The Seduction of a Duke (41 page)

By late afternoon, Mary sought him out. She was worried something may have happened to the Duchess. She hadn’t been to the room to change or prepare for the evening meal. It was totally unlike her, Mary had said. The stables reported that the two mounts had not returned. His stomach churned with suppositions. Something was very, very wrong.

He was pacing in the library when the housekeeper asked him about serving dinner to the house full of guests. He replied in a yell that he didn’t give a bloody farthing about dinner. He was worried about his wife. Bertie stuck his head in to inquire what in blue blazes was happening. That’s when Lady Mandrake presented the letter.

 

 

RANDOLPH LED HER TO A DILAPIDATED TENANT DWELLING that appeared not to have entertained human occupants for decades. Occupants of a four-footed nature were undoubtedly still in residence. Cold, wet, heartbroken, and miserable, Fran had lost the ability to care about such trivial things, unless some wild animal currently in residence would favor her by eating Randolph. But that was unlikely.

“I found this building when we were out riding the other day. It looks abandoned. No one will find us here.” He dismounted from his horse and attempted to help Fran from hers. She slapped his hands away.

“Randolph, why are you doing this? You know that I love my husband.” She had pleaded with him to reconsider his role in Lily’s plan during the entire ride. The cool wind pushed droplets of rain off the trees, showering them yet again. The whole world cried with her plight.

“I know you don’t believe me, Francesca, but I do love you.” He led her to the rickety front porch, then pushed the door open. “You only think you love Bedford, but he’s not worthy of you. In time, you’d realize that he’s the wrong man for you, but then it would be too late.”

He pulled a candle and safety matches from his pocket. He finally lit the candle after several strikes. “You’ll see, divorce doesn’t carry the same stigma in America as it does here. You may hate me for a while, but eventually you’ll come around. You’ll see that I’m willing to sacrifice on your behalf.”

“Sacrifice?” She glanced around the dismal interior of the single-room dwelling. Some straw had been piled in one corner. A wobbly table and rough-hewn chairs sat to one side by several cupboards and boxes. “What are you possibly sacrificing?”

“Well, I doubt your father is going to hire me now.” He issued a weak laugh. “That’s all right. I’ll find another means of employment to keep you in fairy tales.”

Fairy tales! What was he talking about? She’d been living a fairy tale. Her beast had transformed into a handsome prince. Just as she was settling in for her happily ever after, Randolph and Lily took it all away. William would be so worried. Tears welled in her eyes again. She thought she had cried all her tears out when she wrote that letter, yet more tracked down her cheeks on the way to this place. Was there any limit to the amount of tears one woman could shed?

“Not again.” Randolph pulled a used handkerchief from his pocket. “I’ve never seen one woman cry so much in my life.”

“I can’t help it,” Fran sobbed. “When William reads that letter, it’ll break his heart. I wish . . . I wish I had never met you, Randolph Stockwell. I thought you were kind, and good, and concerned with justice and honor. How could I have misjudged a person so badly?” She sat on one of the chairs and buried her head in the nest of her arms. Her shoulders shook with her cries.

“I’ve stocked this place with minimal provisions so we should have enough to eat and drink while we’re here.” She heard him rustling about at one of the cupboards. She could run for the door, but where could she go? If she went back to the abbey, Lily would spew her venom. The only way to protect William was to stay away at least until after the ball when Bertie and some of the guests would leave.

“Drink this,” Randolph said. “A drink of water will make you feel better.” He handed her a metal cup. “Then I’ll start a fire in the fireplace to take the chill out of the air.”

She was thirsty after all the crying. She drank the full glass and too late recognized the sweet aftertaste—laudanum.

Her eyes narrowed on him. “You tricked me!”

He smiled, then became a bit fuzzy around the edges. “I couldn’t very well sit here and listen to your caterwauling all day.”

The handwriting was hers, he’d seen enough of her translations to know that. The stationery was hers as well, but he knew Franny did not write this letter—not as a consequence of her own free will. The sentences did not sound like her and the sentiments were all wrong. She loved him. She’d told him numerous times and in numerous ways. “This letter is a fraud,” he said.

“She handed it directly to me,” Lily said, all wide-eyed innocence.

“I don’t care if the Queen handed it to you,” William bellowed. “Francesca did not write this.”

“Caution, Bedford,” Bertie murmured.

He turned to Bertie. “I apologize. It’s just—”

“I agree,” Nicholas said. “I’ve spent some time with Francesca these past weeks and I know she loved my brother. If she wrote this, it was because someone forced her.”

William glanced to Nicholas in gratitude.

“I admit she certainly seemed like a woman in love yesterday, but women can be great actresses. Believe me, I know,” Bertie said.

“I’m sorry, Bedford,” Lily said, placing a hand on Bedford’s upper arm. “I know how this must pain you, especially as you’ve lost one wife before, but I don’t think she ever really felt comfortable here. It would be difficult for a foreigner to assume the role of a duchess. Perhaps she felt it was too much for her to handle.”

“Excuse me, sir.” Mary stood at the door. “I know it’s not my place, but I thought you should know that she didn’t take her clothes or jewels. The bee pin is still in her case. If she was running away, I think she would have taken her clothes.”

“Franny never wanted to be a duchess,” he stabbed at the letter. “It says here that she married me for my title but she never wanted it. She also addressed me as Bedford. That’s not what she calls me. My Franny did not write this letter.” He didn’t say that just days earlier she could have had the marriage annulled and not gone through all this, but some things should remain between the two of them.

