A Duke in Disguise (Westham Chronicles Book 3)

by Rachel Osborne

  “And what is a day out without some memorial? Here, ladies, your portraits, although I confess I am a trifle tempted to keep them for myself!” His eyebrows waggled at this joke, and Joanna’s cheeks flamed all the hotter as she managed, with difficulty, to extract her own portrait from his hands.

  “Oh, you tease!” Mrs Barnes giggled, delighted by this interplay between the children. “But, your grace, what need have you of a hastily drawn portrait, when you have the very subject herself before you?”

  “True, very true!” the duke conceded, with a hazy smile at Joanna, which she tried to ignore, shoving the portrait down by her feet and attending diligently to her sewing.

  “There is another assembly in but a few days,” Mrs Rangor said crisply, evidently tiring of her exclusion from their conversation. “I know my Kitty is rather excited about it. Do you plan to attend, your grace?”

  The duke made an exaggerated show of tearing his eyes from Joanna to look at Mrs Rangor as he answered her question.

  “Indeed I shall, Mrs Rangor, for what is Bath without the assemblies?” His eyes slid back to the young ladies, first Edith and then, with intensity, to Joanna. “I trust you will all likewise be in attendance?”

  “Oh, of course!” Mrs Barnes exclaimed. “We so enjoyed the last one, did we not, girls? Edith has scarcely stopped talking about it! All the dancing, and all the people she met!”

  “Mama!” Edith hissed, glaring at her as if this was the betrayal of some deep confidence.

  “Indeed!” The duke’s laugh was barely more than a breath and Joanna felt him address himself to her even before he spoke his question.

  “And you, Miss Devereaux? Do you speak often of the people you met at the last assembly?”

  She lifted her gaze to his, shoving aside any lasting flicker of disappointment that it was this man and not his friend who asked her and smiled, a little hesitantly.

  “I certainly enjoyed it, your grace. And I do not doubt I will enjoy the next assembly even more.”

  “That is my hope, Miss Devereaux.” The duke’s voice grew soft again, his words heavy with meaning. “That is my hope.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Here you are, your grace. Better drink it down quick before my Sophie comes back. She doesn’t hold much with liquor except medicinally.”

  Mr Carter cast a dark towards the doorway before pouring himself an entirely un-medical measure and swallowing it down with a contented sigh.

  Smiling, Samuel lifted the small glass to his mouth, taking a sip of the undoubtedly cheap but no less beneficial brandy.

  His new friends had escorted him back to their home and once safely seated in the main of their two rooms, which passed for parlour and study combined, Sophie had flown about hunting for their single servant, who she might despatch immediately to summon Mr Graves, a doctor who also happened to be their close neighbour. Samuel’s head had ceased spinning and other than several bumps and bruises and a pressing desire to have it out with Edward, he did not feel that consulting a doctor was entirely necessary but Sophie would hear no alternative.

  “Drink up” George urged, and obediently, Samuel drank, feeling the cheap liquor burn down his throat, but relishing the warmth as it seeped into his stiffened, bruising limbs.

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice strained. “You are very kind. Both you and your wife have been very kind. Far more kind than I deserve.”

  George did not rush to contradict him, as Samuel had half-expected he would. Instead, he pulled a seat around until it faced him directly and fixed him with an unflinching, knowing gaze.

  “I am not by nature a prying man, your grace.” George grimaced. “I rather leave that to my wife, who is capable of extracting a truth so skilfully you’d think she had been a pickpocket in her youth.” He raised his eyebrows. “Which I do not think she was...”

  Samuel’s reflexive laughter became a cough and he winced at the pain in his ribs. Perhaps he would be better to see a doctor, after all.

  “But in my line of work, I have had cause to associate with more than one fellow struggling with life, in some shape or form. I see that same haunted, weary look in your eyes - or eye, I should say, as there’s but one of them capable of opening just now.”

  Samuel nodded, trying, and giving up, on opening the one that had borne the brunt of Briggs’ fists and swollen shut in response.

  “You don’t need to tell me, and I’m not asking, but if you would like to talk...well, then, I am willing and capable of listening.” George shot another look towards the door, his lips lifting in a smirking grin. “You have, after all, met my wife.”

