The Infamous Duchess

by Sophie Barnes

  “We are here today to share our findings with you so you may prepare for court,” Hayes said. “The Duke of Tremaine will be seeking compensation from Her Grace, the Duchess of Tremaine, in the form of St. Agatha’s hospital and her ownership in the rejuvenation center.”

  Viola blinked. “What about the money I haven’t yet spent and the house I own?”

  Hayes smiled. “The duke is not a monster, Duchess. He does not wish to turn you out of your home or take the few funds you have left. After all, you and his father were married, so you ought to be entitled to something.”

  “He knows going after my places of business is going to hurt me the most,” she muttered while doing her best not to meet Robert’s gaze.

  “Indeed.” Hayes stared at her for a second before repositioning himself in his seat and saying, “Judge Atkins has confirmed the tenth, so you’ll probably receive a notice from him soon.”

  “You blindsided me with this, Hayes,” Steadford grumbled. “And I don’t take kindly to that so I ought to warn you that I have every intention of having that date postponed.”

  “You’re welcome to try.” Hayes held Steadford’s gaze for a long uncomfortable moment before dropping it to the pile of papers on the table. Viola instinctively stiffened because she could sense, before anyone uttered another word, that what came next would not be good.

  This feeling increased tenfold when Hayes smiled and looked at her. “As I mentioned when last we met, my clerks have been very busy lately.” Oh God. Her heart was pounding. More so when he slid a large leather-bound book out from under the papers and flipped it open. “This is the church record for St. Andrew’s Holborn, years 1790 to 1800. The vicar there was kind enough to lend it to me so I can show you this very intriguing detail.”

  “I doubt it’s anything we’re not already aware of,” Henry said. He gave Steadford a pointed look, and Viola realized he was trying to lessen the significance of Hayes’s upcoming revelation.

  Hayes hesitated and glanced at each of them in turn while Robert looked straight at Viola with predatory menace. “Here is Your Grace’s name, Viola Elisabeth Marsh. And here, where your mother’s name should be, it says Danielle Marsh. But an additional note has been added in the margin. See?”

  Viola sucked in a breath as she stared down at the heavy scrawl. The word bastard was followed by a question mark. How Hayes had managed to find this she could not imagine. It made no sense. She’d been born in France, not England, but according to this . . . Dear God. Marsh must have had her christened after their arrival. He’d been a religious man so of course he would have. It made perfect sense even though she’d not thought to consider it before.

  Unfortunately, his desire to do right by her had now done her harm.

  Knowing her only resort was denial, she said, “There’s obviously been a mistake since my parents are both listed.”

  “Indeed,” Hayes murmured. He leafed through the pile of papers until he found the page he sought. Pulling it free, he leaned back in his seat. “What I have been able to piece together is that your mother and father were not married. I deduced this after a lengthy discussion with the clerk who filled out this record twenty-one years ago.

  “He remembers Mr. Marsh and his infant daughter because of how unusual the whole situation seemed to him at the time. When he asked Mr. Marsh about the child’s mother, Mr. Marsh could not provide a marital record. The clerk questioned him further and Mr. Marsh began dissembling, weaving a tale about a fire and how your unfortunate mother and the marital record had both been destroyed in it. Apparently, lying for the purpose of establishing legitimacy happens often, and one could not be named legitimate without proof. Which Marsh did not supply. His failure to offer any evidence of marriage leads me to believe that he knew exactly who your mother was and that he was trying to hide it.”

  “You’re making a lot of assumptions without supporting any of them,” Steadford drawled as if he’d lost interest in this conversation several minutes ago.

  “I’m getting to that,” Hayes said. The thrill of snaring his prey had brightened his eyes. “For you see, I’ve also managed to get my hands on this.” He waved the piece of paper he held and smiled at Viola.

  Her stomach lurched with the knowledge that whatever came next, she was not going to like it. “What is that?” she asked in a voice far braver than she actually felt.

