“I was getting to that,” Trent said curtly. In as few words as possible he told them what Ophelia had said about Maggie Grayson’s abduction.
“Can they just do that?” Mainwaring asked. “Just go about armed with a piece of paper and cart someone off to the nearest asylum? With nothing but the say-so of a near relative? I find that quite terrifying.”
“And well you might,” Trent said with a frown. “I’m not sure of the legality of the thing. I feel sure this Dr. Hayes will tell us it is all aboveboard, but I wish to know from someone who isn’t the same man who signed the writ. It would be in his best interest to make us think that he was perfectly within his rights to send his men out to take her away. I daresay he makes quite a nice living from the family members of people who would like nothing better than to have their troublesome relatives taken away.”
“Good God, I could likely pay my household expenses for a year solely on what he earns from the aristocracy alone,” Freddy said with a grimace. “Perhaps even two.”
“But surely a medical man would have an obligation to ensure that the accusations were true before he signed his name to such a writ,” Mainwaring argued. “I mean, if it were that easy then we’d see a whole spate of drunken uncles and temperamental aunts being taken up by the good doctor’s men on a daily basis.”
“Who’s to say there isn’t?” Trent asked seriously. “It’s not as if the nobility are open about such matters. It’s an embarrassment to have a family member taken to the madhouse. Much easier to explain away their absence by claiming they’ve gone to Scotland. And no one would be the wiser. I can even imagine a grateful head of the family sending the doctor a gift of a few hundred pounds in gratitude.”
Freddy whistled. “When you put it that way it does sound rather ominous. I’m glad my family never heard of this chap. It would be just like one of my brothers to have me carted off as a joke.”
“Your family is odd,” Mainwaring said with a shake of his head. Turning back to Trent, he asked, “So, do you believe that this Maggie Grayson is indeed mad or that her husband lied to have her taken up?”
“I know Ophelia, that is, Miss Dauntry,” Trent corrected himself, “believes that Mrs. Grayson is no more mad than you or I, but not knowing the woman myself, I cannot judge that. What I do know is that George Grayson was reputed to be a good officer, and I find it hard to believe that the man I spoke with at length this morning did such a thing.”
“But if not him, then who?” Freddy asked. “And where has Grayson gone? Surely his disappearance is suspicious if nothing else is.”
“Oh, it’s suspicious as hell,” Trent said, clenching his jaw. “If for no other reason than to see if my own instincts have degraded to such a degree than I can no longer tell the difference between sincerity and barefaced lies. And he’s a member of the Lords of Anarchy, so there’s also that.”
“Because you’re the president, you mean?” Mainwaring asked with a raised brow. “I’m not sure the past presidents would have been so conscientious.”
“Need I remind you that one of them is in exile and the other is dead? I do not believe either are examples I wish to follow,” Trent said wryly. “I swore to turn this club into something that its members can be proud of. And that means investigating the matter when one of the members appears to have acted in bad faith.”
“Well, when you put it that way,” Mainwaring said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Just don’t get yourself into trouble,” Freddy said, taking a deep drink of claret.
“And if you do,” Mainwaring said, raising his own glass, “feel free to call on us for help. We’ve got a bit of experience in this sort of thing.”
“I think I’ve got it handled,” Trent said, biting back a grin. “I did manage to go to war for a decade without your assistance. Surely I can handle a physician with delusions of grandeur and a certain demanding young lady.”
At least he hoped so. Otherwise he was in for quite a difficult few days.
* * *
“Was that the Duke of Trent’s curricle?” asked Ophelia’s mother from the doorway to her sitting room.
Ophelia had hoped to sneak into her own bedchamber without notice. Especially after that shocking kiss. Unfortunately her mother’s windows faced the front of the house and therefore gave her an unobstructed view of the street below.
With a sigh of resignation, she obeyed her mother’s unspoken demand and followed her into the cozy parlor where Mrs. Dauntry spent most of her free afternoons.
After requesting her maid to bring them some tea, Mrs. Dauntry gestured for Ophelia to take a seat on the chintz sofa across from her, then waited with an expectant look on her still attractive face.
