Lilith abruptly frowned and glanced about the room. Dansbury had yet to make an appearance this evening. Of course, this very proper soirée was not his usual milieu and normally his absence would have pleased her no end. But any information regarding the Duke of Wenford’s death seemed to be absent as well, and she couldn’t help linking the two.
“Frightfully cold weather we’re having this Season, isn’t it?” Nance offered, smiling at her.
Lilith hurriedly smiled back at him, chastising herself for her inattention. That blasted Dansbury was a nuisance even when he wasn’t about. “Yes, it is quite chilly, my lord. I do hope it will warm up before it comes time for winter again.”
He chuckled. “Indeed. I have had to send for half my winter wardrobe from Nance Hall.”
“I think we all have.”
The earl cleared his throat, leaning closer. “You might be interested to know,” he confided in a conspiratorial tone, “that my aunt on my father’s side has just finished a complete tracing of our family tree. It seems I am directly related to Edward the Fourth.”
“No,” she exclaimed, sneaking a hurried look over his shoulder in the direction of the punchbowl. There were no games started upstairs yet, so if Dansbury was in attendance, he should be in the ballroom.
Nance pursed his lips, the resulting thoughtful expression much less sensual than when Dansbury did the same. “I am now thinking I should have my family crest changed to reflect this association,” he continued. “My sister, however, believes this might be entirely too scandalous, as the York line is not universally liked. What is your opinion?”
Lilith barely caught what he was saying. Where was that scoundrel? “I’m certain you’ll do what’s best,” she offered absently.
“For a member of the gentler sex, you are quite wise in matters politic. I have always said so, you know.”
Though she wasn’t entirely certain that was a compliment, she smiled and nodded anyway. For all the attention she was paying, it might very well have been an invitation to take her off to Belgium for the duration of the summer. “Thank you, my lord.”
“You are troubled this evening,” he stated, frowning.
“Oh, no,” she returned quickly, trying to rid the dastardly marquis from her thoughts. “I am only worried a little, about…about my brother.” She disliked discussing William’s wild behavior, but it did seem wiser than admitting that Geoffrey Remdale was dead and that she couldn’t figure out why she was the only one who seemed to know about it.
The earl nodded. “I assume you refer to Dansbury and his crowd? His blood’s blue enough, I suppose, though no one with any proper sense of status will have anything to do with him. The libertine cheated me out of a hundred and fifty pounds last week, and I never did figure out how he accomplished it.” He sighed. “Pray do not let him trouble your perfect brow, mademoiselle.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Would you like me to speak to your brother?” He lowered his voice further. “You know, I hear he has spent the last several evenings at Antonia St. Gerard’s card parties, and that she seems to favor him. I don’t mean to alarm you, but that association could do him more harm than Dansbury. Perhaps as a contemporary, I may be able to set him back on the straight path, as it were.”
His offer was unexpected, and though William seemed to listen to no one but the marquis these days, Lilith supposed it could do no harm. She herself had heard her brother mention this Antonia woman, and what Nance said certainly alarmed her. “That would be very kind of you, my lord.”
Nance’s smile broadened as he narrowly missed kicking her shin. “It would be my pleasure. And I ask you again to call me Lionel. After all, I have asked your father for your hand in marriage.”
“I know,” she acknowledged, feeling a bit harried.
“I heard that His Grace the Duke of Wenford has received permission to court you, as well,” he continued lightly. “I do hope that hasn’t hurt my own suit.”
Lilith gave a slightly hysterical laugh. “Oh, no, Lionel. I don’t think I could seriously consider His Grace,” she tittered. “He is quite elderly…and probably not in very good health, and you know—”
Nance laughed as the waltz came to a close. “Please, Miss Benton, I am already convinced.” He brushed her chin with his gloved fingers. “I am pleased that you are, as well.”
Dinner and another complete dance set passed, and still no one had mentioned anything about the deceased duke. When a smiling Randolph Remdale entered the ballroom halfway through the evening, Lilith knew something was dreadfully wrong. And with the marquis continuing in his absence, she needed some assistance—even if it was rather haphazard.
