Duke of Deception (Wentworth Trilogy) (17 page)

“If you think to change my mind by attacking my father’s soundness of mind, you can forget it. That journal is not a concoction of someone’s imagination. Too many connections have proved to be true, and I’m not dropping this investigation. I couldn’t if I wanted to at this point. My ship is loaded with cargo and ready to sail.”

Stephen shook his head. “I don’t have a good feeling about this, and I don’t see how you could either unless arrogance is propelling you. Most people would be willing to take their suspicions to the authorities. Why must you wage this battle yourself?”

Why, indeed,
Derek wondered. Why couldn’t he just turn this over to the authorities, telling them he felt his father’s death was no accident? Why did he think if he set this plan aside he’d be disappointing his father one more time, as he’d done throughout his life? He didn’t know, but he could no more end this masquerade or turn it over to someone else to handle than he could refuse to breathe, not until he had done everything possible to discover his father’s murderer. “Let’s leave it for now. Truly, I don’t think anyone is onto me.”

“Then you’re not facing the facts.”

“What facts? The fact that someone searched your guest bedchamber? Everyone thinks Captain Wainright is filthy rich. Perhaps my room was searched for valuables. You can’t possibly know the thief was looking for information related to my investigation. Surely the smugglers, who are by no means stupid, are aware I’ve married. Anything I consider of value would be with me in my new home. I doubt your break-in has anything at all to do with me. I understand your concerns, but leave the matter be,” Derek said.

If he’d thought to mention the gunshot, he certainly wouldn’t now, not with Stephen already insisting that someone was onto his game. Lucy was surely right anyway; it must have been a hunter. Still, the episode had worried him enough that he’d accompanied her around Stonecrest, making a point of taking the tenants aside to mention it. They’d been shocked at the close call and assured him they’d keep an eye out for strangers. There was no point in alerting Stephen to another possible problem, not in his current mood.

O
utside the door, Lucy hesitated, wondering if she should interrupt the men. Dinner had been ready for a quarter hour, and Mrs. Mulligan advised her if they didn’t come soon, the meal would be inedible. Though she knew the woman was exaggerating, the small taste she’d had of the dinner was enough to spur her to do everything she could to keep the woman happy, especially since Mrs. Mulligan had agreed to think about staying on as cook.

Bracing herself against the possibility that the two men would be very much annoyed at her intrusion, she opened the door and slipped quietly inside, waiting for them to stop speaking so she could make her presence known.

“I think it’s just another waste of your time,” she heard Lord Aster say in a voice tinged with what sounded like disgust. “I’m beginning to think this entire affair is damaging your mind. You must end this nonsense.”

“You’ve made that quite clear, Stephen, and I’ve told you I have no intention of doing that. I’m going to find those maps and take a closer look. If it’s a path to nowhere, I’ll drop it. But if it isn’t . . . ”

Lucy stepped back into the hall without a sound and stood unmoving, feeling suddenly ill. Maps? Her father’s treasure maps? Was that what he was after? What could be so important about some old treasure maps that Derek would marry her to get a look at them? But then, what could be so important about some old treasure maps that would make first the old Duke of Dorrington and then her uncle argue with her father over them?

Dismay and a sense of sorrow overtook every other feeling. She’d almost forgotten who he was—what he was—as they’d toured Stonecrest earlier. He’d been inquisitive, asking important questions, making all the right comments, his respect for her seeming to grow with each of her replies. She’d been so pleased when he gave her suggestions about leveling the roads and irrigating the fields, filling in information she’d been unable to glean from other sources. He spoke to her as though they were equals, as her father had always done, and not as though she were a silly girl with a head full of nonsense, as every other man treated her when she asked questions about farming or engineering.

But perhaps that had been his goal, to make her feel comfortable in his presence so she would trust him.

And all because he wanted her father’s maps.

How could she have been so stupid? Her emotions, or more likely his charm, had got the better of her, but it was the last time that would happen, she decided, her sorrow turning into anger. He would not get the maps. She would remove them from the study tonight and lock them in her bedchamber safe. If he wanted them, he would have to come to her.

The evening loomed before her. A few minutes ago she’d eagerly anticipated the delights of company, but now she only wished Lord Aster would go away so she could take her dinner in her room. She didn’t want to sit with the two men, making idle conversation, all the while wondering what Derek was up to.

