The Wicked Duke (8 page)

“Here is a problem,” Ives said. “If you pursue the lady in order to garner some time to find this liar, it will create expectations. From Sir Horace. From her mother and the county neighbors. From her. If it goes on very long, it will be assumed by all that a proposal is imminent.”

“I will ensure the lady will not have me. I will arrange it so she throws me over before it reaches any proposal.”

“Oh, of course. You will merely do what dukes always do to discourage women from wanting to be wealthy duchesses of incomparable station. We should have thought of that, Gareth.” Ives cocked his head. “How do dukes manage that again? It has slipped my mind.”

“She already does not care for me much,” Lance said. “And after what happened to her cousin at the lake—” He glared at the port, annoyed it had made him loose-lipped.

Ives's sudden frown looked like canyons emerged on his brow. “I knew you took us there for a reason. What
happened to her cousin at the lake? And why were you at the lake with her cousin?”

Resenting every word, Lance explained Nora's accident, and his suspicions about what had really happened. “Miss Radley said a few things that led me to think it was no accident too,” he concluded.

“Why did she do it?” Gareth asked. “Why would Miss Radley think this was her cousin's effort to harm herself?”

Lance searched his memory about the confusion after they pulled Nora out. “It was not clear, but she blamed herself. And me. My arrival, and my offer of that carriage ride, seemed part of it.”

“That explains why it is Marianne Radley whom Sir Horace now throws at you, and not his daughter. I was wondering about that,” Gareth said. “Her state of mind does not allow marriage, from the sounds of things. In particular, it does not allow marriage to you.”

“I did not even know her before that carriage ride.”

“But she knew you, or of you. She knows you are a duke, if nothing else.”

They all knew what the something else might be. Being thought a murderer was not the kind of thing to reassure a very young, very frightened girl who was not right in her head.

“It explains Radley's threat and blackmail. His daughter made her views most clear, and he can't risk she will do it again. So he turned to the cousin,” Gareth said. “Now he will not have to talk you into marrying a madwoman either. You might have balked at that, especially with your duties to the title and the family.”

“Is this other one the ‘she'?” Ives asked, proving he had not missed one word of what Gareth said.

“She?” Gareth looked curiously at Ives, then Lance.

“Lance showed evidence of a blooming fascination when I arrived. I guessed it was why he took off without a word that afternoon, and I was right. So, again, is Marianne Radley the ‘she'?”

Damnation. “I will admit that I chanced to meet her, and thought her company might alleviate the unending tedium of my days. She is, and was, by no means a fascination.”

“So you will woo the lady, and ensure she does not like you at all before you are done,” Ives said. “And while you woo and pursue, you will find out about this lying witness. It is not much of a plan, but I am at a loss for a better one.”

“I will be doing one other thing,” Lance said, the decision coming to him with a certainty he had not felt about anything in the last nine months. “I will be making sure I am never again the victim of schemes like Radley's, and that any fool who chooses cannot threaten me with exposure of a crime
I did not commit
.”

A bolt of anger crashed through him while he spoke. He hurled his glass into the fire with his last word. The flames jumped as they consumed the remnants of the spirits.

“I am going to rid myself of the damnable suspicions that follow me like a pending tempest, and that will never go away no matter what is done. I am going to ignore your advice, Ives, and stop living like the saint I have never been, and instead become an avenging angel.”

He glared at his brothers, waiting for them to try to
soothe the unholy fury that gripped him. All he saw were two men watching him with concern and, God help him, sympathy.

“How are you going to do that?” Ives asked.

He grabbed the bottle, got up, and aimed for his bed. “I am going to find out who did kill Percy, damn it.”

The Times of London

. . . With that reassurance to readers regarding the health of Lady Jersey, who continues her long residence in Cheltenham, and our description of improvements intended at one of that spa's pumps, we now must conclude our notes regarding that town.

In other county news, a widow of very high station has found herself attended upon by a man of merely respectable fortune and birth. Society watches to see if the lady will be persuaded the gentleman is worth the relinquishment of both her independence and the control of her considerable income. Local wags think that unlikely unless the gentleman strikes a bargain
with the devil to give him new youth and at least a fair amount of wit.

Elijah Tewkberry, Gloucestershire

Marianne stepped out of the silk dress. The color of ice frosting a lake, its hint of blue enhanced her eyes.

“We will have it ready for a final fitting on Monday,” Mrs. Makepeace said. Her daughter Mrs. Trumball began helping Marianne into the outdated green muslin she had worn to the dressmakers.

Uncle Horace had generously offered to have this dress made for the assembly next week. Mama was getting one too. He had not even objected when Nora refused to accept one herself. Perhaps he really had given up on the idea of forcing Nora into social situations.

