by Sahara Kelly
“Well. A lovely prospect to greet guests,” she said, straightening her skirts and accompanying Miles as he walked along the path to the steps and the front door.
It opened before he could raise the shining brass door knocker.
“Good afternoon.” A tall, thin butler bowed with grace. “May I be of assistance?”
“Lord Miles Linfield and Lady Withersby to see Lord and Lady Rolfe.” Miles uttered the formalities with a smile. “Hello Throgmorton. So Gadsby took pity on you and found you a position, did he?”
“Indeed he did, sir. Most kind of him.”
“I’m sure you miss the tables though,” said Miles sympathetically as he turned to Judith. “Throgmorton here is one of the luckiest men I’ve ever seen. He won every hand, every throw of the dice, every possible game one could play…he’s won it.”
“Good heavens,” Judith eyed the man with interest. “Do you play piquet, Mr Throgmorton?”
“He does, Lady Withersby. And sad to say, he’d beat even you quite handily.” Lord Rolfe appeared behind the butler who was blushing a bit at all the praise.
“Hallo Linfield.”
“Rolfe.”
The gentlemen exchanged brief nods.
“Let them in, please?” A woman’s voice echoed through the hall, and Lady Fiona Rolfe hurried in, looking—to Judith’s eyes—even more beautiful than the last time they’d met.
“Fiona,” she said. “Oh goodness. Marriage agrees with you.”
The two young women hugged, then paused and looked at each other.
“You too?” Fiona started to giggle.
“Yes,” nodded Judith. “January, we think. How about you?”
“Before the end of the year.”
Miles thumped Lord Rolfe on the shoulder. “Well done, lad.”
Rolfe rolled his eyes. “Since I’m older than you, calling me lad is absurd, but not without its charm, so I won’t call you out.” He led them into the house. “How’s your wife?”
“Very well, thank you. She’d have come with us, but Judith here won the toss.”
“Well don’t get me wrong, but I’m glad,” grinned Rolfe. “I have her to thank for my happiness. You are always a welcome visitor, Lady Withersby. With or without that oaf you wed.”
She rolled her eyes. “Ragnor sends his regards.”
“We’ll be making one or two visits soon, just as a formality and before I get too uncomfortable.” Fiona ushered them into a lovely parlour where the sunshine flooded the room with light, bouncing off walls of the palest green and around richly carved furnishings. It was elegant, yet comfortable, and Judith eagerly took one of the deep green chairs. “But honestly, neither of us is in any hurry to re-enter the chaos and gossip-ridden mess of London society.”
“Can’t say as I blame you,” said Miles. “And, to be truthful, we’re here today not only to offer you our best wishes but also to ask you a few questions concerning a recent rumour I’m sure you’ve heard about.”
“Maidenbrooke?” Rolfe’s tone was shrewd.
“Indeed,” confirmed Miles.
“How can we help?”
“Fiona,” said Judith, leaning toward her. “We are somewhat concerned that a recent attack on the Duke might lie at the door of your half-brother, Sir Timothy Barrett.”
“Good grief. I’d heard his Grace was unwell, but he was attacked? Is he badly hurt?” Her eyes widened and her cheeks paled at the thought.
“Yes, he was stabbed while away on a trip north. Fortunately he is recovering, but it’s a nasty business all around.”
Throgmorton appeared at that moment, accompanied by a maid with a tea tray, so the conversation turned to matters of a less controversial nature until they were alone once more with the door firmly closed.
“How is Miss Ivy taking all this? Or—forgive me—her Grace?” Lord Rolfe’s voice was level, but Judith could see a flash of anger lighting his eyes at the thought of what she was experiencing.
“She’s handling it far better than I would,” admitted Judith. “But as you can imagine, we’re all eager to flush out the villain and settle the matter. The problem being that his Grace cannot recall the incident. He was stabbed from behind after being thrown from his horse.”
“God, that’s…that’s revolting,” grunted Rolfe. “And, forgive me darling, it’s just the sort of thing Barrett would do.” His lip curled in disgust.
Judith blinked. “Oh. So…you’re not on terms with Sir Timothy?”
