“Why would you do that, William? And you can’t kill me.” Trembling began deep inside her, and she had to fight to control it. “You know you can’t.” She tried to keep her voice calm and reasonable.
“I can. They won’t look to me because I won’t be here.” He jerked his head. “There’s a secret passage from the library to a small outside door. We used to use it as children, but nobody remembers it now. Except me. I told Schultz I would take a walk in the gardens, since the rain has cleared. I was never here.”
So he would shoot her, take the documents, go outside and dispose of them, this time for good, and come back in again, pretending innocence? No doubt he could find someone to blame.
An icy chill flowed over her, like the sea coming in. Had he done this with Louis? And the statue too? He’d been on the roof when they were talking. He’d gone on the duck hunt.
Why didn’t matter as much as stopping him from doing it. But surely, he should have fired by now?
A click from behind her told her somebody else knew about the secret door. She was standing with her back to it. As it opened, William lifted his gaze.
Someone stood behind her. She didn’t have to turn around to know it was Ben. She felt his presence.
“Put that pistol down, William. Either that, or shoot me, too. And Schultz. Do you have enough weapons to deal with us all?”
The room was still, as if time itself had stopped.
William shook his head. The tip of the pistol wavered.
“You could have come to me to settle your debts. Or confessed the whole to Miss Childers and arranged a schedule of repayments. Instead, you chose to murder people.”
“You couldn’t have saved me.”
“Why kill Louis?”
William shrugged. “He refused to help me anymore. Enough, he said. So I took him at his word.”
So William owed money? Realization hit Dorothea with the power of a lightning bolt. He’d been the one who gambled. That, plus Louis’s extravagance, had brought the estate to its knees. She gaped.
Louis’s extravagance could be viewed as investment, if the gambling debts were discounted. Her world turned on its axis.
“I’m wealthy enough to cover your debts. Not that I would have, but I could have helped you.”
Her husband spoke sense, but even now Dorothea was glad he hadn’t offered to pay off William’s debts.
William’s mouth twisted in a sneer. “And have me live like a pauper for the rest of my life? Unable to face my peers? No.” He returned his attention to Dorothea. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Turn away.”
And as the shot rang out, Ben dragged her into his arms and shoved her face against his chest, so she didn’t have to watch.
Epilogue
Two years later
As the agonized scream came from behind the closed door, Ben could bear no more. Throwing off Hal’s restraining hands, he flung himself into the bedroom and went straight to the bed. Ignoring the scandalized screams of the women attending his wife, he reached for her.
Dorothea gripped his hand so tightly that his knuckles ground together, but he took no more notice of it than if a breeze had swept across him. Because his gaze was fixed on the bundle in the arms of the maid. His baby was squalling noisily, but that did not give him pause.
If she had delivered their child, why was she still in pain?
Something was wrong.
Her knees were raised, the sheets tossed off, her night rail stained with sweat and blood. “Dorothea, my darling!”
A midwife was bent over her, but she sent Ben a poisonous glare. “You should not be here, my lord.”
He took no notice.
Dorothea scrunched up her face and bore down, grunting with the strain. What was going on?
“Here it is, my lady. Keep pushing!”
Bewildered, Ben hung on. This wasn’t what he’d expected to see, what he’d dreaded witnessing.
A sharp cry broke the air and Dorothea gave one scream before she sucked in a deep breath. The maid mopped her brow with a clean cloth.
“Another fine boy, my lord,” the midwife announced, straightening. She held a naked, bloody baby, unmistakably squirming in her arms and letting out lusty cries. The midwife handed the child to another maid, who took it to a table and commenced cleaning it. “We’ll have them both swaddled in an instant, then you may see them.”
“No!” Dorothea’s order snapped sharp and clear.
Ben knew what she meant, and he reinforced her request. “No swaddling.” The practice wasn’t approved of by the experts they’d consulted in London. Wrapping a baby up tightly could lead to suffocation, and doctors no longer considered that a baby’s limbs needed straightening.
Desperately determined to keep his beloved safe during her pregnancy, he’d taken her to every midwife and physician he could find. They had all declared her strong and healthy, but Dorothea had been more eager to discover the latest advice for the babies. No swaddling, and she should try to feed them herself. Ben had still engaged a wet nurse, the respectable wife of a sailor who had her own baby to feed, but could take care of two.
They would need her now, because taking the wet nurse’s own baby into consideration, they had three to feed.
Now he knew why Dorothea had been large in the latter part of her pregnancy, which had worried him desperately, but he hadn’t shown it. Knowing his concerns, she’d taken pains to reassure him, which had shamed him.
“Twins?” Saying it didn’t make what had just happened any more real. He was dreaming this, he must be.
The midwife looked up. “Aye, my lord. A little small, but no smaller than twins should be. They’re fine boys.”
Dorothea was lying on the bed, smiling. Her legs were still up, the sheet tented over her knees, and there was no mistaking the blood staining the bedding. But nowhere near the flood he’d feared, that he’d witnessed before. Dorothea’s fair hair, darkened with sweat, was sticking to her forehead and cheeks.
