by Kim Bowman
Grey slammed the book shut. He certainly had no use or desire for a wife. Not at the moment at any rate, though in good time, with an appropriate match, certainly. Grey shook his head, irritated with the direction of his thoughts. “What blather is this?” he asked, shaking the book in Petry’s face.
“It’s a fiction book by a new author, your grace.” Petry’s head bobbed up and down. “Lady Charity begged me to select some books from the circulating library. She was hoping to get…”
Silencing his secretary with a glare, Grey set the book on top of the others. “It does not number among your duties to make excursions to the circulating library for Lady Charity.”
“Yes, your grace.” Petry hesitated, his jaw working silently. “Er, what should I do with the books I’ve borrowed for her?”
Indeed, the man probably didn’t want to know what Grey really wanted done with the blasted things. He raised an eyebrow. “I suppose you should give them to the lady to read.”
Petry lingered.
Fresh clothing and a basin of water with which to wash away the morning’s mishaps hovered just out of reach. Grey released a slow breath. “Is there something else, Petry?”
“Yes, your grace.” He shifted the books to his other arm. “The inquiry agent you employed called earlier. He would like a private word with you this afternoon. He says it’s urgent. You have an opening in your schedule at half past two.”
“Thank you, Petry. Deliver the books to Lady Charity and then wait in my study.” Grey ushered Petry into the townhouse and shut the door. He massaged his temple, trying to stave off the headache coming on. Would this day never end?
“Of course, your grace.” Petry headed down the hall.
Higgins stood at the foot of the staircase, his face expressionless, waiting for instructions.
Ignoring him, Grey limped up the stairs. Now that his pulse had returned to normal and some of his anger had subsided, he was painfully aware of the throbbing in his ankle. He winced each time he set it down. His houseguest might have gained a reprieve, but she would be lucky if he didn’t take her over his knee the first opportunity he had.
Magpie indeed.
****
From her position partway up the servants’ steps at the back of the foyer, Juliet waited until she heard the uneven stomp of the duke’s steps as he trudged upstairs. Just to be safe, she kept out of sight and counted to fifty before she moved. Surely he’d be in his rooms after that and she wouldn’t chance running into him.
She slipped up to the second floor, using the narrower and dingier back staircase, certain the duke would somehow know what she was about and be waiting for her when she reached the top step.
But the hallway was deserted and she skirted along the wall, uncertain which door led to the duke’s room, praying that at any moment he’d not yank it open and chastise her like he’d just set upon poor Harmony. Juliet was glad the older woman had given his grace a bit of her acid tongue. He shouldn’t be talking to his elders with such poor manners anyway.
He really is an insufferable old gobble-cock. I wasn’t hurtin’ that precious horse ’o his. Why, anyone can see the poor thing ain’t made for pullin’ a cart. I’d like to suggest hookin’ his grace up to a blistering cart.
With more force than necessary, she shoved open the door to the suite she shared with the aunts.
“Oh!” Standing in the middle of the sitting room, Charity shrieked in surprise.
“Aunt Charity!” Juliet hastily shut the door behind her and rushed to help. “What are you doing up on your injured ankle?”
“I was trying to get to the window.”
Juliet slipped her arm around Charity’s waist and steered her toward the chair she’d indicated. “You should have waited for someone to come help you.”
“Well, I was waiting for Harmony but she’s been gone at least an hour.” Charity plopped into the chair and fidgeted until she was apparently comfortable. “Poor dear went to fetch some chocolate. She must have gotten lost on her way to the kitchen.”
Juliet frowned. An hour? Harmony and the duke hadn’t had such a terribly long conversation on the stairway. Poor Charity must be confused.
The door opened to admit Harmony, carrying a tray with a teapot and biscuits. “Here you go, dearie. I’ve come with your tea and biscuits.”
Tea? Hadn’t Charity said Harmony had gone for chocolate? Juliet glanced from one to the other and smiled. Maybe the both of them were getting confused these days. They were quite up in years. Mayhap they really were as dotty as Annabella had assured her.
