Charlotte Louise Dolan Read Online Free PDF

Jennings escorted her to the door. “Really, I do not think Lord Wylington and Lord Anthony are beyond salvaging. They have such angelic smiles, I am sure they must also have good hearts. If only they could be completely removed from the influence of the baron, then perhaps they might be more willing to follow the model of their dear uncle, who is in every way the perfect gentleman.”
    The woman was a complete ninny, Anne decided while walking at a brisk pace back to her lodgings. A useful source of information, to be sure, but Miss Jennings’s ability to evaluate other people’s character was woefully deficient.
    Which was adequate reason for Anne to resolve then and there to be especially wary when confronted by two “angelic smiles.”
    * * * *
    “The expenditures are a bit high, but well within normal bounds. I cannot see any discrepancies in the accounts that would tend to support your suspicions that Mr. Trussell is playing ducks and drakes with your wards’ money. If you perhaps had some evidence?”
    Bronson Roebuck, Lord Leatham, regarded his solicitor, Mr. Johnston, through half-closed eyes. Evidence? Did the man take Creighton Trussell for such a fool that he would leave signed documents lying around stating that he was embezzling money from the Wylington estate? Indeed, it was a lucky thing George Morrough, one of his late father’s old cronies, had felt it his responsibility to drop a word in Bronson’s ear about Trussell’s activities.
    “My wards’ uncle has been spending money on his wardrobe and his mistress at a rate that patently exceeds his funds.”
    “But my dear Lord Leatham, surely you know there are any number of ways a gentleman can augment his income. Mr. Trussell may have won large sums at cards, for example, or speculated successfully on ‘Change, or even borrowed from a cent-per-cent, which while certainly unwise, is not at all illegal. And I must point out, the estate books are fully in order.”
    “To be sure, such things are possible.” Except of course, for the fact that the Bow Street runner Morrough had recommended had easily discovered that Creighton, rather than winning the required sums, had been steadily losing money on the horses and at cards—a great deal of money, in fact.
    Would the solicitor evince more interest if he learned that the runner had not been able to locate any money-lender who had had dealings with Trussell? Would the solicitor merely find more excuses if he were told the extreme lengths Trussell had gone to hide the fact that he was the owner of the lease on that little house in Mayfair presently occupied by the latest redhead beauty to grace the ranks of opera dancers at Covent Gardens?
    More than likely, Mr. Johnston would interpret Trussell’s furtive actions as being merely the discretion of a prudent man. Solicitors, it would seem, were not trained to operate on suspicions. They required positive evidence.
    It was little consolation for Bronson to consider that he himself would have been dead on more than a dozen occasions in foreign lands if he had not taken action quickly and efficiently, when the said action was supported by nothing more than the flimsiest of suspicions.
    But if evidence was required in Merrie Olde England, then evidence would be found. Bronson rose to his feet.
    The solicitor hurried around his desk to open the door for him. “And you will, of course, leave a copy of your itinerary with my clerk? So we will know where to forward such papers as require your signature?”
    “My departure plans are as yet uncertain. It may be necessary to postpone my trip for a few weeks. As soon as I have finished my business in London, I will personally inspect the situation at Wylington Manor.”
    Lord Leatham’s smile was quite feral, and Mr. Johnston could not quite suppress a shudder at the sight of what was little more than bared fangs. If Creighton Trussell was indeed embezzling funds from the estate, then the good Lord have mercy