“Not even when I am old and wrinkled and spotted with warts?” she said in a laughing voice.
“Not even then.” He placed a kiss on her delectable lips and looked into her eyes half-lidded from a glut of physical pleasure. “You are such a miracle to me. I have never wanted anything in my life as much as I want you as my wife.”
“Well, you are going to have me.” She wrapped soft, fragrant arms about his neck.
“Yes, I am, as soon as I recover from having you twenty minutes ago.”
She chuckled.
“You will have to do without me for a day or two, I’m afraid. I must go to Chelsony Hall and talk to Edgar. The Marquis said some things that concerned me. I need to put my mind at ease.”
Her finger wandered on his mouth. “I am certain Lord Seville will escort me to the Willingham’s affair. I suppose I can do without you for a night or two.”
“Lord Seville? I would prefer anyone but him.”
“Fine,” she huffed. “Baron Anthony then.”
“Or him.”
“I do not know how else to make you believe me, but I assure you, neither Lord Seville nor Baron Anthony view me in anything other than a platonic fashion.”
“Balderdash. Men cannot be platonic friends with a woman like you. Especially a woman like you. You are female allure personified.”
“It will have to be one or the other. They are the only men besides you I can tolerate.”
He groaned. “Lord Seville, then. What are you wearing?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ve had my modiste make up something especially to please you out of used flour sacking,” she snipped. “The neckline is no lower than my ear, the sleeves end at my fingertips, and the hem is to the ground. Furthermore, everywhere I go, I produce a cloud of flour dust. It is quite off-putting.”
Duncan drew back and eyed her. Her sober face had him fooled for perhaps thirty seconds, but she burst out laughing when he grinned and quipped, “An cloud of flour dust? I should like to see that. Will you wear it for me sometime?”
“I am yours. I am wholly yours,” she said earnestly and cupped the side of his face. “You do know that?”
He turned his head into her hand and kissed it. “I do know that. I am perhaps unfairly jealous because they knew you years before I met you. They are both handsome, well-set-up men, while I am just a rough horse soldier. Granted I am of good birth and now titled, but I will never be as smooth of address or as well-spoken as they.”
“And yet, you are the one who captured my heart. You are the one in my bed. Make love to me, Your Grace.”
While early morning when he left, the sun had fully cleared the horizon and the next day’s activities had begun both in the townhouse and outside. With an expression he was certain the man kept carefully blank, Greyson let him out the kitchen door. He turned to confront Florence’s steward. He’d had enough of the man’s cold disapproval. “I am going to marry her. I am going to make her my duchess.”
“I will offer sincere and heartfelt felicitations when I see you at the altar, Your Grace.” The door slowly closed and locked.
Fuming, Duncan jammed his hat on his head and walked toward the stables to order his horse saddled.
Chapter Sixteen
He started to feel uneasy when he rode through the scrolled wrought-iron gates that hung open and past the estate’s gatehouse. These gates had never been left open in his father’s time. The gatekeeper lived with his wife in the gatehouse, and one or the other had always come to unlock the gates and then lock them again. The gatehouse had an air of disuse. The windows were dirty and the path to the front door overgrown. No smoke rose from the chimney. Riding further down the carriage drive as it wound through mature oaks and lindens, he saw no animals grazing in the pastures, no beef or dairy cattle, no sheep or horses. Miles had told him Edgar sold off the Thoroughbred racing stock, but surely the man had to eat? Something had to pull his carriages.
When he crested the rise and could see unobstructed to the great country house of the Everleigh’s, Chelsony Hall, he pressed his tired horse to a faster trot. Like the gates to the property, the double doors to the mansion stood agape. He rode up to the front door and called several times, “Hello, the house. Anyone home?”
