The Duke (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 6)

by Mary Kingswood

  “So… another wretched mine,” Max said, his eyes brimming with laughter. “Your revered father would not have approved.”

  “Pooh! We have had the salt mine for ever, not to mention those tin mines in Cornwall. Coal is no different,” Ran said, with a shrug. “And very profitable, which Father would most definitely have approved. Good management of the estate, that was his watchword.”

  “How many mines is that? Four? Five?”

  “Six,” Ran said. “What else do you have for me today, Max? Let us get down to business.”

  For more than an hour, they discussed estate matters — tenant houses, farming prospects, the shooting and fishing rights on a distant holding, some property in London that the lawyers were looking into. Secretaries and attorneys and footmen came and went, bearing letters to be signed, or notes of domestic matters, or occasionally whispering in Max’s ear. Eventually, however, the stream of decisions to be made and letters to be signed and sales or purchases to be approved dwindled to a trickle, and the attorneys and under-secretaries disappeared. Only Max, Ran’s oldest friend outside the family, remained.

  “Come now, Max,” Ran said at length. “Are we finished for the day? Pour me a glass of something, will you, and tell me what is in your mind, for you are unusually subdued.”

  Max obediently went to the sideboard where the decanters stood, and with the experience of many years’ acquaintance, poured two glasses of Ran’s favourite Canary.

  “You are aware of the date, of course,” he said, sliding the glass across the battered deal table that served as Ran’s working desk. There was a large desk in a corner, as well as a cumbersome secretary and an elegant little escritoire, but Ran had always preferred the greater space of the table.

  “Of course. A year since the Brig Minerva sank. A year since my brother died. How could I forget?”

  “I beg your pardon. I did not mean to imply that you had forgotten. But Hammick is still in Boston, no doubt eating his head off at your expense, and awaiting further orders.”

  Ran sighed. “I am aware…”

  “He has been to every single church on the east coast of America, and enquired of every family of consequence, and has found not the slightest indication that your brother married while he was there, nor fathered a legal heir. Not that anyone imagines that Gervase would have married without notifying you.”

  Another sigh. “No, you are quite right. There is no hope now of such a thing. Hammick may be relieved of his quest.”

  “There is another letter from Mr Willerton-Forbes, as well.”

  Ran groaned. “Does the fellow never give up? I neither want nor need the Benefactor’s money.”

  Max laughed and shook his head. “He cannot give up! Do but consider his position, Ran. He has been charged by this mysterious Benefactor to transfer one thousand pounds to every survivor or next of kin of a victim of the Brig Minerva. He cannot complete his task without seeing every person so affected, and I daresay you are now the very last. How it must irk him! He must wish of all things to put the whole behind him, but he cannot, since you refuse to see him. Do you not want to meet him? I confess to some curiosity myself, after all the correspondence between you.”

  “Very well, very well! Make an appointment for him, if it must be so. And now, that must be all? I should like to go for a walk… get outside for a while. Ah… there is something else?”

  “His Grace the Duke of Orrisdale arrived about two hours since.”

  Ran jumped to his feet. “And you only tell me now?”

  “He gave strict instructions that you were not to be disturbed. Brent will have taken care of him, you know, and His Grace said that he would be happy to await your pleasure in the Porcelain Room.”

  Ran laughed. “Of course he would! But I shall not keep him waiting any longer.”

  The Porcelain Room was not one of the larger chambers at Valmont, being no more than an ante-room between two far more imposing apartments, but it was a charmingly elegant place, full of lightness and wintry sunshine. Here, amongst the delicate glass cabinets and multitude of pale oak shelves, stood the Duke of Orrisdale, a man of fifty, who was a looming figure half a head taller than Ran, and broad as well. He was not precisely fat, but he looked as if his tailor had been surreptitiously increasing the seams of his coats for some years now.

  “I beg your pardon for not receiving you when you arrived,” Ran said as he entered.

  The duke did not glance up from the vase he held in his hands. “No need, no need,” he said absently. “Your people have looked after me very well. This is a lovely piece, Litherholm! Not so fine as Sèvres, but almost so. Limoges, I think?”