“Okay, William,” Nicholas said. “What do you want us to do?”

“Find her!” he shouted. “She could be hurt. She’s most likely in jeopardy to be forced to write this gibberish. Find her.” Unshed tears burned his eyes, his throat was so tight so as to make swallowing painful.
A duke never sheds a tear.
But if Franny couldn’t be his Duchess, he’d just as soon not be a duke.

“We’re losing light if we want to search outside,” Nicholas said. “I say we do this. Let’s gather up some of the men and send them out with torches to search the adjacent properties. Her horse never returned so she could be somewhere in the neighboring vicinities.”

“Her missing horse could be a decoy,” Bertie cautioned. “We don’t want to leave a stone unturned.”

“Then the rest of the guests can organize in teams and search the abbey,” Nicholas said. “We’ll find her, William. If she’s to be found, we’ll do it.”

“I’ll go with the outside group,” William said heading for the door. “I know the surrounding land.”

“You’ll stay here,” Nicholas said, blocking his path. “You can’t look for her thoroughly in your current state. We’ll need someone to keep track of the teams, know what areas have been searched—that’s your strength, William. Right now we need a list of the neighbors so we can collect them on our way.”

“When we find her, you’ll be the one she needs to see,” Emma said, her voice shaking. “We’ll need to know where to find you . . . for her.”

He turned to his sister-in-law. She, more than the others, seemed to understand what was happening from Franny’s position. A bond had formed between them that he hadn’t recognized before. He wrapped his arms around Emma in a hug.

“We’ll find her, William,” she said softly. “We have to.”

William pulled a sheet of paper from his desk and started writing down names.

The men filed out of the study, calling for volunteers. As soon as William finished his task, he joined the gathering groups in the foyer.

Lily and Rosalyn stayed behind.

“I don’t know why they’re trying to find her,” Rosalyn said. “They should just let her go back home. She isn’t needed here.”

“Bedford will come to his senses,” Lily said. “When he can’t find her no matter how hard he looks, he’ll have to accept that she left on her own accord. It’ll just take some time.”

Rosalyn straightened. “Well, now that she’s gone, I believe we should see that the buffet is set up so the ladies remaining can eat, as well as the hunting parties before they venture out. They may be searching a long time if the girl doesn’t want to be found. We certainly wouldn’t want to appear inhospitable.”

WHEN SHE WOKE, ALL WAS DARK, HER STOMACH felt queasy, and her throat was thick and dry. She stirred, hearing a rustling beneath her. A faint scent of horses, smoke, and mold assaulted her senses. Dull panic rattled her brain. “William?” she called.

“He can’t hear you. By now, he won’t want to hear you.”

Randolph! Her situation came rushing back. She sat up, experiencing an abrasive sliding on her wrist.

“How do you think your husband will feel when he learns you spent the entire day and night with me? I wonder who’s sneering down their aristocratic nose now?”

His words were a bit slurred. As her eyes adjusted to the dark room, she heard the slosh of liquid in a glass bottle. Randolph was drinking.

“Even if you somehow find a way back to him now, he won’t want you anymore.” He laughed low. “Especially that one, so proud and arrogant, bet he’s not so proud anymore. Now he knows”—Randolph struck a match, filling the room with a hazy yellow light, before he lit a candle—“how all good things come to an end. Quicker than he thought, I imagine.”

He grinned at her. “Would you like a drink?”

She wasn’t going to fall for that trick again. She shook her head, then glanced about the room. She lay on a sheet tossed over the pile of straw. A rope had been knotted at her wrist, not tight, but secure. Panic hit her hard and she patted herself down, checking that all layers remained intact.

“I haven’t touched you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Randolph leered. “I wanted to, but I prefer a participating partner, not someone lost in opium dreams. We’ll have time for that later when we cross the Atlantic.”

“Randolph,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm and even kind, but it required all her training to suppress her loathing. “I need to . . . you know . . .” She nodded toward the window. “. . . Relieve myself.”

“Are you thinking you can escape? Where can you go? If you go to the abbey, Lily will make sure the world knows the truth about your husband. Besides, he’ll toss you out for your betrayal.”

“You don’t need to remind me of the consequences of what I’ve done.” Her eyes burned, but she had no more tears left. William would be sorely hurt, but still protected by her action. “I won’t run.”

“I know that, not with that rope around your wrist.” He held up his arm and she saw that he’d attached the other end of the rope to himself. “If you try, you’ll have to take me with you.” He crossed the room to help her stand, but she refused to take his hand.

“Francesca,” he said softly. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve never wanted to hurt you. This was the only way to get you free.”

Reluctantly, she let him assist her. She needed him off his guard. For what purpose, she wasn’t sure. As he’d so elegantly stated, her betrayal made returning impossible.

He led her to the door. “There’s sufficient length for you to have some privacy, but I still need to come with you. Let me check to make sure it’s safe.”

She grimaced. She doubted Randolph could protect her from anything more aggressive than a stack of papers. Not like William. She could face her worst nightmares if he were by her side.

Randolph stepped outside, looking right and left. He turned to tell her she could come out when something metallic flashed, then smacked him on the head. Randolph crumbled beneath the blow.

Fran screamed, a short burst of sound. She backed into the house, unsure what kind of danger faced her. She couldn’t close the door, not with the rope attaching her to Randolph’s unconscious body. She raked her fingers over the rope bracelet, trying to pull it from her wrist.