When he received no answer, he turned his horse towards the stables and rode into the cobbled yard behind the mansion. A groom should have hustled from the stables to take his horse. Instead, he slid off his animal, loosened the girth, ran up his stirrups and walked the fellow into the stables himself…and stopped. The standing stalls for the workhorses were empty. The manure from the occupants dry and turned to dust. The loose boxes for the carriage horses, hunters, and saddle horses were equally empty and spider webs hung in the corners of the doors. He stripped his horse of saddle and bridle and turned him into a loose box. He made sure there was fresh water and threw him some hay. The forage was fresh and more than likely left from the more recent occupants. He took his saddle and bridle to the harness room. As a child, he’d loved the smell of the well-oiled sets of leather harness that lined the walls from floor to ceiling, the brass on the horse collars shining from polish. Now he could hang his bridle on any one of dozens of empty hooks. He saw to his tack and walked down the aisle to the carriage house. His entry flushed a flock of pigeons pecking at the spaces between the bricks that paved the floor. The sound of their wings echoed in the space of the empty building.
He closed his eyes and fought the rage building within. His mouth set in a grim line he crossed the courtyard and pushed open the door to Chelsony Hall. He made a complete circuit of all the many rooms in the house. It took him the better part of two hours. He sat down on the stone steps leading to the kitchen and dropped his head into his hands.
“They be gone, sir. Himself and the missus. After they left, rough looking hooligans arrived with carts and took everything what wasn’t nailed down.” The voice belonged to an elderly woman wearing a long brown dress and a clean white apron and mob cap. She bobbed him a curtsy. “I be Abigail Durham, sir, the first undercook.” She peered at him for several moments. “And I guess you be Lord Duncan.”
He rose from his slump on the step. “Yes, except it’s Your Grace now, Mrs. Durham. Edgar Everleigh was disinherited as he was found to be illegitimate. I am the legitimate Duke of Chelsony. ”
“He knew years ago.” She nodded thoughtfully. “Aye, that would explain it. His selling off everything of value. Dismissing the servants.”
“What do you mean he knew years ago?”
“When was you last at the hall, Your Grace?”
Duncan straightened and shook his head. “I don’t know, ten years? Twelve years? My father was still alive.”
“The worst of it began right after Her Grace the Dowager Duchess left with Lord Miles…though the staff had noticed things gone missing right along. Valuable things. We thought Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess was taking ‘em and selling ‘em off. Wouldn’t a blamed her as shabby as she was treated, and in her own house. Since then there weren’t nobody to say him no. Nobody to notice family valuables gone. At the end, it was just the coachman, a footman, me and a tweenie. Himself gave the order to prepare the carriage and drove out that drive mayhap…five days ago? Ain’t seen him since. Nicholas and Sarah took off looking for work. I stayed on. I’m old. I got no place to go.” She shrugged. “Here at least I have a roof over my head.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Durham. Will you continue to stay on? Watch the house? I need to return to London, but I’ll be back.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. Peeling off twenty pounds, he tossed it on a counter. “Buy whatever you need out of that.”
Abigail’s bony hand took the bills from the counter and stuffed them in the pocket of her voluminous apron. “Thank you, sir. I’ll bide here, til you come back.”
He saddled his horse and rode to the first posting inn still in a state of shock. Exchanging the worn out beast for a fresh horse, he got back on the road to London and a
rrived at his rooms at Bentley’s as morning broke on another day. He summoned his valet, was washed, shaved, and dressed in fresh clothes by the beginning of the business day. He strode out of Bentley’s and retraced the steps he had taken with Miles some weeks ago when life had seemed carefree and the world filled with love and his for the taking.
Midday, he had confirmed the worst. He returned to his rooms, called for whiskey and sat and thought, and drank, and thought, and drank. No matter how he turned the evidence over in his mind, the conclusion was inescapable. No matter what avenue he pursued to remedy Edgar’s fraud, only one action presented itself that would save those he loved from potentially deadly harm. He would rather cut out his heart than take such action. Indeed, if he was forced to this remedy? The thought of the effects of such a drastic action had him flying to the chamber pot and casting up much of what he’d drank. There was yet one last avenue to pursue that he hoped would save his honor and allow him to keep his heart intact. He picked up his hat, gloves and walking stick and left in search of his half-brother.