  Samuel laughed again, lifting a hand to the ribs that ached but feeling such warm regard for his new friends that he scarcely minded.

  “It is my own fault. I made a deal with a friend -”

  Here, George’s eyebrows drew down and Samuel, fearing to disappoint him, stumbled out some version of the truth.

  “I wearied of forever being imprisoned by my name. My friend resented me for it: thinking doors are opened more easily to a gentleman bearing the title of duke than they are for one without it.” He winced. “Now, I fear he has been the one to be proven right.”

  “And your friend...?”

  “This was meant for him.” Samuel gestured to the mess of bruises and bumps already forming all over the visible and invisible parts of his body. “The fellow that attacked me called me by his name, and accused me - him - of outstanding debts.” He shook his head. “My friend has had his troubles, sir, but I never thought him in such trouble as this. I would have helped him, had I known.”

  George let out a snort of derision, either at Edward’s predicament or Samuel’s suggestion of help, he was not sure which.

  “Some folk are difficult to help,” was all he would offer in response and Samuel nodded, understanding the sentiment and agreeing with it more now than he ever had in the past.

  “Well, if this is the treatment your friend can expect he ought at least to be warned. Where can we send a letter to him?” George stood, shuffling over to a desk piled high with papers and books. “I’ll go myself if you’ll trust me with the errand, your grace.”

  “No!” Samuel spoke so fiercely that his new friend stopped, turning in surprise to look at him. Samuel smiled, bitterly. “You have already done so much to help me. This errand is mine and I shall see to it. Soon.” He swallowed the last of his brandy and laid the glass carefully on the side. “There are some other people who have been taken in by our...our ruse. They must be told, first of all. All must become truth and my friend must face the consequences of his own actions, as I must...face mine.” Samuel’s voice trailed off and George’s features sank into understanding. He returned to his seat, rubbing one hand thoughtfully over his greying sideburns.

  “Am I to understand that there is a young lady who has been drawn into this subterfuge?”

  Samuel looked up in surprise, betraying with the action more than any spoken response might have.

  “It is most often the case than when a gentleman regrets his actions it is because the cost of them has involved a lady,” George said, with a wry smile. “Now, you may continue your tale as you wish, but I ought to warn you, your grace, that I can already hear the dainty footsteps of my dear wife outside the door and if she hears even the merest whisper of romance she will never let you go until you have offered up the lady’s name, so that she may offer assistance in a way that men of smaller hearts than mine might call interference.” He smiled benignly as Samuel heard the door handle turn.

  He shook his head, barely even a motion, but enough to assure his friend that they would keep the matter between them and not burden Mrs Carter with more information than she needed.

  “Here, your grace! I thought tea might be beneficial.”

  She paused partway across the small room and sniffed before turning to look accusingly at her husband. “Brandy?”

  “Medicinal!” George replied, holding a hand out to Samuel as
if their guest’s current state were a far more eloquent argument than any words might make.

  “Very well.” Sophie sniffed and set down a tray laden with tea things and a fruit cake that looked, to Samuel, the most appetising thing he might imagine. His stomach grumbled and he prayed his hosts had not discerned it.

  “The doctor will arrive shortly,” Sophia explained, pouring tea for each of them. “You are welcome to stay here as long as you like, even after he has gone.” She glanced briefly at her husband before looking back at Samuel. “I understand you most likely have your own rooms, far grander than these, too! But, your grace, if my husband and I can be of any service to you please, you need only ask. There is space here for you to stay as long as you need.”

  Samuel was truly touched, his eyes stinging with tears that sprung up at the notion of being so warmly welcomed and cared for by people to whom he was still a stranger and to whom his title was neither a benefit or a barrier. There are such people who would offer the same service to an anonymous stranger as much as a wealthy, titled duke! he realised, reaching for his teacup with a hand that shook.

