The Duke's Dilemma (The Wolf Deceivers Series Book 2)

by Elaine Manders

  “I’m certain it was no contrivance.”

  “Shall we be seated? You are so tall, dearest Edward, I strain my neck to look at you.” A little laugh floated after Daphne as she strode to the nearest seating arrangement, two carved mahogany chairs on either side of a baroque table holding a bowl of delicate orchids from the hothouse.

  “I haven’t much time.” He held the chair for her to be seated. “Aunt Chloe won’t be back for tea, and I have pressing appointments.” That wasn’t quite true, but one had to be polite.

  As soon as he’d taken his chair, Daphne turned serious. “What can you be thinking of to allow a woman of Lady Wayte’s repute to associate with Sarah?”

  “Lady Wayte has shown my sister kindness. I take note of such things because there’s no one in the world I care more for than Sarah.” His voice held the sharpness of a knife’s edge.

  Daphne smiled, apparently willing to overlook the censure in his tone. “Of course since you’ve only recently arrived in town, you can’t know Cassandra Wayte as well as Lady Pugh and I do.”

  He smiled to take some of the edge off his tone. “As it happens I feel I can judge character as well as anyone, my dear, but gossip is a sore spot with me. My mother was the object of some false rumors some years ago.”

  Daphne harrumphed. “That matter was quickly laid low. You can’t possibly compare your mother with Cassandra Wayte. I simply wouldn’t want her to bewitch you by her kindness as she did Lord Wayte.”

  Edward recalled that moment when he’d extended his condolences to Cassandra and the tears in her eyes. She may have bewitched Lord Wayte with her kindness and her beauty, but her love for her husband was genuine.

  He started to stop Daphne but knew she’d have her say one way or the other. He sighed as she droned on with the now familiar story.

  “I have it from Lady Millicent Wayte who married the new earl. She says the woman had no sooner leg-shackled the old earl than she set out to have him change his will to leave her everything, except, of course, that crumbling castle that was entailed.”

  Edward leaned forward to set her straight. He’d heard the truth of it from his father, someone he trusted infinitely more than Lady Millicent. “Lord Wayte turned everything over to a trust for Lady Wayte before he died and stipulated that in the event his widow remarry, it would go to his charities. I suppose he wanted to protect her from fortune hunters, but in no event would it have gone to his son. George had already lost one fortune at the gaming tables.”

  Daphne shrugged. “That’s as it may be, but the fact remains that she profited handsomely by Lord Wayte’s demise, and it’s my belief she hastened his demise.”

  Edward felt his hackles rise. She referred to the allegations Cassandra had smothered her husband while he lay suffering from a stroke. “You well know the magistrate investigated the matter and cleared Lady Wayte of all charges.”

  “Only because the doctors and servants spoke in her behalf.” Daphne glanced to the ceiling before pinning Edward with a stare. “I remind you, dearest Edward, that they were in Lady Wayte’s employ and stood to lose much if she were taken to Newgate.”

  Chair legs scraped the floor as Edward stood. “I assure you if I had a glimmer of doubt that Lady Wayte is a murderess, I wouldn’t allow her near my sister.”

  He positioned the chair back in its place and smiled. “I beg you’ll excuse me now. The speech for Witherspoon’s assembly must be finished.” This assembly was the last invitation he’d accept until Daphne tired of staying at home and found someone else to escort her.

  The dowager countess rose gracefully. “The Witherspoons always outdo themselves. I’m looking forward to the speeches, especially yours.” Her smile faded as a startled look crossed her face. “I just remembered something. One of Lady Wayte’s maids was in attendance the night Lord Wayte died, but she disappeared before she could be questioned.”

  “What of it?”

  “I’m certain the maid’s name was Lucy.”

  Chapter 6

  The carriage stopped in the drive of Cassandra’s townhouse. A footman let down the steps for her and rushed to open the front door. Jane Vernon waited outside until Cassandra entered the house.

  The actress followed close behind. “Are you quite all right, m’lady?”