“Well, my dear,” Mrs. Dauntry said, brows raised. “I’m waiting.”
Though most mothers of the ton with unwed daughters would see the Duke of Trent as a matrimonial prize of epic proportions, Mrs. Dauntry had her heart set on one of her daughters marrying the son of her dearest friend, the dowager Lady Goring. And since Ophelia’s sister Mariah had been fortunate enough to receive a proposal from the Marquess of Kinston earlier in the year, it was up to Ophelia to accept the addresses of Lord Goring.
“It was merely a ride in his curricle, Mama,” Ophelia said patiently, crossing her fingers behind her back at the fib. She didn’t bother to explain for the umpteenth time that the idea of marrying the amiable but utterly dull Lord Goring made her want to flee to the Continent and join a convent. Not to mention that Trent’s kiss had told her in no uncertain terms that what she felt for him was not mere friendship. But she said anyway, “We are friends. That is all.”
She had no intention of talking through her confused feelings about Trent in light of the kiss they’d shared. But she did know that it hadn’t made her any more eager to spend time in the company of Lord Goring. If anything it had solidified her aversion to him.
Whenever a potential rival for Goring came on the scene, Ophelia was forced to listen again to all the myriad reasons why her mother thought Goring would be such a wonderful husband and why the supposed rival would not. She was not in the mood to hear all of Lord Goring’s supposed virtues praised to the heavens. Not when she’d spent the afternoon investigating the disappearance of a dear friend whose loving husband might have had her locked away. And definitely not when she’d been thoroughly kissed by another man.
One of those reasons alone might have put her off Goring temporarily, but both together meant that there was no conceivable way that she could contemplate accepting the man’s advances.
“I fail to see how you can call the Duke of Trent your friend, Ophelia,” said Mrs. Dauntry sharply, making her feel guilty despite herself. “Not when you are all but promised to Lord Goring. It isn’t appropriate for a betrothed lady to have male friends.”
Sighing, Ophelia wished she could point out that there was no betrothal between herself and Lord Goring, but in Mrs. Dauntry’s mind it was all agreed to but for the technicality of the actual betrothal. It was Trent who was the usurper in Mrs. Dauntry’s mind, not Goring. And nothing Ophelia said would change her mind.
“We happened to be visiting a mutual acquaintance and the duke offered to give me a ride home,” Ophelia said aloud, wishing she could simply leave the room and retreat to her own. “There is nothing to concern yourself over.”
She felt a trifle guilty about the half-truth, but she knew that Mrs. Dauntry would not be any happier with the news that she’d been with Maggie earlier in the day than she had been about Trent. As someone who took her social standing quite seriously, Mrs. Dauntry saw her daughter’s friendship with Maggie Grayson as a threat. Not only did Maggie write for a newspaper, she also encouraged Ophelia to do so. Which in turn endangered Ophelia’s nonexistent understanding with Lord Goring.
“There is everything to concern myself over,” Mrs. Dauntry reminded her with a frown, “especially when you parade around town with a man who is not your—”
The arri
val of the tea tray stopped Mrs. Dauntry in mid-reply, which Ophelia could tell from the set of her lips put her nose out of joint. But once she’d poured for both of them and her maid was safely out of the room, she continued as if she’d not been interrupted.
“You may not be officially betrothed, but it’s been accepted by both of our families since you and Lord Goring were children. So it is highly untoward for you to be seen in the Duke of Trent’s carriage.” Mrs. Dauntry frowned suddenly and Ophelia knew she’d just noticed the bump on her forehead.
“Where did you get that injury?” she asked, setting her teacup down and hurrying to her daughter’s side. “I sincerely hope that the Duke of Trent is not responsible for it or I fear your father will have words with him. And that’s nothing to what Lord Goring’s response will be.”
She hovered over Ophelia and leaned closer to better observe the spot, touching it gingerly before Ophelia pushed her away. “Mama! Stop. You needn’t treat me like a child. It is merely a bump on the head.”
