The Mysterious Death of the Duke

by Amanda Davis

  “Fine,” Lady Blackwell chirped, turning her head about to continue her scrutiny of the estate. She had only been there once prior, at Lydia’s wedding to James.

  She had been far more impressed then.

  “I suppose it is a blessing that she has stayed away,” Elenora continued, pausing to eye a painting over the mantel. “It would be detestable to know my daughter is sharing a roof with a murderess.”

  “Mother! I beg of you.” Lydia’s shock was lessening as Elenora relentlessly pushed the issue, but that did not put her mind at any ease.

  She will invariably speak too freely before James and I will be in the midst of a terrible dispute.

  There was little doubt in Lydia’s mind that it would be a distressful fortnight. No amount of self-preparation would suffice. It was why it had taken so many months for Lydia to permit her mother a trip from Whittaker.

  “Where is the Duke?” Lady Blackwell asked as though she abruptly realized he was not there. “Has he no shame ignoring my arrival?”

  “He is in London, Mother. I did forewarn you that he might not be here to receive you. He sends his apologies and assures me that he will be here on the morrow.”

  Elenora grunted in disapproval and once more, Lydia found herself embarrassed by the lady’s behavior.

  “He has many duties now, Mother,” Lydia reminded her. “Many more than he did as a marquis.”

  “Indeed,” Elenora huffed. “I imagine that leaves little time for beginning a family.”

  She stops at nothing! If it is not one matter, it is another!

  “Come, Mother,” Lydia sighed. “You must be weary from your travels. I will have a bath drawn.”

  “I only just bathed,” Elenora replied shortly. “I am quite well. If I have only a fortnight with my daughter, I would much rather spend it in her presence.”

  “Of course, Mother.”

  Lydia stood somewhat awkwardly, unsure of what else to say as Elenora continued her scathing tour of the parlor.

  “Would you care for some tea?” she offered weakly. Suddenly, the walls of the room seemed to be closing in around her and breathing was becoming increasingly difficult.

  Perhaps my corset it too taut.

  Of course she knew her breathlessness had little to do with her undergarments.

  Lady Blackwell sniffed.

  “I was wondering when you might ask,” she said haughtily. “For such a grand manor, there are surprisingly few servants.”

  “They are about,” Lydia protested. “I only asked that they give us some time.”

  In truth, she had asked them to keep their distance because she did not know what would fall from her mother’s unbridled lips. There was more than enough gossip without Elenora’s contribution already. No good adding falsehoods.

  “I will find Ruth,” Lydia said quickly, excusing herself.

  “The servants should find you and not the reverse!” Elenora called after her but Lydia paid her no mind as she hurried into the corridor, leading to the foyer. To her shock, James stood just beyond the door, his brow crunched in frustration.

  “Oh dear,” Lydia sighed. “You are home.”

  “That was not quite the greeting I had expected, Lydia,” he replied but there was a little mirth in his tone.

  “Forgive me, my duke. I simply had not expected you so soon.”

  “I hurried back from my interviews. I suspected that Lady Blackwell’s company might be diverting.”

  Lydia did not wish to agree with her husband’s astute observation but she did not need to concede. James was hardly estranged to her mother’s ways. They had, until recently, all lived in close proximity after all.

  “Did you overhear?” Lydia sighed and James sniggered.

  “With all due respect to your mother, my darling Lydia, her voice does carry all the way to the gates. I daresay if I did not hear from here, I might have in London.”

  “Never you mind her,” Lydia said quickly. “She is merely concerned about my welfare.”

  “And I am not?”

  “James,” she murmured, the knot of unease in her gut tightening. “We must do our best to ensure this visit goes smoothly.”

  James cast her a sidelong look, but he did not argue, to her great relief.

  “How did your interviews fare?” Lydia asked brightly. “I was about to fetch some tea.”

  “I will require something much stronger than steeped water,” James growled and Lydia bowed her head.

  “Of course, my duke. I will see to a proper drink at once.”

  “And I suppose I will see to your mother.”

  The words filled Lydia with dread, especially when her husband’s dark eyes flashed with annoyance, but she did not stop him as she went to seek the servants.

  We have endured much since returning to Holden, she thought with some sadness. Mother could not have chosen a worse time to visit.

  Yet, as she made her way down the back hallway, Lydia realized that there might never be a good time for Elenora to visit.

  The late duke’s death had given Lydia some relief, a fact that she would never admit to anyone.

  It was not only because the man had been a terrible brute, ill-tempered and foul-mouthed. Lydia knew of his abusive ways, no matter how James tended to turn the other cheek to his endless transgressions.

  When Mr. Balfour had come to Whittaker seeking James’ sister, Elizabeth, and their mother, Lydia had not been surprised in the least that her in-laws had fled. In fact, a modicum of hope had sprung inside Lydia. She had always feared that James’ father might murder his mother.

  Yet that was only a part of why she had been sinfully elated to learn of his passing. There was another cause for her guilty glee, one which had to do with escaping the overbearing oppression of her own parents in Whittaker.