Fiona shuddered. “Absolutely not.” She reached out to touch Rolfe, who covered her hand with his.
“The man’s an unprincipled brute,” he said bluntly. “He’s unpredictable, would attack you as soon as look at you, and has no moral scruples whatsoever. There’s a streak of violence in him as well. We saw it when we visited the family after our wedding.”
His wife nodded. “I’m afraid it’s quite true. He lived in his own establishment while I was growing up. He’s quite a bit older than I am, so we had little interaction. But once I was wed, he became most persistent, threatening me if I did not have Gadsby settle his debts. He claimed it was simple family duty.”
“When I found out…and that was only after he actually laid a hand on her…”
“He didn’t…” gasped Judith.
“He did.” Fiona lifted her chin. “I hit him back.”
Miles grinned. “My lady, marriage has done wonders for you. You have my complete, sincere, and eternal admiration.” He stood, bowed, and sat down again, making Fiona blush.
“Too silly. But I’ll accept with thanks.” She tilted her head and grinned.
“Anyway, I managed to convince him that he’d not get a penny from us. Ever. And if he so much as showed his face within a mile of where either of us were, I would make sure it never happened again.” Rolfe looked slightly embarrassed. “I was forced to emphasise the point with the assistance of two of my oldest friends who happened to be there at the time.
“Ah.” Miles allowed his mouth to curve a little. “I can guess.” He looked at Rolfe. “Pippen and Mick?”
“Of course.” Rolfe’s face was innocence incarnate.
Judith looked at Fiona, a question trembling on her lips.
Fiona merely smiled. “Two charming gentlemen whose friendship is most valuable to both my husband and myself.” She cleared her throat. “Not that you’d ever meet them in the regular course of things.”
“Ah,” replied Judith. “I understand.”
“Anyway, back to the topic at hand…” Lord Rolfe guided the conversation back to less intriguing channels, disappointing Judith. “Barrett. Are you sure it’s him?”
“The Duke heard his name mentioned more than once during his trip north to find out more about the source of those rumours. It sounded to me as if Barrett is some sort of catalyst. Stirring up trouble.”
“Coincidentally,” added Judith, “the bulk of the rumours here in London have originated with a certain young lady, Miss Beatrice Ringwood. The Duke says that the people he met on his trip north barely knew who Maidenbrooke was, let alone had heard any whiff of scandalous accusations.”
“And Miss Ringwood and my brother have an attachment,” said Fiona after a moment or two. “You have to understand that not only do I not see Timothy at all these days, but the rest of my family has practically washed their hands of me.” She looked at her husband and smiled. “Which isn’t a hardship, I’ll admit, but it means that I’m not privy to as much of what’s going on with them as I might ordinarily have been expected to.”
“Quite understandable. Miss Ringwood has been very open in her engagement plans.” Judith’s smile turned wry. “The ring has had many public outings and presentations.”
Rolfe’s lips curled. “That family, the Ringwoods, are all about flash and facades. They’ve got a pedigree, but not a lot of capital behind it. I’m sure they consider Barrett a suitable match, and they’re probably hoping for a healthy settlement from your parents, Fiona, since they never pa
rted with a penny for your marriage.”
“And isn’t that something we’re both very happy about?” She looked at him, her heart in her eyes.
Judith felt tears and fought against them, not wishing to interrupt the conversation. “All right then,” she swallowed. “So it’s entirely possible that Barrett was behind the attacks on the Duke. He certainly seems to have the disposition and the attitude to do such an underhanded thing.”
“But the question remains…why?” Miles shook his head. “I can see nothing he might gain from the Duke’s death.”
Silence fell for a few moments as everyone in the room considered those words.
Fiona sighed. “You know, if Timothy is as violent and disturbed as I believe he is, he may not need a reason. Or he’s invented a reason that makes sense to him.” She looked at Miles. “Whatever the motive, please encourage his Grace to be on guard. Timothy is an unpleasant person who I find most frightening. What he would be like as an avowed enemy I cannot begin to imagine.”
