The Wicked Duke (5 page)

“It is rare for people to refuse me their company, Miss Radley. More common are those like your uncle, who gallop across fields to interfere with my day and to curry favor. When I call you will indeed agree to a carriage ride with me. Your uncle will insist on it. If he lusts after Lady Barnell's connections, he will be apoplectic if you deny him the chance to have mine.” He leaned forward and patted Calliope's neck. “As for how much pleasure there is on that carriage ride, that will be up to you.”

Calliope moved closer, hoping for more petting from that handsome, masculine hand. Marianne struggled with the reins to keep the horse from snuggling too close to the duke's mount, and putting Marianne all but in the duke's lap.

Uncle Horace trotted his horse toward them.

“Splendid prospects, Your Grace. Splendid. It is a wonder your family has not built up here. If not a manor house, then villas to let.”

“My brother considered the latter before he passed. Fortunately, no contracts had been signed. As for my building villas to let, my father would haunt me if I even thought twice about it.” He led them down the hill, then pointed to the rough line through the field. “If you follow this, it will bring you back to where we met. I must take my leave of you now. I meet with my steward soon.”

“Quite so, quite so,” Uncle Horace said. “Splendid to see you today, Your Grace.”

“We are honored by your condescension,” Marianne added. Uncle Horace may have forgotten his place, but she knew hers, and it would behoove one of them to remind His Grace that just as one comported oneself a certain way with one's betters, one did so with one's inferiors too.

“The honor is mine, Miss Radley, since I made your introduction as a result. We will talk soon, Radley.”

“Very soon, Your Grace.”

The duke turned his horse and galloped away. Uncle Horace watched, a sly smile on his face. “Damnation, but that went well.”

“If you force your company on him frequently, it is a wonder he did not cut us directly.”

“He won't cut
me
. He will tolerate my company. He permitted the introduction to you and will do the same with Nora. I had his agreement on it months ago.”

“Then he is kinder than he appears.”

Horace grasped his riding crop, signaling that he intended to clear this field quickly. “Kindness has nothing to do with it. He knows I hold his life in my hands.”

*   *   *

“M
ay I take the curling iron to this topknot, Miss?” Katy, the servant assigned to her, posed the question hopefully. Having been promoted to lady's maid out of necessity, Katy wanted to show her abilities with needle and thread, dressing and undressing, and now the curling iron.

Marianne nodded, since there was no reason other than stubbornness to refuse. At the cottage they had all shared old Jane, but now Mama had taken her as her private servant, so she and Nora had to contend with two girls who had never been properly trained.

Marianne's real reason for wanting to be stubborn had nothing to do with that. She had not spent this long dressing in five years, and being required to do so now irritated her. She envisioned hours of each day now being devoted to her grooming. This morning the maid's arrival had interfered with her writing an important letter, which still awaited completion in her bedchamber.

“Did you enjoy your ride with your uncle yesterday?” Katy asked while she singed a lock of hair with the iron.

“We had a few good gallops, which was better than I expected. We visited the village and I met many people. I was introduced to the Duke of Aylesbury.”

“The duke? Oh, my.” Katy's round dark eyes grew larger in the looking glass's reflection. “An honor, I am sure, but one I could have done without, if it were me.”

“Surely you are not afraid of him.”

“He is said to be very wicked, miss. Not only the normal kinds of ways men can be wicked either.” She lowered her voice. “It is said he done in his brother. The coroner has left the matter open all this time. Nine months it is. The magistrates are sure they will find enough to have the lords hold a trial. If he were not a duke, he would've swung by now.”

“Killed his brother? The last duke? I find that hard to believe.”

“He was in the house when it happened. Poison, it is said. The physician implied as much. That family insists it was a malady of the gut, but no one believes it.” She lifted another strand of hair. “I'd stay far away from that one, miss. Not that it is my place to advise you, of course.”

Was this what Uncle Horace had meant when he spoke of holding the duke's life in his hands? As a county justice of the peace, Horace was responsible for investigating crimes and presiding at the petty sessions.

But if he believed Aylesbury to be a murderer, why was he talking of a match with Nora?

Marianne watched the curls form on her crown. Her uncle's true plans and motivations fell into place along with each lock's unfurling.

While Uncle Horace might truly believe Aylesbury had seduced and ruined Nora, it was not family honor he pursued in his scheme. It was connections, and improving his status, just as it was with his pursuit of Lady Barnell.

Would he sacrifice his daughter in order to advance his own position in society? Being in a duke's circle probably brought all kinds of opportunities and benefits. Even marriage to Lady Barnell would become attainable if one of
Horace's female relatives married a duke. The financial expectations alone after such a match would be considerable.

