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Deceived. Nicola Cornick
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“I would not dream of putting you to so much trouble, Mr. Churchward,” Isabella said with a smile that made Mr. Churchward tingle down to his toes. “This is a simple matter and will take a mere moment. I have come to settle my debt and I wondered whether you would deal with Henshalls for me?”
“Of course!” The lawyer shuddered to think of a lady as delicate as the Princess setting foot in the moneylenders’ offices. Not that Princess Isabella appeared fragile, precisely. A lady who had survived the rigors of marriage to the feckless Prince Ernest was to be congratulated on her hardiness. Mr. Churchward shook his head. His expression said all that was needed on the subject of profligate princes who ran through a fortune and then proceeded to accumulate debt with the gusto that others collected paintings or Grecian antiquities. Irresponsible, foolish, selfish, callous and downright unpleasant were descriptions of Prince Ernest that might have sprung to Mr. Churchward’s lips had he been less discreet. His mouth compressed to a thin line as he regarded the lady who was obliged to reap the consequences of Prince Ernest’s financial recklessness.
The princess gave him another of her mischievous smiles, which set his blood pressure awry and caused him to blush deeply. Delving in her reticule, Princess Isabella extracted a piece of paper.
“I believe that Henshalls will find this in order,” she said sweetly. “They will not care for it much, but they cannot argue with it.”
Mr. Churchward, who had expected to be holding a money order, found that he was in fact clutching a marriage certificate. Further perusal confirmed that it was for a marriage contracted in the Fleet Prison. Accompanying it was a note that stated that a certain John Ellis was prepared to take on his wife’s debts in their entirety.
Mr. Churchward gasped and adjusted his spectacles, the better to confirm the news his sinking heart was telling him.
“But madam…I…You…”
“I took your advice, Mr. Churchward,” Isabella said, “and arranged a marriage. You will find that it is quite legal.”
Mr. Churchward was flushed with agitation. The certificate dropped from his nerveless fingers to the wooden table. He moved several files agitatedly and at random, upsetting the ordered calm of his desktop.
“My advice was to marry a gentleman of fortune, Princess, not a debtor!” he spluttered. “Upon my word, madam, I cannot believe—” He broke off and scanned the sheet of paper. “It is legal, you say?”
“Of course.” Isabella looked very collected. “It is also temporary. As we agreed yesterday, Mr. Churchward, I would like you to place the house in Brunswick Gardens up for sale. I think it will fetch a goodly sum, for it is in quite a fashionable neighborhood. Once the sale is made and Aunt Jane’s legacy is also proved, I will pay Henshalls what I owe them.”
Mr. Churchward made a whimpering noise like a cat inadvertently trodden upon. He removed his glasses and polished them feverishly. The dent that they had left on his nose was bright red against the pallor of the rest of his face. Even his voice sounded pale.
“And the marriage, madam?”
“I will end that as well, of course.” Isabella snapped her reticule shut with a decisive click. “It is a matter of convenience only. Mr. Ellis will be confined to the Fleet for the foreseeable future.”
Various objections flitted through Mr. Churchward’s mind. Doubtless the princess, like many other persons unacquainted with the law, thought that it was relatively simple to achieve an annulment of a marriage. Most people erroneously assumed that non-consummation was sufficient grounds. He started to rehearse the explanations in his mind, saw the decisive set of Isabella’s jaw, and decided to bide his time. It was, after all, too late. Part of the skill in dealing with his noble clients lay in choosing one’s moment. This was not the right time to suggest to the princess that she might in fact be wed for better or worse.
Mr. Churchward mopped his forehead with his large, practical handkerchief.
“I shall not take any more of your time, Mr. Churchward,” Isabella said. She gave him a final, very sweet smile. “I shall be leaving Town for my house in Salterton in a few weeks, but I should be delighted to entertain you to tea before I go.”
“Salterton…Of course…We must speak further about your inheritance….” Mr. Churchward mumbled. Another raft of objections came into his mind. He had not yet had the chance to speak to Princess Isabella in detail about her legacy from her aunt, Lady Jane Southern, for other more pressing matters had taken precedence. He wondered how much the princess knew about her inheritance of Salterton Hall and the encumbrances upon the estate.
Churchward mopped his brow again. Should he acquaint her with the difficulties now, and explain the very delicate nature of her relationship with her tenant in the dower house? He hesitated. Best not. Isabella was already on her feet in preparation for leaving. He did not wish to detain her now.
“Perhaps we might make an appointment for next week, madam,” he suggested. “I would appreciate the opportunity to acquaint you with the detail of your estate.”
Isabella nodded.
“Thank you, Mr. Churchward. Will Tuesday be convenient?”
She was already halfway out of the door, leaving nothing but a faint, delicious perfume shimmering in the air. Churchward heard her give an airy farewell to the staff in the outer office; there was the sound of her steps on the stairs, gathering speed as though she were rid of some tiresome encumbrance. Mr. Churchward smiled wryly. By the time she reached the street she would be almost running.
He perused the marriage lines and the promissory note for a third time. His hand stole toward the drawer of his battered cabinet, where a bottle of sherry was hidden for emergencies. This was a full-scale emergency if ever there was one. He paused. It would, however, be better to deal with Henshalls first. He did not relish giving those most ruthless of moneylenders the news that Princess Isabella Di Cassilis’s debts were now impossible to claim, the responsibility of some luckless wastrel in the Fleet Prison. He reached for his hat and folded the marriage lines within the pocket of his waistcoat. Sometimes he felt he did not get paid sufficient for the trials of his work. Still, for Princess Isabella Di Cassilis he would do almost anything.
An hour later, Mr. Churchward tottered back up the stairs to his chambers. He had been pale before; now he was ashen. He went directly to the cabinet, extracted the sherry and resisted the temptation to drink it straight down from the bottle. He was shaking so much that the neck of the bottle rattled like a cannonade against his sherry glass. He collapsed into his chair with a heartfelt sigh, raised his glass and gulped the revivifying liquid down with as little regard as though it had been water.
To his great amazement, the Henshall brothers had been very pleased to see him. Only an hour before, they had received a visit from a gentleman who had settled in full—and in cash—the debts of Princess Isabella Di Cassilis. There had been handshakes all round.
Mr. Churchward lay back in his chair as the sherry warmed his veins. He tried to make sense of the aspects of the case that puzzled him, which were practically all of them. Princess Isabella had given him to understand that her new husband was under lock and key and would remain so for the foreseeable future, yet when Churchward had arrived at the moneylenders’ he had discovered that the gentleman was not only at liberty but had already paid the princess’s debt.
He wondered why on earth Isabella had not told him her husband’s true identity.
He wondered what on earth Marcus Stockhaven, one of the richest men in the Ton, had been doing in the Fleet Prison.
And he wondered what the devil his two most noble clients were doing contracting an apparent marriage of convenience and then expecting him to arrange an annulment.
“Dear oh dear oh dear,” Mr. Churchward said unhappily, emptying the sherry bottle into his glass. A third glass of sherry was previously unknown