For almost a full two hours, Sophie managed to resist the temptation to rifle through his desk. Considering that he hadn’t even bothered to send a note explaining his absence from their scheduled meeting, she felt her restraint was commendable.
She had been waiting patiently in the study since noon, eating, drinking, making mental lists of questions she meant to ask, and finally walking aimlessly about the room. Well, perhaps not entirely aimlessly, her path had taken her around the back side of the desk with a regularity that perhaps exceeded coincidence.
Twice she had even stopped to finger a small cast-iron paperweight. On her fourth pass, when she realized she was inspecting the object to such extent as to move it completely off the pile of papers it was meant to anchor, and was even now letting her eyes scan those papers, she gave up all pretense at casual interest and begin digging through the desk in earnest.
Her search brought up nothing more enlightening than a rather disturbing personal correspondence that Sophie could only imagine was from his mistress, and two locked desk drawers which were, by their very nature, very interesting indeed.
Eleven
What. Is. This?”
Sophie had never been known for her consistent temperament, but she was quite sure she had never been so angry in her entire life. She was equally certain that her cousin was contemplating that possibility. He was standing in the doorway with his mouth agape, his eyes alternately darting between the papers she was holding and her furious expression.
He started to stutter, then sweat, then swear.
Sophie shot up from her seat behind the desk. “Answer me!” Her fist came down hard on the desk and a nervous footman appeared at the door.
“Er, begging your pardon. Is everything—?”
Loudor seemed to take strength from the appearance of an underling. “Quite all right, man, quite all right.” He waved dismissively, but the footman waited for a nod from Sophie before leaving.
Having regained some of his composure, Loudor turned a patronizing expression on his cousin. “Now, Sophie, dear, calm yourself. I can explain everything and you’re creating an embarrassing scene.”
Sophie resisted the urge to find the heaviest object in reach—the cast-iron paperweight looked like it might do— and toss it squarely at his head. Reminding herself that it might prove difficult to obtain answers from an unconscious man, she drew a deep breath and sat down with rigid composure.
Loudor looked relieved. “That’s better, isn’t it? No good working yourself up, you’ll only make yourself ill.”
Of course if she aimed for his knees…
“I’m hale and hearty,” Sophie bit off, hoping conversation would distract her from her more violent inclinations. “As is my father. So explain to me why I am holding a document that claims otherwise.”
Loudor cleared his throat. “I was only doing what I felt was best—”
“For whom?” Sophie demanded. “Not for me, and certainly not for my father! You’ve stolen from us! How could you? You’re family!”
“Now, Sophie—”
“Do not patronize me. You’ve been taking bits and pieces of my father’s estate for years. Whittling away our lands and funds with these.” Sophie waved the handful of paper in the air. “There are eight of them! Eight! Eight times you’ve defiled my father’s character! ‘Unstable,’” she cried, slamming one of the papers against the desktop. “‘Infirm’!” Another piece followed. “‘Unbalanced’!” And another. “‘Unsound’!” She threw the rest in his direction with disgust and grabbed another paper from the desk. “And this! A legal marriage to a gentleman of good character by my twenty-fifth birthday or you receive the deed to Whitefield? You’re nothing but a common thief!”
Loudor’s expression turned dark. If Sophie hadn’t been so angry, she might have been frightened, but her vision was significantly skewed by fury.
“Now see here, cousin,” Loudor sneered, jabbing his finger in her general direction. “You may call me any name you please, but those transfers are legal and binding. The courts granted me full control over your father’s income.”
“Through deceit, which I intend to bring to light!”
Loudor snorted and dropped his finger. “You may try, but those documents will hold up in any court of law. They’re signed by some of the most respected men of—”
“Who have not laid eyes on my father in over a de cade, if they’ve ever met him at all! They’re false witnesses, they have no proof—”
“Ah.”
Something about the patently false smile on Loudor’s face gave Sophie pause.
“Ah what?”
“Proof, my dear girl, proof.” Loudor strode over to a brown overstuffed chair and sprawled out comfortably. “‘Fraid I have it. The letters, you see….’”
“What letters?” she ground out.
“The letters from the good viscount, your father, of course. Most incoherent, very troubling to his friends and family.”
There was thick silence before Sophie realized what Loudor was saying. “You forged letters from my father,” she whispered in horrified disbelief.