  To avoid Jane’s pitying eyes, Cassandra looked down at the fan in her hands. She’d clutched the delicate thing so hard the ivory sticks had snapped. She tossed it onto a nearby chair. “Of course, Jane, I’m fine.”

  As fine as she could be after viewing an innocent young woman’s bloated form and making arrangements for the body to be returned to her village for burial.

  “I fear for you, m’lady, and that’s the truth. Who knows what that madman will do next after murdering Lucy?”

  Cassandra grabbed Jane’s arm. “You heard the constable say it was suicide, and in any event, Harcrumb wouldn’t know I’m involved.”

  “I heard what the constable said,” Jane’s eyes narrowed, “and how are we to know his pockets weren’t lined?”

  Cassandra shifted aside, fatigue draining her. A sofa beckoned, and she sank onto its cushions.

  Jane didn’t trouble to find a seat but paced back and forth in front of Cassandra. “Your ladyship, this man is dangerous. He knows Lucy was your maid at one time, and he may know she saw him that night.”

  “Lucy was afraid that might be the case. But he’s been away on a voyage for a year and, I suppose, is now on another.”

  “No, he didn’t sail with his ship.”

  Cassandra gripped the arms of her chair until her knuckles turned white. “How can that be? He always sails with his ship.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, m’lady. He’s stayed in London, for good and all, buying a new residence in St James Woods.” Jane threw her hands apart. “As long as that man breathes the same air as we, he’ll be a danger to you and to others.”

  What did Jane expect her to do? She’d tried. Her plans had been in motion for months. Representatives from the Lord Mayor’s office were willing to take Lucy’s testimony. They’d only been waiting for Harcrumb to return to apprehend him. He had returned, but her plans lay in the dust.

  Lucy was dead.

  Never breaking her stare, Jane lowered herself to the facing chair. “Confide in the duke. He’ll help you. I know he will.”

  His image flashed in Cassandra’s mind. The duke holding her as she struggled to understand Lucy’s fate. The concern in his eyes. The gentleness of his voice.

  He might be willing to help, but she shook her head. “The duke has been gracious to me, and I adore his sister. I shouldn’t wish to visit my troubles on them.”

  Why wouldn’t Jane just go and leave her to her thoughts. She pressed a smile into place, hoping to reassure the actress. “I’m certain the duke is occupied with too many important matters to spare the time.”

  Jane laughed. “He’d take the time for you.”

  “Why me? You don’t even know the duke.”

  “If there’s one thing I do know, it’s men. I’ve been married thrice. Though I don’t know the duke personally, I’ve seen how other gentlemen watch you. Oh, it’s not just your beauty, m’lady. You have a woeful look about you that makes them want to jump to your aid as the knights of old would fight for a lady’s honor.”

  Cassandra could envision the duke as a knight, but she couldn’t confide in him. Not yet. “I’ll give it careful thought, Jane.”

  But was there anything to think about. If she asked the duke for help, he’d learn the truth. “At the moment, I’m fatigued.”

  She and Jane rose at the same time, but the sound of a door opening and voices pulled Cassandra in that direction. Lady Hayes shuffled forward, assisted by her maid.

  “Gama, are you well enough to be up?” She hastened to the old lady’s side.

  Lady Hayes lifted her cheek for Cassandra’s kiss. “Indeed, my dear. Lady Pugh and I have had a lovely coz while you were out. Afterwa
rds, I felt so well I got Hetty to take me for a turn in the garden.”

  Genuine relief curved Cassandra’s lips. “I’m so glad.” At least one bright spot in an otherwise dismal day.

  Gama squeezed Cassandra’s hand. “I believe I’ll take a nap, but I should be able to join you for dinner tonight.”

  “I do hope so.” The thought of food made Cassandra’s stomach roil. She watched as Gama and Hetty ambled toward the stairs, then turned to find Jane grinning like the cat who’d stolen the cream.

  “Lady Pugh has called.” Jane pointed to the table standing beside the entrance door. “Before the Season begins, this table will be overflowing with calling cards.”

  “I fear your expectations exceed reality.”