“Won’t you join us, dear?” asked Harmony, setting the tray on a table. “There’s plenty. And you certainly should replenish yourself after walking the streets and then giving his grace a bit of the slip by using the servant’s stairs.”
Juliet jerked and sought Harmony’s face. Her eyes twinkled in obvious childlike delight.
The clink of china drew her gaze toward Charity, who tipped the teapot, sending steaming brown liquid splashing into a delicate cup edged with yellow and pink flowers. She glanced up, focused a jovial glance on Juliet.
A chill swept through her. Neither pair of eyes currently regarding her held a hint of insanity or dementia.
“You know, don’t you?” she murmured, her heart crowding into her throat and making it nearly impossible to draw her next breath.
“Know what, darling?” asked Charity, her eyes wide.
“That I’m not your niece,” whispered Juliet, holding her breath while she awaited the answer.
The two women exchanged glances over the teapot, and Harmony smiled. “Well, of course you’re our niece. We ought to know our own niece.”
“Absolutely,” agreed Charity. She took a sip of her tea and smiled. “If we say you are our niece, then most assuredly you are.”
Juliet could only stare. What on earth did that mean? Had Annabella somehow convinced them to go along with her scheme as well?
Harmony handed her a cup of tea. “Drink up, dear. Mustn’t allow your energy to be depleted, after all.”
Chapter Six
Grey stared at the ledger pages in front of him. The figures blurred and rearranged themselves into a vision of the maybe-Annabella on Satan’s back. His throat went dry as he saw again the way the breeze had played with her blonde hair the same way it had lifted the horse’s mane. Though her seat sans saddle had been awkward, she’d been as graceful as the most accomplished of horsewomen. And the way the pink muslin had clung to her rounded hips as she sat… risen just a bit to tease with a peek of ankle…
Petry crossed the room and opened the door to admit Higgins, and Grey’s rumination came to a crashing halt. He glanced at the clock on the mantle. Precisely half past two.
“A message has arrived for his grace,” announced the butler, holding a salver on which rested a folded letter. “And Mr. Delbert Stowe is here for his appointment.”
“Show him in, please.” Grey closed the cursed ledger and set it aside.
Petry took the letter, placed a log on the fire, and stirred the embers beneath the grate as Higgins escorted Grey’s inquiry agent into the study. Higgins retreated, closing the door behind him.
The tall man folded himself into the leather chair next to Grey’s desk, crossed his knees, and leaned back, making himself comfortable without invitation. Grey stifled his irritation. After all, he didn’t pay the man for his manners. Stowe’s black tailcoat and woolen trousers were rumpled, as though he’d spent the night in them. A lock of black hair fell across his forehead just above his right eye. From somewhere beneath the errant curl originated a thin, jagged scar that ran along the side of his lean face to the middle of his jaw.
Delbert Stowe was not a man who would be easily overlooked in any room, and though his disdain for the peerage was well known, when it came to discretion, Grey trusted no man more. If nothing else, the outrageous fee he paid the man assured his loyalty.
Petry crossed the room carrying a tray holding t
wo glasses of port. One he set on Grey’s desk, the other he extended to the investigator, who accepted with a nod.
“Thank you, Petry,” murmured Grey. “You may have the remainder of the afternoon off.”
“Yes, your grace.” Petry laid the folded piece of paper Higgins had delivered on the desk.
The untidy scrawl across the front was without doubt Jon’s and the direction was Haselmere. Grey’s fingers tingled with anticipation. Finally he would have the answer to his pretty little riddle. But first he’d have to sit through a meeting with Stowe that would doubtless prove just as unrevealing and unsatisfying as their previous discussions. He sighed and focused his attention on his agent.
The investigator spoke right away. “I have word of your brother.”
The words jerked Grey’s head up. Four years… four years they’d searched with little result. Hope stirred. “Recent word?”
Stowe shrugged. “Within the past year. He’s in America.”
Grey’s heart twisted but he squashed his troublesome emotions. “That much I managed to glean from your last visit, Mr. Stowe. Have you anything new to report or have you need of more funds for your services?”