How much better it would be if she hadn’t overheard the conversation. How much better it would be if she could simply enjoy spending time with Derek until he went away, without worrying about what he was really involved in. Because in the end, no matter how much knowledge she gained, there was nothing she could do to change the outcome.

T
he picnic was Derek’s idea, and Lucy almost declined the invitation. Then it occurred to her that she would never know his game if she avoided his company.

Now she was glad she’d agreed, if only because the household staff was bustling with excitement. Even the usually stoic Mrs. Gray beamed at her, saying it was the grandest day ever. It probably would be, Lucy thought as she noted the fine summer weather, if she didn’t harbor the suspicion that Derek wanted to spend the afternoon with her so he could find out about her father’s maps.

The idea was quite annoying, especially since he hadn’t done or said anything to support her misgivings. If she hadn’t overheard his conversation with Lord Aster, she wouldn’t suspect him of a thing. Both men acted completely at ease during dinner, and neither had mentioned anything out of the ordinary. Their obvious lack of guilt had only served to deepen her resentment.

At the end of dinner she complained of a headache, asking Derek privately if he could sleep in a guest room so that her sleep would not be disturbed. Then she had stayed up quite late, pouring over each map, half expecting and half dreading the discovery of something, anything, that would condemn her husband as an opportunist. But she noticed nothing unusual, and it was almost dawn before she realized the time and finally returned the maps to her safe.

“How about a glass of champagne to celebrate?”

She regarded Derek with surprise as he opened a small basket and took out a bottle of champagne and two glasses cushioned by a thick cloth. “Champagne? It’s only just noon.”

“So? Champagne is for celebrating, and we’re celebrating getting to know one other,” he replied easily. “Have a seat, Mrs. Wainright, and I’ll serve you.” He extended his arm to assist her.

Lucy dropped gracefully to the quilt Derek had spread out on the grass, trying to ignore the flip-flopping of her heart that his mere touch generated in spite of her doubts about him. It was irritating that he was so roguishly handsome, and now that she had a better idea of what transpired between a man and a woman, she feared she was even more at risk of falling for his charm.

She gave herself a stern reminder of the conversation she’d overheard, telling herself he was using her to obtain her father’s maps, and a bit of temper flared in response. There, that was better. He wasn’t quite so attractive now.

“Mrs. Wainright,” she said with a lift of her brows. “I’m not certain I like it. In fact, I think it unfair that women must take the surnames of their husbands. It seems unfair to me, anyway, since Louisa Barrick sounds so much better than Louisa Wainright.”

She was being ridiculous, she knew, and untruthful. She’d never given the subject of a lady’s married name a thought before now, but the words had just slipped out.

Derek filled their glasses and sat facing her. “Does it really sound better or does it just annoy you that you’re the one who has to make the change? I’ll wager if our names were reversed, you’d be protesting just the same,” he teased. “Maybe you think a gentleman should take the name of his wife? I’d have to protest in this case. Derek Barrick? I’d have insubordination from all my crew!”

Unable to help herself, Lucy smiled. “I suppose you have a point there, but I still don’t see why I can’t keep my name and you keep yours.”

He tipped his head to the side and studied her. “Tell me, is it that you particularly like your name or that you dislike mine? Or perhaps it’s the reputation that goes along with my name which you object to? What if I were a duke? Would you still prefer your name to mine?”

Lucy gave him a lofty smile. It had taken him less than five minutes to bring up a subject related to the maps. A duke indeed!

“I think I would prefer Barrick to Wainright under any circumstance,” she replied. “Wainright sounds so American, after all.”

“Have you something against Americans in general or on principle?”

“I think slavery is evil.”

“Slaves have been in England for far longer than they’ve been in America. Most of the slaves in America were shipped there by British vessels.”

“We have seen the error of those ways. Hence Parliament’s act to abolish the slave trade.”

One corner of Derek’s mouth tipped up in a half-hearted smile but he said nothing.

“I suspect it cut into your profits quite heavily to have such a lucrative commodity disappear. But wait. I forgot. You are an American; you can still deal in the slave trade.”