These visits to the dressmakers in Dutton had become part of life the last week, as Marianne's days had followed life's inevitable preference for routine and predictability.

She usually spent the mornings with Nora, and by week's end had even coaxed her cousin out into the garden to watch the men rehabilitating the plantings to Mama's instructions.

Every few days she joined Mama on her calls. Normally they visited the village too. Twice now they had taken the longer carriage ride to Cheltenham, however, for better shopping or for other errands.

Mama had deigned to make use of the Dutton dressmakers due to the press of time, but she let the women
know that if the resulting dresses disappointed in any way, all further wardrobe additions would be procured in London.

With such a prize dangling, the dressmakers found their best materials, such as the lovely ice blue silk that Mrs. Makepeace now folded with care. Marianne stepped from behind the curtain into the shop's little sitting room while she buttoned her gray wool pelisse.

“It was very bad of you to demand they remake four of our other dresses, too, and for no extra money,” she said to her mother while she pulled on her gloves. Behind the curtain, the women hurried to straighten up the workroom for the grand lady who would be fitted next.

“They are charging too much for these new dresses, so I am only evening the accounts. You must be alert to that, Marianne. Shopkeepers will want you to pay more if they think Sir Horace's fortune is behind you.”

Marianne tied on her bonnet. “While you are being fitted, I think I will take a turn outside.”

“Do not be long. I do not want to have to wait for you.”

Promising to return soon, Marianne slipped out of the shop.

She marched down to Howard's bookshop, and took care of her business there. Before leaving she broke the seal on a letter from London. The editor of the
Times
had written to Elijah Tewkberry, and informed him that the sum of five shillings had been deposited in the London bank account designated for any payments.

Unfortunately, he had also written that some of the letters were not suitable for the
Times
. Her letter regarding
the woman and the eloquent gentleman who took chambers at Dutton's inn had been rejected. He advised that Mr. Tewkberry should expand his circle of papers should he want to sell such gossip. He even provided the address of a gossip sheet, and said he had been told they paid handsomely for information. He hoped, however, that any news of true importance would first be offered to the Times.

She would never meet this editor, but she would someday express her gratitude. Eighteen months ago, after attending the quarter sessions in Calne, she had written up a report of a murder trial, complete with dialogue from the proceedings. On a whim she had sent it to the newspaper. Assuming such a missive from a woman would not find favor, she had plucked the name Elijah Tewkberry out of her head.

To her amazement, a bank draft had arrived four days later. As it was made out in Mr. Tewkberry's name, she had been unable to do anything with it. Since Vincent was in London at the time, she wrote and asked him to open a bank account there in both her name and that of Elijah Tewkberry. He had done so, never once asking why, or even who this man was. If she had harbored any remaining hopes regarding Vincent's interest in her private life, his utter indifference to the reasons for her unusual request made the truth very clear.

After that she had the newspaper deposit payments in that London account, then had a bank in Calne transfer the money to it. Thus she maintained the illusion that her correspondence came from a man.

This money earned from her correspondence had become more important all of a sudden. She did not trust Uncle Horace to permanently set aside his intentions to use Nora in some marriage scheme. Should he take such steps in the future, she wanted to have money to make good on her threat to remove Nora from the house.

Which meant that Elijah Tewkberry needed to correspond more frequently. She hoped she could find enough respectable news to avoid approaching the gossip sheets, but if it came to that, she would swallow her pride and do it.

Joining Mama on calls would provide some. Uncle Horace, it appeared, would be another source. Just last night he had described a humorous event that took place at the petty sessions he presided over. She intended to start attending those herself. Unfortunately, the really interesting transgressions were only brought forward at the quarter sessions, and the last one at Michaelmas had ended before she left Wiltshire.

She debated whether she had time to walk all the way out to the Blackthorn coaching inn, to chat with the servants and see if they had any information that might point her toward something useful. She had formed an acquaintance with two talkative maids there when she stopped by while out riding. That was something else that had changed since Nora's “accident” at the lake. Uncle Horace no longer demanded her company on rides. Rather, he seemed to encourage her to ride on her own now.

Deciding she did not have time to walk all the way to the inn and back, she strolled along the main lane in the
village, stopping on occasion to look in shop windows. She was peering into a tailor's shop when a voice behind her interfered with her thoughts.

“Rare to see you here in the village, sir,” a man said loudly. “As it happens, I've been wanting a word with you.”

“I have time for two words, Mr. Langreth. I regret that you waited to share them. I always am happy to speak with a neighbor.”

Hearing Aylesbury's voice, Marianne became most attentive, but bent to pretend close study of a waistcoat on display in the window.

“Talk between neighbors is one thing. A right understanding is another, Your Grace.”

“You appear vexed, Mr. Langreth.”