“You believe he’s mad…” Rolfe took Fiona’s hand as he spoke.
She nodded. “I’ve always wondered. His father took his own life, and from things I’ve heard in passing, he was spoken of as highly unstable. Perhaps it’s in the blood?”
“Not yours,” said Judith firmly.
“No, not mine,” smiled Fiona. “Although I did tend to faint a lot. Marriage cured me of that.”
“A minor annoyance,” said Miles gallantly. “But your point about Barrett’s mental condition is a valid one. It will certainly be relayed to Hartsmere House.”
“And we are going to have a little chat with Miss Ringwood tomorrow evening at the Wednesday Club.” Judith straightened. “A firm little chat.”
Rolfe glanced at Miles, a wicked grin in his eyes. “I’d like to be a fly on the wall for that one.”
Miles merely shuddered.
The conversation ended shortly thereafter, but as Miles and Judith were leaving, Fiona spoke once more about her half-brother. “I just remembered something.” She frowned. “After we were married and the scandal had died down, I heard that Timothy got into a bit of a mess with a gaming debt.”
“Do you remember who won?” asked Miles.
“If memory serves me correctly, I was told that his vouchers were held by someone named Streatford.”
Miles let out a slow whistle between his teeth. “Now that might prove very interesting…”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“How’s his Grace today?”
It was the first question out of Lydia’s mouth as she gave Ivy a quick hug in the front hall of Sydenham House. They’d arrived at almost the same time for the Wednesday Club, and Ivy’s nerves calmed considerably at the sound of her friend’s voice. “We are all quite concerned,” she said clearly, knowing there were ears everywhere at an occasion like this. “Dear Prudence is with him at the moment.”
Then, leaning toward Lydia under the pretext of helping her with her shawl, she whispered, “he’s frustrated and wants to be out finding villains.”
Lydia smiled in response, nodding her head. “I am praying for your both, dear Ivy.”
Ivy managed not to roll her eyes, merely accepting the sentiment. It was sufficient byplay to convince anyone near them that the Duke was still in danger and that Lydia was worried about both Duke and Duchess.
The little performance over, both women linked arms and walked to the ballroom.
“Oh my dear Duchess,” Lady Celchester bore down on them. “How brave of you to be out and about when your husband is in peril.”
“Truly, he is in my thoughts at all times, Ma’am,” replied Ivy. “But since the company here is of such high esteem to me, he agreed that I should take a little time away from his sickbed.” She lowered her eyes. “I worry, of course, but he is in the best of hands.”
“Laudable, your Grace. Most laudable. Please confer to his Grace that we are eagerly awaiting news of his recovery.”
“Thank you, my Lady. I shall certainly pass your words along. He will be much comforted by your kind sentiments.”
Lydia bobbed a curtsey and the two of them moved on.
“Nosy old besom,” she muttered beneath her breath. “Waiting to hear if he’s died, more like.”
“Lydia,” choked Ivy, biting back a laugh. “She isn’t that bad.”
“Yes she is, but you’d better get used to it, since you and his Grace aren’t exactly hiding your lights under any bushels. He’s allegedly at death’s door and you’re here at a dance. Not that this lot would make much of that, given the morals of our town, but still…you are a figure of interest.”
Ivy shrugged. “I have been ever since I married Colly. I think I’m getting used to it.”
“How is it? Being married?” Lydia’s eyes roamed over the ballroom.
“It’s…” Ivy paused. How could she answer that question honestly and not blush? “It’s very nice,” she compromised.
Lydia shot her a grin. “Coming from you, I’ll assume that means you’re incredibly happy and madly in love with the man of your dreams.”
Ivy chuckled, then squeezed Lydia’s arm. “Over there. Just coming in. Is that Miss Ringwood?”
“That’s her.” Rose’s voice sounded from behind them. “Judith’s on her way.”
“When do we take her?” Lydia hissed.
Ivy managed to control a giggle. “Lydia, we’re not capturing her and incarcerating her in a dungeon, you know. This isn’t one of Mrs Radcliffe’s novels.”