  “I cannot tell you,” Ran said, smiling. “Mama was the expert. And Gervase, of course. Have you been given your usual room?”

  “Oh yes, yes, no need for you to worry about that. Everything made ready within the twinkling of an eye, just as I like it, although I gave you not the least warning. But I could not let the day pass without notice, you know. Yet here you are, still in your black coat. It is a year now, Litherholm, a full year since your brother’s tragic death. You might leave off the mourning garb now.”

  “True,” Ran said colourlessly.

  “Well, well, you must do as you think best, and I am not one of those thinking you should have stepped into Falconbury’s place long since. It was very proper of you to wait and see if the lad might have fathered an heir while he was in foreign parts.” He looked at Ran from beneath bushy eyebrows. “You have found none, I take it.”

  “No.”

  “Hmm. So you will claim your seat in the Lords now? I assure you there will not be the least difficulty there.”

  “When I go to town in the spring, I shall see about it,” Ran said.

  “Ah, excellent! That is what I wanted to hear.” With a reluctant sigh, he set down the vase he had been holding and picked up a snuff box. “Now this is exquisite. Sèvres, of course.”

  “Is it?”

  The duke chuckled. “You may have an excellent head for the management of your estates, Litherholm, but you are a philistine in matters of the decorative arts. Indeed it is Sèvres, and a finer example I never saw. Your mama had a wonderful eye for such things, and your brother too, but I daresay there will be no more added to the collection now that the dukedom is in your hands, eh? Shall you make many changes, once you assume the title?”

  “Probably not. I like Valmont the way it is.” He waited patiently, guessing that the duke was getting to the point in his roundabout way.

  “How old are you now, Litherholm?”

  “Eight and twenty, sir.”

  “The years fly by so. And my Ruthie is almost one and twenty.”

  Ran shivered. “And how is the Lady Ruth?” he said politely.

  “Well enough, well enough, but… she has waited a long time, Litherholm.”

  “I am aware, Duke.”

  “Not that I will put any pressure on you, none at all, for that is not my way, and after all, the understanding was with your brother. They got on so well, right from the start, and although we never minded him jauntering about the world, for they were both very young then—” He stopped, twisting his lips thoughtfully.

  Ran said nothing, for what after all was there to say?

  “Well, we should like to know where we stand, that is all,” the duke said bluntly. “There is Susan barely eighteen and already settled — not general knowledge yet, but I do not scruple to tell you — so you see, it would be as well if we could fire Ruthie off first. That is the proper way of it, the eldest daughter before the younger. The Duchess wants to hold a Grand Ball at Mallowfleet for Ruthie’s birthday next month, and it would be the ideal time for an announcement… if there is to be an announcement. But it is for you to say, you know.”

  Taking a deep breath, Ran said, “You will not find me in the least unwilling, but…”

  “But?”

  “Ruth is such a beauty, and so accomplished… everything that any man c
ould hope for in a wife. I understand why she would wait for Gervase, but I cannot imagine that she would be happy to accept me in his place. She must surely have a myriad of suitors… what about Claythorpe? His name has been mentioned.”

  “Pft, we were very taken in there! It is true that he was very attentive, and we did think… an earl, too, which would have been tolerable, and if she had liked the idea… but then it all went off, and he had the nerve to tell me later that he found her too cold and reserved. My Ruthie, as well-bred a daughter as ever lived! Aye, she has had suitors enough, but she has always been content to accept our choice for her. She is a good girl, and knows her duty to her mama and to me. She will certainly accept you if you make the offer.”

  “But I am so different from Gervase,” Ran said. “Will she mind taking second best?”

  “She will be taking the Duke of Falconbury, not some paltry younger son. It may not be precisely the husband she expected, but the position is the one she has been destined to occupy for years. You will not find her a troublesome wife.”

  “No, no! Indeed not, but I should like to talk to her before anything is irrevocably settled. To assure myself that she is happy with the arrangement. Will you bring her to stay here for a few days? So that we may get to know each other a little better? Then, if she wishes it, I shall come to Her Grace’s Grand Ball and make my offer in form.”

