The Seduction of Mr. Yarnsby Read online

  At her mother’s right, given his elevated status, was the Duke of Torrington. On her mother’s left was her new son-in-law, William, Clara’s husband. Penelope and Thomas were seated across from Vivian, between William and Duchess Torrington.

  With there being five people on Vivian’s side of the table, she could scarcely move her arms without touching either of the men.

  The clinking of glasses brought everyone’s attention to her father, who welcomed the visitors and motioned for the servants to serve the meal.

  Once the meal was served, everyone began conversing. Vivian turned away from Mr. Yarnsby to speak to Mr. Jameson, but unfortunately, he had been pulled into a conversation with the duke and her mother.

  “Is it not wonderful that Tommy could join us tonight?” Penelope exclaimed, smiling brightly at her companion. Thomas Rutherford gave her and indulgent look, seeming pleased at her attention. He didn’t seem in the least enamored, but he looked on her as if appreciating a sister.

  “It seems your duties at Parliament have kept you away from us for much too long,” Vivian said. “Penelope does miss you horribly.”

  Her father cleared his throat. “It is important that Tommy become acquainted with the gentlemen of good station there. Do you agree, Mr. Yarnsby?”

  “I have little understanding of all the goings on at Parliament. I would imagine that anyone wishing to have a career in politics should apply themselves completely. Things seems to change constantly, depending on moods.”

  Clara chuckled with delight. “I do wonder at times what drives certain decisions.”

  Their father gave Clara a pointed look. “The running of our country is a serious matter.”

  Vivian huffed softly. “Does lawmaking not interest you Mr. Yarnsby?”

  “As it affects my businesses and my family’s estate, it has to.”

  “And yet you have no confidence in the system?”

  Tommy leaned forward. “If I may ask Mr. Yarnsby, have you attended any sessions to observe? You may find it enlightening.”

  “I have, in fact, and plan to attend several times in the upcoming weeks. Perhaps I will seek you out?”

  “If I may be of any assistance, do not hesitate.”

  “Tommy is not only a wonderful friend, but quite intelligent as well,” Vivian bragged.

  Her father nodded, looking to Duchess Torrington. “Tommy has been about our home since wearing short trousers. A very dear friend of the family. I must agree with Vivian; he is indeed most intelligent.”

  Tommy beamed at the compliments. He was a dear.

  “What of you, Miss Vivian, what takes your interests?” Yarnsby asked, his eyes locked with hers.

  “Currently, I have been helping Father in his research of the resocialization of those held prisoner or captured for long periods back into society. It is most fascinating.”

  “Where would one find these subjects to study? A stroll about the pier or the underbellies of London streets?”

  It was hard to tell if he made jest or was serious. Vivian tore her gaze from his and turned to her father. “Father, can you explain to Mr. Yarnsby where subjects for your current study are found?”

  Delighted to speak about his current subject, her father embarked on an explanation. Vivian snuck a look to her mother, who continuously scolded them about bringing the subject up.

  Thankfully, she was entertained by the duke, so she’d not noticed.

  A sharp kick made her look to Penelope, who motioned to Clara.

  Her sister had somehow turned the conversation away from captured people to Vivian. “Vivian is an avid birdwatcher and enjoys spending time with a group that splits their time between Hyde Park and excursions to the countryside.”

  She wanted to gawk at her sister. Hoping to find a new hobby, Vivian had joined a bird-watching group and attended their excursions only twice. The birdwatchers had turned out to be the most boring group of people she’d ever come across. Why was Clara bringing it up?

  “Then you must join me and Mr. Yarnsby next week,” Duchess Torrington exclaimed with a bright smile. “You will be enthralled at the wonderful assortment of birds often spotted around our estate. We have spied waxwings and fieldfares, and on occasion, even a chiffchaff.”

  Vivian had no idea what Duchess Torrington had just described; she knew little to nothing about birds. However, there was no way to get out of the invitation. She’d already agreed to go to her sister and William’s country home for the winter, and therefore she was now obliged to do whatever it was one did when birding.

  “I would be delighted. I am certain it will be enthralling.”

  Duchess Torrington looked to Yarnsby. Vivian forced her head to turn in his direction. “Alex, did you hear? Miss Vivian is fond of bird-watching.”

  Something about the way he studied her made Vivian shrink back. “I agree, you must absolutely join Aunt Theresa and myself.” Obviously, he considered Duchess Torrington his aunt, despite not being related.

  “Ah...yes, well, I will do my best.”

  Clara yelped when Vivian pinched her. She managed to cover it up with a soft laugh. “I am so thrilled that my sisters will be with me for at least part of the winter.”

  “I wasn’t aware you planned to leave for the season,” Mr. Jameson said. He looked perturbed, his brows lifted. “Was I wrong to presume you would be attending the New Year’s Gala with me?”

  For a moment Vivian was caught off guard by the annoyed tone. Had she agreed to attend the gala? The last time they’d spoken, he’d brought up so many topics, it made her head swim.

  “My family has been planning this for several weeks. I will not return until after the New Year, I’m afraid.”

  With a huff, he shook his head disapprovingly. “We will speak of it later.”

