Marblestone Mansion, Book 4

  Marblestone Mansion

  Book 4

  (Scandalous Duchess Series)

  By

  Marti Talbott

  © all rights reserved

  Cover art by Book Cover Art

  Editor: Frankie Sutton

  Table of Contents

  More Marti Talbott Books

  CHAPTER 1

  London Solicitor, John Crisp, was an elder man with graying hair and a square face. He kept a modest office not far from the town’s more elite law offices and had a respectable clientele. More often than not, his cases involved an upset husband’s nasty divorce petition, a property dispute or a corrupt business owner, of which there were more than enough to keep his funds coming in. His cases had become boring at best, and even more so as he got on in years.

  That is, until the case of Alexandra Sinclair fell right in his lap. Alexandra’s husband charged her with bigamy and it was quite true. Unbeknownst to Mr. Sinclair, she had not two husbands, but five - the wealthiest of which were two very powerful men who wished the world never to know about her. Crisp understood how such a thing could happen – Alexandra was possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had a perfect figure, impeccable manners when she felt like exhibiting them, delicate features, dark hair, and fascinating blue eyes. What man could resist her? What man would even try?

  Through a series of what Crisp thought were brilliant moves, Mr. Sinclair was persuaded to claim they had arrested the wrong woman and Alexandra was set free. By another stroke of genius, Crisp decided to write a tell-all book about Alexandra, using real names with the hope of making considerable money for his retirement. Yet, to cause a scandal of such magnitude in London was somewhat dangerous, and Crisp was already making plans to flee to Australia as soon as he received the first royalty payment - sooner, if necessary.

  The danger, of course, involved Lord Bayington, who was not the only notable on Alexandra’s list of husbands. It also included Hannish MacGreagor, who at the time was the Duke of Glenartair. After Alexandra married him, Hannish MacGreagor moved to America and bestowed his title on his brother, Cameron. Bayington, put together with the powerful MacGreagor brothers, would give any man about to name them in a shocking book, reason to pause.

  Possible retributions notwithstanding, he persevered until the day his manuscript was finally finished. At last, Crisp instructed his secretary, Moan, to send his completed manuscript to the publisher. Overjoyed and quite pleased with himself, the solicitor left his office and went off to celebrate in the nearest pub. The whole world was about to hear from him and he couldn’t have been more excited.

  John Crisp celebrated far too well that night, and it was not until late the next morning that he realized Moan had not come to work. He grumbled his discontent, grabbed his coat, and went back out into the chilly morning. He hired a carriage to take him to the secretary’s aging cottage, where he intended to threaten - in the harshest of terms, to fire Moan. Yet, when he knocked on the door and it slowly swung open, what he found inside was a cottage void of both people and belongings.

  Moan and his family were inexplicably gone.

  *

  Four days later, and with no secretary in Crisp’s outer office to prevent it, Lord Edward Bayington walked right in and boldly stood in the center of the inner office. Crisp instantly recognized the clean-shaven, prematurely balding man with green eyes. Not too long ago, and on Alexandra’s behalf, Crisp went to the Bayington estate and practically threatened blackmail. All that, had long since been forgotten, or so the solicitor believed. Nothing came of it and for the life of him; he could not imagine what could possibly bring Lord Bayington to his office this day.

  Crisp slowly stood up and bowed to show his respect. “To what do I…”

  In a thundering voice, Edward said, “Sit down, Crisp!” Lord Bayington would have liked throttling the solicitor, but he controlled his temper and remained standing in the middle of the cluttered office. “Where is your secretary?”

  Crisp found it uncomfortable to sit while Lord Bayington remained standing, but he slowly obeyed. “Ran off.”

  “So I have heard.”

  “You have?” At first, he was surprised, but then Crisp’s wide eyes narrowed. “He’ll get no references from me.”

  “He’ll not need them.”

  Lately, the solicitor’s favorite daydream was to deny Moan his references, and he felt somewhat cheated hearing the secretary would not need them. It took a moment, but he soon guessed Bayington had not come to discuss his secretary. “What do you…”

  “I have the manuscript.”