“America’s Embargo Act prohibits the import of slaves. Not that it matters. I have never dealt in the sale of people and never will. I believe as you do. How can one man belong to another? Are we not all created equal?” A mischievous grin stole across his face. “But wait. I forgot. You are British; you have a caste system. You are
not
all created equal. Some are born peasants and some are dukes.”

There! As she suspected, he had turned the conversation around to dukes again. Any moment he would mention the Duke of Dorrington and the maps.

“Whether you wish to admit it or not,” Derek continued, “some of your good friends and acquaintances continue to keep slaves in their households, just as many families in America do.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but knew the truth of Derek’s words. Her father had spoken of such acquaintances with disgust.

Well. She’d been wrong as to the direction of Derek’s conversation. She took a long sip of champagne. Perhaps she was wrong about more than she knew.

Derek chuckled. “I admit I’d not expected slavery to be a subject of conversation today. I also admit that Lord Wainright does sound rather odd. What about the name
Barrick?
Has the Earl of Chelton always been a Barrick?”

Lucy shook her head, surprised again by the turn of the conversation. Perhaps all this switching was a ploy to put her off guard, to keep her from figuring out what he was doing. Then again, perhaps he had no plan at all.

“Papa was the first Barrick to be the earl, actually. It’s an odd entailment, set up in such a manner that the Earl of Chelton, though always a man, must be a direct descendant, unless the line dies out. Though Papa had no sons, I may have a son, or I may have a daughter who has a son, and so forth. If that happens, the title belongs to that male heir, no matter how many generations pass before he is born in the direct line. My uncle Nathan, as the only living male relative to my father, merely holds the title in a quasi-trust for my father’s natural heir, unless there is none.”

The moment she said the words, she realized bleakly that her father’s line would die out because of her actions. She would have no children, so there would never be a chance that a direct descendant of Philip Barrick would inherit the title. Instead it would remain with Nathan Barrick and his descendants or the descendants of his next male heir, and once she was gone, Stonecrest Manor would belong to him too.

The irony twisted her stomach into knots. She’d carried out her scheme to ruin her chances of marriage so she could keep her dowry, and all of that done with the good of Stonecrest in mind. Yet because she would not consummate her marriage, the title and eventually the land would go to Nathan Barrick anyway. He or his heir would become the true Earl of Chelton, making all the decisions for the village.

“That is a strange entailment,” Derek agreed. “I wonder at the king’s motive.”

“Money,” Lucy replied mechanically, having heard the story from every villager in Chelton. “King Henry VII agreed to the unusual entailment in exchange for the earl’s fortune. It seems the dying earl had only a widowed daughter and a young granddaughter and wanted to ensure their futures. The granddaughter married and begat a son. The entailment continues still.”

“I like it. God knows any direct descendant of Philip Barrick would have to be more deserving than your uncle.”

“You don’t care for Nathan?” she asked. Something flickered in Derek’s gray eyes before he dropped his gaze.

“No, I don’t. He’s more concerned with money than anything else. Such a man can’t be trusted.”

“The gossip about you has been the same,” Lucy returned quietly.

Derek’s shuttered eyes considered her. “Gossip isn’t truth. Separate what you’ve heard about me from what you know to be true.”

Lucy was silent, trying to think of an incident where Derek had been greedy, but she couldn’t. On the contrary, he’d not only paid for all the supplies and labor to ready everything for their wedding day, but he’d paid off all her accounts as well. Every day more supplies arrived—food, livestock, coal, and even luxury items such as materials for sewing and books for the children’s schoolroom she’d dreamed of setting up.

This was the man she knew, or was it? Perhaps he was behaving this way so she’d be taken in, but for what reason? To get his hands on some old maps that probably had no value anyway?

She mulled over everything she knew, taking another sip of champagne. A wave of lightheadedness beset her. If she didn’t have a bite of something soon, she would regret it. “Might I inquire as to our fare, sir?” she asked lightly. She looked at the picnic baskets her footman, Harry, had set on the edge of the blanket before walking back to the manor, leaving them with the horse and cart. “I find myself already famished.”