  Jane jutted her chin out in a defiant gesture. “I know the mood of the gentry. They are aware his grace is still in mourning, but everyone, and I do mean everyone, is waiting for an introduction. They’ll follow his lead to decide who’s worthy of being received.”

  Cassandra couldn’t argue the point, nor did she want to. “Have the Gage sisters found suitable positions?” In her worry over Lucy, she’d forgotten the girls she’d snatched from Mrs. Sully’s establishment and had sent to Jane just yesterday.

  “They have…cook’s helpers at the Rysdale’s.”

  Carswell was already holding the door open for Jane. The actress sighed and pulled the hood of her cape over her head. “I’ll take my leave, though I still worry about you, m’lady. I advise you to take a tisane and go straight to bed.”

  The weather had changed. A gust of wind blew leaves into the house and rain slashed the air. Fall would quickly turn to winter, then the Season. If she could get rid of Sir Harcrumb by the next Season, she might pursue the duke. She admitted to herself she wanted to.

  Cassandra dragged her steps into the library and crossed to the windows. She pulled back the velvet curtains and looked out on the beauty of the primrose hedges. Rain had fallen the day before Lord Wayte’s death, too. A cold rain that turned into a bone-chilling drizzle by nightfall.

  After conferring with his doctor, she’d run into his bedchamber. “Dearest Geoffrey, the doctor told me he expects you to regain the use of your limbs within a few months.” She held a wide smile as she spoke. After she’d dropped a kiss on his forehead, she lowered herself onto the edge of the bedside chair, holding his limp hand to her cheek.

  The stroke had left him bedridden for weeks, and she’d feared the worse. Now the danger was passed.

  The left side of his mouth still pulled downward when he smiled, but the love in his eyes shown as brightly as ever. “It seems the good Lord has given me a reprieve.”

  “God has answered our prayers as you said He would.” She laid his hand on his chest. “We may return to London within a fortnight.”

  “That reminds me, my dearest. My lawyers have arranged everything for that time I must leave you.”

  “Geoffrey, let us not dwell on the arrangements. The doctors say you have many years left.”

  Lord Wayte ignored that. “One thing we haven’t discussed. You should remarry, and I’ve worried about that. Fortune hunters will be after you, so my charities will control all monies should you remarry.”

  “I will not hear it.” Not that his charities shouldn’t control the money, but that she would remarry.

  Lord Wayte held up his right hand. “It’s been difficult to work out the particulars to insure you receive my wealth. I want you to know. The trustees will maintain control, but they are instructed to cover your personal needs even after a remarriage. I only ask one thing.”

  Curiosity made her ask, “What is that?”

  “As you know, I’ve established a home for street urchins and chimney sweeps, but I haven’t finalized the plans for a home for those…unfortunate girls who are lured from the country for the purpose of being forced into prostitution. I must depend upon you, my dear, to see that through. I can trust no other.”

  He’d already shared his plans. It pleased her that he looked upon her as a helpmate instead of a mere wife. “Make sure that I shall stand beside you in all your endeavors, but you will be here to see them all bear fruit.”

  Another lop-sided grin creased his mouth, and she brushed back the thin gray wisps of hair from his forehead. Lord Wayte wore age well and was still a handsome man. “I know you may not understand, but I don’t regret this malady. These weeks flat of my back has revealed the truth about what God expects of us.”

  “You’ve already known. Geoffrey, there’s no man of greater faith in England than you.”

  “My dear, I hope that’s not true. All my life I’ve tried to work my way to heaven by my good works. Yet when I thought I was at the end, I realized all we can do is trust in our Savior, because that’s the only promise God gives us. My works are done only because I love Him. And His sheep.”

  She must ask him to explain that later. “And I’m thankful to God you’re better.” She adjusted the lace over skirt of her blue evening gown. “You really think I should go to the ball?”

  “I insist upon it. You’ve been stuck in my sickroom this whole time. You need to get out.”

  “Then I shall, but it will be late when I return, so I won’t disturb you until morning.”

  “Only promise me you’ll dance with every young man there.”

  She laughed. “I shall pretend they are all you.”

  “My dear, a lady never dances with her husband.”

