Page 22 of Scoundrel for Sale
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Abbie murmured.
“Thank you, my lady,” Leopold said.
“May I inquire as to the reason for your interest?” John asked.
“Yes, I—I’ve been going through the dower house, trying to organize the contents. And I found some, um… some old jewelry in a box in the attic,” Abbie improvised. “Nothing valuable, mind you. Two necklaces and a brooch. But based on the style, I thought they might have belonged to Carlotta, and I wondered if the marriage contract mentioned any jewelry she brought with her to her marriage.”
“Let’s see, shall we?” John opened a drawer in one of the cabinets that lined the walls and began leafing through its folders.
“It’s not terribly important,” Abbie babbled nervously. “Just a bit of family history.”
“Of course,” Leopold said. “And these sorts of things are often mentioned in marriage contracts. It’s not uncommon for them to specify that a bride is to retain possession of her personal jewelry.”
John had slid a folder from the drawer and was flipping through the pages. “Here it is,” he said, laying the folder upon the desk. He scanned the document, which was three pages long. “Although I don’t see a mention of any jewelry.”
“Would you mind if I had a look?” Abbie tried to make her voice serene even as her heart threatened to pound right out of her chest.
“Not at all.” John turned the document to face her and indicated a particular paragraph on the top page. “This is the portion that lists the assets Carlotta brought to her marriage. There are some vineyards in Portugal, and three thousand pounds’ worth of stock in the Bank of England, with the specification that half of the interest produced each year is to be re-invested in stock.” He gave a low whistle. “That would be worth a handsome fortune today. But I do not see mention of any jewelry.”
Abbie pulled the document close enough to read. She barely skimmed the paragraph listing Carlotta’s assets, which appeared to be identical to the document she’d found in the attic. It was the paragraph below, the one that detailed the disbursement of those assets should the marriage not produce any children, upon which she fixed her attention.
Surely enough, the words, “shall be returned to Miss de Noronha” had been replaced with, “shall be retained by the Dulson estate.”
Abbie sagged back in her chair and found the two Mr. Collingsworths regarding her quizzically. Straightening, she forced a breezy smile. “I cannot say I am surprised these pieces were not mentioned. As I said, they do not appear to be of great value. But it was worth a try.”
“Of course, my lady,” John said.
“Well.” Abbie’s fingers trembled as she gathered up the pages of the contract. “I’ll have to find another method by which to determine—oh, bother,” she said as she fumbled the bottom two sheets, which went fluttering to the floor.
“Allow me, my lady,” Leopold said, starting to rise from his chair.
She wasn’t about to make an eighty-year-old man bend down to get them. “Oh, no. Please, let me.” She scooped them easily off the floor. “After all, it was due to my clumsiness that… that…”
She trailed off as her eyes fell upon the final page of the contract.
The one that bore Carlotta’s signature.
Or, to be more accurate, the one that bore Carlotta’s name. Because although someone had scrawled Carlotta de Noronha on the appropriate line, that was not Carlotta’s signature.
Abbie would know. She was reading her diary, after all.
Cold dread pooled inside her stomach. Now that she looked at the signature of the Mr. Collingsworth who had completed this document, it, too, did not match the copy she had neatly folded in her reticule.
The signatures had been forged. Abbie was certain of it.
Every piece of evidence pointed to the fact that someone had conspired to deprive Carlotta of her dowry. Including…
Abbie blinked at the two Misters Collingsworth, who were once again regarding her with a sort of kindhearted befuddlement. She did not like to think that either of them was involved; these men had dutifully looked after her family’s interests for generations. But the fact remained that someone had removed the true contract from that file and replaced it with the forgery.
Although now that she thought on it, that did not necessarily mean that either Mr. Collingsworth had been involved. Whatever clerks they had employed sixty-five years ago would have had access to the files, and the fact that they had produced the contract for her to inspect without the slightest hesitation suggested that they had nothing to hide.
Then there was the fact that Leopold’s father, who would have been familiar with the terms of the contract and who would have known at once that those terms had been altered, had happened to die shortly after the agreement was signed. That event had created an opportunity that someone had seized upon.
It wasn’t difficult to guess whom. One family had benefited from the changes that were made.
The Davies.
She became aware that John Collingsworth was speaking. “My lady? My lady, is everything all right?”