“No, but that’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard.” Judith joined them just in time to catch Ivy’s protest. “Lacking a dungeon, we’ll use Lady Maud’s parlour, but how are we going to get her there without arousing her suspicions?”
The four of them stood quietly together for a few moments until Lady Maud strolled up. “Are we ready?”
“Yes indeed,” said Lydia. “We’re just trying to come up with a plan to get her out of the ballroom.”
“Hmm.” Maud gazed around. “I can take care of that for you. Why don’t you all gather in the small parlour and I’ll bring her to you in, say, five minutes?”
“You are a genius,” said Ivy. “That will be perfect.” She turned to the others. “Rose, you can wander down that hallway, Judith and I will chat while strolling, and Lydia…”
“I will hunt up Sir Laurence,” grinned Lydia. “Or at least pretend I’m looking for him.”
The plan in place, all four women drifted away and left Lady Maud to accomplish the task of cutting Miss Ringwood from the herd and delivering her to the waiting hands of her inquisitors.
It was accomplished with no difficulties, and shortly after their conversation, Miss Beatrice Ringwood entered an unfamiliar room just ahead of Lady Maud Sydenham.
Her surprise at seeing four women expecting her was evident in her raised eyebrows and indrawn breath.
She swung around. “Lady Maud…what is this? I understood you had something important to discuss with me. What are these…” she waved her fan at them, “these…persons doing here?”
“They will be part of our conversation, dear. Do sit down.”
In the face of such a calm and mannerly request, Miss Ringwood was helpless to do other than obey. She didn’t look very happy about it, and her fingers toyed with her fan, betraying her nerves.
“Miss Ringwood,” began Lydia. “Have you always been an idiot or is this a recent development?”
“What? I don’t…”
Ivy frowned at Lydia, then turned to the hapless girl opposite. “Miss Ringwood, I apologise for Miss Davenport. She tends to speak before fully considering her words.” She managed a smile. “Now, we’re here to discuss a matter of great import. And I’m sure you might guess that it is about the…the stories you’ve been relating to one and all concerning the behaviour of my husband, his Grace the Duke of Maidenbrooke.”
Lifting her chin, Miss Ringwood met her gaze without blinking. “What of it?”
“While we all understand the nature of gossip, Miss Ringwood, when those whispers are out and out lies that could ruin a fine man’s reputation, we are naturally concerned.” Judith spoke firmly. “His Grace has been seriously affected by the recent rumours as to his involvement in the political situation further north. We’d like to know why you decided to fuel those stories? And where you obtained your information…”
“I…I just repeated what I’d heard.” She gazed at Ivy, a look of distaste on her face. “Everyone knows he married beneath him. So it had to be for money. I was told that he sent large amounts to people up there to help the revolution.”
“Er, what revolution?” Rose tilted her head as she asked the question.
“Well, the…you know. The…the…revolution in the north about the Corn Laws and poverty and everything.” Miss Ringwood struggled.
“Ah. Indeed. A delicate situation.” Ivy paused for a brief moment. “You do know that all that information was completely unfounded, incorrect and terribly misleading?”
“I was assured it was all true.”
Ivy pounced. “By whom?”
Miss Ringwood bit her lip. “A friend.”
“Which friend?” Lydia snapped.
“I…just a friend…”
“A friend doesn’t tell you lies,” Rose moved closer.
“A friend doesn’t ask you to spread vicious and damaging untruths,” Judith closed in.
“A friend would never suggest you repeat potentially treasonous and libellous accusations.” Lady Maud’s voice was cold as she added her contribution, and Miss Ringwood’s bravado vanished in a shudder.
“I didn’t…I wasn’t…you must be mistaken…” the words were barely a whisper from lips that had lost any pretence to colour.
“You spread information that was completely untrue, Miss Ringwood. You placed my husband in a position that could have cost him his life, had they been sufficient to have him brought up on charges of treason.” Ivy leaned forward, her gaze fixed on the shaking girl in front of her. “This can most easily be proven, and thus puts you squarely in the limelight. Should his Grace decide to bring charges of libel against you, the results would be disastrous, not only to you but to your family. Disgrace would be the least of it.”