A Lady Most Lovely by Jennifer Delamere

I’ll be honest with you.” Tom was not merely feigning confidentiality; he’d always felt a kinship with the lower classes. Perhaps because he’d been only a half step above them for most of his life. “I know your mistress is at home, and I would prefer to gain access in a polite fashion, rather than bullying my way in as those two men did earlier.”
    She opened her mouth to protest, but was stopped by the sound of shouting coming from the room down the hall. Tom stepped closer to the door, fighting to hold on to his patience. If those men laid even the slightest hand on Margaret, he would murder them.
    Doubt and fear paraded across Bessie’s face. “But I have orders to allow nobody into the house,” she whispered.
    “I have often been called a nobody,” Tom said. “Perhaps that is what she meant?”
    He was gratified to see his words tease a small smileout of Bessie, but he looked anxiously over her shoulder down the hall. “Let me in, Bessie,” he urged. “I can help.”
    Voices raised in argument were now clearly audible, and this seemed to help Bessie make up her mind. She stood back, and instantly Tom raced in.
    At the end of the hall he paused when he heard Margaret’s voice. She was speaking in a commanding tone, which told him that although they were arguing, she must not be in any immediate physical danger. He reached for the handle and tested it. It was well oiled and turned soundlessly. He opened the door a crack in order to hear what they were saying.
    “Mr. Mortimer, you agreed that I had until next month.” Margaret’s words were clear now. “Even you would not stoop so low as to revise the terms without warning.” Her voice was angry and filled with disdain. Tom could easily picture her standing tall and haughty, as she had proven she could do so well.
    “Things have changed,” a deep-set voice replied. It was surely the voice of the elder man. “You are no longer engaged to Mr. Denault. Our understanding was that payment was delayed until you had married him and gained access to his money.”
    His words astounded Tom, as had everything about this situation. Why should Margaret need Denault’s money?
    He was aware of Bessie coming up behind him. He glanced back and saw her wringing her hands, her face distorted with anxiety.
    “Mr. Denault was never my sole source of funding,” Margaret said. “I had hoped to wait until our marriage, to be sure, in order to merge our resources, but—”
    “Come now, Miss Vaughn,” Mortimer interrupted. “If you really had other sources of money, you would never have darkened our door.”
    There was a chuckle, which must have come from the other man. “Ain’t that the truth.”
    “I do regret that I ever ‘darkened your door,’ as you so poetically put it,” she said with undisguised contempt. “Clearly I was in error. I had been told that you were the most honorable among your cohort of thieves.”
    “Thieves!” a voice exploded. It must have belonged to Brawn. “Don’t be insultin’ my employer like that.”
    “You stand back!” Margaret shrieked.
    That was all he needed. Tom flung open the door. It gave a satisfying bang as it slammed against the wall. “What’s going on here?” he demanded.
    Margaret was standing behind a large desk, her face flushed, staring daggers at the two men. Brawn looked ready to advance on her, although the elder man’s hand was on his arm as though he’d been reaching out to stop him. All three turned and stared at Tom, frozen in surprise. They looked like one of those tableau scenes he’d seen acted out by guests at a dinner party he’d attended. Not that any of those refined ladies and gentlemen would be acting out this tableau. “Young Lady Threatened by Moneylenders” was probably not in their repertoire.
    “What is the meaning of this?” she said imperiously. “Why are you barging into my house?”
    Her anger surprised him. He would have thought she’d be glad to see him. His own