  At that, Crisp’s eyes widened and his hands began to shake. “You…you have it? All of it?”

  “And your notes.”

  Crisp quickly checked his top drawer. All the scraps of paper he used to put together the events of Alexandra Sinclair’s sorted affairs were indeed gone. He brought a trembling hand up to his brow and closed his eyes. “I am ruined.”

  “Not quite yet, but you will be.” Edward Bayington folded his arms and allowed himself a moment to enjoy the solicitor’s dread. “It has come to my attention that you quite freely repeated confidential information pertaining to a few of your more affluent clients.”

  “I have done no such thing!” Crisp defiantly argued, beginning to stand up.

  “Sit…down!” Edward yelled. He waited for the solicitor to obey once more before he continued, “I say you have done it and they believe me.”

  “Who have you told?” Crisp dared ask.

  “Anyone who will listen—anyone of importance, that is.”

  In a sudden burst of defiance, Crisp abruptly stood up anyway. “I can write the book again. I remember every word.”

  “You are willing to risk Duke MacGreagor’s ire, are you? That, I should like to see.”

  The thought made Crisp shudder. Never had he seen a man as big at Cameron MacGreagor, Duke of Glenartair. “He knows?”

  “He not only knows, he has seen it. I warn you, Crisp, if another manuscript ever sees the light of day, I’ll not stand in his way, nor will I be responsible for the consequences.” With that, Lord Edward Bayington walked out of the Solicitor’s office and slammed the door behind him.

  *

  Crisp slowly sank back into his nearly worn out chair. Lord Bayington was right; Cameron MacGreagor would tear him from limb to limb, and a duke could get away with it too. In fact, a duke could get away with killing him and perhaps, just perhaps, Crisp would be better off if he did.

  In one short conversation, Solicitor John Crisp learned he had lost it all. His secretary was gone, the manuscript was gone and at any moment now, a fuming mob would come to break down his door. He was ruined - completely and utterly ruined.

  Crisp took a forgotten breath and rubbed his eyes for fear he might actually shed a tear. Oh how he loved his manuscript. The Scandalous Exploits of Alexandra Sinclair was his pride and joy, the accomplishment of a lifetime. The truth be told, he quite admired the woman, if for no other reason than she managed to fool wealthy men into setting aside their normal cautiousness to marry her. In fact, he could only think of two or three wealthier eligible men in the kingdom than Lord Bayington and Hannish MacGreagor. She also had the good sense to marry Charles Whitfield, the son of one of America’s wealthiest gold mine owners. Crisp thought that a stroke of genius.

  Alexandra Sinclair might have been a curse on other men, but not on him – not until now. Now, his dreams were dashed, and there was nothing left, but to live out the rest of his life in the poverty that was sure to come.

  Solicitor John Crisp hung his head in sorrow.

  He was feeling his defeat most acutely when a thought occurred to him. His ma
nuscript was much too exceptional, and the income it could provide, far too provocative to simply give it up. He could write it again and this time he would trust no one. All he had to do was put it down in longhand…if he managed to remember all the details, and if he was very careful, Lord Bayington would never find out, not until Crisp was safely away.

  Abruptly, Crisp squared his shoulders and sat up straight. “I am not defeated, I refuse to be!”

  There was only one question remaining - could he remember all the details? Not long ago, he received a letter from America which he promptly set aside and ignored. Although he knew Alexandra’s fourth and fifth husbands lived in Colorado, his book was already written and he cared not what anyone from there had to say. Besides, it had an unfamiliar name and an odd number in the return address.

  Now, however, he thought about Alexandra’s propensity for changing names whenever it suited her. If anyone could supply all the details for his book, Alexandra surely could. Moreover, if there was a way to get his book published, and to keep the more powerful men in the United Kingdom at bay, Alexandra Sinclair would know just how to do it.

  What on earth did he do with that letter?