  “Do not be put out. There will be plenty of festivities after the New Year,” Vivian replied, feeling badly that she’d perhaps misled the poor man.

  Instead of a reply, he gave a one-shouldered shrug. At the gesture, Penelope rolled her eyes and turned to Tommy. “I wish you were going to the country with me.”

  Tommy tapped her sister’s hand. “My days of leisure are over for now. We have to forge separate lives now, poppet.”

  Penelope’s eyes bulged at the pet name usually reserved for when someone considered another childish or immature. Vivian coughed in an attempt to distract from the interaction.

  “I am not a poppet,” Penelope exclaimed. “Why did you call me that?”

  Used to his youngest daughter’s dramatics, their father stood. “If everyone would be so kind as to remove to the parlor now”—he motioned to the doors—“I believe my wife has some entertainment planned.”

  Once again, Mr. Jameson stood and assisted with her chair. When she turned away, Vivian found herself face-to-face with Mr. Yarnsby. His gaze lowered to her lips, then quickly darted away to Jameson.

  After a soft nod, he turned to escort Clara out of the room.

  Something was afoot, but Vivian could not put her finger on it. It was useless to try to get Penelope’s attention as she walked past on Tommy’s arm with her nose in the air. Tommy was apologizing profusely, although it was evident he wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong.

  “My mother calls me poppet at times,” he explained. Penelope glared at him.

  “May I have a word?” Mr. Jameson asked while pulling Vivian aside.

  She met his gaze. “Very well. Just for a moment. We cannot linger.”

  When his hand covered hers, Vivian wanted to pull it away. Of course, she’d known the man was interested in courting her, and at first she’d been agreeable to it. But the more she got to know Melvin Jameson, the more Vivian regretted ever accepting his company.

  There was something about him that gave her pause. At the same time, there wasn’t any cause for her to be reluctant. Melvin was from a good, established family and was well liked in society..

  Her father liked him, and even her cousin Todd, who disliked eve
ryone, often met with Melvin at the gentlemen’s club.

  “I had hoped to invite you to come to my house for supper—along with your parents, of course. I wish to formalize my desire to court—”

  “Vivian?” Clara appeared, her gaze moving from her to Mr. Jameson. “Ah, there you are. We cannot possibly commence without you.”

  With more force than called for, Vivian snatched her hands away from Mr. Jameson and practically ran past Clara into the parlor.

  Chapter 2

  Lady Yarnsby’s townhouse, London

  “It’s been much too long.” Lady Yarnsby neared and offered her cheeks for his kisses. “Alexander, dear, you must not stay away so long.”

  His mother, as always, preferred to remain in London. Woodhall, the family country estate, now sat empty when he was not there.

  The parlor in the townhouse had been recently redecorated, as it was totally different than when he’d been there just two months earlier.

  “You have been away and did not tell me where,” he reminded her.

  “Didn’t I?” Her lack of consternation, unfortunately, was familiar. “Tell me how your Christmas was.”

  In truth, he did not blame his mother for keeping the conversation like that of two acquaintances. They’d never been close. No sooner was he able to speak and walk had his mother spirited him away from one boarding school to another.

  When he was about ten, the Duke and Duchess Torrington had come to the school to present everyone with gifts. William had introduced him as his best friend, and Duchess Torrington had been shocked to learn he would spend the holidays alone at the school. She’d insisted he come to their estate. From then on, Alexander had spent every holiday with them and eventually, upon leaving boarding school, had moved in with the Torringtons.

  Alexander gave his mother an indulgent smile. “I spent the holiday with my aunt and uncle at the Humphries home. Do you know them?”

  “The actuary?” His mother nodded. “Yes, I do. The occasions I’ve been around Sarah Humphries were pleasing. She is a delightful woman. But Alexander”—his mother gave him a pointed look—“I certainly hope you do not plan to court one of her daughters. They are beneath our social stature.”

  “William married the eldest.”

  “So I have heard. The Torringtons have never maintained society’s standards. The duke shuns his social obligations regularly.”

  He waited patiently as she continued to tell him of the reasons he should remain in London and take the title his father had left.

  “Taking on the lordship will afford you many privileges. I do not understand your hesitance. I must inform you that I find it most irresponsible.”

  Henrietta, his mother’s companion for many years, entered with a tray and poured tea, giving him a knowing look. The woman had infinite patience for his mother and over the years had often been his cohort when he’d needed his mother’s attention.

  Taking advantage of his mother’s distraction from the subject of the title, Alexander stirred his tea. “Mother, I have been meeting for months now, with a number of actuaries about Father’s estate. It seems there are several accounts in London banks our family actuary, Mr. Barnes, was not aware of,” he said. “It is very puzzling.”

  “I am not surprised,” his mother said, her tone bitter. “Your father had many secrets. Some of which I would rather not know or let them be known.”

  “You are aware of more than you are telling me. I need to know what you suspect. Otherwise, father’s estate transactions and such will take longer to complete.”

  “Close the accounts. Take the money. I have plenty and do not require more. Just be done with the dreadful business. Even in his death, your father is being difficult.”