“Pray excuse me for being concerned about your well-being, Ophelia,” said Mrs. Dauntry, though she did step back. But she rang the bell again. And when her maid returned, asked for some bandages and liniment.
“It’s already been cleaned once today,” Ophelia said, relaxing a bit. It was, she was forced to admit, good to know her mother still cared about her well-being. But it was hardly the ordeal she was making it out to be. “Truly, I’m fine. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”
“But what happened?” her mother asked again, resuming her seat and pouring herself another cup of tea.
Ophelia bit her lip, debating whether telling her mother the truth would make her more or less upset. Finally, realizing that she’d likely hear the truth through gossip, she explained what had occurred with Maggie earlier in the day. Though she omitted the trip to the Hayes Clinic because she knew that would be more inexcusable in her mother’s eyes than riding in an open curricle with the Duke of Trent for all the world to see.
“How ghastly,” Mrs. Dauntry said, clasping a hand to her bosom. “I hope you see now why I disapprove of your friendship with Mrs. Grayson. Her husband might be the son of Sir Michael Grayson, but only someone of bad ton would get herself taken to the madhouse.”
“I am not upset at the damage it might have done to my reputation, Mama,” Ophelia said, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “Maggie might have been killed in the scuffle. And I would not wish my worst enemy to be taken against her will to a madhouse. Much less a dear friend. Where is your compassion?”
“Oh, pooh,” Mrs. Dauntry said with a frown. “I have plenty of compassion for the lady. But as my daughter of course you are my first priority. I cannot sit idly by while your reputation is put into danger by a dispute between husband and wife. Truly, I fear what Lord Goring’s response will be.”
And, Ophelia reflected with an inward sigh, this was why she wished to avoid her mother altogether when she arrived home. It wasn’t that Mrs. Dauntry was callous, she simply had a single-minded dedication to seeing the realization of the match she and her dearest friend had hatched between them when Ophelia was born. And her daughter’s reluctance thus far to abide by her mother’s wishes was making her press even harder.
“Mama,” Ophelia said aloud, “I barely even know Lord Goring.” And what she did know of him was that he was quite dull and seemed to have as little interest in Ophelia as she had in him. Since seeing her two dearest friends wed men who adored them, and they in turn adored, she’d come to feel even more strongly that a match like the one her mother proposed for her would bring nothing but unhappiness.
“Oh, that won’t matter,” Mrs. Dauntry said with a wave of her hand. “I barely knew your father before we were wed and look how well we rub along together.”
Ophelia forbore from pointing out that her parents spent most of their time apart from one another and barely exchanged three words at a time.
Even so, Mrs. Dauntry must have decided to try a different tack in the present conversation.
“The Duke of Trent is quite handsome,” she said thoughtfully. “Though not, I fear, as handsome as some gentlemen.”
It was all too clear to whom she was referring when she said “some gentlemen.”
“For all that his title is so illustrious, Trent is rather rough around the edges. A bit … harsh. Don’t you agree? I much prefer a more refined countenance on a gentleman.”
Since it didn’t matter what Ophelia said, she simply made a noise that could be construed as either agreement or protest depending on how the recipient interpreted it. As she’d hoped, her mother accepted the noise for a hearty agreement.
“Now that your sister is settled,” Mrs. Dauntry continued, pressing on despite Ophelia’s lack of encouragement, “I think it’s time for you and Lord Goring to come to some kind of formal agreement. Especially before any gossip about your involvement in this business with Mrs. Grayson comes out. And it would be lovely to announce your betrothal as soon as your sister’s wedding celebrations are concluded. Perhaps as soon as they embark upon their wedding journey.”
Ophelia supposed she should be thankful that her mother hadn’t encouraged her to press for an announcement at the wedding breakfast itself. She and Mariah were hardly best friends, but Ophelia had no wish to ruin her sister’s wedding day.
“Oh, do not be so stubborn, my dear,” Mrs. Dauntry chided when she rightly interpreted Ophelia’s silence for what it was: disapproval. “You may never get a better offer. And Lord Goring is willing to marry you despite your determination to ruin your reputation by writing for that dreadful publication.”