Lilith turned to look for William, only to spy him waltzing with the woman Dansbury had brought with him to the opera. Perhaps three or four years older than Lilith, the woman wore her brunette hair tangled and twisted away from the restraint of two delicate French bone clips. Slightly slanted hazel eyes gave her an exotic look, wise and innocent at the same time. Her green and peach silk gown was demure enough, but she had a sensual, gliding way of moving across the ballroom floor that caught the eyes of more than one gentleman. Antonia St. Gerard herself, no doubt.
Lilith waited impatiently for the set to end. Finally she intercepted her brother as he went to fetch a glass of punch. If the dazed, puppyish expression on William’s face was any indication, she had another problem she was going to have to deal with, and soon.
She sent a carefully gracious smile in the direction of her brother’s companion as she stepped up and touched his arm. “I need to speak with you for a moment.”
“Lil, I’m occupied,” he protested.
“Please, William,” she insisted. “It’s important.”
He must have read her expression, for he delivered the punch, excused himself, and followed her to the nearest alcove. “You ain’t going to warn me off Antonia, are you?”
She scowled at him. “Not at the moment. William, something awful happened this morning, and I need to tell you about it.”
Finally he gave her his attention, his expression becoming serious. “What awful thing happened?”
“While everyone was at Billington’s, the Duke of Wenford came by to see me, to propose to me. And he…well, he assaulted me, and then—”
“Wenford assaulted you?” He blanched, his eyes widening. “Where is the bastard? I’ll call him out right now and—”
“You’re too late.”
He faltered, his gaze snapping back to her face. “What?”
“He was…mauling me, and then he fell over dead.” There was no point in telling him on whom Wenford had fallen, she decided, for that would only complicate matters.
“The Duke of Wenford is dead?”
“William, please be quiet,” she hissed desperately. The marquis had been much more calm about the disaster. “Lord Dansbury removed His Grace from the morning room. But now—”
“Jack helped you? Ha! Old Hatchet Face was in the coach with him, wasn’t he? By God, I told you he was a good sort.”
“But why doesn’t anyone else know about this?” she argued. “The marquis was supposed to leave the duke on the front steps of Remdale House.”
“Well,” her brother said slowly, furrowing his brow and obviously trying to grasp all the information she’d given him, “Wenford’s house is open. Surely one of the servants would have found—”
“But they obviously haven’t. And where is Dansbury?” she pursued.
“I don’t know.” William shrugged. “He doesn’t usually come to this sort of milkwater rout…I say, you don’t think Jack’s got something to do with no one knowing about Wenford?”
“Of course he does,” she retorted, completely exasperated. “He’ll ruin everything. It’s what he’s been planning all along.”
“You’re all about in the head, Lil,” her brother whispered.
Perhaps she was, but the explanation for the ton’s lack of knowledge lay somewhere bet
ween her front step and wherever Jack Faraday was. “He was the last one with the body.”
Obviously William wasn’t about to accept that his idol could be such a villain. “I’m certain it’s all right, Lil. Perhaps there’re things to be put in order before the announcement of Wenford’s death is made. He was a duke, after all.”
For a moment it made sense. “So it’s to be kept a secret.”
“Certainly,” William soothed.
She shook herself, narrowing her eyes. “Even from his own family?” she countered indignantly. “From his heir? Look over there!”
“What are you talking about?”
Dolph Remdale stood laughing over some tale being related by his close friend Donald Marley. At that moment he looked toward her. Lilith froze, her fingers still waving in his direction. With a word to his crony, he strolled over. Lilith clutched William’s arm, knowing with absolute certainty that things had just taken a turn for the worse.
“Good evening, Miss Benton, Mr. Benton,” Dolph Remdale greeted them, showing his perfect white teeth in a smile.