She’d never looked so beautiful. Not on her presentation at court as the Marchioness of Belstead, nor at the ball held at their London house to celebrate its reopening. Not at his office at the Pool of London, a forest of masts outside the window, dressed as plainly as any City merchant’s wife. Nor even with him in bed, laughing in delight as they made love.
Someone shoved a chair forward and he sat, still holding her hand. The midwife and her assistant made themselves busy with the boys, who by now had begun to cry in tandem. “Now you know she’s well, my lord,” the midwife snapped, “would you leave the room? This is a woman’s work.”
“No.” He would not budge. He wanted to see their sons the instant she did. And he wanted to ensure she was all right. “You are wonderful.” He leaned forward, giving her a gentle kiss. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too.”
The women moved around, cleaning up, helping deliver the afterbirth.
Too intent on his wife, Ben was barely aware of them changing the linen and putting Dorothea into a fresh night rail. She shoved her hair back with shaking hands. Ben took a damp cloth from someone and cleaned her face. He couldn’t seem to stop smiling.
Then the babies were put into her arms.
That was when they both cried with sheer happiness.
Author Biography
Lynne Connolly was born in Leicester, England, and lived in her family’s cobbler’s shop with her parents and sister. She loves all periods of history, but her favorites are the Tudor and Georgian eras. She loves doing research and creating a credible story with people who lived in past ages. In addition to her Emperors of London series and The Shaws series, she writes several historical, contemporary, and paranormal romance series.
Visit her on the web at lynneconnolly.com, read her blog at lynneconnolly.blogspot.co.uk, find her on Facebook, and follow her on Twit
ter @lynneconnolly.
References
For a list of references and books I used, check my website, or contact me directly.
The Girl With the Pearl Pin
Founded by the wealthiest woman in London, an unconventional crime-solving club brings together single lords and overlooked ladies from every rung of society. It’s a perfectly scandalous match . . .
As London’s most sought-after bachelor, the Duke of Leomore stuns society when he announces his engagement to a woman who has just been branded a thief. Yet as his painfully shy “bride-to-be” understands, it is merely a ruse until The Society for Single Ladies apprehends the true culprit—and a ploy to further delay Leo’s obligation to wed. For him, marriage will be a purely practical affair. Still, why does a stolen kiss with his faux fiancée conjure such tempting visions of romance? . . .
As if being falsely accused weren’t mortifying enough, Phoebe North is now the talk of the town. And while she knows Leo did the honorable thing to protect her reputation, she can’t help but long for more. It would be an impossible match given their unequal stations, and Leo has made his view of marriage quite clear. Yet his kiss and flirtatious ways say something else. If only she could persuade him of how delightful it would be to thumb their noses at convention—and become fools for love . . . .
Chapter 1
April 1750
Phoebe North was about to experience the most romantic episode of her life. Quite unexpectedly too. The Duke of Leomore, “Call me Leo,” leaned into her with the evident intention of fastening his mouth to hers. And Phoebe, surprised but completely in agreement, prepared for the onslaught.
Then merry hell exploded outside the secluded grotto they were sharing. Screams and the sound of running feet interrupted them.
The duke jerked back, gray eyes gleaming in the moonlight, and took her arm, urging her to retreat. Phoebe shook him off. Somebody out there was in trouble. This was no time for discreet withdrawal.
She took a couple of quick paces to the pillared entrance and went down the two steps to the main path, lifting the skirts of her new ball gown in a graceless manner her hostess would definitely not approve of. The sound of running came closer, and the ground under her feet trembled with the coming onslaught. Around the corner hurtled a man dressed in drab street clothes, his cocked hat pulled down low over his forehead. Something glittered in his grasp. He was too large for Phoebe to block with her body, but as he raced past, trailing the aroma of well-used clothing and body odor, she grabbed at his hand, trying to wrest away whatever he was carrying. The sounds of shouting and “Stop thief!” grew closer.
The bully shoved Phoebe, and she caught her heel in her skirt, tumbling backward.
Strong arms hauled her up, and she found herself drawn close to a hard, male chest. Her breath gone, she needed a moment, but she should really pull away.
A woman’s shrill cries centered on her. “There she is, the thief! Look what she has in her hand!”
A soft male voice from behind her countered her ladyship’s words. People crowded around, abandoning the brightly lit ballroom beyond. “I fail to understand how you draw that conclusion, ma’am. My betrothed and I were merely snatching a few quiet moments together.”
Betrothed?
* * * *
Earlier that same evening, Leo’s grandmother glared at him over the dinner table. Leo wouldn’t have been surprised if the delicate china and gleaming silverware had turned to stone, followed in short order by himself. “You must not marry to oblige me. You must do it for the title and estate. You cannot be the last Leomore in the direct line.” She tapped the crisp linen tablecloth twice to emphasize her point. She spoke with a vigor that belied her seventy years, but the walking cane propped within her reach told a different story.