“That dreadful publication, as you call it,” Ophelia said stiffly, “is something I am quite proud to be associated with. Indeed, I enjoy writing my articles for the Ladies’ Gazette, and I do not plan to stop anytime soon. Whether Lord Goring approves of it or not.”
Mrs. Dauntry’s lips pursed. “Any occupation is shameful for a gentleman’s daughter. As I have told you more than once.”
“And I have told you that there is no shame in accepting pay for my work,” Ophelia said sharply. “You are fond enough of Leonora and she made quite a good living by her pen before she was married.”
“Before she was married, yes,” Mrs. Dauntry said, still displeased. “But there is a world of difference between her birth and your own. Both your fathers might be gentlemen, but you know as well as I do that the Dauntrys have been in England since before the Conquest. And the Cravens? Why, they can only trace themselves back to the Reformation at best. There is simply no comparison. And I will point out that Leonora has not written nearly so much since she married into the Lisle family. She knows what is expected of the wife of a duke’s son even if you do not.”
“Mama, you will not convince me to give up my writing,” Ophelia said firmly. “Especially when Father has seen fit to allow it.”
“He is far too lenient with you,” her mother said with a shake of her head. “He of all people should know what is expected of this family. But when has he ever shown any care for our reputations? He’s too concerned with finding the next card game to pay any attention to us.”
Since to Ophelia’s knowledge, her father limited his play to the card rooms at various ton entertainments, he was hardly making the Dauntry name a byword in society. It was just her mother’s frustration with his refusal to bow to her on this one matter that made her speak so. Not for the first time, she wondered what on earth had brought her parents together in the first place. It certainly hadn’t been mutual respect and affection.
Mistaking Ophelia’s silence for censure, Mrs. Dauntry sighed. “I do not expect you to marry Lord Goring tomorrow, my dear. Just give the man a chance to woo you properly. I feel sure he will do so with the least bit of encouragement from you. Eleanor has assured me that he is quite fond of you.”
Wonderful, Ophelia thought. Marriage to a man who was “quite fond” of her according to his overbearing mother was just the sort of dream marr
iage she’d longed for as a little girl.
Unbidden, a memory of Trent’s soft lips on hers flooded her with feeling. If just a kiss could move her thus, what would it be like if there were more between them? A slight shiver ran through her at the thought.
She knew now more than ever that she would never be able to settle for the sort of passionless match her mother was determined to force her into.
“You have been patient, Mama,” she said aloud now. “But I cannot make myself feel affection for someone when I don’t. Even if he is the son of your dearest friend in the world. Why can I not choose my own husband as Mariah has done?”
“What makes you think your sister chose Kinston?” Mrs. Dauntry asked, frowning. “I am the one who first introduced her to him.”
“But she had to hold him in some degree of regard in order to agree to the match,” Ophelia argued, wondering if she’d read the situation all wrong. Perhaps Mariah hadn’t been as defiant as Ophelia had thought.
“Oh, she likes him well enough,” Mrs. Dauntry said dismissively. “But it’s hardly a love match. Unlike you, your sister knows how to show filial obedience. When Kinston asked for her hand she was more than eager to accept him. Both for her own sake and the family’s.”
“Then let me make it clear now that I will not allow myself to be pushed into a similar situation by you or anyone,” Ophelia said firmly. “I know you mean well, but I will not sacrifice my own happiness just to fulfill some dream you and the dowager Lady Goring have concocted between you.”
For a moment Mrs. Dauntry stared at her daughter, as if trying to understand how such a creature could possibly be her very own. Then, when Ophelia didn’t back down, the older lady huffed out a laugh. “All right. You’ve made your point. I will consider allowing you more time to get to know Lord Goring. I’m sure once you are better acquainted with the man you’ll be more eager for the match.”
As concessions went, it was a poor one, but Ophelia was not so foolish as to look the gift of more time to escape the proposed match in the mouth.
Good Dukes Wear Black Page 8