by Maya Rodale
“So it is something.”
“Aye, it’s something. Two thousand pounds of something.” Rupert crumpled the sheet of paper in his fist.
“More gaming debts?”
There was a long silence. A silence so long and so dark that even Darcy grew anxious. This wasn’t just something, it was something. It took all of Darcy’s self-control to stay still and not, say, cross the room and throttle his brother until he spoke the truth.
“More like blackmail,” Rupert said. Finally. Darcy exhaled. Blackmail he could handle. He asked the next logical question.
“Why are you being blackmailed?”
Rupert swallowed hard. He leaned against the mantel. And then he spoke, softly.
“Something that would ruin this family and see me hanged.”
Darcy wracked his brain for something Rupert might have done. But Rupert was not prone to trouble; not serious trouble, anyway. He kept decent company, he played cards well, he wasn’t a liar or a cheat. Perhaps there was an accident that he was somehow involved in?
“Have you hurt someone?”
“Quite the opposite,” Rupert said, his voice hoarse, head down. And after a long, excruciating silence, he said quietly, “All I have done is love someone.”
Love someone? That didn’t make sense. He thought first of Bridget—but he couldn’t imagine a blackmailable offense there. Perhaps there was another woman and an irate husband? A mistress deceiving her protector? Whom did Rupert love, anyway? He had never mentioned any one woman’s name. He seemed fond of Bridget, but these “gaming debts” had been coming in long before she arrived on the scene.
Whom, then, did Rupert love? And why was he being blackmailed over it?
It was another long, aching moment before Rupert lifted his head. And when their eyes met, Darcy knew that Rupert didn’t fear the blackmailer as much as he feared his own brother. But why?
It was another long, aching moment before he understood.
When they were young, perhaps thirteen or fourteen or so, Rupert’s best friend was one of the stable boys. Their father discovered this and thrashed his younger son within an inch of life. No son of mine, he had roared. Darcy had assumed it was because of the social disparity between them. The late earl was a horrible snob.
But perhaps it hadn’t been snobbery at all.
Darcy thought back over the years at Eton, then Oxford . . . Rupert had flirted with girls, but never spoke of anyone in particular. He had earned a reputation as a rake and did nothing to dissuade people of it. Meanwhile, he was always with his close friend, Frederick Croft.
Darcy thought of the night Rupert had rushed to be by his side, and all the stories that began “Frederick and I . . .” Slowly the puzzle pieces fit together, revealing a picture Darcy had never even considered.
Rupert loved someone he shouldn’t. Rupert’s love was a crime.
It was a crime. It was on the books, the law of the land. It went against the teachings in the Bible, the sermons in church, and the natural order of things. Darcy believed in order.
He paused, considering all these things. It was a long pause. An endless, agonizing pause. But the simple fact was that he loved his brother more.
His heart broke for Rupert. To keep this secret he had to suppress his natural desires and inclinations. He had to flirt with women, dance with young ladies, and constantly maintain the charade of perfect gentleman, the devil-may-care second son.
He must be exhausted. And frustrated. And Darcy understood.
Rupert was more like him than he realized.
“Why didn’t you say something?” Darcy asked softly.
“This is not something one says. I have been paying hundreds and thousands of pounds to make sure this person doesn’t say something. I have been putting it about that I’m interested in a wife so that in the event that this person does say something, it is unbelievable. I have even considered taking a wife, but I cannot drag her into this.”
Darcy sucked in his breath. Then he let it go.
“But why did you not tell me? I am your brother.”
“You are my perfect brother. You are a paragon of gentlemanly virtues. You were trained by our father to think only of the estate, the legacy, our reputations. Your first instinct is always the right, proper thing. How could you do anything but turn me out and cut me off? If news of this gets out, I will ruin this family’s reputation and legacy. You have to put the estate and the family name first. I will have to go. I will go.”
Rupert was right about one thing; Darcy’s first instinct was always to do the right, proper thing. This moment was no exception.
“You are my brother. I will protect you. And I will not turn you out.”
He meant every word.
Though the light was dim, he thought he saw Rupert’s chin tremble.
He managed to elicit a promise that Rupert would tell him everything in the morning and they would take care of this once and for all.
But in the morning, Rupert was gone.
Chapter 11
Had a horrible fight with Amelia last night after she caused a hugely embarrassing scene at Almack’s.
Lady Bridget’s Diary
The less said about the previous evening, the better. The family spent an exceedingly tedious evening at Almack’s. Amelia then caused a scandal—one that was perhaps worse than anything Bridget had done thus far. What followed was quite a row between the two sisters. It only ended when Bridget stalked off and slammed the door to her room and when Amelia calmed down after a dose of laudanum was snuck into her water.
As a result, everyone, even the duchess, had slept in. But eventually, they all made their way to the dining room for breakfast.
Josephine was seated in her usual spot at the head of the table, sipping from her elegant china teacup. Everything about her was elegant, at all hours of the day.
