Duke of Deception (Wentworth Trilogy) (21 page)

For the first time since he began his masquerade, he questioned his right to put the lives of others at risk. It didn’t matter anymore that the men he sought were traitors. He should have done as Stephen said and turned over his evidence to the authorities, men trained in such investigations, who wouldn’t endanger others.

He had never questioned his ability to do exactly as he planned, to bring the criminals to justice. He’d been sure he knew what was best for all concerned, in the same way his father had always been sure his decisions concerning Derek were for the best. He had despised his father most of his life for his arrogance in making those decisions, and now here he was, carrying on the tradition.

He had realized another thing during this trip. He wasn’t a sailor, he was an engineer, and maybe not even that. The joy he’d attributed to sailing the seas had been nothing more than pride in his designs. Each voyage on a newly designed ship had brought a feeling of exaltation, a euphoria that had nothing to do with the sea. It had been about proving his worth, to both his father and himself. His father was gone, and with him had gone Derek’s chance to prove himself a worthy son, but his father should never have made him feel that such proof was necessary.

As he closed his bleary eyes, he wondered if he should end the masquerade when he returned to England, whether or not he learned the identity of the smugglers and his father’s murderer. Stephen was right. It was it time to let go of the past and get on with his future.

*****

It seemed only a moment later that a knock rattled Derek’s cabin door, though a quick look at his pocket watch told him he’d slept away the night. The door opened and a worried-looking Morgan stuck his head in.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Captain,” Morgan said, “but there’s something you need to see.”

Without bothering to ask questions, Derek rolled off his cot and groggily followed his first mate.

All was quiet in the early light of dawn. Men stationed on watch stood like statues at their posts. Four more men prowled the perimeter of the ship, like constables on the lookout for thieves. A steady breeze carried the ship along, the bow cutting cleanly through the glassy waters.

Morgan hurried to the open hatch. Derek followed him down into the hold.

“I was checking on the cargo, sir, making sure the storm hadn’t done any damage. Some of the crates had fallen over, so Jenkins and me was rightin’ them. That’s when we saw this ’un here that’s all busted up.” Morgan moved his lantern closer to the shattered wood and the pile of goods that lay beneath it, goods that included not only the expected whiskey, but muskets as well.

Derek stared at the weapons, stupefied. “Have you checked any of the other crates?” he finally asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Morgan nodded, his face somber. “They’re all the same, Captain, in both holds, at least the crates that’s supposed to be whiskey. No wonder them Frenchies was after us.”

No longer the least bit sleepy, Derek’s mind reeled with the implications of the find. Someone had planned this, and there was no way to know if the goods had arrived at the warehouse packed this way, or if they had been switched in storage, though he suspected it was the former. Stephen spent too much time at his warehouse for the switch to have taken place there.

He remembered Stephen’s insistence that they inspect the crates, and he wished now that they had done more than a cursory inspection, though the fault was his. Stephen was right; his mind had been on other matters.

Rubbing his forehead to ease a sudden headache, he tried to think. Had the merchants shipping the whiskey managed the substitution, or were they pawns in this game too? Several different merchants had shipped whiskey; they couldn’t all be involved, could they?

Whatever the answer, he wouldn’t arrive in the West Indies with the weapons aboard, even if it meant tossing them over the side. He wouldn’t chance putting weapons into the hands of the French, who had evidently known exactly what he was carrying. Had, in fact, been waiting for him. Their knowledge of his cargo would explain the careful positioning of the three ships, the way they’d turned toward his in unison.

And that meant the smugglers had infiltrated
his
operation and not the other way around.

If the smugglers knew of his operation, they most likely knew of the masquerade. Stephen could be in danger even now, without having any idea of it, and if so, it was Derek’s fault. He had drawn his friend into his personal fight without considering the dangers involved, hell-bent on solving what his father couldn’t and bringing closure to his father’s legacy, but as he was beginning to realize, one man could not make decisions involving others without taking on the responsibility for their lives, and often that responsibility wasn’t his to take.

As he weighed his options, he heard the fast thudding of footsteps running on deck. Two seconds later came the cry, “Ship to starboard!”

L
ucy slept half the morning away as though she’d been drugged and awoke sleepy still. She groaned and rolled over, holding her breath as a wave of nausea beset her.

Thank goodness there would be a few days to rest before the next project began, for she was exhausted to the bone. It didn’t seem right that the roadwork repairing the lane to Stonecrest should have worn her out so very much—she’d done no physical labor at all—but she supposed it was due to her poor eating habits. She must take better care of herself, or she’d waste away before Derek returned.

If he returned.

She sighed and rolled back over, staring unseeing at the silk canopy.

In the beginning she’d insisted she didn’t expect him to return, that there was no reason he should. She’d even announced it matter-of-factly to her aunt almost the moment Eleanor stepped out of the carriage upon her return from her travels. In truth, she’d only said it in case he didn’t come back, and as the days passed, that possibility loomed greater in her mind. Almost two months had passed since Derek’s departure, and as each day ended she found herself thinking more and more about him. She wanted him to come back, she realized, but she didn’t know why. She had achieved her goal with regards to Stonecrest, and her life would be less complicated without Derek in it, but the thought of living the rest of her life without ever seeing him again left her feeling forlorn.

