Page 16 of A Scandal at Stonecliffe

CHAPTER SIX

“YOU LIE!” Nathan exclaimed. He had gone white around the lips, and his hands clenched. Verity had never seen him look or sound so fierce.

“I do not,” Malcolm shot back. “I’m speaking nothing but the truth.” He took a step forward, his hands doubling into fists, as well.

Wonderful. That was just what she needed—two men brawling in her parlor. She would have to be the one to break it up. And in this pretty new frock, too.

“Gentlemen, please,” Verity said, stepping between the men and calling up her best imitation of Lady Lockwood’s daughter, Adeline, whose gentle, sweet manner she had studied a few months ago when she was staying at Stonecliffe. If that failed, Verity would have to resort to her imitation of Lady Lockwood herself—which was, when one thought about it, a role she was more adept at playing. “We need to look at this calmly, with courtesy and thoughtfulness. Like the gentlemen you are.”

Both men relaxed a trifle, though neither looked particularly pleased with the idea. “Let’s sit down,” she suggested, gesturing toward the sofa and the chair that sat across from it, several feet away. She took her seat in the chair between them.

“Now.” Verity turned to Malcolm, resuming her own demeanor. “Mr. Douglas—” She held up a hand as if to stop him. “For the moment, I will call you that, for I have no way of knowing whether you are telling the truth. Do you have any proof that George Dunbridge married your mother?”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your concern,” Douglas said irritably and looked over at Nathan.

“Mrs. Billingham is here because I value her advice,” Nathan said in a tone that brooked no argument. “And I promise you that we can both rely on her utmost discretion.”

Malcolm looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged. “If this is the way you want to handle it, then...my parents were married here in London at Saint Agatha’s. The church will have the records of it. July 29, 1787.”

Verity glanced at Nathan. It was clear from his face that he was stunned. However little Douglas wanted to talk to her, she had to take the lead in questioning him.

“I’m a mite confused,” Verity said. “You seem Scottish. I assume your mother is Scottish, as well. How did she and Mr. Dunbridge come to know each other? Was she living in London then?”

Fortunately, Malcolm seemed to have given up his resistance to Verity’s inclusion in the conversation. He simply shook his head and said, “Nay. She’s a Scot—Margaret Douglas, a respectable girl from a good family. It was Dunbridge who came to Scotland. He met her when he was spending the summer visiting one of his friends. They fell in love and married.”

“But surely the wedding would have been in Scotland, where they were, rather than in London.” Verity adopted an innocent frown of puzzlement.

“They eloped. My grandparents were dead set against the marriage,” Malcolm explained. “My mother was young and the Douglases dinnae like the English, so they went as fast and far away as they could.” He looked at Nathan. “I know this is a shock to you, and I am sorry to lay this problem in your lap. But I’ll not forego my heritage.”

“What is it you want, Douglas?” Nathan rose from his chair.

“My birthright.” Malcolm stood up to face him. “I’m a reasonable man, as I believe you are, too. I am only asking for what’s right and fair. No doubt you need time to think it over, so I’ll take my leave of you now. We’ll discuss this matter further another day. Good day.” Malcolm gave them a sharp nod of farewell, then turned and left the house.

“Well.” Verity left her chair and went to Nathan. “That wasn’t what I expected.”

“It rather took me by surprise, as well.” Nathan still didn’t look quite like himself, but the stunned expression had vanished. “I thought that he would make some claim of illegitimacy and ask for money to keep him silent. Not that he would try to take my...well, everything. Even my name.” He stood up and began to pace. “Not that it would do him much good, given that the estate is mortgaged to the hilt, and the rents barely keep our heads above water.”

“That was a bit of a miscalculation on his part.”

Nathan set his jaw, his expression stony. “I cannot believe it of my father. To have wed my mother, knowing that he already had a wife—no, it’s impossible. Not just because he would not have committed bigamy. He would never have done such a thing to my mother. He loved her, I’d swear that on anything you like.” His expression changed from belligerent to worried. “Mother will be devastated if this is true.”

“If it’s true. All we have is this man’s word. I think he’s a charlatan.”

“He seemed sincere to me. Insulted even, that we thought him illegitimate.”

“I’ll admit that he is good at lying,” Verity told Nathan. “But he’s not telling the truth.”

“How can you tell?”

“His story sounded rehearsed to me. His answers were too quick, as if he’d thought up all the responses to any possible questions beforehand and memorized them. And there was just something in his manner, in the way he watched you. I was the one questioning him, but he kept looking at you. Judging your response. He wanted to see how rattled you were.”

Nathan let out a little huff of a laugh. “Well, I am rattled by him. He seemed very confident to me—giving us the name of the church and the date. Surely he must know we’ll check it.”

“That’s exactly what I plan to do, and I suspect we’ll find no record of the marriage. But that doesn’t prove that they hadn’t married. He could claim the record had been lost or perhaps he’d got the church wrong.”

Nathan hesitated for a moment, then said, “The thing is, my father apparently did spend the summer in Scotland a time or two when he was young, according to Sloane’s father. Marcus said George had a friend who owned a lodge up there.”

Verity shrugged. “I think someone could find that out without too much trouble. Maybe Douglas grew up in the village where the lodge is and heard that George Dunbridge used to visit there, then decided to put that knowledge to use and wove this fanciful story. Why did he wait so long to inform you that he was the heir? Given the date of the marriage, I would think that he’s at least a year older than you. Indeed, he looked older than that to me. Why would he go along, content with being Malcolm Douglas, making no effort to find you until he was thirty-four or -five?”