  “It’s a record of Mr. Marsh’s arrival in England on May 29, 1799. Accompanying him was his infant daughter, Viola Elisabeth Marsh.” Hayes set the page aside and reached for another. “Discovering Mr. Marsh had lived abroad, my clerks tracked him to Paris, where he was highly respected as a professor at the Sorbonne.”

  “He was a skilled physician,” Viola muttered while clutching the armrest beside her.

  “And very dependable too, which apparently made his colleagues wonder about his sudden decision to quit his position and leave from one day to the next.”

  Viola shook her head. “Your Clerks cannot have discovered this. Paris is far. It’s only three weeks since Tremaine hired you, and by the time you started investigating—”

  “He had enough time,” Henry told her. “Getting there and back would have taken no more than four days, plus whatever time was required for the interviews. In truth, a week would have been more than sufficient.”

  “One of my clerks made the trip,” Mr. Hayes said, while hope began seeping out of Viola’s body. He reached for the teapot and poured himself a cup. “Would anyone else like some?” When everyone shook their heads, Hayes set the pot aside with a shrug. “Apparently some of these men still work at the Sorbonne.” He sipped his tea. “But most helpful of all was actually one of Mr. Marsh’s former students, who now heads the same anatomy department Mr. Marsh used to teach. Turns out he was very eager to learn as much as he could from Mr. Marsh—so eager he asked Mr. Marsh if he could serve as his assistant when he tended to patients.”

  “Oh God,” Viola whispered, so low only Henry would hear her. She knew what was coming now, what Hayes would say, and as much as she wanted to flee the room and pretend this wasn’t happening, she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders.

  “We’ll get through this,” Henry breathed in answer to her exclamation.

  “Imagine my surprise when I learned that Mr. Marsh had helped a doxy deliver a child and then taken the child home with him after the woman died. The next day he was gone and, well, here we are.”

  “What an entertaining tale,” Steadford said. His tone was tight and Viola knew then and there that he’d have some choice words to deal her later because she’d failed to mention this to him. “However, I am not sure what you hope to accomplish with it.”

  “She’s the bastard daughter of a whore,” Robert sneered, and Viola felt Henry stiffen. “My father obviously paid her so he could swive her.”

  Before she could stop him, Henry was out of his seat and hauling Robert to his feet by his shirtfront. “Apologize this instant, Tremaine.”

  “Why should I?” Robert asked with curling lip. “A woman who spreads her legs for the son before taking the father deserves no respect.”

  The punch landed against Robert’s cheek so fast and with such force that the tea set rattled. “I’ll bloody well kill you right now,” Henry growled, while Steadford and Hayes both leapt to remove him from Robert’s person.

  Robert just laughed and threw back his head. “Oh, I see! You haven’t had her yet, Lowell.” Another punch landed in Robert’s chest. “Best get a bank draft ready. Seems her price is going up by thousands of pounds per tup. Did I mention that with me it was free?”

  “Shut up,” Hayes demanded while pulling on Henry’s arm.

  Steadford tried to wedge himself between Henry and Robert. “This isn’t helping, Lowell.”

  “She was so damn willing too,” Robert added as Steadford and Hayes finally managed to pull the two men apart.

  “Be quiet, damn you,” Hayes fairly shouted.

  Viola’s b
lood had long since drained from her body. She was cold inside and increasingly aware that nothing good would come of what happened here today.

  He wanted to rip Robert’s head off his shoulders and toss it across the room. Yes, it would be bloody, but at least then the man would cease talking. Even now while Hayes warned him to keep his mouth shut, Robert couldn’t resist an additional jibe. “It’s too late to save her, Lowell. I’m meeting with a couple of journalists later today.”

  Henry feared he was seconds away from grabbing his pistol. “I suggest you leave,” he gritted out.

  “Agreed,” Hayes said. “We’ve shared everything we know and look forward to resolving this matter as quickly as possible. Good day.” He grabbed Robert by the elbow and steered him out of the room.