Stowe held up a hand and shook his head rapidly. “You have been more than generous with your payment, your grace. Lord William was at Fort Mackinac.”
“Where the devil is that?” Keeping a civil tone was growing tiresome. Grey curled his fingers around his glass and sipped to prevent himself from reaching across his desk and throttling the self-satisfaction right out of the man.
“It’s in the northern part of America near the border with Canada.” Stowe watched Grey over the rim of his glass as he sipped his port. “It took longer to find him because he now uses the name William Marks. Colonel William Marks. His division captured the fort but it was not an easy battle. Colonel Marks was wounded, but I’m afraid the extent of his injuries is unknown. Would you like me to investigate further? I have connections in The King’s Army.”
Grey’s heart pounded against the inside of his chest. Will… wounded. “Thank you. Yes, please. Continue your investigation.”
“And the same message applies as always, your grace?” Stowe drained his glass and with deliberate motions, set it on the edge of the desk.
Grey picked up a pen and twirled it between his fingers. The standing message was simply a request to return home. Grey had so much more he wanted to say to his brother now. He raised his eyes. Stowe’s knowing stare followed the movements of the quill and Grey froze. The man missed very little. Grey wasn’t going to give him anything more.
“Yes, the same message,” he clipped. “Thank you, Mr. Stowe.”
“As you wish, your grace.” The investigator uncrossed his legs and pushed to his feet. With a sardonic smirk, he offered a mocking bow and then sauntered from the room without a word.
At the click of the door, Grey clenched his fist around the swan’s quill until it snapped in two. So, William had shortened his name to Marks. Colonel Marks. And he’d been wounded. Grey massaged his temples. Had his brother’s lust for adventure caught up with him? His heart twisted into his throat. Certainly, were his brother dead of his wounds, he’d know.
The gentle snap and crackle of the fire filled the room. He closed his eyes and sank back in his chair. “Will,” he whispered, calling up the memory of his younger brother’s laughing blue eyes. I always knew you’d wander, but I thought you’d surely return by now. A log split with a loud pop and one end dropped off the grate. Grey’s eyes sprung open and he pulled himself up in his seat. If thinking of his brother could bring him home, Will would have arrived years ago.
His gaze fell upon the message from Jon and he reached for it but halted, his hand hovering over the note without picking it up. Did he want to know what news the letter contained? He snatched it up and turned it over, noting Jon’s seal pressed into the glob of hardened white wax. With a deep inhalation, Grey broke the seal and unfolded the paper. As usual, his friend had dispensed with formal niceties.
Your stepsister is quite alive and thriving well. However, she is not currently in residence at your townhouse in London. I shall be taking this opportunity afforded to remain in Haselmere for a time.
Yours, Jon
What in heaven’s name was Jon trying to tell him? Cursing the man and his tendency to assume that just because he understood what he was stating those reading his messages would also, Grey scowled at the paper as though doing so would somehow force the cryptic note to reveal more than it did.
He sipped his port and considered the letter. So, Annabella was well. Thriving, according to Lord Jon. Grey finished the wine and placed the glass on his desk. Drawing a calming breath, he sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers, lightly tapping the tips against his lips as he watched the flickering fire. And, just as he had suspected, not currently residing with him.
So was he supposed to guess who the imposter was? Why hadn’t Jon named her? Why had Annabella remained in the country? And how had the imposter managed to fool Annabella’s aunts? Maybe the arranged outing to Almack’s two days hence would be the perfect time to find out the answers to his many questions.
“Who are you, girl?” He whispered the words into the empty room, though his mind pictured a slender girl with golden curls, an upturned nose, and eyes like a cat’s. “And just what am I going to do about you?”
****
Two days later
“Our niece appears to be ailing, your grace,” announced Lady Charity.
“What do you mean she’s ailing?” Even through the heavy wooden door against which Juliet currently pressed her ear, the duke’s ire was tangible.