She was lost in those thoughts when Bridget entered the room.

“I brought some bread for you, m’lady, since you fell asleep before dinner last night, and here’s a nice piece of ham too.”

The smells drifted to Lucy, nauseating her. “Oh, please, take it away. I suppose I’ve been overdoing it. I’m so exhausted all the time. It’s no wonder I feel ill every morning.”

Bridget shook her head sympathetically. “Well, stayin’ in bed won’t help much. You’ll be sick again tomorrow and just as exhausted. When my sister Trisha was breedin’, she slept for the first three months straight, ’cept when she was throwin’ up.”

Horrified, Lucy raised her head from the pillow. “What? What did you say?”

“Oh, yes, m’lady, she was a tired one the whole time, and with every single babe. Slept round the clock, ’cept when she was sick.”

Lucy sank back weakly onto her pillow.
Breeding.
She couldn’t be. She couldn’t. “Why would you think that?”

“She said so, that’s why. Ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

“No, why would you think
I
am breeding?”

“Well, ain’t you? You missed your monthly, and you’re always sick in the mornin’ and well, there’s the other …” Bridget waved her hand.

“What other?”

“You, know, m’lady, your
breasts.
They’re swelling.”

Lucy pushed herself up and stared down at her breasts as though they were traitors.

“You mean you didn’t know?”

“I-I never noticed. I’ve been so busy, I forgot about my courses. It never occurred to me that … but how can you be sure?”

Bridget’s smile was confident. “With seven older sisters, I’m pretty sure, but you can always call for the midwife if you want another opinion.”

Lucy barely heard the last of Bridget’s words. A baby. A
baby.
Now what would she do? This only made her situation worse. If Derek did come back, she didn’t want him to stay in England only for their baby, and she certainly didn’t want—oh! What if he tried to force her to go to America with him because she was carrying his child? Or worse, what if he took the baby away from her? She gasped at the unspeakable thought.

“M’lady, are you all right?” Bridget stood wringing her hands. “You should try and get some more rest before you get up for the day. Don’t think about all this just now. I’ll come back and wake you up in a little while. You need yer rest.”

“I … yes, I think I will,” Lucy said, thinking she wasn’t going to get any rest at all but willing to try in the hopes that when she awakened, the conversation—
the baby
—would all have been a dream.

But when she heard Bridget’s voice and opened her eyes to find that the morning sun was no longer shining through her window, she realized that although she had fallen asleep, the dilemma that seemed a nightmare was, in fact, reality.

She sat up and closed her eyes as dizziness washed over her. Opening her eyes ever so slowly, she looked at Bridget, noticing at once the maid’s guilty expression. “What is it?”

Bridget’s hand shook as she pulled something out of her pocket. “I’m not fer this, m’lady, but I don’t want you unhappy neither.” She removed the ribbon from the rolled-up paper, revealing a small packet of herbs and instructions on how to take them. “It’s not as complicated as it seems. My friend says you just drink a cup of tea made with this each mornin’ before you eat, and after a few days …”

Lucy stared at the herbs in horror, realizing what they were for. It had never occurred to her that a woman could get rid of a baby, and she wasn’t sure it was something she wanted to know.

Hiding her revulsion from Bridget, who was only trying to help, she took the packet, deciding to tuck it away in her drawer. “I don’t think I could ever do such a thing,” she said, “but I will keep this until I decide.” In her heart she’d already made the decision. Her own scheme had led to this moment, and she would live with the consequences.

Whatever they were.

E
leanor leafed through the pieces of mail, hoping to see a letter from the Duchess of Dorrington, but was disappointed once again. In the weeks since her return, she’d checked the mail every morning, hoping for an answer to the question that had been troubling her since she’d first suspected Captain Wainright of deceit.

She’d traveled to Dorrington, only to find the duchess away on travel as well, and she had even stayed on as a guest in the chance that they would return. Finally, when she could no longer ignore her worries that Lucy might need her, she traveled home to Stonecrest, leaving only a letter behind as explanation of her visit. The duchess would no doubt be astonished when she read it, and Eleanor knew a reply would immediately be sent.

She didn’t need a reply, though. Not really.

She knew now that the whole idea was preposterous. She’d realized it as soon as she began talking to the few servants she’d had the chance to draw out. The Duke of Dorrington was meticulous, they’d said. He was extremely conservative and quite responsible, a stickler for the conventions of society and the differences in the classes.

He was also a man with his nose to the grindstone. During the eighteen months since his return, there hadn’t been a single party held or social invitation accepted. Instead, he’d worked long hours in his office and on the land, traveling from one estate to the other, restoring the family’s prosperity. He was in America now, selling his business and properties there, preparing to return and take his place in society and the House of Lords.

From everything she heard, she knew Captain Wainright couldn’t be the Duke of Dorrington. One could not call the captain responsible, not when he had risked Lucy’s reputation on their very first meeting. Nor could one say he was conservative or a stickler for the conventions of society.