She would confront Uncle Horace about all of it. She would tell him she had guessed his intentions, and that she would not allow him to use Nora thus. The duke would hardly treat Nora well if he were blackmailed into marriage. Uncle Horace's avarice should not go unchecked.

“Katy, are there any other stories about the duke? Is he known to take advantage of local women, for example? Even as a girl I remember he had a bad reputation.”

“A rake, you mean? Oh, he is wicked that way too, miss. Everyone knows it and says so. But as to local girls, I can't say I have heard of it, although it would take a brave one to accuse such as him. Of course, he is so rarely here, except the last nine months, that is. Why, when he began living in that big house, there were some of his servants who did not know who he was, he visited so rarely in the past. That is why his being there on the night his brother was poisoned is so suspicious. Of all the nights to come down from town, why that one if he is innocent?”

“It would be a tragedy if a mere coincidence of domicile caused a man's name to be ruined, Katy.”

“His name is the least of it, don't you think? Even dukes can hang for murder, although I was told they get a silk rope if they do.”

“Does he live there in isolation? For a man with his tastes, that would make the manor house a luxurious prison, but a prison all the same.”

“His brothers visit, and their wives. There's stories
aplenty about those two as well. One just married a woman whose father is a criminal, it's said. He was in Newgate for months, but released. A mistake, it was explained. More a matter of a duke's son wanting it to be a mistake is the common thinking.”

Marianne tucked that morsel away for later chewing. “He cannot be enjoying his inheritance much if only family visits on occasion.”

“I think being rich would entertain me enough on its own. However, his life here has been very quiet, even more than that of the last duke, his brother. There has not been a party there in years. Even the events held for the tenants and the county years ago are never done now. I remember going to one of those when I was a child.”

Marianne remembered too. There had been summer festivals back then, with the whole county invited. She had been with her father at one when he spoke with the old duke—the current one's father. The two had talked about sheep and barley.

“So nothing of interest goes on at that big house. How unfortunate.” Except a possible murder. That was very interesting.

Katy finished with the last curl, and poked at it all with her comb's tail. Marianne looked at the result. It appeared lopsided and frizzy. She would have old Jane explain a few things to Katy.

“Get me dressed now, quickly. I have a letter to finish, then I need to visit my cousin, and then I intend to go to the village.”

After dressing, she left Katy and returned to her writing table. There she finished the letter she had started. It was to Nora's half brother, Vincent, the son of their mother by her first marriage. Vincent was an officer in the naval service. She wanted him to know about their change of domicile, and also to assure him of Nora's health, although she had no idea when he would receive the letter.

Writing to Vincent always put her in a bittersweet mood. As a girl she had formed emotions for him as he grew older and taller. It seemed that every month her feelings deepened. He was the only man she had ever loved.

She had foolishly formed expectations. Especially after her father died, she had built dreams around Nora's brother. Only then he had entered the naval service, and was no longer in her life, so she did not see right away that he did not think of her the same way.

At least she had never poured out her emotions in a letter to him, although she was tempted to during those first months after she moved to Wiltshire. She had kept her dreams to herself. Thank goodness for that, because when he never expressed similar feelings himself, she had slowly awakened to the truth and accepted reality.

She folded and sealed the page, and debated how to post it. This was another problem with moving back here. For the last five years, letters to and from Vincent and others could come and go without Uncle Horace knowing about it. He did not like Vincent, however, and now he might forbid the correspondence when he became aware of it.

Hoping her visit to the village would solve the dilemma,
she set out a clean sheet of paper. She stared at it. Did she dare try to continue this other correspondence she had begun in Wiltshire?

If so, she definitely could not post the letters from this house, or receive the responses. She would have to hope she could find a business in the village that served as a mail drop, and rely on the proprietor's discretion.

She dipped her pen and began writing.
To the
Times of London . . .

The Times of London

. . . thus I conclude the most interesting cases brought up at the Michaelmas quarter sessions in Wiltshire.

Finally, your correspondent will find himself spending the winter in Gloucestershire. Even as he awaits his departure for that region, news of its social developments has reached him. Justice of the Peace and Knight of St. George, Sir Horace Radley, has received as visitors in his home there the widow of his brother, Malcolm Radley, and their daughter. His own daughter, who had been visiting her cousin and aunt at length, has joined them. Readers may remember that Mrs. Malcolm Radley entertained Sir
Horace in Wiltshire in December, before he returned to his home near Cheltenham to celebrate Christmas.