“I am, sir. I am. I have been after that sly thief Jeremiah Stone for almost a year, and when I finally catch him red-handed, he gets off at the petty sessions, due to you, when he should have been bound over for a judge's trial.”

“You must refer to those hares found with him when you detained him. As the magistrates said, there was not sufficient information to assess his guilt. Or at least that is what my steward reported.”

“He is a poacher! Everyone knows it. He makes free use of my land and everyone else's. I swore down information as such.”

“Why was he not convicted, then?” Another man spoke now. Marianne strained to see him in the glass panes' reflection, but all she could make out were three dark heads clustered together on three tall male forms.

Another figure, this one shorter by a head and white-haired, pointed at Aylesbury. “They said
he
had to swear, not me, that is why. And he would not. Nor would his steward in his stead. You may be so rich you can afford to allow poachers a free hand, Your Grace, but the rest of the landowners here are not so favored by Providence.”

“Mr. Langreth, I am sorry to have denied you your pound of Mr. Stone's flesh. We all know his circumstances, however. He is little more than a boy, and he cares for his ill father and his six siblings. Furthermore, there is no proof he poached on my lands that day.”

“He had the damned hares in his damned sack, along with a damned trap. He was crossing the road between our properties, leaving yours and going to mine. If that is not proof he was poaching, what is?”

“Finding him
on
someone's land with that trap, or those hares,” the other voice said. “Of course my brother would not swear information against this Mr. Stone. He could not prove Mr. Stone had in fact gotten those hares in his forest.”

“Hell of a thing. I've been asking you to put your people after him, and when I catch him myself it doesn't count in the law!”

“Mr. Langreth. I sympathize that you think your property rights have been violated by poachers. There are some I would gladly see punished,” Aylesbury said. “However, what little Mr. Stone may take from my land feeds an infirm father and a passel of children, all of whom might starve if he is taken from them.”

Silence greeted that. Then boots stomped away. “Hell of a thing!” Mr. Langreth yelled to the village at large.

“I am surprised this Jeremiah Stone was not convicted,” another new voice said.

“Sir Horace Radley woke up that morning in a generous mood,” Aylesbury said.

Marianne sneaked a look over her shoulder. Aylesbury stood with two other men, not more than fifteen feet behind her. They all appeared related, although not a one of them truly looked like another. Dark-haired, all of them, and tall. Of the three, Aylesbury was perhaps the least typically handsome, yet she thought his particular version of handsome the most compelling.

As if feeling her quick glance, he turned. In the window's reflection she saw him facing her back, looking at her.

“Miss Radley, is that you?”

She feigned surprise at seeing him. He walked over and looked in the shop window. “Are you considering the purchase of a man's waistcoat? There are a few women who favor such things, but I do not think you would find one flattering.”

He had noticed she had been at the window for some time. “I was thinking my uncle could use a new one.” It sounded stupid, but it was all she had.

“You should advise him against getting it here. This fellow does not cut well.” He looked toward the lane. “Our meeting is a happy coincidence. I would like to introduce you to my brothers. They are visiting for a week or so.”

She could not refuse, so she found herself receiving
close inspection by Lord Ywain Hemingford, and Mr. Gareth Fitzallen. The latter was a beautiful man with a winning smile. The former might be beautiful, too, but with a subtle hardness that his own smile did not soften.

“Is your mother with you?” Aylesbury asked.

“She is completing some business with the dressmaker. I should return to her.”

“We will walk with you.” Aylesbury made to do just that, so she walked too. His brothers followed.

“Your cousin is well?” he asked.

“She is much recovered, thank you. I believe her ordeal from that day is firmly in the past.”

“That is good to know. I have been concerned for her.”

She began to think well of him for that, until she remembered that in the past he had been so unconcerned that poor Nora was found in the mud, after rain poured on her for hours.

“At least she suffered no fever this time.” She could not resist saying it.

As soon as they approached the dressmakers, her mother came out the door. Mama must have seen her escort through the window, because now she pretended to look far and wide for Marianne, making a display of her search. She feigned surprise to see her daughter nearby with three gentlemen.

“Your Grace!” Mama dipped a curtsy. “Marianne, you have collected an impressive group of friends in such a short walk.”

Aylesbury did the introductions. “You have not called on me, Mrs. Radley. I expected you by now.”

“It has been my intention to do so very soon, Your Grace. Hasn't it, Marianne? We are well settled now, so we would be honored to call.”

“I look forward to it. Do not dally, or my brothers may be gone. That would disappoint them, since they have so little society here other than my company.”

Marianne doubted either brother wanted to sit in a drawing room while Aylesbury flattered her mother. However, both brothers smiled, nodded, and joined in cajoling Mama to make her call very soon.

“We will take our leave now,” Aylesbury said. “I regret we have business to attend.” He bowed to Mama and her, and all three brothers walked back toward the tailor shop.