  He abruptly stood up and only then did he notice the untidy condition of his office. Piles of letters and papers lay everywhere; on his desk, on the top of shelves, in chairs, and even stacked knee-high on the floor. If it took the rest of his life, he had to find that letter.

  “Moan,” he whimpered, “did you take that as well?” No, he decided and his mood brightened. He still had that letter…somewhere; he had seen it just the day before. If only he could remember where he saw it. He walked around his desk, thoughtfully scratched his head and began to leaf through a stack of papers on a chair.

  *

  It took days of rifling through all the piles of documents in his office, but there it was, finally – under a stack on his desk - the last place John Crisp thought to look. He sighed his relief, sat down and examined the return address. It was from a Miss Ethel McGraw, number 279. Hopeful beyond words, he held his breath and carefully opened the envelope.

  The letter consisted of only one page, which he quickly turned over so he could read the signature. The letter was indeed from Alexandra Sinclair. His smile was broad and his relief beyond measure when he turned the letter back over and began to read it.

  “Prison!” Crisp nearly shouted.

  He hadn’t heard anyone come in, and when he looked up, a tall, thin man stood in his doorway with his hat in his hand. The stranger had dark hair and dark eyes, wore a pointed goatee on his pointed chin, and was dressed well enough, Crisp supposed.

  “What could you possibly want?” Crisp asked.

  “Employment,” the stranger answered.

  That caught the solicitor’s attention. “What do you know how to do?”

  “I can answer your tele, keep your appointment log and straighten the place up.”

  “Can you work that contraption on the desk out there?”

  The stranger glanced back at the Hansen Writing Ball with its curved metal keyboard and nodded.

  “When can you start?”

  “Is now too soon?”

  “Not at all.” Crisp got up, took a moment to point out a few particulars and then hurried back to his desk. He picked up Alexandra’s letter and began to read it again. At length, he removed his spectacles and rubbed his tired eyes. The sun was beginning to set and he was as tired as a man getting on in years could be. A good meal with a little ale was just what he needed.

  Crisp put the letter back where he found it, put on his coat, took his hat off the hat rack, and walked into the outer office. “Be here promptly at nine.”

  “Yes, Mr. Crisp.”

  The stranger watched his new employer leave and smiled. Getting a position with John Crisp was not as hard he expected. The Solicitor didn’t even ask to see his false references.

  In Colorado Springs, there was nothing Abigail Whitfield liked more than holding the weekly sewing circle meeting in her dining room. There was simply no better place to hear the latest gossip and spread a little of her own. The sewing circle consisted of old and new friends: Maude Goodwin, Mrs. Vivian Mabs, Mrs. Wilma Miller, Miss Loretta Collins, Miss Pearl Hughes, Miss Cathleen Covington, Mrs. Leesil MacGreagor, and Mrs. McKenna MacGreagor Mitchel, the honorable Judge Mitchel’s wife. The ladies enjoyed making quilts for the orphanage in Denver, but the truth be told, they spent most of their time talking, drinking tea and eating pie.

  On this particular afternoon, after the other women left, Abigail asked McKenna to stay. She led the way to her sitting room, pulled the bell rope for more tea and made herself comfortable in a chair near the hearth. Not much had changed in this room. It was decorated with bright colors to match Abigail’s voluptuous personality, and still held a small bookcase where she kept the family Bible. Between the pages of her Bible, she hid a secret letter she hoped her husband would never find.

  Abigail waited for McKenna to sit in the chair opposite her, and then for the footman to serve each of them a fresh cup of tea before he left the room. “Now, my dearest McKenna, you must tell me all of it.”

  A tall woman with dark hair and blue eyes, McKenna took a moment to consider if she should tell her friend all of it. “Abigail, have you not heard enough about the duchess?”

  “I am quite certain there is more to tell. I want to hear it all and leave nothing out this time. She married my son too, you are aware.”

  McKenna was still uncertain she should, and tried to talk her out of it again. “Most of it, you have already heard.”