  THE PUMP ROOMS HAD long been a favourite visiting spot for both Edith and Joanna, and was increasingly so now that they were part of an exalted group of people associating with the Duke of Edgmont - at least, as far as Edith was concerned. Joanna had almost grown immune to hearing her friend begin every comment with, “as we were saying the other day, to the Duke of Edgmont...!” She could see how happy it made her friend to acknowledge, in a crowd, the associations they kept in Bath and so she did not stop her, but she could not help but cringe a little at the way Edith’s voice lifted into almost a squeak of excitement at the end of his name.

  “The Duke of Edgmont?” a wide-eyed young lady called Miss Rees exclaimed, as Edith launched into a long and not entirely accurate description of their game of lawn bowls from a few days before. “Then, you have not heard!”

  “Heard what?” Edith asked, crossly. She did not like being interrupted, and she liked even less being presented with facts she was not aware of, especially as concerned the Duke of Edgmont.

  “Oh, it is quite the scandal!” Miss Rees began, rocking back on her heels and enjoying her moment in the sun. Their group was only a small one, a gathering of three or four young ladies in one corner of the pump rooms, but Miss Rees surveyed them as if they were a crowd of thousands, gathered with the sole intention of listening to her recitation.

  “Do you intend to tell us anything of worth or merely keep us waiting?” Edith grumbled, unhappy to cede her position to another and watch that young lady not deliver upon her promise.

  “Well, I heard that the Duke of Edgmont was attacked!”

  “No!”

  “When?”

  Joanna’s own heart began to race. It could not be true, surely?

  “Attacked?”

  “Oh, Joanna!” Miss Rees’s expression softened and she laid a comforting hand on Joanna’s shoulder. “I am so sorry to be the bearer of bad news!” The corners of her lips twitched as if she was trying, with great effort, not to smile, which expression Edith noticed, and remarked upon.

  “We are certainly neither of us in need of your brand of false sympathy, Caroline!” She laid her own arm around Joana’s shoulders and steered her away. “Come along, Joanna. It serves nobody well to listen to gossip!”

  “But it isn’t gossip!” Miss Rees protested. “It’s true! I heard so from Kitty, who heard it from her Mama, who heard it from -”

  “Edith! Joana!” Mrs Barnes bustled up to them, her red face redder than usual. She reached her hands out, one to each girl. “We must leave at once!”

  “Why, Mama?” Edith asked. She darted a nervous glance towards Joanna. “Is this about the duke? Then, is it true?”

  Joanna glanced over her shoulder just in time to see Miss Rees shoot her an I-told-you-so look and was poised to apologise, when Mrs Barnes squeezed her hand tightly, pulling her painfully back to attention.

  “What is the matter?” she asked, struggling to free her crushed fingers from Mrs Barnes’ vice-like grip.

  “It was all a lie!” Mrs Barnes hissed, tugging both girls towards the door. “He wasn’t a duke at all! Can you believe it? The scoundrel. It was a game, they said, but what kind of a game can it be to toy with a young lady’s heart in such a manner? Miss Devereaux, I am so very sorry! But thank goodness things got no further than they had. Imagine the scandal if he had proposed! If you had been seen together, alone! Why, your brother -”

  “Mrs Barnes!” Joanna stopped, at last, yanking her hand free and clenching it into a fist a few times as the blood reached her fingers once more. “You are talking in a muddle. Please, explain what has happened! Miss Rees just told us that the duke was attacked. And now you say he wasn’t a duke at all?” She looked at Edith, whose own eyes were wide with confusion and despair. “Please explain.” She paused, biting her lip. “Slowly.”

  “Well!” Mrs Barnes took a step closer, tugging Edith in so that the three made a very tight-knit circle. She spoke in a whisper, pausing at intervals to glance out of their circle to the wider pump rooms to ensure that nobody was listening and she told them the tale.

  “The two gentlemen we came to know as Mr Nicholls and the Duke of Edgmont are friends - were friends, I suppose I ought to say, for I do not suppose they shall have a great deal to say to one another after this! They hatched a plan to assume one another’s identity. I dare say there was a quantity of liquor consumed before the scheme was made, for what sane, sober person would ever contemplate such a thing? It is madness. Anyway, they arrived in Bath, all secrecy, and posed each as the other!”

