Chapter One
“What the hell do you mean? You must know where she is.” Oliver Darby, fourth Earl of Stanton, rounded the solid oak desk, grabbed the solicitor by the flimsy lapels of his coat and shook him. “Wickedness is in the blood. My father is dead and buried, but I am very much alive. Now tell me where he sent her.”
“The … the late earl made no mention of it in his will, my lord.” The man’s neat white periwig slipped down to cover one eye. “Perhaps Lady Rose went to stay with an aunt.”
“Lies, I can deal with. Stupidity, I cannot.” Oliver released the pathetic creature, and he tumbled back into the chair. “We have no other kin, and you damn well know it.”
Mr Wild straightened his wig. “What about your sister’s godmother, Lady Stewart?”
“Neither of us have seen Lady Stewart since our mother died. Our father forbade any contact.” Oliver’s tone conveyed more than contempt for his father’s controlling manner. “And according to the housekeeper, no one has seen my sister for six months or more. I think that's a little long for a visit, don’t you?”
“My lord, I don’t know what else to suggest.” Mr Wild winced as though expecting another volatile outburst. “I assume you have questioned the staff.”
Questioned them? Oliver had torn the house apart to find answers.
He’d interrogated the servants until they confessed to all manner of misdemeanours. The footman’s dalliance with the maid was hardly surprising. The housekeeper’s deception over the price of a bottle of brandy proved more so. Mrs Baker’s brother was the proprietor of a liquor establishment. Any extra funds gained from the forged bills were passed to the housekeeper to purchase candles, since his father had reduced the household budget.
Despite hours of prodding and probing, none of the servants knew what had happened to Rose. Most presumed she was visiting friends in the country even though she’d left without her maid.
A sense of foreboding gripped him.
“I want a detailed breakdown of my father’s … of my assets,” Oliver corrected. “A list of all land owned regardless of how small the plot.” An image of a shallow grave entered his mind, and he cursed under his breath. Surely the bastard wasn’t cruel enough to do away with his own daughter simply to spite his rebellious son? “I want a list of all property owned outright, and any bought in partnership. Include all buildings rented by tenants.”
Had rational thought abandoned him?
Perhaps Rose had eloped and decided to break all contact with her family. Based on their father’s possessive nature no one would blame her. Perhaps she would breeze into the dining room this evening with rosy cheeks and a bright smile and regale tales of time spent in Brighton?
The painful knot in his stomach said otherwise. Rose had failed to attend the funeral, failed to appear to hear the solicitor read the will.
Mr Wild coughed. “I’m afraid I have a three o’clock appointment, my lord, and couldn’t possibly assist you today. But I can prepare the papers tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow!” An innocent young woman was missing. And it was Oliver’s fault for leaving her in the care of a brute. Panic came in the form of a hard lump in his throat. “You’ll give me what I want now else I’ll empty every damn drawer myself.”
Mr Wild loosened the collar of his shirt and fanned his face. “My lord—”
“Now, Mr Wild!”
The man stood, though there was doubt as to whether his legs would support his weight. He scurried out into the hall and called Mr Andrews, the clerk.
While the two men ferreted about in drawers and cabinets, piling papers and files on top of the desk, Oliver contemplated the part he’d played in neglecting his sister.
The day his father insisted he marry Lady Melissa Martin, the most arrogant, conceited debutante ever to grace a ballroom, was the day he left Stanton House and the fog-drenched streets of London behind. His escape took him as far afield as Naples until his father cut him off without a penny. But Oliver was nothing if not resourceful. He’d always excelled at cards and had stumbled upon many a wealthy, drunken sot eager to part with his purse.
“I think that’s the lot.” Mr Andrews pushed his spectacles up to the bridge of his nose. “Do you need any further assistance, Mr Wild?”
“No, Andrews, that will be all.”
“Wait.” Oliver gestured to the mountain of paper. “I want a single list of all land and property. If Mr Wild has no objection, you may take notes.” Oliver raised a brow and stared down his nose at the agitated solicitor. “And lock the front door. Unfortunately, Mr Wild cannot make his three o’clock appointment.”
Arrogance was a trait Oliver despised. As was using one’s position to control and manipulate people. But Rose was missing, hidden away in some godforsaken place so his father could punish him from beyond the grave.