“Duncan,” Miles greeted him with a warm smile as the footman showed him into the library. Miles sat behind a writing desk and appeared to be engaged in correspondence. “I am glad to see you. Is Florence with you? Shall I call Eleanor?”
“No. No. I am here on a matter of some gravity, and I would appreciate a few words with you in private. I particularly do not want Eleanor or Florence to know I was here.”
His half-brother frowned and his cheerful air resolved into one of sobriety. “Certainly. We can stay here if you like.”
With a nod, Duncan crossed to the library door, closed and locked it. He motioned to the sofa. “If you please, Miles. You will want to be comfortable. This is not a short tale.” As his half-brother listened intently, Duncan soberly recounted step-by-step, his activities and observations for the past two days. Miles did not interrupt him once. “Well. What do you think?”
“Let me just confirm that I heard you correctly. He has taken every shilling out of every single one of the estate’s accounts and stripped Chelsony Hall of everything of value,” said Miles
“All of it. There is not so much as a ha’penny or candlestick left.”
“How could the institutions allow it? He was no longer the Duke of Chelsony and should not have been allowed access to those monies.”
“There was no official proclamation in writing from Parliament or the Crown until two days after you, and I visited. I speculate that is when Edgar emptied the accounts and fled. As troubling as that is, it is not the most burdensome issue on my mind. I have looked at it from every angle, and I cannot find a way forward except one that is loathsome to me in the extreme.”
Miles cocked his head in question.
“Florence has engaged in a venture for which she required a significant sum of money. It is a solid enterprise in a business where she has a proven history of profit. I have seen the blueprints and looked at the business plan.”
“The shipyard and merchant ships… yes, I’ve heard about it at length from Major Abernathy and from Maman. They put all of their available cash and savings into this project, but it seems safe enough as there is surety …” Awareness flashed across Miles expression. He closed his eyes and sat back.
They both sat there in silence for long minutes. Duncan hoped that Miles would unearth some solution to the problem that had not occurred to him. “I was hoping we might change the guarantor of the surety to the Eleventh Earl of Rutledge.”
“You mean me. What is the amount covered by your surety?”
Duncan told him, and Miles hissed an oath so vile Duncan looked at him twice. Miles held him with a steady gaze. “I would give anything to be able to do this for you, for Florence, but I have nothing approaching that kind of wealth. Not of my own property and that is all I can pledge. I have expectations of succeeding the present earl, but until that happens, I have little money not controlled by the estate. Even those sums are insufficient to wholly cover your surety. I would need to pledge a portion of the un-entailed real estate of Rutledge, of its real property, and I cannot do that until it is mine to pledge.”
“You must not under any circumstances discuss any of this with Eleanor. She is too close to Florence.”
“Can’t you simply tell Florence you must withdraw your surety and why? If her business plan is sound, the investors will see their profits and all is well.”
“Most of her investors put money into this project because of the surety that I put up. When approached originally, they balked at investing in an enterprise led by a woman and a Hindi. What do you think will happen if it becomes public knowledge that the estate of the Duke of Chelsony is penniless? In such an event, what would be an investor’s legal redress should they wish to withdraw their funds from the venture?”
“As head of the venture, Florence would be required to repay their investment out of her personal estate.” Miles sighed. “People being such as they are, once one prominent investor withdrew, it is more than likely all the rest would follow like sheep.”