“Good evening, Mr. Remdale,” Lilith replied, trying to put a touch of surprise into her voice. After all, this was practically the first time he had even acknowledged her presence. She hoped her brother would have enough sense to keep his mouth shut.
“I noticed you looking in my direction, my lady. Is there something I can do for you?” he asked politely.
“Oh, no,” Lilith gushed, cursing Dansbury all over again. This was all his fault. “I was simply telling my brother that his time might be better spent in finer company.”
At that William stirred and opened his mouth, and she dug her fingernails into his arm. With a strangled cough he subsided.
Remdale nodded. “A wise counsel,” he said, his eyes remaining on her. “Perhaps you’d care to join me at White’s this evening, Mr. Benton.”
“Don’t care to, no,” William said stiffly.
“William,” she protested, blushing, and glanced at her brother. “My apologies, Mr. Remdale. My brother tends to speak before he thinks. We find it amusing, but at times it—”
“Lil, don’t you apol—”
“Please, Mr. Benton, Miss Benton. There is no need to explain.” The pale eyes held Lilith’s. “Obviously your brother is under the influence of a rather—how shall I say—a rather unacceptable person. I hope he is able to pull himself free before permanent damage is done.”
William opened his mouth, and Lilith tightened her grip on his arm. “Thank you for your concern, sir.”
Dolph smiled. “Of course.” With a nod, he turned away to rejoin his friends.
“Dash it, Lil, that hurt,” William protested, pulling his arm free and rubbing it.
“You cannot go about insulting people like that, William! For goodness sake.”
“Jack don’t like the Remdales.” Her brother frowned. “Don’t see why I should, either.”
“Yes, well, that Remdale obviously knows nothing about his uncle’s death,” Lilith returned, glancing after Dolph. “Now do you believe Lord Dansbury’s done something?”
He scowled at her. “From what you’ve told me, it seems as though he saved your reputation so that you could go to your fine acquaintances and say shabby things about him behind his back.”
“I do no such thing.” That wasn’t quite true, but she had never said anything that Dansbury didn’t deserve, after all. “You must go find him. If he’s done something foolish, it could make things worse for all of us. Thanks to him, everyone knows His Grace was courting me.”
William sighed. “I’ll fetch him in the morning. I’d wager a thousand quid that you’re wrong about him, but something’s definitely spotty here.”
“Thank goodness you’re finally listening to me.”
She had been wrong to place an ounce of trust in the marquis. And debt or no debt, if Jonathan Faraday had as much to do with the disappearance of Wenford’s body as she suspected, she would see him in Old Bailey prison herself.
“William,” a smooth, faintly French voice cooed from behind her, and Lilith turned around.
“Antonia.” Her brother beamed. “I’d like you to meet my sister, Lil. Lilith, Miss St. Gerard.”
“Charmed.” Miss St. Gerard nodded, smiling coolly and holding out her hand.
Lilith shook it. “Miss St. Gerard.”
“If you’ve as much a head for cards as your brother, Miss Benton, you’re welcome to attend one of my little parties. One may meet all types of interesting people there.”
“No doubt,” Lilith said stiffly.
With a smile, Antonia slipped her arm around William’s and led him toward the refreshment table. Apparently Miss St. Gerard was something else she could thank Jack Faraday for. It was unfortunate that it was unladylike to thank someone with a pistol.
Chapter 7
Something damned peculiar was going on. Peese and Martin had been whispering together all morning. Irritated at being excluded, Jack finally reminded them what an odious habit gossip was. His valet finally confessed to hearing the news that Harriet Devereaux and Raymond Beecher had eloped the day before.
“Anything else?” the marquis prompted, straightening his arms so Martin could avail him of his coat. The elopement had to be an hors d’oeuvre to the news of Wenford’s death, and he readied himself to make some cool, cynical comment regarding the duke’s demise. After all, His Grace had been old as Methuselah, and pompous as a—well, as a Remdale.