  “You mean - you mean the duke was not the duke?” Joanna asked, trying to puzzle out the truth of Mrs Barnes’ confusing words.

  “Precisely!” she nodded, the motion setting her chins wobbling. “The duke - the real duke, I mean! - was the man we met as the unremarkable Mr Nicholls! And, what do you think, as Mr Nicholls, he was set upon by a gang of rogues and beaten to within an inch of his life! The poor man was in agonies! Left to die in a ditch!”

  “In a ditch?”

  “Well, in the grounds close to the Royal Crescent, but the effect is the same! Were it not for a kindly vicar and his wife, just imagine what might have befallen the poor gentleman. And he a duke!”

  Joanna blinked, trying to make sense of Mrs Barnes’ words.

  “Mr Nicholls is...”

  “...is the Duke of Edgmont!” Mrs Barnes nodded. “Truly! I have had it confirmed by more than one source! His friend must have persuaded him to loan him his name - and no wonder, if he had befriended the type of people who would mete out such violent vengeance upon the man!”

  “Is he badly hurt?” Edith asked, her shock turning to curiosity. This was very nearly a scandal and both she and her friend were almost at the centre of it! It was too delicious for words! Why, imagine how many people might care to hear the story - her eyes met Joanna’s and the smile that had been growing upon her features slipped. “I do hope he is not badly hurt, for however cruel a trick it was to convince us he was not who he is, he did not deserve to be injured over it!”

  “He rallies, it seems. Mrs Radcliff is friends with the wife of the vicar who found him and she assures me that the duke is recovering, although Mr Nicholls - that is, the real Mr Nicholls - has fled Bath for the countryside.” She tsk-tsked noisily and fixed Joanna with an insightful, knowing look. “No doubt he fears the consequences of his actions. Imagine, Joanna, dear, if your brother was to hear about how cruel he was, toying with your heart like that!”

  Edith grabbed hold of Joanna’s forearm, squeezing it tightly in dismay.

  “Oh! You do not think that was his plan, do you? To persuade you to marry him? Even if you did not know his true identity at the time, you might be convinced to go ahead with it and he must have known of your dowry!” She turned horrified eyes to her Mama. “Mr Nicholls - the duke - oh, I hardly know which is which anymore! But
both gentlemen recognised the name of Devereaux.”

  Mrs Barnes chewed worriedly on her lip, and, noticing the turning of ever more curious eyes towards them from their neighbours, she steered the girls back towards the door and thence towards home.

  “I wonder if I ought to write to your brother myself, Joanna,” she said, briskly. “I would not like for news of this to reach him and cause him concern. After all, I am somewhat responsible for you while we are here...”

  “You mustn’t!” Joanna cried. The last thing she wanted was for Ben to get wind of this and come to investigate. He would be smug, surely, that she was taken in by titles and the promise of a duke showing partiality towards her. Her cheeks flamed. How like Mama I have been! she thought. And yet, she had sensed some peculiarity in the person of the duke, and in Mr Nicholls. Had she not cared more for his friend than him from the beginning? The real Duke of Edgmont, she realised, with a start. And yet, how could she care for him now? How could she trust him, knowing that the very first words he had uttered to her had been a lie?

  Chapter Eleven

  Joanna was much less excited for this assembly than she was the one they attended just a short while previously.

  Then, she thought, as she walked beside Edith through the door to the Bath Upper Rooms, behind the stout figure of Mrs Barnes. I could think of nothing more thrilling than dancing with Mr Nicholls and the Duke of Edgmont! Now I cannot imagine ever setting eyes on either of them again!

  This was not entirely true, but repetition made it so and she had been repeating it to herself, or some variant of it, at what seemed like hourly intervals for the previous two days. She did not care to see the real Mr Nicholls again, the man she had believed to be the Duke of Edgmont. It was his sin that was the greater of the two, she felt, in fairness or not. Perhaps it was sympathy for the painful attack the duke had suffered, or perhaps because she could not quite persuade her heart from its course, but she was much closer to pardoning the man she had been introduced to as Mr Nicholls for his part in the scheme. Him, she might claim not to wish to see again, but it was also his face she sought out as her eyes swept the assembling crowd.