by Kate Pearce
“This is just spite.” Frederica’s eyes filled with tears.
“If that was the case, I would throw you out for deliberately separating me from my father at the end of his life and persuading him to leave you everything that wasn’t entailed.”
She snorted. “I hardly needed to persuade him, Alistair. He never liked you. You know that.”
“I am well aware of that.” He paused to consider his next words. “If you agree to vacate this house, I will not attempt to reclaim my fair share of your present income. And, I will not take you to court over the many questionable decisions my father made in his last days of life.” He met her furious gaze. “I’ve seen his will, my lady. I found it in the study. You wrote half the new clauses in yourself with the help of your new solicitor. As a beneficiary, I doubt that is legal.”
“Your father was too ill to write. I merely wrote down what he dictated.”
He was surprised how much this fresh evidence of his father’s rancor hurt. He was also aware that he needed to reach some kind of conclusion with this woman who had helped destroy what little relationship he had left with his father.
“As I said, such matters will remain between you and your maker if you simply agree to leave this house and find somewhere else to live.”
She stared at him for a long while. “You’ve changed.”
He shrugged. “Who has not?”
“You’re… much harder.”
“While you were dallying with my father, I was away in India fighting ridiculous and pointless wars, thinking you, my one true love, were waiting patiently for my return. Imagine my surprise when I received my father’s letter announcing his new marriage—to you.”
“You were away for years, I—”
“Chose not to wait?”
“He was kind to me! He understood my impatience, he offered me everything I had ever wanted,” Frederica cried.
“Everything that you could’ve had with me, without the inconvenient wait for him to die?”
“You are cruel.” She tossed her napkin onto the table.
“No, you were a fool to marry a man who chose you simply because he hated his own son.” Alistair picked up his knife. “He never loved either of us, Frederica. He just wanted to stop me marrying the woman I loved, and you let him.”
She reached over and grabbed his hand. “I never stopped loving you.”
Alistair gently removed her hand from his wrist. “That’s a shame, because I definitely stopped loving you when you married my bloody father.”
“He said that he doubted you would ever come back, that you would die out there, and that I would be left a curate’s daughter with no dowry and no prospects to dwindle into spinsterhood. He said that if I married him we might have children, and that if you died, I would be the mother of a future marquess.”
“And you fell for his lies.”
“I was young and foolish.”
“So was I when I left.” He smiled at her. “Why did you want me to come here so badly, Frederica? Did you truly think you could use the love I once had for you against me?”
“I merely wanted to see you, to discuss Phoebe’s debut, and—”
“You could have written to me about that.” He held her gaze. “You thought that if I saw you again I would fall in with all your plans for my sister.”
“She is ill!”
“I can see that.” He sat back. “You will not be involved in her debut; my wife will deal with that. You will not be invited to stay with us in London, although you will receive an invitation to Phoebe’s debut ball when she is well enough to have one.”
“What if I choose to live in London?” Frederica raised her chin and stood up.
“I can’t stop you, but you will not live in my townhouse, and you will bear the expenses from your own account.”
Frederica gripped the back of her chair. “What happened to you, Alistair? You used to be such a sweet, kind man.”
“Thankfully, I’m not like that anymore.” He paused. “Perhaps, in a way, I should thank you for showing me early on in my life that everyone and everything can be bought.”
“Like your wife bought you and your title?” Frederica demanded. “You are a fine one to talk!”
“I did what was necessary to secure my holdings,” Alistair stated. “And I did it with the full knowledge of my intended. She knew the state of my finances. I never lied to her.”
“She’s a mill worker who wanted to be a duchess!” Frederica jeered. “Who wouldn’t take that chance?”
“Oh, dear, are you jealous?” Alistair rose from his seat. “If you’d just waited a little longer for me to return, you could’ve had everything.”
She glared at him but didn’t speak.
He inclined his head an icy inch. “As I said, thank you for showing me I was mistaken, and that love is not necessarily the best foundation for a successful marriage. I am very content with the arrangement I have.”
“Of course you are, you cold-hearted bastard,” Frederica said. “I must confess to some sympathy for your poor wife! She will suffer greatly in society, and you won’t lift a finger to help her now that you have her money.”
Alistair smiled. “Please consider your options while I am in London, and let me know what you decide.”
He turned to the door, just as the butler entered.
“Good morning, Mr. Mortimer. Have you seen my duchess this morning?”
“I saw her just a moment ago in the hall, your grace. She asked me for directions into the local village.” The butler removed Alistair’s dishes from the table.
“I thought she was coming down for breakfast.” Alistair frowned. “Did she eat anything at all?”
“I’m not sure, your grace. It’s possible that her maid took her up something in bed.” Mr. Mortimer paused at the door. “Would you like me to inquire?”
“No, I’ll find her myself,” Alistair said. “I’d quite enjoy a morning stroll.”
Halfway along the long, picturesque drive to the house, Margaret had to slow down as the hurt and outrage that had fueled her flight finally deserted her. A marriage of convenience to a millworker, and a man who was supremely happy with that arrangement…
But why was she surprised? He’d never promised to love or care about her. He’d appreciated her saving his neck with her fortune and expressed his gratitude in many ways, including bedding her, but he’d never suggested he expected to fall in love with her.
She stopped completely and breathed hard through her nose, aware of the silence around her broken only by the wind moving through the beech trees. When she’d heard him talking to Frederica she should’ve retreated to her room immediately, or gone in and held them both to account. But she’d remained at the door, unnoticed and undetected, as they were so focused on each other, and heard far more than she’d bargained for.
“Margaret!”