Elijah Tewkberry

Lance drank coffee in the library of Merrywood Manor. After noting there was correspondence in the
Times
from his county, and even about Miss Radley, he set aside that impressive paper and picked up instead the little broadside published out of Cheltenham every Tuesday.

He never read this paper, but now he found it almost interesting. He paused over the death notice of an elderly neighbor he thought had passed away years ago, and over the news that another neighbor had bought a new carriage and pair. He found the advertisements a revelation, since he never shopped anywhere but London. Finally he turned to what he was really looking for. A notice on the back of the sheet announced an assembly two weeks hence, to coincide with the full moon. Lady Barnell would host it in her home.

Two weeks seemed a long time. Miss Radley might be gone by then if she declined her uncle's invitation to live in his home. She had not sounded happy with the notion.

He was debating whether to ride over to Radley's house today or tomorrow, when a servant announced the arrival of his own visitor. A minute later his brother Ives strode into the library, looked in his direction, and halted in his tracks. His green eyes bulged dramatically. He covered his heart with his hand and feigned a swoon.

“Spare me the courtroom histrionics,” Lance said.

“I am truly overcome. It has been so long since I have seen you properly shaved that I barely recognized you. Did your valet tie you down while you slept, and do the deed out of pique with your eccentricity?”

“It was not eccentric, but practical. Why risk a nick if no one will see you?”

“And someone will see you now?” Ives's brow furrowed. “I hope you are not planning to come up to town.”

“I may.” Lance had no such intention, but his brother's attempts to govern his movements had grown tedious months ago.

Instead of launching into one of his harangues about why that was not desirable with suspicions about Percy's death still at large, Ives merely sat and stretched out his booted legs. Thus did sexual satisfaction mute even the loudest lion. Marriage to Miss Belvoir had wrought many changes in Ives, some of which Lance did not welcome. It was harder to goad him now, for one thing.

“I suppose you are very bored here,” Ives said with uncharacteristic understanding for the endless ennui of being rusticated. “Come up if you want. I doubt you will get into any trouble, because there is no one in town now.”

“If that is the case, I will stay here, where I at least see a few souls when I go riding.”

Ives barely heard. The newspaper had garnered his attention. Angling his head, he read the announcement on the back. Suddenly alert, he shot Lance a glance of curiosity. “Are you so bored now that you are planning to attend this assembly? If so you must warn the lady. I doubt she is expecting a duke.”

“Thank you for the lesson in county etiquette. Whatever would I do without you, Ives? No doubt just bumble along, embarrassing myself.”

That set Ives back for a moment. No longer, however.

“Are you going?” He tapped the paper.

“I don't know why you care.”

“I find it odd, that is all. You have not attended one of those since you were—” He paused and calculated. “Seventeen. After the last one, it was widely known that you were no longer welcome at them.”

“Sixteen. As for the unfortunate events of that evening, and the general censure that followed, it was much ado about nothing, and in my defense, I was a boy.”

Actually there was no defense, which did not bother Lance at the time, or now. And the much ado had been about something worthy of the reprobation that rained down upon him. It had cut his bad reputation into stone as far as this county was concerned.

“That you were a boy was part of the fun. She was not a girl, after all. And your being a boy is all that kept her husband from calling you out. If you attend this one, someone is sure to revive that story for the general entertainment of all, and the undoing of all that your recent virtue has built.”

Ives had turned into a lawyer again. He was correct, however. There were other parts to the story that would live again, such as the fact that Percy, that weasel, had been the one to send the lady's husband into that garden. He had found his wife on all fours with her skirt pushed up to her shoulders, and a boy of sixteen taking his pleasure.

“If I choose to go, I will go. Let the county gossip anew. Virtue is a terrible bore anyway, and I grow tired of pretending to be other than I am.”

That pulled Ives totally out of his marital calm. He sat upright. He stared at the paper. His gaze sharpened. One could all but hear his brain parsing and poking at all he had seen and heard the last few minutes.

“Who is she?”

Lance decided to finish his coffee.

“Whoever she is, you must not.”

“Must not what?”

Ives glared at him. “You should come up to London when I go back.”

“When will that be?”

“A day or two, no more.”

“So you rode down with no other intention than to visit me for a day or so? How good you are.” They both knew the word
visit
was too polite. Lance was in a type of prison, and Ives had appointed himself gaoler.

“I thought you would want company.”

“I am long past that. The hares and grouse keep me company enough. The servants remind me I still walk the earth.”

Ives frowned. “It has been almost a year since Percy died. I will call on the coroner and tell him it is time to put all of this nonsense to rest.”