“Should she be required to make whole all her investors, it would financially ruin her. Utterly. She does not have the funds. But there is an even worse scenario. What happens when she cannot? I saw the list of names, and many of them are influential and powerful men. The loss of such elevated sums as these create inflamed emotions and persons are apt to see duplicitous intent where there is none. What chance would you give her, a single woman, up before the Old Bailey on a charge of deceit by misrepresentation brought by, say, Lord Chaloner? Or Lord Adolphus? You know as well as I, she would be found guilty and, if lucky, imprisoned in New Gate. If unlucky, placed on a convict ship and transported to Australia—or hung, if whoever brought suit is sufficiently vindictive, and sufficiently powerful, as is the reputation of Lord Adolphus.” Duncan stood and started to pace. “Her best and only defense is that of innocent ignorance. If it cannot be proven she knew the Duke of Chelsony’s surety was worthless, she cannot be accused of fraud, of deceit by misrepresentation. I must publically disassociate myself from her immediately.”
“What do you mean?”
Duncan looked at his half-brother and the pain of the words he forced from his gut almost brought him to knees. “I must jilt her, and I cannot tell her why. Until I recover the family’s funds, I must forego all contact. I cannot see her nor can I been seen in the same place at the same time as her. Our association must be publically, unequivocally, severed, and I pray to God I find Edgar quickly before his treachery becomes commonly known.”
“You will break her heart.”
“And my own as well.”
“You will cause her to hate you, Duncan.”
“Damn-it all to hell!” In agonized frustration, he pounded his clenched fist against the wall. “Don’t you think I know that? Bloody well find me another way!” His body sagged to the wall and his forehead rested on the fist he had used to punctuate his desperation. His eyes closed and his voice lowered to no more than a ragged murmur. “Please, I beg you, Miles. Help me find another way.”
Miles rose and crossed to a small table upon which sat a decanter of Port and half a dozen pieces of crystal stemware. He poured two glasses of Port and handed one to Duncan. “Let’s go through this again from the beginning.”
Chapter Sixteen
Duncan firmed his hat on his head and turned to his brother. “Thank you for your ear, your thoughts.”
Miles regarded him soberly from the open front door of the townhouse. “I did not help you find an alternate course of action.”
“No. But you listened. I feel we have exhausted all other possibilities and the course I have set is the best.” Duncan inhaled deeply and exhaled in a long, drawn-out sigh. “I will call on Florence tomorrow morning, and then… I am going to keep myself very busy finding the duplicitous Edgar, running him to earth, and recovering my estate. At which point, she will no longer be endangered, and I intend to grovel and beg to be taken back. I pray
to God, she will forgive me. She is a reasonable woman. She will understand why I had to act as I did.”
“I have observed women are neither reasonable nor forgiving when it comes to a broken heart.”
“I refuse to let her go. She is everything to me. I will lay siege to her until she relents and takes me back—however long that takes.” He had considered the possibility she might never forgive him. A weary bleakness of spirit had so pervaded his mind that he had to wall it out lest he become so disheartened as to be paralyzed and unable to act. “Well… I have some of my old acquaintances to find and set on Edgar’s trail. In this instance, my previous occupation will be an asset. Once I put them into play, I will retire to my rooms at Bentley’s and await their news. If you need me, send for me there.”
“You have difficult ground to negotiate, Duncan.” Miles laid his hand on his shoulder and pressed for a moment. “I will help you in all ways that I can. If you should ever feel in need of company or …” he smiled gently and shrugged, “…whatever. I am in town until the beginning of February then we shall move the household to Rutledge.”
“I think the best service you can provide is the hardest—silence, though if you should have an occasion to speak well of me when it might do some good, I’d appreciate it.” He tipped his hat, stepped off Miles’ front porch into hell.
At that moment, he didn’t have the heart or will to say what needed to be said to Florence, but there were other vital things to be set in motion. He went back to his rooms at Bentley’s and summoned his valet.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
Duncan pressed some coins into the middle-aged servant’s hand. “Stephens, take this and go to the rag shop on Russel Row near the docks. “Do you know the one I mean?”
“I believe so, Your Grace.”
“I need to look like a dock worker. Your job is to pick through what’s on offer and come back with something suitable. Am I clear?”
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