“No, my lord,” Martin returned, brushing at the back of the coat. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“Hm.” Jack picked up his beaver hat and kid gloves, turning for the door to mask his perturbation. “Well, if that’s the case, I’ve an appointment with Hoby.”
He’d made the appointment almost the moment he’d arrived in London for the Season. The Hessian boots he’d destroyed last winter, while pulling a trapped cow from a stream at Dansbury, had been his favorites, and he was growing damned tired of pinched toes. But seeing Hoby was more difficult than gaining an audience with Prince George.
In truth, Martin’s gossip had troubled him greatly. First, it irked him when his servants got wind of any good gossip before he did. Second and more importantly, every other piece of news, however scandalous, should pale in light of Wenford’s death. His servants, though, seemed to know nothing of it at all.
No one else appeared to know, either. As he rode Benedick to Hoby’s establishment, he was actually relieved to see William Benton’s sour expression when the boy intercepted him on his exquisite, and very expensive, new stallion. At least someone else found the morning troublesome. “Good morning, my boy. And how was Rochmont’s stale little fête last evening?”
“Jack, thank God you’re about. I was on my way to see you.”
“So I gathered.” Jack sighed and crossed his wrists over the cantle of his saddle. “Don’t keep me in suspense,” he said dryly. “You look as though you’ve swallowed a bug.”
“Were you ever going to tell me about your rescue of Lil?” the boy returned. “Lord, what a caper. Jack.”
The marquis attempted to hide his surprise. “Told you, did she?” That didn’t seem particularly wise; it wasn’t something he would have expected of the astute Lilith Benton.
“She didn’t have a choice. Something’s gone wrong, I think.”
An image of Lilith Benton, pale and shaken and clutching his arm to keep from falling, crossed unbidden into Jack’s mind, and he took a breath at the abrupt feeling of concern. “Is your sister well, then?” he asked offhandedly. It would never do if he ruined her by accident. The dénouement had to be as carefully planned as the rest of the steps in the game.
“Oh, she’s fine. Don’t know quite how to take you now, though.”
“Really? She finds me heroic, then?”
“Hardly. Don’t like being in your debt, I think. She glowers like a gargoyle whenever she mentions your name.”
“She actually mentions my name? That
is a surprise.” Jack kneed Benedick into a walk. “I’m on my way to Hoby’s, so if you wish to keep gossiping you shall have to accompany me.”
William hesitated, then turned his black Thor to follow. “Where were you last night?” he asked as he caught up.
So the boy was going to feel abandoned every time he chose to go off somewhere on his own. Antonia obviously wasn’t keeping William as occupied as either she or Jack intended. “Seeing a man about a dog,” he said coolly. “Why, do you require a nursemaid? Or pointers in navigating a woman’s boudoir?”
William flushed. “I do not need a nursemaid. And I don’t know why you become so hostile whenever I ask you anything personal. I’m not the damned Spanish Inquisition, you know.”
At least William’s repartee had improved since he had taken the boy under his wing. “William, I have no intention of relating to you the intimate details of my existence,” he said shortly. There were times he wished he knew nothing of them himself.
“Do you have any objection to telling me why no one seems to know Wenford is dead?”
“Keep your bloody voice down,” Jack warned, abruptly unwilling to believe what he had suspected all morning.
William glanced about guiltily. “Lilith sent me to ask you what you’re up to this time.”
The marquis stared at his companion. “Lilith sent you? To me?”
William cracked a grin. “Amazing, ain’t it? She’s convinced you’ve done something scandalous with Old Hatchet Face.”
“And you’re none too certain, either, I assume?”
Actually, William’s speculations did not bother him as much as the fact that Miss Benton was correct. He could only guess what she would think when she learned what he had actually done with Wenford’s earthly remains. He’d been working too hard at this to let a misunderstanding set him back to the beginning.
Hoby’s establishment came into view up the street. If he broke his appointment it would be another month, if he was lucky, before he got another. “Damnation,” he muttered, then brought Benedick around. “Let’s go see your sister.”
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