  “I knew there was something else,” Steadford said. “Wish you would have apprised me of it beforehand, Your Grace.”

  “I’m sorry,” Viola said. “I honestly didn’t think it would be discovered or that it would matter.”

  Mr. Steadford nodded in understanding. “In future, please be aware that the truth does come out eventually. Especially when there’s a hound on your heels.” He turned to Henry. “I wouldn’t have minded delivering a punch to that arrogant fop myself, but in this case, restraint is advisable. I hope you’ll remember that when we meet him in court.”

  “Of course,” Henry muttered. “I apologize for my behavior. I just—”

  “Believe me, I know,” Mr. Steadford said with a glance at Viola. “Is there anything else I ought to be made aware of at this point?”

  “No,” she said. “That is all there is.”

  “In that case—”

  “Before you go,” Henry said, “there is in fact something that I must tell you.” He’d been holding off on mentioning Guthrie’s visit and the information he had conveyed because he’d been waiting to have his own suspicions about Robert confirmed. As it stood, there was no evidence of any wrongdoing. “Carlton Guthrie came to call on me about a week ago.” He told them both about the ensuing conversation and the letter Henry had taken upon himself to write.

  “I can’t believe you did not tell me,” Viola said. She looked slightly hurt.

  “I didn’t want to get your hopes up about a solid defense until I had something concrete to offer.”

  “Without evidence it’s just an accusation and a pretty outrageous one too,” Steadford said. “Hayes will have it thrown out of court in no time at all and we’ll just be left looking desperate.”

  “What if Guthrie testifies?” Viola asked.

  “What reason is there to believe what he says over the word of a duke?” Steadford shook his head. “I’m afraid it won’t work, but that doesn’t mean there’s no hope. Hayes isn’t the only one with efficient clerks. Based on the information you provided me about Tremaine’s character, Mr. Lowell, mine did some digging into his past. They found at least one person who can corroborate your story about the demimondaine and there are others who are willing to testify to his aggressive tendencies.”

  “Do you think that will be enough to discredit his claims about me taking advantage of his father?” Viola asked.

  “Maybe. If he wasn’t a duke it would help, but as he is one of the most powerful men in the country, I cannot say with certainty.” He gave them each a final look. “I will wish you both a good day now. There is much for me to do in preparation for the battle lying ahead.”

  He strode away at a brisk pace, disappearing into the hallway beyond. As soon as he was gone, Henry turned to Viola, closed the space between them and pulled her roughly into his arms. “Are you all right?” He murmured the question against her head while reveling in the scent of her hair, the feel of her body, so familiar now, and the way she pressed her cheek against his shoulder in search of comfort.

  “No. I don’t think so. My life is unraveling, Henry, and there is nothing I can do but stand by and watch it happen.”

  He leaned back in order to meet her troubled gaze. “That’s not true. We can still fight this.”

  “Really?” Her eyes pleaded for him to show her the way. “Steadford did not sound the least bit certain.”

  Henry had to agree with her there. His lack of confidence was not reassuring, but at least it was honest. “The odds aren’t good, but that does not mean they’re impossible, though I really do wish that we had more time. If I were to receive a response from the West Indies about Robert’s wife, then—”

  “There’s every chance she died as Robert said she did. Knowing the truth might not help.” With a heavy sigh, Viola stepped out of his arms and went to the window overlooking the garden. “This will be pretty once it is finished. What sort of tree is that over there?”

  Disliking the space between them, he went to stand beside her. “Apple.”

  “That will be lovely in the autumn when it bears fruit. I like how neat and simple it is. Once the rhododendrons and peonies grow and begin producing flowers, the splashes of color will make your garden a lovely retreat.”

  “I’m considering a box over there to the left for some herbs and vegetables. What do you think?”

  Her brow puckered slightly while she considered. “It could work, I think. Especially if it’s right up against the garden wall so it doesn’t take up too much space.” They remained side by side looking out, until she suddenly glanced up at him, her eyes filled with question. “I was just wondering . . . That woman Mr. Guthrie mentioned . . . Do you know who she was?”