She had been a complete fool journeying all that way with an idiotic thought in her head, all of it based on a seductive smile from sixteen years ago, but that smile … She recalled the memory and as happened every time, in her mind that boy
was
him. But it just could not be.

If only she’d been able to speak with the duchess, she might have alleviated her fears completely, or else had them confirmed so that she could go to Lucy with the hard facts of the captain’s hidden identity, but her niece had too many other things on her mind right now to be burdened with conjecture. Until Eleanor knew the truth, she would say nothing.

Lost in thought, she jumped at the sound of footsteps and turned to see Lucy coming down the stairs.

“Darling, you’re finally up,” she said cheerfully before stopping short at the pale, drawn expression on Lucy’s face. “Are you ill again?” She hurried to Lucy and put a hand to her brow. “You simply must go easier on yourself. You haven’t the constitution of these men you are ordering about. You need to think of your health.”

Lucy smiled wanly at her aunt and smoothed her hair with a shaky hand. “Yes, you are right. I must start taking better care of myself. For my baby.”

“Baby! Are you certain?”

Lucy nodded, embarrassed since she’d said nothing about consummating her marriage. She made her way to the parlor and waited for Eleanor to join her.

“I suppose I shouldn’t say I am certain,” she said, after shutting the door for privacy, “but Bridget assures me of it.”

“Bridget!”

Lucy’s lips lifted in a faint smile at the incredulous look on her aunt’s face. “Well, she does have seven sisters, all older than herself, and she says I have all the signs. I suppose I shall call for Mrs. Sutton, as Bridget suggested, just to be sure.”

Eleanor collapsed onto the sofa. “What shall you do? What if he doesn’t come back? Or comes back only long enough to tell you he is returning to America?”

Lucy walked to the window and looked out, trying to gather her thoughts enough to put voice to them. “I don’t know,” she said, “but I won’t go with him. I have responsibilities here. I’m not even certain I will tell him. If he returns soon, I won’t have increased enough that it’s noticeable. Perhaps it will be better to see what his plans are before I make that decision.”

She turned away from the window, her eyes filling with tears. “Oh, why do things have to happen this way?” she asked, unable to control the quiver in her voice. “I thought I had reconciled myself to never having a child, and then suddenly, within moments, I’ve realized how very much I want one. But not like this. Never like this. What lies in store for us? I am married to a man I hardly know, a man I’ll probably never have the chance to know, and I …” Her voice broke and she began to weep softly.

Eleanor arose and took Lucy into her arms, soothing her as the tears fell. “Oh, darling, everything will work out. You’ll see. I know it is a shock, but think what you will have in the end. A baby. A
baby,
Lucy! What greater gift could you ever hope for?”

“Yes, b-but what if he takes the baby away or-or—”

“Takes the baby away? He will never be able to do that! Why, if he so much as hints at it, I’ll-I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Attack him with your embroidery needle?” Lucy tried to laugh at her own words, but a sob caught in her throat.

“I don’t know exactly what I will do, but mark my words, darling, your child will never be taken from you. I will make certain of that. Perhaps you are wise to keep this to yourself until you know his plans. If he returns to America, he doesn’t need to know.”

“What of the scandal?” Lucy asked miserably. “I have soiled your reputation already, but now you shall never recover from my actions. And what of my child? He—or she—will never be accepted by society because of my reputation.”

Eleanor hugged Lucy to her again and then held her away and looked into her eyes. “My darling child, do you not know that my reputation means nothing compared to you? You are the only thing of value to me, and as far as I am concerned, this is wonderful news, for both of us. As for your child, he—or she,” she added with a smile, “will be legitimate and the Chelton title will pass down the line, and we shall work on the rest. Let us not worry about any of that now. Just think, Lucy. A child! It is a gift from God, and I think it has been given for a purpose.”

“A purpose?” Lucy asked. She fingered her locket, drawing strength from it, while she forced herself to focus on her aunt’s words.

“Yes, a purpose,” Eleanor said. “You have built a wall around yourself, a wall that doesn’t allow anyone to get too close, not even me. Why, you have been so intent on keeping my involvement in your life to a minimum that you didn’t even tell me of your betrothal, not to mention your plan to avoid it. No, no,” she said, when Lucy lowered her gaze. “Your reaction is understandable; it is difficult to let yourself love again when the person you have loved more than anything has left you forever. But you cannot continue this way. Love is all we have, any of us, regardless of how long it lasts, and your baby will make you realize that. This is truly a gift from God.”

Lucy looked up to meet her aunt’s loving gaze. “I want my child more than anything, and I want to love my husband. Or at least I wish I could. But it would be foolish to let myself fall in love with such a man. You must know that. Regardless of his character or anything else about him, he lives in a different county. I have got myself into the worst possible situation with this marriage, given my fear of losing someone I love.”

Eleanor gave Lucy one last loving caress. “Oh, darling, I do understand, but perhaps that is exactly the way it is meant to be. Perhaps it is only under the worst of circumstances that we can learn what truly holds our hearts.”