But the way she surveyed the breakfast table was more like a general observing his troops before battle. Her trusty lieutenant, Miss Green, beside her.
Cavendish family versus the haute ton. The score was dismal.
“Where is Amelia?” Josephine asked. “That girl is late for everything except for breakfast.”
“She’s probably sleeping off the laudanum or out exploring,” James said with a shrug.
“Duke, you seem remarkably unconcerned that your sister is missing in a foreign city,” Miss Green said softly.
“Foreign? It is apparently home now,” he said, with a pointed look to the duchess. “And we don’t know that she is missing.”
“Frankly, I’m inclined to pity anyone who crosses her,” Bridget replied. Her sister was probably still abed, exhausted from all the drama of the previous evening.
The duchess turned to a maid, “Do go inquire on Lady Amelia’s whereabouts.” Then, fixing her attentions to the rest of the siblings she said, “Now, shall we go over our plans for the day?”
Bridget and her siblings exchanged glances. They were particularly directed at James, who shared their sentiments.
“Just out of curiosity, dear duchess, what are the chances that the day’s activities include, say, lazing around with books or playing parlor games, whiling away the hours in the stables or going out for a ride?”
Miss Green smiled. “This may come as a shock to you, but Her Grace doesn’t care for parlor games.”
“And there is still so much you all need to know. Claire, last night you refused a dance with Lord Banbury. A lady should not decline a dance with a gentleman unless her dance card is full.”
It went without saying that her dance card was not full. Not even close.
“He is a moron.”
“But he is a rich moron.”
“I thought we were rich.”
“But one can always be richer,” Josephine said. “And Bridget, you went in t
o supper before your turn.”
“I know, but I was starving.”
“Ladies do not have appetites.”
“Josephine.” James’s voice was a warning. In the best of circumstances, they had little patience for all the formality and rules of the aristocracy. But this morning, after a late and trying night, they had none. “We know we possess one of the oldest and most prestigious titles in England. We know have a sacred duty to live up to its legacy and reputation, increase its wealth, and pass it on to our heirs.”
“Ah, so you have been listening, Duke. Perhaps you are more than just a pretty face.”
Miss Green choked on her tea.
“With all due respect, our father left it all behind and never looked back. And that is the example that we were raised with. We never expected this. I never expected this.”
“Nevertheless, here we are, and we haven’t much time,” Josephine said briskly.
“We have all the time in the world. We’re here, aren’t we?” James’s question hung in the air. “But that is not enough, is it?”
Bridget noticed the duchess’s grip on her teacup was firm; her knuckles were paling. Would it shatter in her grasp? What a statement that would make.
It was not enough to simply be here, to live in the house and ride about in the carriage with the ducal crest in gold on the doors. They had to become Durham—live it, breathe it, own it—and to do so they had to leave behind America, the life they led there, and even, Bridget mused, the people they were there.
Her brother wasn’t born to be a duke; he was most comfortable out in the stables, raising and training horses.
Her sisters were too impulsive and exuberant (Amelia) or too intelligent (Claire) for the haute ton’s taste.
And as for Bridget herself . . . she wanted so badly to measure up and belong. But she also wanted to eat a proper meal, to tease Darcy and laugh loudly, to live instead of attempting to walk with a particular air, or learn every possible form of address for every possible person she might meet, or master the steps of every obscure country dance she might be called upon to know. She wanted to be without trying so hard.
“Well, this is a serious topic so early in the morning,” Miss Green chimed in. “Shall we discuss the weather instead?”
But first, the maid returned. “Lady Amelia is not in her bedchamber, Your Grace.”
“Well, where is she?” Josephine demanded.
“I’m afraid I don’t know,” the poor maid answered, trembling.
“Search the house for her,” the duchess ordered. The maid didn’t move. “And why are you not the slightest bit alarmed that your sister is missing?”
“She runs off all the time. She eventually returns,” Bridget said. At home, it had not been a problem, for they had a large property for Amelia to explore.
“Yes, she gets hungry, or the weather becomes unpleasant, or she simply has to tell someone, particularly us, of her adventures,” James added. “I suppose you think it’s terrible that I indulged her in such unladylike behavior.”
“Your Grace . . .” The poor maid was trying to gain attention.
“London is a dangerous city for unaccompanied young ladies,” the duchess said.
“I hope you haven’t said that to Amelia.” James groaned.
“Of course I have. She needed to be warned.”
“And that was your first mistake,” Claire said with a sigh. She’d had years of acting a surrogate mother to their wayward younger sister.
“Your Grace . . .” The poor maid was still trying to gain attention.
“What are the chances she’s just in the attic or the kitchens?” Miss Green asked. “I have found her exploring the house on a few occasions.”
“I’d put my money on the Tower of London or a gaming hell,” Claire said.
“Your Grace! Her bed was not slept in!” the maid cried out.
