Page 27 of The Duke’s Hidden Runaway Bride

Adrian had always known his mother was fond of Markham. Crispin’s mother had been a particular friend of hers, and the Marchioness had encouraged Adrian to befriend him. She had welcomed him at Calder Hall during school and university holidays. She indulged him, defended him, and considered his charm proof of a good heart.

Poor Crispin is much tried by this wretched business of his runaway bride, she wrote, and bears it with remarkable spirit. You must be kind to him when you return, Adrian. He has always counted upon your friendship.

Adrian stopped reading.

Opposing Markham would not cost only money. His mother would see it as betrayal. She would demand explanations Adrian could not give without exposing Ophelia. She would insist that Crispin had been wronged, that the James family had deceived him, and that Adrian owed loyalty to a man who had sat at their table since boyhood.

For most of his life, Adrian had avoided displeasing his mother by arranging not to be present when she wished to be obeyed.

There would be no running from this disagreement.

He read on.

Between the soprano and the pineapples, his mother delivered the news that changed the shape of everything.

Crispin tells me he is resolved to have the law on them now, not the breach of promise merely but the father’s business as well. His lawyers assure him there are claims arising from the articles and from representations made concerning the settlement. He means to recover every farthing the match has cost him. I own I think it a great deal of trouble and dirty linen to wash in public, but Crispin is past listening to reason and will have his pound of flesh.

Adrian set down the letter.

So it had begun.

While they had been binding mistletoe, tending a sick child, and pretending the thaw might never come, Markham had been setting the law in motion. Ophelia could remain hidden in Wales for years and it would not protect Josiah James. He might well lose everything if the courts found in Markham’s favour, and Markham was a viscount, with friends who very likely would be sitting in judgement in those courts.

Ophelia would understand that immediately.

She would blame herself. And perhaps make a decision that would save her father, but doom her to a life of utter misery.

He absolutely could not allow that to happen.

Adrian went to the writing table and pulled a sheet of paper towards him.

He began a letter to his man of business, Mr. Soane.

Ascertain, with the utmost discretion, the present state of Lord Markham’s debts and the names of the principal holders of them…

Adrian stopped.

Even an inquiry carried risk. Questions could be noticed. Markham might hear that someone was looking into his affairs and move more quickly against Josiah. More than that, Adrian was taking the first step in a plan Ophelia had not seen and might not want.

He laid down the pen.

The old Adrian would have told himself that concealment was kindness. He would have spared Ophelia the news, made every choice over her head, and presented the result as a charming surprise if he succeeded.

That was what her father had done. It was what Markham had done.

Adrian folded the unfinished letter to Soane and placed it inside his coat. Then he took up his mother’s.

He found Ophelia in the great hall, seated at the long table with Mrs. Probert, sorting the household linen. Lady Elise was directing the removal of greenery that had begun to drop dry leaves and berries onto every surface, while Bronwen swept up after it and Miss Pettibone argued that the kissing bough ought to remain until spring, or at least until the last mistletoe berry had been plucked.

Ophelia looked up when Adrian entered.

Whatever she saw in his face made her set aside the linen.

He lifted the letter slightly.

“News from London,” he said.

She went still.