  “Her name was Olivia Jones. Besides that, I’ve no idea.”

  “So you haven’t made any inquiries?”

  “No. Considering the source of the information I received, I dismissed it as inconclusive and chose to focus on the circumstances surrounding the death of Robert’s wife. I believed I stood a better chance with that.”

  Viola stared back at him for a second. “I think you might be wrong.”

  “You heard Mr. Steadford, Viola. Guthrie won’t work as a witness.”

  She smiled. “I know. But Olivia Jones must have a family, friends, people who might be able to offer some information about what happened to her. Reliable sources able to corroborate Guthrie’s story.”

  The hope etched in every part of her expression made Henry wary. He didn’t want to lead her toward disappointment. “I think it’s a slim chance at best.”

  “Probably. But what’s the alternative?”

  Mr. Andrews stepped into the room before Henry could answer and announced the unexpected arrival of Henry’s grandmother.

  “I should probably go,” Viola said, but was stopped from doing so by Lady Scranton herself.

  Dressed in taffeta and lace, the old woman appeared in the doorway before Viola even managed to collect her reticule. The countess looked from Henry to Viola and back again. “What a pleasant surprise finding the two of you here together.” She walked forward, skirts swishing.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” Henry blurted before he could think to stop himself. Lady Scranton’s face swiveled toward him, brows raised as if in challenge. “What I mean to say is that Her Grace is here for a very good reason.”

  “I’m sure she is,” his grandmother said with no apparent attempt to hide her amusement.

  Henry sighed. “We were discussing her case. Steadford just left,” he muttered, and gestured toward the seating arrangement where Mr. Hayes’s cup of tea still sat, mostly untouched. “Shall we?”

  Lady Scranton nodded and moved toward the armchair. She lowered herself to the seat and waited expectantly for Henry and Viola to join her.

  Viola hesitated. “I should probably—”

  “Have a seat,” Lady Scranton suggested.

  Henry darted a look at Viola. She was eyeing the sofa with some uncertainty. Henry didn’t blame her. There was no telling where this conversation with his grandmother was destined to lead.

  A hint of a smile tugged at the countess’s lips. She inclined her head. “I like you, Duchess, and I daresay my grandson li
kes you too. Please, join us for a moment. There is much I wish to discuss with you both.”

  Viola glanced between Lady Scranton and Henry before slowly edging her way toward the spot she’d vacated only a few minutes earlier. When she eventually lowered herself, it was to perch on the edge of the seat, like a bird prepared to take flight.

  Henry sat down beside her.

  “So,” his grandmother said, “word has it that Tremaine is out for blood.” She looked at each of them in turn. “According to your grandfather, it was the main topic of conversation last night at White’s. A page in the betting book has even been dedicated to the outcome. People are staking money on who they believe will win.”

  “Good Lord,” Viola muttered, and Henry immediately reached for her hand.

  The gesture did not go unnoticed. His grandmother’s eyes were filled with interest, but when she prepared to speak, he cut her off by saying, “Did Scranton say how word got out?”

  “It was Tremaine’s doing.”

  Viola sucked in a breath. “So he wasn’t just talking about his upcoming meeting with journalists when he said it was too late to save my reputation. He wants to make a spectacle of me.”

  “Obviously,” Lady Scranton agreed. “That man despises you or he would have kept the matter private.”

  “Articles will appear in tomorrow’s papers,” Henry muttered. “That is inevitable.”

  “My reputation will be in tatters before the hearing begins.” She looked at Henry with the desperation of someone who feared her escape route had just been cut off. “Winning will take no effort at all for Tremaine and Hayes.”

  “As things stand at the moment,” Lady Scranton said. She pushed Hayes’s cup from earlier aside and reached for a clean one. “How about some tea?” When Viola and Henry both answered in the affirmative, she filled their cups and hers as well before taking a long sip. “Now, in my estimation, the best course of action for you right now, Viola, would be to marry Henry.”