  “That would be sensible,” the duke said. “Next week, perhaps. Good, good, so that is all settled. You still keep your usual hours here? I shall have a lie down upstairs, then, before changing for dinner.”

  With obvious reluctance, he returned the Sèvres snuff box to its place. Impulsively, Ran picked it up and pressed it into his hand.

  “Keep it, as… a token of my esteem and gratitude, and the connection between our two families.”

  “Well now… well now… how very kind! Your brother would not have given away a family heirloom so readily, you may be sure.”

  “I am not my brother,” Ran said sadly.

  After handing the duke over to the butler, Ran made his way to a small side door that gave onto the western gardens. Here he collected a weather-beaten felt hat and a greatcoat of an old-fashioned style, and set off along one of the wide gravel paths through the parterre. Just as the house was loosely based on the style of the Palace of Versailles, so Valmont’s gardens, too, were laid out in a formal French manner, with an array of parterres and bosquets, pools and fountains, grottoes and a large labyrinth. Although there were shrubberies and even a so-called wilderness, these were artfully arranged and carefully managed. The more modern fashion for natural landscapes and deer parks had not yet overtaken the Litherholm family. Gervase, perhaps, would have swept away the formality and replaced it with something that looked just like any other garden, but Ran loved the straight lines and closely clipped hedges.

  At the far end of the reflecting pool was a large, temple-like building in the Roman style, with lofty pillars topped by a pediment bearing the Litherholm coat of arms. The family mausoleum was not a cheerful place, but Ran did not regard the gloomy atmosphere. He strode up the steps and pushed open the great wooden door. High windows admitted enough light for him to make his way about halfway down one side. Here stood a black marble sarcophagus, very plain, engraved only with the words ‘Gervase Septimus Litherholm, Seventh Duke of Falconbury’.

  “Well, you old rascal,” Ran said, sitting cross-legged on the dusty floor. “A whole year, and now there is no escaping it. I am to have your title, whether I wish it or no, and I am to have your bride, too. You should have married Ruth before you left, you little idiot, and then I should be helping her to raise your son to be a true Litherholm, instead of trying to squeeze myself into a mould to which I am patently unfitted. Or maybe you would have stayed at home if you had had such a good reason. Whatever were you thinking, to go gadding about to the New World like that, and then getting yourself drowned? Perfectly imbecilic thing to do. And now I have to try to step into your shoes, and that is going to be so hard, Ger. So hard… I am a perfectly good steward, but there is more to being a duke than nurturing the estate for the next generation. And then there is Ruth… how can I make her happy, brother? What an idiot you are, to make her fall in love with you and then die. I shall do my best, God knows, but I shall always be second best. Always.” He paused, the lump in his throat almost choking him. Resolutely, he got to his feet. “But I shall do my duty, as ever. Sleep well, you old rascal. Sleep well.”

  Slowly he made his way back across the gardens to the side door. Brent, the butler, was waiting inside for him, his face impassive. He was a solemn man of about sixty, who had served three Dukes of Falconbury, had seen everything and was the most imperturbable man Ran had ever known. Nothing ever rattled his poise.

  “His Grace is resting on his bed, my lord,” Brent said, deftly removing the greatcoat and accepting the elderly hat. “Monsieur has taken the liberty of preparing some sweetbreads for roasting, knowing as how His Grace is so fond of the dish, and Mrs Cromarty is to make a chestnut soup.”

  “That is very thoughtful,” Ran said. “I can always depend on you all to rise to the occasion, even when His Grace arrives without notice. You have brought up some of the good claret from the cellar, I expect.”

  “Naturally, my lord, and the port His Grace the Sixth Duke laid down. Ah, there is a small tear in the pocket of this coat. I shall inform Mr Giggs.”

  Ran turned, looking the butler in the eye. “Do you know, Brent, my brother bought this coat when he first went up to Oxford, and as for the hat… I cannot tell you how ancient it is.”

  “I believe it was your father’s, my lord.”

