Page 21 of Scoundrel for Sale
But now, something about the way Nigel’s weaselly eyes bore into hers caused a shiver to run down her spine.
Nigel’s knuckles were white where he gripped his new spoon. “You said most of them were household records.”
“Th-that’s correct.”
“What were the other ones?”
“I couldn’t honestly say. I only discovered the box this afternoon and have yet to sort through its contents in detail.”
“Were there any legal records?” Nigel asked nonchalantly, but his fingers were clumsy as he attempted to scoop up a bite of strawberry ice, and the spoon clattered against the side of the cup. He hastily set the dessert aside.
“It’s possible. I only had time to give them the barest glance.”
“I see,” Nigel said shortly. “Do let me know if you should find anything of interest.”
He did not speak to her for the rest of the night, but several times Abbie caught him watching her from across the room. He glanced away quickly, but each time, Abbie felt her stomach perform a nauseating flip.
She felt so unnerved that even though it was eleven o’clock when she arrived home, she waved off her maid’s offer to help her undress and went straight to the parlor where she’d left the box. Shuffling through the papers by lamplight, it didn’t take long to find the legal document to which Nigel had been alluding: a copy of Carlotta’s marriage contract.
Abbie didn’t have any legal training. But the contract was clear enough: in the event that her husband died without issue, Carlotta’s dowry, including the vineyards in the Douro Valley and three thousand pounds’ worth of stock in the Bank of England, would revert to her.
Abbie didn’t know what had happened to the bank stock. But she knew of a certainty that those vineyards were now part of the Dulson estate.
Which begged the question—why was Nigel so perturbed by Abbie finding a box of Carlotta’s old records? Clearly, Carlotta had disagreed with the judge’s ruling, and there did appear to be some evidence that she should have retained her family’s vineyards. But in the end, the Davies had won and Carlotta had lost, and after sixty years, surely the judge’s ruling was now final.
Unless…
Abbie was no legal expert. But, as far as she knew, one of the few ways a prior ruling could be overturned was if the verdict had been obtained through fraud.
Nigel’s strained reaction suggested he had something to hide. The question was, what?
She peered at the signature of the attorney who had prepared the contract. Collingsworth. A name she recognized well—the Collingsworth family had run a solicitor’s office in the nearby town of Lymington for three generations. Mr. John Collingsworth, the current managing partner, had been her father’s own attorney.
Perhaps Mr. Collingsworth could shed some light on this apparent discrepancy.
Chapter 9
Abbie awoke the next morning with a tightness in her chest. She dressed hastily and choked down a little tea and toast before setting out for Lymington. She selected one of her larger reticules, one that was big enough to hold a book, and inside she tucked both Carlotta’s marriage contract and her most recent letter to Gabe, which she intended to post while she was in town.
The morning was clear and bright, so Abbie decided to make the one-mile journey on foot. A bell chimed as she opened the door to Collingsworth and Collingsworth.
As the Earl of Pennington’s daughter and Baron Dulson’s wife, Abbie was well-known around town, and a clerk rose to greet her with a bow. “Lady Dulson, how may I be of assistance?”
“I wondered if Mr. Collingsworth could spare a moment to speak with me.”
“I feel certain that he will,” the clerk said, ushering her toward one of the back offices.
Inside, she found not only John Collingsworth but his father, Leopold, who was now retired from the family business. The senior Mr. Collingsworth rose from his chair and clasped her hands in his wrinkled ones. “Lady Dulson, what a treat! I certainly picked the right day to visit the offices.”
Abbie pressed his hand. “The pleasure is mine.” She settled into the chair the younger Mr. Collingsworth brought over for her. “Thank you so much for making time to see me today.”
“Of course,” John Collingsworth said, seating himself behind his desk. “How may we be of assistance, my lady?”
Abbie had intended to show Mr. Collingsworth Carlotta’s marriage contract, but now that she was here, she found herself hesitating. Gracious, but Nigel had her feeling skittish! She knew she was probably being ridiculous but opted to err on the side of caution. “I believe you, or rather, your firm, drew up the marriage contract between one of my predecessors as Lady Dulson, Carlotta de Noronha, and the fourth baron. Is that correct?”
“It very well might be,” John Collingsworth said. “Our firm has handled the baron’s business for many a year. Although that would have been well before my time.”
“It’s correct,” Leopold offered from his chair along the wall. “My father was the one to draw it up. It was one of the last things he did before his untimely passing. A sudden apoplexy, it was,” he explained, patting his chest.
