Page 27 of Scoundrel for Sale
Abbie swallowed, hesitant to confess her most closely held secret to this man whom she had known for half an hour.
“I can see that there is. You must tell me the truth if I am to have a prayer of defending this case. As your barrister, I will hold anything you tell me in the strictest confidence. You have my word of honor.”
Although she was loath to tell him, Abbie was running out of options. So she reached into her reticule and pulled out her copy of the marriage contract. “There is indeed. You see…”
Once she had finished, Mr. Vickery nodded gravely. “That would certainly explain Lord Dulson’s determination to reclaim the dower house. With those vineyards providing such a significant portion of his income, he will surely stop at nothing to retain them.”
“So it would seem.” Abbie wrung her hands. “In terms of strategy, would it be wise to enter the marriage contract I found into evidence? In order to show the true motive behind this lawsuit?”
Mr. Vickery paused, considering. “To accuse a peer of fraud is a very serious matter. I’m not saying no. But we must be strategic in our timing. We need stronger evidence than what we currently have.”
Abbie’s shoulders fell a fraction. “I understand.”
“I will begin by requesting a copy of the original court proceedings. That will shed some light on how your version of the marriage contract came to be invalidated.” Mr. Vickery tapped his pen against the desk, thinking. “The other issue is that you are not the one who has been wrongfully deprived of these lands in Portugal. Under the terms of this marriage contract, they would have gone to Carlotta, but she apparently died without issue, and we do not have a copy of her will. As things stand right now, it looks almost like a victimless crime. It would be much more compelling were Carlotta’s rightful heir to come forward and press the suit. Do you have any idea who that is?”
Abbie rubbed her temple. “I do not.”
Mr. Vickery paused, studying her, then hesitatingly said, “You are in a very difficult position right now. I would be bereft in my duty as your barrister if I did not tell you that it is an option to settle. If you were to willingly sign the dower house over to Lord Dulson, you could preserve your nest egg, which is sufficient for you to rent a house. I may even be able to negotiate a more favorable agreement, as it appears his lordship is not truly after your home, but rather these papers.”
Abbie shook her head. “What you’re saying makes sense, but I could never live with myself if I handed the papers over to Nigel. It’s the principle of the matter. Carlotta had a large family—three brothers and two sisters. I feel certain that an heir is out there, even if I don’t know who he or she might be, nor how to get in contact with them. This is a life-altering amount of property for the rightful owner. I could not sleep at night if I stood idly by.”
She thought, but did not say, that it was more than that, more than a simple matter of right and wrong. That it was personal. She was not precisely sure what had happened sixty years ago, but all evidence suggested that George and Nigel’s grandfather had conspired to cheat Carlotta, depriving her of her lawful property.
Abbie could relate. Oh, how she could relate! She had been deprived of her own dowry and browbeaten into marrying a man she didn’t love. And just when she had gained a tiny modicum of dignity and control over her own life, here she was, once again on the cusp of disaster.
She was so, so sick of men thinking they could ride roughshod over her, simply because she was a woman. She could not bear the thought of letting Nigel cow her. She wasn’t just doing this for herself, but also for Carlotta, her fellow dowager Lady Dulson, and the many women in this world who were dowager Lady Dulsons in spirit.
Mr. Vickery nodded. “Then we must set about finding the rightful heir. We know the location of the vineyards that were included in her dowry. We could send someone to Portugal to investigate. The only problem is that such an investigation would cost—”
“An astronomical sum, I’m sure.” Abbie rubbed her temple, which was throbbing. “One I can ill afford.”
“Do not fret, Lady Dulson. I will enter a response on your behalf and request a copy of that file. Reach out to some of your brother’s friends in the army. Many of them spent years on the Peninsula. See if they know anyone near the Douro Valley to whom we could write. I’ll ask my brother to do the same. It would reduce the cost of the investigation significantly if we could find someone who lives in the vicinity. That is where we must place our hopes. If we can but locate Carlotta’s heirs in Portugal, our chances will improve significantly.”
Abbie rose and shook his hand. “I’ll reach out to Hart’s friends immediately. Thank you, Mr. Vickery.”
Chapter 12
Four weeks later, Abbie attended another hearing. It went every bit as badly as the previous three.
For an hour, she watched Mr. Vickery object to each item on Nigel’s list of requested discovery as unnecessary to the case and inordinately expensive.
Each time, just as at the previous hearings, Judge Waring overruled him and approved the plaintiff’s request.
Abbie did a quick tally in her head. Between the cost of the discovery approved today, Mr. Vickery’s fees, and what she was being forced to pay for her London lodgings, she had just passed the one-thousand-pound mark.
That was a full quarter of the money George had left her, money that was meant to stay invested in stocks so it could produce an annuity for her to live on.
A quarter of her nest egg gone.
In one month.
Afterward, in the hallway, Mr. Vickery gave her what could only be described as a sympathetic grimace. “We must not despair. We still have every chance of success, if only the rightful heir can be found. Chin up, Lady Dulson.”
He had another proceeding to attend, which suited Abbie, as she did not have to incur the expense of a hackney carriage in order to keep up appearances before her barrister. The lodging house where she had rented a room was in Soho, a neighborhood Abbie had selected both for its proximity to the Palace of Westminster, where the legal proceedings relating to Nigel’s lawsuit took place, and its affordability compared to its neighbor, Mayfair. The weather was not particularly fine, but it wasn’t a downpour, and she was only a mile away from her lodgings. She could manage the walk.
She hadn’t gone a quarter mile when a black lacquered carriage pulled to the curb next to her. Much to her astonishment, two footmen hopped down from the back of the conveyance, seized her by the arms, and shoved her into the carriage.
“Unhand me!” she shrieked as the door slammed shut and the carriage began moving. “Somebody help—”