  “There you are, then. Tell Giggs he may dispose of them as he sees fit. He may leave my old olive driving coat here for my garden strolls. And pray tell him also that he may put away all my black coats. My year of mourning is over. For tonight, he may lay out my new blue coat, the Weston, and the cream waistcoat.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  “And Brent… I shall be taking my seat in the Lords in the spring, so I suppose we had all better get used to the title, eh? Tell the other servants, will you.”

  The butler bowed deeply, and then his face creased into a most unaccustomed smile. “Yes, indeed I will… Your Grace.”

  2: To Valmont

  Lady Ruth Grenaby was practising a complicated sonata on the pianoforte. At least, it was only the final movement, but there were some fine, uplifting passages that she liked rather well, so she chose to repeat the performance instead of trying to find another piece that she enjoyed. That was always the problem with music — one piece lifted one up, but the next was sure to cast one down, and she was not yet ready to be cast down.

  In a corner, Aunt Maria and Cousin Patience sat quietly with their sewing. They were deeply respectful of Ruth’s ability on the instrument, and never talked while she played. Perhaps, too, they enjoyed the respite from civil banalities.

  Ruth was aware of the door opening quietly, followed by some whispering. Then the door closed again, and the only sound was the music. She had just begun her fourth passage through the movement when the door opened again, and this time she was aware that her mother stood waiting quietly for a pause in the music. Deftly, she ended with a flourish and turned towards the door, where her mother stood.

  “How delightfully you play, Ruth, dear,” she said, as she always did.

  Ruth rose and curtsied. “Thank you, Mama. Did you wish to speak to me?”

  “Your father is home,” her mother said, an excited gleam in her eyes. “He wishes to see you.”

  “Of course,” Ruth said evenly, but her stomach executed a painful somersault. He had returned from Valmont, so there would be… something to tell her. One way or the other.

  As she made her way to the door, Aunt Maria smiled encouragingly at her. “It is good news, at last!” she whispered, as Ruth passed by. That caused another flip of her stomach. Good news could only be… but she must be
calm. No use jumping to conclusions, and she would know soon enough.

  The duke was in the tiny room he called his library. All the rooms at Mallowfleet were small and dark, hemmed in by wooden panels and latticed windows that admitted but little light. Even now, in the middle of the afternoon, there were candles lit in the sconces and the chandelier.

  “Here she is,” the duchess trilled, as Ruth curtsied to her father. “I have persuaded her to abandon the instrument for a while, for this is a momentous day, is it not?”

  “Indeed, indeed,” the duke said. “Well now, you are in looks, daughter, I am pleased to see.”

  “Ruth is always in looks,” the duchess said complacently.

  “So she is. I am just returned from Valmont, and all is settled, you will be pleased to hear. Litherholm — or Falconbury, I should say — will do his duty by you, daughter.”

  “He takes his title, then?” the duchess said excitedly. “At last! I cannot imagine why he should have waited so long.”

  “I cannot fault the boy for that,” the duke said. “Very proper, I call it, to make every effort to ensure his brother left no heir. He has behaved just as he ought, but now he is to accept all his obligations. You will be a duchess by the summer, daughter. I congratulate you.”

  “Thank you, Papa.”

  “Before the summer, I trust,” the duchess said quickly. “In May, during the season, so we may hold a ball to celebrate the occasion, and by special licence, to allow you to marry at Berkeley Square. One would not want to provide a spectacle for the masses by marrying in church. Then you may be presented at court this year.”

  “I have already been presented, Mama.”

  “As your father’s daughter, but not as the Duchess of Falconbury. Such a satisfactory conclusion to all our anxiety! I thought he was going to cry off, truly I did. Keeping you waiting for such a time, the foolish boy.”

  “He has only just left off his black coats,” her father said, frowning. “He lost his twin, Duchess, never forget that — he felt it exceedingly, and I think the better of him for showing some reluctance to step into his brother’s shoes. But he knows what is expected of him. He will come to this ball of yours next month and the betrothal may be made there. They may marry as soon as the settlements have been drawn up, for I cannot think what need there is for further delay, now that all is decided.”