He was eager to get back to White Haven and get work started. This assembling of an army, of having a battle plan, energized him in ways he hadn’t felt since Spain. And if he was honest, he wanted to get back to Diana. He missed her, which surprised him. She’d been part of his life for such a short time, and yet she’d begun to feel integral. Not only that, but it was his job to look after her, to protect her and see that she was provided for. He couldn’t do that when they were apart.
As he had so many times since returning to London, he unrolled the blueprints of White Haven, which Marcus had procured from the architectural firm that had built the house sixty years before. Thankfully, they were still in business, and had also done the renovations thirty years ago when the previous earl had inherited. Evan ran his finger over the legend for the ground floor. Entry, parlor, dining, breakfast, library, music rooms. Then on the first-floor, bedrooms, dressing rooms, ladies’ sitting room, sewing room. And in one wing, rooms labeled “The Royal Apartments.” Rooms kept on the chance that a royal personage would grace the house with his or her presence. What a waste. The top floor and cellars were less ornate, with room for the nursery, schoolroom, servants’ quarters, kitchens, storerooms, and more. In all, over fifty rooms made up the house. There was no way they could refurbish and repair fifty rooms before Easter. Impossible. They’d have to work on the various areas in some sort of order to prepare for the Prince Regent’s visit.
Evan’s attention returned to the master suite. Two large sleeping quarters separated by adjoining his-and-her dressing rooms. An entire room each to store clothing in and to dress? And separate bedrooms for the master and mistress. His parents had never had the luxury of separate bedrooms, living as they did in the manse of whatever parish in which his father served, but even if they had the option, Evan doubted they would’ve used it. Would Diana, raised to be a lady, prefer sleeping apart once they moved into the house? Would the servants expect it of the master and mistress? Living as a family but with so many other people in the house felt like an ordeal he might never get used to. His own mother had never employed so much as a charwoman before, and he was supposed to hire more than a dozen people just to work in his house, never mind all the employees who would toil on the estate?
How thankful he was that he had Diana to help. When it came to estate management, he was as raw as a new recruit. God might have pitchforked him into this unfamiliar and daunting new arena of the gentry, but perhaps He’d also thrown Evan a lifeline in Diana for a helpmeet.
On the evening of his last day in London, with a caravan of wagons loaded and ready for an early departure, and all the workers housed at an inn on the south side of the river, Evan held his hands to the fire in the study at Haverly House, wondering what he’d forgotten.
“You’ve accomplished a mountain of work in a very short time.” Marcus leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk. “I wish you’d brought Diana with you though. Word is out now that you’re in town without her, and the biddies are clucking about it. I even heard a rumor that you married Diana to get her money, took her off in the carriage, and when you were crossing the Thames, you pitched her in.” He grinned. “Now you’re back to spend her money, and the Bow Street Runners should be knocking on the door at any moment.”
Evan clenched his fists. “That’s excellent. I’m a usurper of a title I don’t deserve, a fortune hunter, and now a murderer?”
“It was said in jest, I’m sure. The fellow who voiced it was half in his cups at the club.” Marcus stopped smiling. “Speaking of which, I met your father-in-law coming out of Boodle’s this afternoon. I was walking by, and he crashed into me. The man was completely foxed, and the doorman at the club was not best pleased when the duke appeared ready to bring up his most recent meal onto the steps of the establishment. Seaton’s been imbibing rather heavily since your wedding, it seems.”
“He’s in mourning for his lost fortune, I expect. I am having a difficult time feeling sorry for him, considering everything.” Evan took the poker and stirred the fire. “The fact that he kept the inheritance a secret … Considering what I know of the man, I shouldn’t be surprised, but he forced Diana to keep it a secret too. To lie to me. No doubt she feared what he would do. He’d struck her in the face the night of the Almack’s bash. And I don’t for a moment believe it was the first time. I won’t soon forget he laid hands on Diana.” He jabbed at the logs, reducing them to a pile of coals and ash.
“Oh, I’m not feeling sorry for him. Just wondering what will become of him if he continues down his current path. He’s got a reputation for scheming, and things tend to work out the way he wants because he doesn’t give up. I believe you’re probably the first man to ever thwart him and get away with it. But just because he hasn’t taken action yet, doesn’t mean he won’t. He’s got the cunning of a Spanish viper.” Marcus laced his fingers across his waistcoat. “You might want to be careful. He’s a vengeful man as well as a conniver. He won’t take lightly your marrying his daughter, but even less the loss of all that money. He might be drunk as an old wheelbarrow at the moment, but you can wager he is hatching some plan to get his hands on at least part of that money.”
“What can he do? His daughter is my … bride.” Evan shouldn’t really be calling her his wife, not without them having consummated the marriage. He had thought he was protecting Diana by giving her time to get used to him, to get to know him, before sharing her bed, but perhaps it would be better to make her his wife now. Her father couldn’t call for an annulment that way. “And the money is residing in my bank account, where the duke can’t get at it. He can drink and rage and scheme all he wants, but what real harm can he do?”
“If I were the duke, I’d think about killing you,” Marcus muttered.
Evan turned. “What?”
“I’d kill you. Or have you killed. And soon.” He stared at his hands. “Follow my reasoning. His daughter is set to inherit a fortune when she marries. Under British law, the instant she is married, the money belongs to her husband. However, should the husband die before producing an heir, the money would then belong to his daughter, and Seaton would move all the bricks of St. Paul’s Cathedral by hand if he had to in order to get her back under his control if she didn’t have a husband to protect her.”
A shiver went through Evan, but he wasn’t sure if it was internal or external. Kill him? For an inheritance? “That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it? Murder?”
“I’m sure he would make it appear to be an accident. Just be careful, won’t you?” Marcus tapped his laced fingers on the backs of his hands. “There’s Percival to consider too. Word about town is that he’s accrued quite a few gambling debts, pacifying his creditors with promises of money to come. Now his creditors have come calling. He’s gone to ground somewhere, though I haven’t been able to track him down just yet.”
Evan considered Marcus in the glow of the firelight. He looked the picture of relaxation, idle wealth in fine clothing, and yet he seemed to know much about the comings and goings of a lot of people. Was it just that London society was fairly small—a few hundred families at most—or was it something more? He seemed to be interested in knowing what many people were getting up to.