Mistress - Amanda Quick [138]
“Or a thief. I was not particularly worried about what conclusion was drawn. After all, no one could connect her death to me.”
“How did you learn of her blackmail scheme?” Iphiginia asked.
“My mother was a governess. She sold information to Mrs. Wycherley for years and in exchange the Wycherley Agency kept her employed in some of the best homes.” Herbert’s mouth twisted bitterly. “Until my mother was seduced by one of her employers, that is. A fine gentleman of the ton got her pregnant. She was turned off immediately, of course.”
“And Mrs. Wycherley refused to place her in any more posts after that,” Iphiginia whispered.
“How did you know?” Herbert’s voice, which had been almost jovial until that moment, suddenly rose in fury. His arm tightened around her throat. “Bloody hell, how did you know that?”
“It was merely a hypothesis,” Iphiginia whispered.
Marcus tensed. “You’re hurting her, Hoyt.”
“Don’t move.” Herbert kept the gun pointed at Marcus. “You are correct, Iphiginia. Mrs. Wycherley wanted nothing to do with a governess who’d been so stupid as to get herself pregnant by one of her employers. My mother was forced to fend for herself.”
“You were the babe she carried, were you not?” Iphiginia asked with surprising gentleness.
“Yes. I was her bastard son. The son of a viscount, but a bastard, nonetheless. Mother had some money, thanks to the fees Mrs. Wycherley had paid her for information over the years. And she was clever. She set herself up as a widow in a small village in the north. No one ever learned the truth.”
“How did you learn it?” Marcus asked.
“Two years ago on her deathbed, my mother told me the entire tale. I came to London to find Constance Wycherley.”
“And your father?” Iphiginia asked very softly.
Once more Hoyt’s expression turned violent. “He was dead, damn his soul. He broke his neck in a phaeton accident five years ago. I never even got the chance—” Herbert stopped abruptly and took several deep breaths. “I went to the Wycherley Agency and introduced myself to the old bitch.”
“I see you’ve expanded your business empire from blackmail to fraud,” Marcus said.
“Yes.” Herbert indicated the premises of the museum with the nose of the pistol. “You would not believe how much money certain gentlemen of the ton will pay to regain their manly vigor, especially those who have not yet managed to produce an heir.”
“I suppose there is a certain irony in your choice of business enterprise,” Marcus said. “The illegitimate son of a titled gentleman engaged in defrauding other gentlemen.”
“They are always so bloody concerned about begetting their legitimate heirs, are they not?” Herbert asked. “Their bastards can rot, of course. It’s only the legitimate offspring who count.”
Iphiginia stirred in his grasp. “Mr. Hoyt, please listen to me.”
“Silence.” Herbert’s arms tightened ominously once more around her. “At one time I had hoped that you and I might become more than friends, my dear Iphiginia. We had so much in common. I wanted you to comprehend that, but you never did.”
“What on earth do you mean?” Iphiginia asked.
“You and I are two of a kind, m’dear. Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. I realized that from the first moment we met. You were so utterly outrageous. So clever. I knew I had to find out more about you. Your close friendship with Lady Guthrie was the clue, of course.”
“All you had to do was examine Mrs. Wycherley’s files to discover that she had two nieces, one named Iphiginia Bright and one named Amelia Farley,” Marcus said.
“Mrs. Wycherley kept excellent files,” Herbert said. “Once I realized that Iphiginia was her niece, I knew she was also a fraud. One thing led to another and soon I had it all sorted out.”
“What made you think we had a great deal in common?” Iphiginia demanded.
“It’s obvious, is it not? We had both carved out a place for ourselves in the highest levels of Society by virtue of our own cleverness and determination. We had deceived the Polite World, convinced it to accept us as one of its own. I thought that we were made for each other, m’dear. But you insisted