Page 105 of One Wicked Secret
“I didn’t know Clarence had a child until Carver told me,” Denby confessed. “At that time, Jacob Tyler had already lost quite a vast sum of money in a mining venture in Northumberland.”
“But you knew about the will,” Daniel countered.
Denby drew a weary breath. “Of course I knew about the will. Do you think my father would have kept it a secret when Wendlow Follies accounts for over a third of my income?”
Daniel mentally fought to put the pieces together. Would the daughter of Clarence and Cynthia have inheritedWendlow Follies? It seemed odd, given the laws of primogeniture. But that would explain why Denby needed to marry Elsa.
“What did Carver want for his silence?” The man was a conniving devil and must have overheard a conversation or seen the letters in the musty box. That’s why Elsa’s parents had hidden the evidence.
“What all men want. Money.”
“You paid him to spy and make mistakes.”
Denby shook his head. “I paid him to destroy the evidence.”
“Because as the descendant of Clarence Denby, Elsa has a claim on Wendlow Follies,” Daniel guessed.
“My poor, sweet little Madeline,” Lady Denby cried. “Wendlow is her inheritance. It’s why she’s not wed. The girl receives her settlement when she turns twenty-five next April.”
So Wendlow Follies was unentailed, an estate passed down the female line. Doubtless, there were some stipulations that the male heir kept control in the absence of an heiress.
“Then Miss Denby must be the first woman to inherit since 1668. It’s a wonder she survived long enough to stake a claim.”
Denby scoffed. “I wouldn’t hurt my sister just to get my hands on her inheritance. Moreover, she must pay the barony a portion of the profit, as outlined in the terms of the will. Wendlow comes with a thousand acres and twenty tenant cottages.”
Miss Denby wouldn’t inherit a thing if Elsa could prove she was Clarence Denby’s granddaughter. The process would be long and taxing, involving?—
Daniel froze.
A chill chased down his spine.
He cursed under his breath as a dark suspicion took root.
Dear God!
He’d left Elsa at home, thinking she was safe. But if he was right, danger might be knocking on her door. She would expect a man, not a woman—the woman who had orchestrated everything while hiding behind silk petticoats and sugar-sweet smiles.
“May I speak to Miss Denby?”
Lady Denby drew herself up with indignation. “Why involve Madeline? She has nothing to do with this. I would rather spare her the disappointment. She is as innocent as my darling Foofoo.”
“Fetch her. Tell her the Marquess of Rothley asks for an introduction.” Daniel heard Rothley grumbling behind him. “I won’t mention our conversation, but I’ll rest easier knowing she is in the house.”
“Refuse, and I’ll hunt for her myself,” Rothley added.
The matron sighed heavily, her expression clouded with frustration as she summoned the butler. “Inform Miss Denby the Marquess of Rothley requests an introduction.” When the butler left, she shook her head. “This is absurd. Madeline has a mind for nothing but pretty bonnets and theatre trips. I won’t have her dragged into a scandal.”
They stood silently awaiting Miss Denby, each second stretching longer than the last. The matron’s posture stiffened as if preparing to shield her daughter from a threat.
But before the servant returned, Lord Denby made a startling confession. “Madeline isn’t here.” His voice was tight, his jaw muscles clenching. “She left half an hour ago to visit Miss Marshall.”
Lady Denby blanched. “Left with whom? Her maid is upstairs.”
“Graves,” he snapped, the name bitter on his tongue. “The scarred coachman who follows her around like a lapdog.”
Lady Denby flinched, her shock palpable. “And you let her go?”
Denby’s gaze hardened. “Poor, sweet Madeline has me by the proverbials, Mother. She’s been blackmailing me for months, threatening to withhold funds from Wendlow once she inherits.”