  Abigail Whitfield had red hair, green eyes and wore the yellow dress she looked best in. She was what some people called a busybody, but the MacGreagors adored her. So did her husband Claymore, and the Whitfields adored their closest neighbors, the MacGreagors. Abigail didn’t suppose there were any secrets between them, but a slip of the tongue a few weeks ago proved her wrong. “Now that I am calmed down, I wish to hear it again.”

  “Very well,” McKenna said, finally agreeing to a full report. “While my brother Hannish was still a duke, he married her, made her his duchess and left the castle in Scotland to seek his fortune in America.”

  “Yes, yes, he built Marblestone Mansion and he sent for her. Then what happened?”

  “Then he learned her true nature and sent her back to Scotland.” McKenna closed her eyes and shook her head. “I cannae tell you how my heart broke for him.”

  “Precisely how did he learn what she truly was?”

  “I suppose we told him, though we dinna mean to. When we came here from Scotland, we brought our Scottish servants with us. The servants all knew what the duchess was, and at dinner our first evenin’, one of the footmen said too much. He mentioned that Mr. Graham was on the ship with us, and that began it.”

  “Who is Mr. Graham?” Abigail asked.

  “The duchess’ first husband. Her name was not Olivia when she married him; it was Gormelia. Since then, the duchess used the names Alexandra, Caroline, Alice, Olivia, and who knows how many others.”

  “So it is easier just to call her ‘the duchess.’ I see, continue.”

  “Well, while my brother was here building a three-story, sixty-seven room mansion for his beautiful wife, she hired her first husband to repair the castle in Scotland. Of course, Hannish dinna know Mr. Graham was her first husband. We dinna know who he was then either, although we suspected he was more to her than just a carpenter.”

  “You suspected she was bedding him?”

  “She was quite blatant about it and when he was there the night before and again the next mornin’, adultery was on all our minds.” McKenna took another sip of tea and set her cup back in the saucer. “Ironically, she was not committin’ adultery; she was beddin’ the man she was truly married to. ‘Twas with her second, third and the fourth husband, who happened to be my brother, that she committed adultery.”

  “And her fifth, with my Charles.”

 
; “Aye. When Hannish heard Mr. Graham was on the ship, he cabled the ship’s captain. He sadly learned Mr. Graham brashly sailed under the MacGreagor name and shared a stateroom with the duchess.”

  Abigail’s mouth dropped. “No wonder Hannish sent her back to Scotland the very day after she arrived.”

  “Hannish was furious, as you can well imagine.” McKenna couldn’t help but smile about what happened next. “My brother got some measure of revenge however. Not only did he send her back, he denounced his title and gave it, the castle and all our holdings to our brother, Cameron. He put his duchess in a small cottage, cut her allowance severely and assumed she would stay there. He was quite mistaken, or course.”

  “Indeed he was. Go on.”

  McKenna felt her unborn baby move and absentmindedly put her hand on her extended stomach. “The duchess met and married your son, Charles, in Paris. Not long after, she was arrested and taken back to England, where Charles hired a solicitor to represent her.”

  “Then Charles brought her to America, she ran off in St. Louis and here we are.”

  “Indeed, here we are. Abigail, you and Claymore are our dearest friends. When we learned she had also married Charles, we wanted to protect you from the gossip.”

  “I know and I adore you for it. Hannish is much better off with the wife he has now.”

  “Indeed he is. Leesil is the best sort of lass and he could not be more pleased to have a son, at last.”

  Abigail looked away and thought for a moment. “How did Hannish find out about her other husbands?”

  “Oh, well, when Cameron came to visit that spring, he brought a letter from her third husband detailing her marriages. Therefore, according to the laws in the Kingdom, Hannish was not legally married to the duchess and was free to marry Leesil.”

  “But not free to tell the rest of us that. I confess I spent hours wondering how he could have married again without a divorce. I am glad to know he is not the rogue I once thought he might be.” Abigail’s smile turned to a sly grin. “I have her love letter still.”