“Pay heed, Leomore, if you do not make a decision for yourself soon, I shall do it for you.”
He tried for frozen hauteur, although trying that with a woman who had personally hauled him out of trees on the estate and punished him for it made ducal reserve difficult to assume. “I will find a bride, Grandmama, never fear. I’m fully aware that you deserve rest and comfort, not to be obliged to act as my hostess and work for the family.”
A smile curved her thin lips. While his grandmother barely topped five feet, every inch counted. Nobody overlooked her delicate form, nobody turned away when the Dowager Duchess of Leomore entered the room. She had all the dignity and grace of a queen and deployed it to great effect.
She softened her tone. “I know that, my dear, but you should also be aware that I will prevent it, if your selection is not suitable. I failed to do that with your father, but I will not shirk my duty a second time. While I cannot force you on to your knees in front of an eligible female, I can arrange matters to make it impossible for you to go ahead with an engagement to an unsuitable candidate.” Her expression gentled, her gray eyes revealing more than most people saw. “Indeed, I regret the necessity, since you are content with your bachelor state. If your heir had lived, I would have remained content to let you take your time. Now the insufferable Erasmus has become your heir, you must do something to prevent him taking the dukedom.”
Leo knew she was right. His cousin and heir up until the end of last season had died in a boating accident. John would have made a very good duke, had Leo died, without issue. On the other hand, John’s younger brother, Erasmus, had absolutely no interest in family obligations. Not his own, at any rate, although he cared passionately about the Caesars. He would have the estate, its employees and dependents bankrupt in no time, despite the wealth the title carried, by buying the contents of Rome, and probably Athens, too. That must not happen, not after the depredations of Leo’s parents.
His father had married for love. She was from a good family with a reasonable portion, but after Leo’s birth they set about ruining the estate with their high living. The duke gave her everything, and then they had died together. Smallpox had taken both of them in a week, and because of the risk, Leo hadn’t been allowed to see them.
They left a wrecked inheritance and a small, bewildered, half spoiled, half wild boy to carry on the venerable dukedom. Leo owed his grandmother more than he could ever repay. But that didn’t stop him trying.
Leo picked up his glass of wine, watching the dark liquid glimmer before he took a sip. “I know it, ma’am.” He would not keep her in suspense. “I intend to look about me this season. Did you compile the list I requested?” He would not have his grandmother upset, so his first criterion was to find someone the dowager liked, or at least could tolerate. The omissions would tell him what he needed to know. Nobody knew society better than his grandmother, even though she rarely ventured abroad these days. She did not need to. Society came to her.
She flourished a sheet of paper. “Here.”
Silently he perused it until he got to a name near the bottom. “Miss Angela Childers?” He glanced up. “That’s long odds, to say the least.”
His grandmother lifted her chin. “The woman said she would never marry, but have any dukes asked her before? Dukes of your consequence?”
“Apart from the title, I can offer her nothing she cannot get for herself.” He liked Miss Childers, the daughter of what society haughtily referred to as a mixed marriage. Which was to say, her grandmother had been a duchess, and her grandfather on the other side a wealthy City man. Leo had not seen the beautiful banker since the autumn of last year, but he recalled his pleasure in her company. And her rejection of any man who tried to get closer to her. “She refuses to marry, and I cannot imagine she will change her mind.” But his grandmother had a point about the title, and he could not deny he liked Miss Childers. “I daresay everyone who is in town will be at her house tonight.”
“She cannot hold the ball on her own,” the duchess said, her lips primming in disapproval. “Asking men to her house when she lives there alone is not done.”
Stuffy rules. As if Miss Childers would ever behave in a way to draw opprobrium. In a few years, society would consider her an old maid, and then she could do as she wished, or so she had declared last year. Protecting women was one thing, but the ridiculous unwritten rules society lived by irked him excessively. “I will have a chance to look over most of the women on your list.” All the people his grandmother considered “everyone,” at any rate. “Do I escort you, ma’am?”
His grandmother reached for her cane, her hand trembling. Old age had hit her hard the past few years, and now her hands were twisted with arthritis. Leo would marry the devil himself if he could get her the rest she deserved. “I received an invitation, but the event will be a sad squeeze, and I am in no mind to go. However, you may give the lady my warmest regards.”
The dowager duchess’s regards were hotly sought after. Leo duly promised to pass them on. He glanced down the other names. His grandmother had listed ten young ladies who would no doubt be eager to receive his attentions. A few weren’t there. He would not trouble them, not caring enough about any of them to make a fuss or defy the dowager’s wishes.
He knew what he wanted for himself. A sweetly amenable woman of good character and high birth who would not expect the close intimacy that had no place in a rational marriage. He allowed a certain measure of affection from his mistress, but his wife should be aware of her position in the world and behave accordingly. Recent family history made that requirement even more important.
He would do everything in his power to give his grandmother a tranquil old age.
“Leo, you must not marry without affection,” his grandmother said, “but ensure your feelings for your bride are no more than that.”
The Making of a Marquess Page 31