The fine hairs on Juliet’s arm raised and she pressed her ear more tightly to the door, certain any moment she’d hear the duke’s heavy tread climbing the stairway, coming to drag her from her sickbed to go to that awful assembly hall with the intent to secure her a husband. Oh, Annabella, why have you not sent the letter from your mother?
From the upper landing, Lady Harmony spoke so softly that Juliet heard only the rise and fall of her voice, no specific words.
“Really… she seemed in splendid health this morning when she returned from walking the dog. Alone again.”
Juliet flinched. Poor Percy hadn’t been able to wait for her to get one of the aunts to go with her. She’d been faced with the choice of going out alone or knowing the char had to clean yet another of the dog’s accidental piddles on the umbrella stand outside the duke’s study door before his grace discovered it — he already hated the poor dog. And she hadn’t gone far — just to the little park in the churchyard at the end of the street. How could that hurt?
She hadn’t known the duke had noticed her sneaking out, and she was certainly surprised to learn it. The man seemed to know everything that went on in his household almost before it occurred.
Lady Harmony spoke, again too quietly for Juliet to hear.
“Well, what the—”
Juliet’s eyes bulged painfully at the curse his grace bit off. She had no doubt Lady Charity had quelled his outburst with another of her reproachful stares.
“My apologies, ladies,” Grey continued in a softer tone. “Might I inquire as to what malady my young guest is suffering?”
“No, you certainly may not!” exploded Lady Charity. “Why, ‘tis unseemly and poor manners to inquire the specifics of a lady’s complaints.”
Lady’s complaints! Why, that sounds… Heat flooded Juliet’s face and she fanned herself with her fingers.
“Lady Charity, I am merely attempting to establish whether the young lady requires the services of a physician,” Grey fairly barked.
Harmony murmured something but Juliet jumped back from the door. A physician! Oh, sweet mercy! A physician would either kill her with a cupping or, perhaps worse, he’d be able to tell the duke she was feigning her sickness.
She pressed her ear to the door again and heard Lady Charity’s voice. “—be well come morning, I as
sure you.”
Her stomach fluttered as Juliet strained for the first hint of footsteps on the stairs, poised to run back to her bed. Instead, when the duke spoke, his voice sounded more distant, as though he had walked away from the bottom of the steps.
“Very well then. I’ll leave you to see to her. Higgins, have the town coach brought round. I shall take an evening at White’s.”
Juliet clapped her hands together. With the duke out of his townhouse, he wouldn’t be apt to drag her off to Almack’s should she affect a sudden miraculous recovery. She fairly pranced across the room to sit in the chair by the window so she could watch him climb into the carriage and leave.
Before too long, the carriage pulled in front of the townhouse and the duke made his exit in grand style. Juliet was halfway across the room when the door pushed open and Lady Charity hobbled through the door.
“My gracious, dear, you surprised me.” Lady Charity smiled. “Are you feeling better?”
“I am, Auntie! I don’t know what came over me.”
Charity’s eyes lit with humor. “I think I have a few notions. Where are you off to now?”
Juliet hesitated. She could hardly admit to Annabella’s aunt that she was going to poke around the Duke of Wyndham’s townhouse. “I thought a quiet evening reading would be just the trick to have me feeling my best by the morning.”
“Oh, well, his grace certainly has enough books in that study of his, if you like his choice of reading.” She limped across the sitting room, heading for the stack of library books Mr. Petry had secured for her.
Juliet closed the door softly behind her and peered along the hallway. It wouldn’t do for Higgins or one of the maids to catch sight of her up and about the moment the duke was out of the house.
Drawing a deep breath, she pulled herself up straight and walked down the staircase like a lady. A giggle escaped and she clapped a hand over her mouth. Imagine, her, Juliet Cicely Baines, a lady. Why, if his grace knew exactly how far from a proper lady she was, he’d probably turn apoplectic. She frowned, amazed that she didn’t find the notion nearly as humorous as she’d have thought. But she was halted from further rumination on the subject by the study door in front of her. She’d only ever crossed this threshold when his grace was in the room. She was about to enter without his express consent.