Missing sisters: 1
Scandals looming: at least 1, possibly several
Hours spent tense in the drawing room: 4
Pots of tea drunk: 4
Times the duchess cared that I took extra sugar: 0, as far as I could discern
Lady Bridget’s Diary
A few hours later, there was no denying the truth: Amelia was gone. One of the upstairs housemaids could not be found either, and everyone desperately hoped that they were at least together. James and a few servants had gone out to discreetly obtain any intelligence about her whereabouts.
One by one they returned. No one had seen a proper lady and her housemaid dashing about the neighborhood between the hours of midnight and morning. Or at least, that’s what they gathered. It was hard to ask questions about a subject one desperately wanted to keep secret.
While the servants were send out to make discreet inquiries, James, the duchess, Miss Green, Claire, Amelia, and Bridget gathered in the drawing room to plot their next steps and strategy. The air was thick with tension. The tea was strong. Nerves were beginning to fray.
Even Bridget and Claire, who had been firm in their belief that Amelia had gone off on one of her adventures, started to worry. And James—their poor brother looked like he’d aged a decade in a day.
A ferocious debate as to their strategy for locating the wayward Cavendish sister ensued.
James paced back and forth across the carpets. He pushed his fingers through his hair, frustrated.
“If we enlist the assistance of the Bow Street Runners—”
The duchess cut him off.
“Then we risk the ton finding out that she has been missing overnight.”
“I’m more concerned that she’s alive,” James said witheringly.
“And I’m concerned that she has a life to live when she returns,” Josephine replied. “She will be ruined if the merest whisper of this gets out.”
Bridget knew that this inactivity was killing him. That he wanted to be out of the house searching for his wayward sister and not stuck in the drawing room with a bunch of ladies and their endless pots of tea and worries about reputations. She felt a bit useless herself.
In the midst of it all, Pendleton, the butler, stepped in to announce a caller.
“Lord Darcy requests an audience.”
Bridget choked on the sip of tea she had just taken. A very sweet cup of tea; with the duchess so distracted, she took the liberty of adding extra sugar.
What was he doing here now?
“We are not at home to callers this morning, Pendleton.”
But the butler returned but a moment later.
“He says he wishes to see Lady Bridget for just a moment regarding an urgent matter.”
“Well, that is unexpected,” Bridget murmured. Her heart started beating rapidly.
She met in him the smaller receiving room on the other side of the foyer.
“Lady Bridget.”
“Lord Darcy.”
They were alone, quite alone. Bridget eyed him, noting that he was, alas, in dry clothes. Perfectly tailored dry clothes that hugged his broad shoulders and clung tightly to his muscled legs.
He cleared his throat. She had been caught staring.
“Pardon the intrusion. I was wondering if you had seen my brother today.”
“I have not. Why do you ask?”
“He seems to be missing.”
Bridget paled.
“What is it?”
“Come with me.”
They were halfway across the foyer before she realized that she had taken his hand and pulled him along—a stuffy peer of the realm—as if he were a horse on a lead. It was another second or two before she realized that he hadn’t protested her informality or attempted to withdraw his hand from hers. After that, it was only an instant before she became aware of the warmth from his hand stealing through her.
It was funn
y what could happen in the time it took to cross the foyer.
Amelia and . . . Rupert? My heart breaks at the betrayal.
Lady Bridget’s Diary
“I hope I am not intruding,” Darcy said when he was shown into the drawing room. By shown he meant dragged into the room against his will, in a most informal manner. The downfall of civilization was imminent. “But I inquired with Lady Bridget regarding my brother, who seems to be missing. It appears this information is relevant to you?”
“Do come in, Darcy,” the duchess said wearily. “Perhaps you can help.”
Darcy lifted one brow.
“It’s a delicate family matter,” Josephine said, at the same time James said, “It’s a bloody disaster.”
“You have my word that I will protect your confidence. I would be grateful to be of assistance.”
“I suppose you can be trusted,” the duchess said, eyeing Darcy. Then to no one in particular she said, “His mother and I were close. But the less said about your father, the better,” the duchess said. Now that aroused Bridget’s curiosity and begged for more questions. She hadn’t even considered that Darcy had parents; he seemed like he was born fully formed, a perfect gentleman who emerged from a rock or the head of Athena. “But nevertheless, Darcy, we have a situation on our hands. Lady Amelia has taken leave of us.”
“Of her own free will or do we suspect something more dire?”
“Knowing Amelia, she’s just run off for a bit of adventure,” Bridget replied. “She has a habit of it.”
“But that doesn’t mean something bad hasn’t happened to her,” James said gravely. He swore softly under his breath. Ever since their parents had died, he’d been the one responsible for them all. And they hadn’t always made it easy on him, but this was the worst.
“There wasn’t a ransom note,” Claire added. “One doesn’t kidnap an heiress without leaving a ransom note. Unless one is utterly insane.”
“Thank you, Claire, for suggesting that a madman has kidnapped our sister,” James said dryly.
“Thus we are searching for one runaway heiress in a city of nearly a million people without the slightest clue where she could be,” Darcy summarized. “It so happens that my brother is also missing.”