  Since she was a small girl, running through the grassy fields of their small manor house, the Earl and his wife had done little but inflict their overly critical natures upon her. Lydia had not carried herself well enough for her mother or been ladylike enough for her father. It seemed it did not matter how hard she attempted to win their favor, she could never do quite enough.

  No one had been more stunned than Lydia when the Marquis of Holden had proposed marriage. It had been one of arrangement, of course, but James did not shy away from her, even in the presence of comelier ladies. He was a decent husband, even for his short-temper which he had undoubtedly garnered from his father. He did not drink or gamble like so many other noblemen Lydia knew of. Certainly James was a better man than her own father in many ways, even if their connection was frigid.

  Her hope had been that marriage would whisk her back to Holden but to her utter dismay, the Earl had offered James a position in his business. James had been quick to accept.

  “But you are a marquis!” Lydia had gasped. “Your place is in the duchy!”

  “And you are my wife,” he countered evenly, his eyes flashing with anger. “You have sworn to obey me.”

  When the late duke died, James had little choice but to return to Holden and claim the dukedom as required. James did not protest the move and Lydia knew then that her husband had only stayed in Whittaker to avoid his father.

  Lydia had been certain that once they were on their own, their marriage would flourish and they might consider beginning a family. Some days, James seemed nothing more than a polite stranger, even if their short discussions were pleasant. In her dreams, she envisioned a romance blossoming between them, one where James saw her as a lady, one worthy of his affections. Instead, she was once more disappointed.

  James seemed to retreat into himself even more when they arrived at Pinehaven and Lydia saw less of him. They remained genial to one another, civil and proper but they no longer shared a bedchamber. James had reclaimed his former rooms and Lydia had taken over Elizabeth’s quarters.

  The nights were unbearably lonely and Lydia did her best to occupy her days. If possible, she was even more desolate in Holden than she
had been in Whittaker.

  In six months, I am no closer to kindling a romance with my husband than I had been before.

  There was only one thing for certain; having Lady Blackwell in Holden would do nothing to warm matters between her and James.

  2

  The manner in which Edward, James’ father and the third duke of Holden, had passed, was not one that James took lightly. There had not been one moment since the new duke had learned of the strange circumstances that he did not suspect that something foul was afoot, regardless of how the house guards had determined the matter an accident.

  How could a man simply fall to his death in a manor this size without being found for hours? Impaled on a statue which should not have been there at all!

  His hope had been that when he returned home to Holden with his bride, the situation would have become clearer. Instead, he found the case more puzzling than before.

  This will drive me mad, he thought. I cannot continue to pursue this matter when I have so many more responsibilities to attend to.

  Yet, the reasoning did nothing to deter him from pondering the endless questions enshrouding the mysterious death. It did not help matters that he heard the talk in town, the flapping gums of the gossips who blatantly accused his mother of such an atrocious act, despite the lack of any evidence.

  The dowager duchess’ refusal to return to Holden only further roused the high suspicions. James secretly hoped that his mother, Patience, would have a change of heart and return to Holden now that his father was no longer a threat to her well-being. But, her letters dictated that she was quite content in Luton.

  He knew his wish was selfish. Patience returning would surely silence some of the more vocal busybodies in town but James knew he could not force her to come home, not when she was with his sister Elizabeth.

  Mother had no part in this atrocity and has no good reason to be in Holden, James assured himself but he could not stop his mind from approaching the dreadful way his father had treated her and his sister. Still, he could not reconcile that the matriarch of his family had any such hand in Edward’s terrible demise.

  Perhaps if I had not gone to Whittaker, perhaps if I had remained, none of this would have happened.

  James well knew he could not change the past. If Edward had not died, who knew where his mother and Lise might be today? Besides, all he had to consider were rumors, and a mother-in-law with whom to contend.

  Indeed, it would be a very long fortnight. James found himself resenting his wife somewhat for permitting Lady Blackwell’s visit when his duties were still somewhat fresh.

  Lydia is not to be faulted either. She does her best given the circumstances. It is Elenora who is deserving of my exasperation.

  “Your Grace, have you disappeared entirely?” Elenora’s sharp tone brought him back from his runaway thoughts and James forced a smile.

  “Certainly not, My Lady. I was merely considering some matters I need to attend in the duchy.”

  “Surely they can wait while you are entertaining,” Elenora retorted, some anger in her eyes. “You were aware of my arrival for several weeks.”

  “Sadly, Lady Blackwell, the duchy continues, even when embraced in the glow of your presence.”

  Elenora’s mouth puckered into a frown and she reached for her tea.

  “Your flattery does nothing to appease me, Holden. Your charms will not distract me from what has happened within these walls.”

  “And what is that, Lady Blackwell?” James remarked dryly before taking a sip of his scotch. It was not a habit of his to imbibe but the occasion certainly called for a disguising. He wished the alcohol Godspeed in that moment for he was feeling much too clear-headed for his own liking.

  “Mother, please, do not start with such nonsense,” Lydia begged. James had almost forgotten his wife was present as she hovered in the shadows, wringing her hands in nervous anticipation of what might occur.

