composed, refusing to give away his thoughts. Marissa was the furthest thing from being mad. “I’m still not sure why—”
“She wishes to punish us.” Lydia’s voice raised an octave. “Though we aren’t to blame for Reggie’s death. I came here to warn you, Haddon. Marissa is capable of great treachery. She might even be dangerous to you and your daughters.”
“I seriously doubt that.” The very thought was ridiculous.
“Did you know she deliberately ruined Catherine’s engagement to Mr. Kendicott?”
“Kendicott and Catherine?” The very idea boggled the mind. Kendicott was a crude, often foul-mouthed son of a pig farmer who’d inherited a fortune from his
