The Duke Married Her for Money and Planned to Keep His Distance—But Six Hours After Their Wedding, His “Gentle” Bride Fought Three Armed Highwaymen to Protect Him, and He Realized He Could No Longer Imagine a Life Without Her

 PART 4

Gareth crossed the room and took the settlement from her. She pointed to the passage, neat and legal: should Varity Crowley Rookmir die childless within five years, certain Crowley holdings passed — not back to her father — but into Rookmir control.

Gareth felt cold. “I did not agree to this.”

“I believe you.”

The speed of her trust struck him. “Why?”

“Because if you wanted my land after my death, you would not look as if you had swallowed a nail. A precise test. Useful in marriage.”

He almost answered. Then he saw the second page — the witness line. Lord Davin Croft. His cousin.

Gareth had trusted Davin Croft with the negotiations while he managed a tenant fever outbreak near the coast. Davin was charming, idle, and always in debt. He also expected to inherit if Gareth died without issue.

Varity followed his gaze. “Who is Davin Croft?”

“My cousin.”

“Do you trust him?”

Gareth thought of Davin’s easy smile, his expensive waistcoats, his habit of arriving after the work was done.

“Less than I did one minute ago.”

“Good progress.”

He rang for the butler and ordered Davin found. Davin was not at the house. He had ridden out before dawn, supposedly to inspect the south covert. No one had seen him since.

The magistrate arrived by noon. The three thugs repeated the old mill story. Pel tried to deny everything until Varity entered the tack room to ask whether his wrist required more vinegar cloth. He remembered several details at once.

The magistrate, Mr. Arlo, listened with professional gloom. “A family matter, Your Grace.”

“An attempted assault,” Gareth said. “Possibly linked to settlement fraud.”

“Possibly. Until proven.”

Varity looked at the magistrate. “Does the law often wait until people are dead to become certain?”

Mr. Arlo blinked.

“The Duchess asked you a question,” Gareth said.

The magistrate flushed. “It prefers evidence.”

“So do I,” said Varity. “Let us find some, while I am still inconveniently alive.”

Mr. Arlo wrote that down. Gareth hoped he did not include inconveniently alive as an official phrase.

The search of Davin’s room found nothing useful: unpaid tailor’s bills, a French novel under a prayer book, and a list of racehorses, all chosen badly. Lady Ma was scandalized by the novel. Varity was more concerned by the prayer book.

“No one hides interesting things under books people actually open,” she said.

Gareth stared at her. “What?”

“Your childhood must have been unusual.”

“I had sisters. That explains the survival instinct.”

Davin returned near dusk — smiling, damp, and lying before he removed his gloves.

“Gareth, my dear fellow. What dramatic weather. And my new cousin!” He bowed over Varity’s hand. “You have made the county ring with admiration.”

Varity withdrew her fingers at once. “How kind.”

Davin’s smile sharpened. “I hear you are formidable.”

“Only when underfed.”

“Then we must keep you full.”

Gareth disliked the way Davin looked at her. Not desire, exactly. Calculation wrapped in charm.

“Where were you?” Gareth asked.

“South covert. All day. I became lost in thought.”

“Davin. Must I account for every puddle?”

Varity said only, “The ones near Howwick Mill.”

Davin’s eyes flickered — only slightly, but Gareth noticed.

Gareth saw it because he was watching Varity watch him. Howwick.

“Howwick,” Davin repeated with a laugh. “A dismal place. Why mention it?”

“Because dismal places are where people hire thugs,” Varity said.

Lady Ma made a small noise. Davin’s smile returned too late.

“My dear Duchess. What a direct imagination.”

“It saves time.”

He turned to Gareth. “You cannot suspect me.”

“Cannot? Should not? Different word.”

“Gareth. I stood with you at the altar.”

“That would be excellent timing — if you wished to know our route.”

Davin looked wounded. He did wounded beautifully. It had worked on creditors, widows, and Lady Ma’s purse. It did not work on Varity.

“Show him the settlement clause,” she said.

Davin’s face blanked — only for a second. Then outrage arrived, polished and loud. “What clause?”

Gareth handed him the paper. Davin read it. “I have never seen this.”

“Your signature appears below it.”

“Forged. Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

“Gareth. This is monstrous.”

Varity stepped closer. “Yes. It is.”

Davin’s eyes slid to her. The dislike there was naked for one moment. Then it dressed itself.

“Your Grace, I am sure this has frightened you. A bride should not spend her first day among papers and ruffians.”

“I agree,” Varity said. “I had hoped for better cake.”

Gareth coughed. Lady Ma whispered, “The almond cake was dry.”

By nightfall, Davin had retired to his room under offended innocence. Gareth placed a groom outside the door. Davin objected. Gareth ignored him.

Varity asked for the household account books.

“Why?” Gareth said.

“Because someone paid men. Someone expected land. Someone wrote one settlement while showing you another. That requires money, paper, and confidence.”

“I have stewards.”

“You also had attackers.”

They worked until midnight. The accounts did not confess at once. Accounts rarely did. They shuffled, disguised, repeated, and pretended ink made lies respectable.

Gareth followed estate rents. Varity followed household expenditure. Lady Ma came in once to scold them both, and stayed after noticing an entry for six pounds of lavender soap charged to the stables.

“Horses do not require lavender,” she said.

“Davin does,” Gareth muttered.

Varity pointed at the page. “Who is Mrs. Null?”

Gareth leaned closer. “A tenant widow near the west boundary. She received three payments last month. Charity allowance. In cash.”

“Sometimes the signature changes,” Lady Ma said, putting on her spectacles. “That is not Mrs. Null’s mark.”

Gareth sat very still.

Varity turned another page. “And here — payment for repairs to Howwick Mill.”

“There were no repairs.”

“Someone repaired something,” Varity said. “Or paid for a meeting there.”

Lady Ma looked delighted and horrified. “Are we detecting?”

“No,” said Gareth.

“A little,” said Varity.

Lady Ma sat down fully. “I knew this marriage would improve the house.”

By one in the morning they had enough to question the steward. Mr. Lauren arrived in a dressing gown — grey hair, dignity wounded. He denied fraud for exactly eight minutes. Then Varity asked why a man repairing a mill had charged for lavender soap and two ladies’ gloves.

Mr. Lauren sat down and requested water.