  She bent to kiss his cheek. “Well, they ought. I shall bring you some of those chocolate covered bonbons you like so much.” She left him, stopping at the door only long enough to wave and add, “Get your rest. We’ll discuss our plans tomorrow, I promise it.”

  But Lord Wayte had died that night.

  In those soul numbing days that followed, she’d not given a thought that he hadn’t simply died peacefully in his sleep, not even when the suspicions swirled around her. She’d laid that to George and Millicent Wayte’s jealousy. Nothing led her to believe her husband had been murdered. She hadn’t even known Sir Harcrumb had been at Waytefield that night.

  Until Lucy came to her.

  By then Sir Harcrumb had sailed away to some distant port.

  She dropped the curtains and trudged across the room, stopping in front of her husband’s portrait. No doubt he was safely in heaven, but she was unlikely to join him. Her faith in God had shriveled like a flower plucked and thrown away.

  God hadn’t held Sir Harcrumb accountable. Now that Lucy was dead, the law wouldn’t bring him to justice either. Only one option was left for her.

  She’d have to kill him herself.

  ***

  Edward and his guest, Viscount Galloway, threaded through the small groupings of distinguished men at White’s Gentleman’s Club.

  Originally built as a chocolate house, White’s had been relocated to St James’s Street in 1781, one of the most exclusive clubs in the city. Membership was based more on the depths of a man’s pockets than his station in life.

  They found Edward’s table near the one used by Beau Brummel, positioned in the large bay window at ground level. This was the most coveted place in the establishment because it afforded them plenty of natural light and a view of the outside traffic, though natural light was a sparse commodity today. A low fog covered the city as water dripped off the buildings at a steady plop-plop.

  A uniformed waiter seated the gentlemen and scurried away to bring their hot chocolate. A familiar odor closed in. The smell of food and drink hung in the air, but so did leather, horse and tobacco brought in by the guests, mixed with the fine fabrics of their clothing and their fragrances.

  The more perfume a man used, the longer since he’d taken a bath.

  “Thank you for bringing me as your guest.” Charles flipped out a napkin as their chocolate was served. “I’ve already received an invitation to a hunt this fall.”

  Edward stirred sugar into his dark brew. “Quite all right. You might return the favor somed
ay.”

  Charles laughed. “I doubt that would ever be necessary.”

  Edward didn’t mind helping the young man, but he had an ulterior motive and now was the right time to pursue the matter. “Where did you meet Lady Ashford?”

  “I knew her before Lord Ashford died. I was in his regiment at one time.” Charles drank from the steaming mug. “They were a fine match—a shame he was killed.”

  “I understand his cousin inherited, but settled handsomely with Lady Ashford.” Edward hoped Charles would find Daphne rich enough for him to want to take her off his hands. He hoped Charles was handsome enough that she’d wish to be taken.

  He had to find some diversion for Daphne. If not for his position, people would already be accusing him of dallying with the lady, though he wasn’t doing the dallying.

  She’d become a nuisance.

  “It’s true enough she received a hefty settlement, but I think the lady had money of her own.” Charles put his mug down with a thud and leaned in. “Speaking of money, I’d heard Lady Wayte is quite wealthy, but I had no idea she was so beautiful. I almost fell from my chair at first sight of her.”

  Edward hadn’t missed Charles’s interest in Lady Wayte, and he couldn’t blame the impoverished earl for hunting a rich widow. They were better catches than debutants with large dowries. “She is beautiful, but I must tell you, Lord Wayte’s estate is set up such that she will lose her money if she remarries.” It was only a rumor he’d heard, but if it discouraged Charles’s pursuit of Lady Wayte, so much the better.

  “The devil you say.” Charles’s countenance deflated like a hot air balloon. “That’s always the way of it, isn’t it?”

  “There are no encumbrances on Lady Ashford’s finances that I know of.” Edward eyed Charles’s reaction over the rim of his mug.

  “I was made to understand you were playing court to Lady Ashford.”

  “No. She’s friends to my aunt, Lady Pugh, and we all attend various functions together, but my affections are not engaged.”

  Charles’s grin told Edward he understood perfectly.