  What a dreadful woman to have to call your mother, James thought pityingly. It is a small wonder Lydia has fared as well as she has.

  “You are entirely aware of what transpired here all those months ago,” Elenora snapped, unperturbed by her daughter’s pleas. “Your father, a great man, was murdered and no one has been held responsible!”

  Despite his determination to remain unfazed by his mother-in-law’s brashness, James felt his muscles tense.

  “I know of no such thing. The guards have determined it was a tragic misfortune, nothing more.”

  “And where were said guards on the night it occurred?”

  “Mother!” Lydia was aghast but James had expected as much. He cast Lydia a wary look, one which clearly read that his patience was already running thin with Lady Blackwell.

  “It seems that you are privy to more information than I,” the Duke replied evenly. “Pray tell, my lady, what else do you know about that evening?”

  His clipped words were not lost on Elenora but she was not quite finished with her diatribe.

  “I know that your father perished in a painful and most unpleasant manner, alone and unavenged!”

  “I daresay, Lady Blackwell, it does sound as though you might have witnessed a crime.”

  Elenora balked and looked up quickly to meet his eyes.

  “Me? Of course not. I was not here!” she sputtered, her face flushing red. Yet as the words left her surly lips, she seemed to understand James’ point with clarity.

  “You were not?” James demanded. “Then how is it you know so much?”

  Elenora’s mouth parted but no words escaped and she quickly reached for her cup to cover the silence permeating through the salon. She would never admit that she was reiterating pure gossip.

  “Mother, I suspect you are fatigued, regardless of what you claim,” Lydia said, hurrying to escort her mother to her feet. “Why do you not rest before supper?”

  “That is a fine idea,” Elenora muttered, averting her gaze. James could see he had won that particular battle but there were undoubtedly more to come.

  “Rest well,” he told her nonchalantly, returning to his cups. He did not miss the apologetic look which Lydia gave but he did not meet her eyes.

  There was an unmistakable strain between them since they had arrived in Holden, one which James found regrettable but he was unclear how to remedy the distance between them.

  Our marriage is a matter for another time, he told himself, pushing aside the guilt building within him. Lydia understands my distraction.

  Yet when they departed from the chamber, James could not stop Elenora’s words from reverberating through his mind. She had merely fuelled fears he had already had, even if her delivery was somewhat uncouth.

  I will not rest easily until I know the truth about what has happened to Father, James thought, albeit not for the first time. It plagues me terribly and affects every aspect of my life.

  The warmth of the alcohol spread through his body, slightly altering his already conflicted state of mind and when Lydia returned to the salon, he stared at her with some blankness.

  “Darling, you must not permit my mother to offend you,” Lydia said without preamble, her gentle hazel eyes wide and worried.

  “I do not,” James assured her although he could not say if he was speaking the truth. “She only says what others have been thinking.”

  “This will pass. You must have patience, my husband.”

  She hurried to perch at his side on the settee, her nearness startling him some. It had been a long while since they had sat so close to one another and James was stunned to realize how much he had missed her.

  “I have nothing but patience,” James answered, his eyes locking on hers. “But I cannot help but entertain her theories.”

  Lydia’s brows raised slightly and she exhaled in a rush of breath.

  “James, you must not allow others to writhe their way into your mind. What happened to your father was a tragedy, nothing more.”

  “Was it?”

  Surprise touched Ly
dia’s face.

  “Do not tell me you believe otherwise.”

  “I do not know what to believe,” James admitted. “I do realize that this matter will not fade away as easily as I had hoped.”

  “James, you have interviewed the staff, spoken with the guards. The accounts remain the same. What doubts could you possibly have?”

  “All of them,” James said without hesitation. “I question every part of the tale and have since the night it occurred.”

  “Have you?”

  “Yes,” James replied slowly. “And I believe I finally understand why.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I have not spoken with my mother nor sister about this, not at any great length. Their behavior was suspicious at best, criminal, if I permit my mind to go there. What they did to the Balfours, their disappearance…it is all quite suspect, is it not?”

  “James, what are you saying?” Lydia breathed, wide-eyed.

  “I believe that my sister and mother know much more about what happened to my father than they have led me to believe.”

  “James, my mother has influenced your thoughts,” Lydia cried, reaching for his hand in desperation. Her gloved fingers curled around him and she stared at him imploringly. “You cannot make such accusations without proof.”

  “I made no accusations,” James snapped with some defensiveness. He knew that if he intended to pursue this matter, he might find answers he did not wish to learn.

  But if I do not pursue this, I will never forgive myself. My father may not have been the kindest man but he did not deserve a painful death. If Mother was somehow responsible…

  He did not finish his own thought but Lydia seemed to have read his mind.

  “And what if you discover that Her Grace has done the unthinkable. What will you do then, James? Have her tried, executed?”

  James’ mouth became a fine line as his heart began to thud wildly in his chest.

  “If she is responsible, she should be held properly accountable for her actions.”

  “Even after all your father did to her?” Lydia whispered, tears misting her eyes. James scowled and wretched his hand back from her embrace.