“I suspect it remains open because someone wants it open. You are not to worry about it, however. You have already done enough of that for both of us.”

Ives, subdued, withdrew into his thoughts. Rather suddenly he jolted out of them. “Nicely done, distracting me
like that, making me feel bad for you, and absolving me of any further duty.”

“I am glad you liked it.”

“It won't work. I again ask, who is she?”

Their half brother Gareth would have given up by now. Ives was nothing if not tenacious. That helped make him a renowned barrister. His willingness to badger a person proved useful in the courtroom.

“What makes you assume there is any she?”

“You shaved.” He pointed to the paper. “You intend to go to that assembly. Your eyes have a gleam I haven't seen in almost a year. You are in pursuit, and you are not hunting hares, deer, or fowl, although I wager there is a pretty chicken in danger of getting plucked.”

Lance stood. “I am going to ride. I need to visit one of the tenants. Come with me if you want.” He strode to the door. Ives caught up.

“Stop frowning, Ives.”

“I frown for good reason. If you will not say who she is, it is worse than I thought.”

Much worse. That is what unrelenting virtue did to a man.

*   *   *

“I
t is said that the lady left within minutes of the gentleman,” Mrs. Wigglesworth confided. “That is one too many coincidences if you ask me.” Her emphasis on
coincidences
dripped with innuendo.

Mama glanced askance at Marianne, to see if her daughter had grasped the implications of the gossip. Marianne
pretended to be perplexed. Mrs. Wigglesworth should not be speaking about such things in front of an unmarried girl, but Marianne accompanied Mama on her calls just so she might hear such interesting news.

Mrs. Wigglesworth's plump face drew long with shock at her own revelations. A short, round woman, she favored large caps that covered most of her gray hair. Her green dress, while attractive, left too much of her abundant décolletage exposed, and its color made her white skin appear sallow, in Marianne's opinion. If this was how the local dressmakers influenced fashion in the county, she would have to insist that Uncle Horace send Nora to London for her new wardrobe.

“Did the servants at the inn tell people about this?” Mama asked. “That was indiscreet of them.”

“It is not every day that such notables stop at this village's inn, my dear. There is a far better one just outside Cheltenham. The servants can be excused for revealing too much in their excitement, even if they should not have done so.”

Marianne was delighted to learn the servants were indiscreet. “I fail to see how these coincidences signify,” she lied. “It is a lot of excitement about nothing, it appears.”

Mrs. Wigglesworth gave Mama a meaningful look. Mama returned one. They both smiled indulgently at Marianne.

“Perhaps you would like to visit the garden,” Mama suggested. “Mrs. Wigglesworth and I can then talk about other insignificant things without boring you.”

Marianne tried to determine if Mrs. Wigglesworth
looked to have additional interesting news in her. She decided not. “I think I will stroll in the village instead, and look in the shops.”

“I will come with the carriage and find you,” Mama said.

Taking her leave, Marianne slipped out the door and hurried down the road to the village. Once there she darted into Howard's bookshop.

From the first time she had seen him, Marianne thought Mr. Howard did not look much like a bookseller. She always pictured such men as thin and spectacled, and serious like tutors. Mr. Howard instead stood tall and fat, had a florid face and manner, and possessed wild red hair whose curls stood on end. He might be a tavern owner or a sheep farmer, from the looks of him.

He greeted her warmly, and immediately opened a drawer behind his counter. He handed over two letters and gave her a big smile.

Marianne noted one of the letters was from Nora's brother Vincent. As for the other, she had no choice but to depend upon Mr. Howard's discretion, but surely there were limits to that.

“Do you not find it odd that I will be receiving these letters, under this name, from this gentleman, Mr. Howard?”

“I would be lying if I said I did not find it odd, but I find many of the letters I handle odd, Miss Radley. You would be amazed at how odd some of them are.” He grinned. “You might say that handling odd letters is one of my stocks-in-trade.”

A fairly lucrative one. She paid a shilling a month for
this mail drop. If even ten others did so, too, Mr. Howard made a goodly sum for the service. She suspected most of his income derived from his handling of odd letters. He would not want to jeopardize that with indiscretions.

“You are not to worry about it now,” he said. “No one sees them but me, like I explained. No one will know.”

“It is a rare person who can be privy to so many secrets and feel no need to divulge them, but I know you are such a person.”

“I am at that, miss. Do you have anything to mail today?”

She opened her reticule and handed him a letter. An odd one. She fished out the coin needed to send it to London. Then she tucked her mail into the reticule, and left so Mama would find her strolling along the shops.