The Mysterious Miss Flint (Lost Ladies of London 1)

“Good God, that necklace was presented to my great-grandmother on her wedding day. Do you honestly believe my father would disrespect her memory in such a manner?”

Nicole squeezed his arm. “You must remain calm,” she whispered. “This problem cannot be solved by exchanging cross words.”

Having Nicole by his side, hearing her pearls of wisdom, soothed away his frustration. He’d never felt a kinship to a woman before. Though there was nothing brotherly about the way he craved her company. The ladies he’d bedded in the past were concerned with pleasure, with the prospect of receiving lavish gifts. Love was the only thing Nicole cared about, and he was beginning to see the value of such a prize.

He nodded to show his respect for her opinion and then handed the letter back to the solicitor. “And what is your view of the situation, Jameson? Did my father mention his mistress when you drew up the papers?”

“Your father discussed making provisions for the lady, that she would know to come to the office upon his death. That suggests that the Miss Flint seated before me is the lady mentioned in the will.” Mr Jameson shrugged and then sighed. “The document is also proof of intention, my lord. As is the necklace you, yourself, have confirmed once belonged to the estate.”

How could Oliver argue with the solicitor’s logic? He had no grounds to contest the evidence. “And so what do you intend to do?”

“I must grant in favour of Miss Flint.” He blinked rapidly and shook his head. “I speak of the lady able to provide evidence of her claim, not the one at your side.”

“Then I demand you do one thing.”

The lady snorted. “You are not in a position to make demands, my lord. Morton Manor is not entailed. What your father chose to do with the property is of no concern of yours.”

She appeared confident in her declaration, so confident that Oliver suspected this lady was indeed the rightful heir. Guilt flared. He’d dragged Nicole to Town on the understanding that he would help her take ownership of the manor.

The whole thing was a bloody debacle.

Rose was still missing — out in the world somewhere, lost and alone. Miss Flint was currently of no fixed abode, staying with a gentleman eager to ruin what was left of her fragile reputation. And his father was rejoicing from the grave, happy in the knowledge that because his son had refused to listen to him, his life was in a shambles.

“We should leave.” Nicole tugged discreetly on his arm. “There is nothing more we can do here.”

“No.” Oliver was determined to discover more about the woman who had the gall to wear his great-grandmother’s necklace. “I require proof of Miss Flint’s identity. Else I shall have no choice but to contest my father’s will.”

“Proof?” Jameson frowned. “Forgive me, my lord, but legally the document is the only proof needed. My hands are tied. I must abide by my client’s wishes and declare Miss Flint here beneficiary.” He gestured to the devil in the red bonnet.

“Then I must tell you that this is not the end of the matter,” he said as Nicole drew him towards the door. “The lady at my side is the rightful heir, and I shall do everything in my power to prove it is the case.”

Chapter Eleven

“We must visit Mr Wild as a matter of urgency.” Oliver climbed inside the carriage and dropped into the seat opposite.

Nicole had waited in the conveyance for ten minutes while he conducted a lengthy conversation with the clerk, Mr Andrews.

“Why? He has no influence over the claim.” She swallowed down the lump in her throat. “You heard what Mr Jameson said. You saw your father’s signature and seal on the document. There is nothing more we can do.”

A dull ache of disappointment filled her chest. In her heart, she’d always known there had been a mistake. Only a doddery old fool would leave a house to a person he hardly knew. And from what she’d learnt of the previous Earl of Stanton, he was not a man concerned with enriching the lives of his servants.

“Something is amiss here. I can sniff out treachery as a hound does a fox hole.” Oliver threw his hat on the seat, and it bounced onto the floor. “Where the hell have I seen that woman before?”

The lady appeared so comfortable in the role of mistress perhaps they’d had a dalliance. The fact he could not remember said little of his moral character. The fact that jealousy seared through Nicole's heart with its fiery blade was also telling.

“It’s possible you met each other whilst out in society,” she said ignoring the burning ache in her chest. “Although she seemed rather confident in her assertion that she’d never met you.”

Nicole had stood like a dimwit, frozen to the spot, while the earl and the other Miss Flint exchanged barbed words.

What was she supposed to do?

How could she argue for her right to a property when Miss Flint wasn’t even her name? Someone had deceived Oliver Darby. But it wasn’t the lady in the red dress and pearl necklace.

“She’s a money-hungry viper,” he snapped. “Don’t ask me how she got her hands on that document, or how in God’s name she knew to call herself Miss Flint.”

“Then you believe she’s a f-fraud?” Lord, had he heard the tremor in her voice. She was the only fraud, the only imposter.

“Of course.” He brushed the ebony lock back from his brow. “My father despised women who sought illicit liaisons out of wedlock. He might have taken another wife, but he’d never have taken a mistress.”