“I am the one who wishes to marry for wealth,” Iona reminded her, smiling at the lady’s defiant defense. “I have no need of a worthless title, but I have a great deal of need for the wealth that Mr. White can provide. Let us not argue the matter. Lord Dare’s carriage is waiting.”
Lady Winifred huffed, then took Iona’s arm down the steep school stairs to the street. Iona noted with interest that the earl’s diminutive valet sat beside Lord Dare’s driver, armed with a rifle. He greeted her with a tip of his hat but continued scanning their surroundings. That made her nervous enough to look around as well.
What had Gerard learned last night that had him fortifying carriages?
Smelling nothing untoward, she allowed a footman to assist her inside after Winifred. She knew they did not have far to go, but after yesterday’s experience, it had become apparent that a carriage was safer than walking.
Lord Ives was not inside the carriage, to her disappointment. But as soon as it halted in front of a towering brick building with a neat iron plaque at the entrance, the earl appeared in the doorway. He hurried down the stairs, a brass-handled cane over his arm. She feared the bulge in his coat pocket might be a derringer. What on earth had happened?
She took his offered hand and didn’t dare ask. Her heart pounded faster—out of fear of this next step, or his proximity, or both. He swiftly hid his surprise when Winifred popped out of the carriage.
“Interesting chaperone,” he murmured, dutifully waiting to escort his aunt up the stairs.
“Try talking her out of anything,” Iona murmured back. Now that he’d steadied her with his presence, she decided her racing pulse was in anticipation of gaining a very large sum of money. The moment was almost upon her. She gripped the earl’s arm harder.
She would not think about never seeing him again.
“I hope your journey was not too difficult, Aunt Winifred,” he said as they climbed the stairs to the solicitor’s floor.
“Travel is always difficult, as are men and most of life. If everything was easy, we would never learn, would we? Now let us proceed so we may take Lady Iona back to Wystan, where she belongs.” On the landing, Winifred tapped her foot.
Lowell, the valet, opened the office door and bowed for his betters to proceed him. Iona noted he, too, carried what appeared to be a pistol in his coat, although he’d left the rifle in the carriage. She shuddered and allowed Gerard to rush her past the receptionist.
“What trouble are we expecting?” she asked as they reached the glass-paned door with the solicitor’s name painted on it in gold and black.
“Your stepfather is in deeper than we thought,” was all he had time to say before they were inside.
How did one go deeper? Deeper in debt, perhaps? What else was new? Puzzling out what he may have meant, Iona held out her gloved hand to greet the solicitor who had agreed to handle the reward money, ostensibly for Mortimer. Since the office was a respectable one, she’d surmise Arthur had chosen it.
“Lady Iona, it is a pleasure,” the gentleman said. “Please, have a seat. Your father should be here shortly to confirm your identity. And your sister is well?”
“Quite,” Iona said, sitting stiffly in the chair so as not to crush her new bustle. She handed over the letter from Isobel, witnessed by the librarian and her husband, to prove her twin’s existence. “I cannot say why our stepfather is at all concerned, but it was good of Lord Ives to find us and let us know.”
That set the solicitor back a bit. “Yes, well, a father must be concerned. . .”
“Let us not pretend any such thing,” Gerard said, taking a chair near the desk after seating his aunt on a sofa. “Mortimer wishes to sell one of his stepdaughters. The twins objected. The offer of a reward changed Lady Iona’s mind and brought her here. Lady Isobel is content where she is. You are to see that the reward is given without strings attached and the lady is free to leave. She’s of age and independent of her stepfather’s care. My aunt and I are here to assure that no undue pressure is applied.”
“Yes, well.” The lawyer polished his spectacles. “As to that, I have no grounds to speculate. I am merely here to transfer the funds upon the approval of Lord Craigmore.”
“Ralph Mortimer,” Iona corrected. “My father was the Earl of Craigmore. The impostor claiming concern is not my father. He is a wart on a toad without a farthing to his name.”
The lawyer looked relieved at a knock on the door. “Yes, Brown, what is it?”
The secretary who had been at the front desk peered in. “The Earl of Craigmore and Mr. Arthur White are here, sir.”
Iona tensed. She glanced at Gerard. He sat with long legs sprawled, hands crossed over his chest, looking as if he might nod off at any second. She almost laughed. Now that she knew him, she knew that pose smelled of dangerous wrath.
Her stepfather slouched in, smelling of the dreadful shaving soap he’d taken to using once he learned of her talent. She had to give him credit for recognizing that his wife wasn’t entirely normal, nor were her daughters. The man might be a craven weasel, but he had an animal’s instinct for survival.
Mr. White tipped his expensive hat to her and bowed admirably over Winifred’s hand when introduced. She could not fault Mr. White for having too much money. But she could fault him for lacking the sense to understand that aristocrats were no different from anyone else. A title did not make a gentleman out of a toad wart.
“Lady Iona, it is good to see that you have come to no harm from your little misadventure. I am truly grieved that you may have taken