  If Lady Yarnsby was distant, his father was the opposite. Not in a good way. He had constantly berated Alexander, demanding that he broker questionable business transactions. Being that Alexander had the ear of many in high social positions, his father had often demanded he use it to his advantage.

  Lord Reginald Yarnsby had been quite wealthy. According to rumors, his fortune had accumulated in criminal fashion. Nonetheless, perhaps out of fear, his father had been a constant presence at many state functions.

  “I prefer to get to the bottom of it and ensure restorations are made where they need to be.”

  His mother sighed dramatically. “Your penchant for honorability could very well be your undoing.” She met his gaze, her hazel eyes matching his own. “Tread with care.”

  When she looked to the doorway, it was his signal that their time together was over.

  The steps down to where his hired carriage awaited seemed steeper. It was as if he carried a weighted burden upon his shoulders. Not unusual after visits with his mother, who’d announced that she herself was considering marriage just as he was about to leave.

  Lord Winthrop, an elderly man who attended every single social event, always wearing the most outlandish cravats, was the man in question.

  Alex sat back into the soft seat of the carriage after directing the driver to take him to an address he’d been given.

  Minutes later, he ascended, stepping carefully onto the frozen cobblestoned surface. He looked up and down the street, noting that although there were several shingles hanging from doorways, it was a questionable part of town.

  The door he went to did not display a shingle over it. The solid door absorbed the sound of his raps.

  “Enter,” a masculine voice called.

  Behind a desk piled high with paper sat a man he could only describe as odd. Keen eyes framed by round spectacles met his. “Mr. Yarnsby, I presume.”

  With narrow shoulders, a rather large head, and a squeaky voice, investigator Barnaby Jeffers reminded Alexander of a storybook character. How the man could possibly excel in his line of work was curious.

  “I have reviewed your case,” Mr. Jeffers began. “It is quite fascinating.”

  “I was told by a mutual acquaintance that you find out things no one else can,” Alex said, looking around the messy space. “I am hopeful.”

  The man’s thin lips curved. “It is true. Someone like me is not looked upon as a threat, so I am often ignored. I use it to my advantage.”

  “Do you have information already?” Alex asked, his pulse quickening. His father had claimed to be on the brink of something big before dying. Either great or devastating, Alex wasn’t sure. Whatever it was had brought on the series of events leading to his death.

  “There is a dress shop on Sackville Street, near St. James Square. It is called Belle Monde.” The man met his gaze. “The proprietors have been asking questions and doing their own investigation into you and your mother. They have approached a bank, demanding the monies within that were allegedly left to them.”

  “Who are they?”

  Jeffers shook his head. “A brother and sister, Jasper and Bettina d’Arques-Yarnsby. I’ve not been able to substantiate if that is truly their last name. I require more time, Mr. Yarnsby.”

  “Of course.” Alex considered for a moment what his next step would be. “Perhaps I should pay them a call.”

  “It would hinder my investigation. I will ask that you look into the bank on this note.” He slid a piece of paper across the only clean space on the desktop. “Your father has an account there. The d’Arqueses were able to withdraw some funds, but the banker became suspicious and refused to give them more than the minimal amount.”

  “If their name is on the account, why would the banker not release more money?”

  Jeffers shrugged. “Because they usually presented notes signed by your father. Now with the lord’s death, the bank is being cautious.”

  Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be able to visit either the dress shop or the bank until after the holidays, so he directed the coachman to take him to the coffeeshop he and William often frequented.

  As per usual, the interior bustled with activity. It was a common meeting place for many Londoners. It was also a place where o
ne could sit and discuss whatever one wished without having to worry about high society’s ears.

  Outside, street vendors called out to passersby, as many women with baskets on their arms stopped to shop for the offerings. It was London at its nosiest, the stark opposite of his normal country life.

  “Alexander,” William Torrington called him over to where he sat with Todd Humphries, his wife’s cousin.

  He greeted the men and settled into a chair.

  “How did your meeting go?” William inquired.

  “It seems there is another account.” He handed the note the inspector had given him to Todd.

  Todd, an actuary, had been hired by Alex to help solve the puzzle that was his father’s estate. Although a bit younger than both he and William, Todd was astute and already building a reputation for his ability to keep amazingly accurate records.

  “Interesting. That makes five,” Todd commented. “Your father had amassed quite a fortune.”

  “Why so many banks?” Alex asked. “And why did he not leave any kind of document that would divulge the information?”

  Todd met his gaze for a moment. “What is to say that he did not?”

  “When his Last Will and Testament was read, all that was disclosed was the townhouse he left for my mother in London, the estate in the country, where I live, and two bank accounts. A specific amount was left to my mother that will allow her to live out her life comfortably. The rest of the estate and his businesses were left to me. There was no mention whatsoever of the other three bank accounts.”

  “Or of another family,” Todd added.

  “It is all very strange,” William commented. “There was that bit about you taking over his business.”

  With a dry chuckle, Alex shook his head. “In an office that consists of a desk and account ledgers, every entry with a code that means nothing to me.”

  A woman neared and placed a cup of tea with cream in front of him, then quickly walked away. “I’d hoped to order toast,” Alexander said, peering down at his tea. “I’m hungry.”