Derek opened one of the baskets and took out plump pieces of chicken, breaded, baked and wrapped in thick paper. There was also a large chunk of cheese, a dish of bread pudding, and rolls, browned in butter and still hot, thanks to the warming stones someone had had the foresight to place in the bottom of the sturdy basket. “There’s fruit, as well, though you may want to leave that for last,” he said with a smile as he heaped her plate with the heartier fare.

“It smells wonderful.” Lucy took the plate and then hesitated. “I just wonder, though. Did Matilda . . . ?”

“Bite your tongue, m’lady. I’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to procure edible food for this banquet, so you needn’t worry about taking that first bite. You won’t regret it.”

Lucy giggled, thinking of the hearty bite of breakfast Derek had taken the other day only to spit it out. “Poor Matilda. I hope she can learn from Mrs. Mulligan. It would be so awkward to ask her to take a position outside the kitchen. I wouldn’t wish to hurt her feelings.”

Derek’s smile turned tender. “You’re always concerned with the feelings of others, aren’t you?”

“Of course. You are not?”

“Not nearly to the degree that you are. If I were to be totally honest, I’d say the feelings of others seldom enter into my thinking at all. Not that I don’t care, but I analyze a situation and take the appropriate action, knowing it will be the best for all concerned.”

“You are very sure of yourself,” she said, studying him. “What if you only
think
you know what’s best for all concerned?”

Derek laughed. The sound slid over Lucy like a soothing balm, relieving strain and restoring good humor.

“That would be unfortunate, for someone, anyway. I suppose I
am
very sure of myself. It’s a trait I inherited from my father, though in his case I called it arrogance.” He added with a cynical grin, “especially since I never wanted to admit we had anything in common.”

“Had?”

“He passed away a couple of years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I hardly knew the man. I’m not sure I was ever around him unless I was being punished for some unforgivable breach of conduct. He had certain rules, rules which I often ignored. Consequently, he wanted little to do with me.” Derek helped himself to another piece of chicken. “As I look back, I recognize he was very busy with his responsibilities, and I’m sure I irritated him with the scrapes I was always getting into.”

“Scrapes?”

“Messes. I was always into something.”

“Such as?”

“Things that grown men shouldn’t be doing, let alone schoolboys. I was usually expelled a couple of times a year, and it was always a bother for him because someone had to find another school to take me. Eventually he ran out of schools.”

“And then you went to sea?”

“Yes.”

Lucy took a bite of chicken and thought about that, sad for the little boy Derek had been. “Do you think he would be proud of you now?” she asked, immediately regretting her question. What a thing to ask of a man who had chosen privateering as his business, especially a man whose father had preached certain rules of conduct.

“Yes,” Derek said, his answer surprising not only Lucy but himself. “I do think he would be proud of me. I never thought so before, but I do now.”

He wondered about it, though. Would his father be proud of him? Or was it just that he was finally proud of himself and assumed his father would be too? Did it even matter? His father was gone. The man had lived his life as he had wanted, and now his son was living his, and he was proud of the way he was living it. Did anything else matter?

“I’m sorry. Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, that’s all right. What about your father? What was he like?”

“Oh,” Lucy said, her expression taking on a faraway look, “I wouldn’t know where to begin. He was kind and caring. He had a silly sense of humor. Sometimes he could make me laugh right in the middle of crying. He taught me so many things—how to groom a horse, how to speak to servants, how to manage a household—and he treated me as he would one of his friends, as deserving of respect, as though my concerns and questions were important and worth discussion. I’m proud to be carrying on his dream for Stonecrest, and I think he would be proud of me too.”

Derek leaned back on his elbows and stretched out his legs until they rested against Lucy’s skirts, considering her statement as he drank in her beauty. Her simple cotton print dress was a bold mixture of blue and green that made her eyes appear almost turquoise, and the effect against the natural pink of her cheeks and lips and the dark brows and lashes was quite startling. He didn’t think he had ever seen a woman with such beautiful features, especially those eyes that could look so helplessly vulnerable one moment and so full of fire the next.

As he listened to her recount her relationship with her father, he thought about the sacrifices she must have made in order to save her dowry for Stonecrest. According to Stephen, her social life had been non-existent, and how could it be otherwise if she was determined to hold suitors at bay? Instead of morning parties, afternoon teas, and evening soirees with friends, she’d been hiding away at Stonecrest, making sure the fields would produce enough to feed and clothe the tenants.