She briefly closed her eyes as she heard Alistair’s shout behind her and considered making a run for it. She already had a stitch in her side and was fairly certain he would come after her and catch her, regardless. So, she remained where she was and waited for him to reach her.
He walked around her and halted, his expression intent. He’d forgotten to put on his hat and his blond hair was disheveled by the wind.
“How much did you hear?” he asked.
“Enough.”
“Well, you know what they say—eavesdroppers never hear good about themselves.”
She cast him a murderous glare, and his smile faded.
“I am not sure what has upset you. I told her to leave this house because I wish to live in it while I am attending the House of Lords. Would you prefer not to live here?”
Ah, there he went, attempting to divert her into another discussion he might graciously allow her to win. Did he not know what had really upset her, or was he blind? Did she even know, herself?
“Margaret? It is not like you to be so silent.” He paused and let out his breath, his expressi
on contrite. “Whatever I said that offended you, I will, of course apologize for it.”
“It’s not what you said. I am well aware of the circumstances of our marriage.” Margaret finally managed to form a stiff sentence.
“Then what is it?”
She stared at him. How to tell him that seeing his interactions with Frederica had made her realize how little she knew him, and how superficial their connection. He’d informed her that he hated to argue and yet had seemed to garner great enjoyment from fighting with his stepmother.
“I don’t know.” She shrugged.
“That’s not a very helpful answer.”
“Perhaps I don’t wish to be helpful?”
He spread his arms wide. “Then how am I supposed to make amends, if you won’t tell me what the damn problem is?”
Her anger rose to match his evident frustration. Maybe it was time to stage a diversion on her own. “It would’ve been helpful to have known you grew up with Frederica and that you intended to marry her.”
His expression went blank. “I told you that I would try not to influence your opinion of her and let you make up your own mind.”
“Without that pertinent fact? Can you imagine how I felt when she threw that in my face?” Margaret demanded.
He sighed. “You’re right. I should’ve told you. I didn’t think she’d have the nerve to mention that she jilted me for my father, but as usual, I underestimated her malice toward me.” He reached for her hand. “Will you please forgive me? That was an abominable situation to place you in, and it was all my fault.”
She considered his hand and the uncomfortable tangle of emotion still jamming her throat. There was no way to ignore it. She was jealous of her husband’s stepmother, and how could she possibly confess that? She’d made a marriage bargain that hadn’t given her the right to feel such things, and, as her brother would certainly remind her, she had to keep her side of it.
She took his hand and managed a brisk nod. “As you said, your time here is better spent worrying about your sister than me, so perhaps we could put this behind us?”
He put his fingers under her chin and raised her face to his, his gaze searching. “What else is wrong?”
She used her most pragmatic voice. “Nothing that won’t be fixed when we leave this house, I can assure you.”
He kept looking at her, which was quite disconcerting. “Did you think I was unkind asking her to leave this house?”
“It is your house, you have the right to do whatever you want with it, and she hardly deserves your consideration, does she?” Margaret agreed.
It was a relief to return to a discussion where she could use her commonsense. That was, after all, the main reason he had married her.
Alistair hesitated. “Am I remiss in not holding her accountable for meddling with my father’s will?”
“That is up to you. I assume you are asking her to vacate the premises in return for your silence?”
“Exactly.” He nodded and offered her his arm as they continued down the drive.
“As long as you get her agreement in writing and lodge it safely with your solicitors, I cannot see her causing you any further problems.”
“That is a given.” Alistair nodded. “I don’t trust her. Once I have relieved her of Phoebe’s care, my obligation is at an end. All further communications can be carried out through my solicitors.”
Margaret wanted to cheer, but settled on a more demure nod. She had a horrible sensation that Frederica would not be quite so easy to shake off, but she didn’t want to mention it right now. Her husband was right about one thing. They needed to remove Phoebe from the house and get her to a London doctor. Once that had been accomplished, perhaps Margaret would have the time to worry about her own feelings. Assisting Phoebe was an attractive diversion.
They reached the end of the drive by the small gatehouse, which was no longer occupied, and Alistair looked up at the gates.
“Do you wish to walk into the village? It is just around the corner.”
“I was intending to,” Margaret said. “Mr. Mortimer gave me directions.”
“Would you like me to come with you?” Her husband’s beguiling smile was back as he swept her a bow.
“You aren’t wearing a hat or your coat,” Margaret pointed out.
“The people in the village won’t care. They’ve known me all my life,” Alistair said with all the blithe insouciance of his birth and position. “I’d like to take this opportunity to introduce you to some of them. They will be delighted to see that I have finally taken a bride.”
“Then I am more than happy to accompany you, your grace.”
Margaret placed her hand on his sleeve, glad that, for now, they had managed to put their problems behind them, and she was grateful for the respite. She had no idea how to handle the unknown emotions that being married to Alistair Haralson had aroused and needed time to think things through.
“Wonderful.” Alistair lifted the latch of the side gate and held it open for her to pass through. “After you, duchess.”
Chapter 13
Alistair strolled along the London street, all too aware of the potential to have his pocket picked or be run down by a coach and four. He’d decided to walk because the streets were so crowded that hailing a hackney cab would’ve had him sitting twiddling his thumbs while pedestrians walked past him. But it always paid to be wary even in the best part of town.
He checked the address, went down the steps into the basement of the Harley Street house, and knocked on the bright blue door. As he waited, he observed the unusual sight of people walking above him at street level, totally unaware he was down there.
“Hellion, old chap! Come in!”
He grinned at the man who opened the door and stepped over the threshold. “Nash, how are you?”
“Well enough, and happy to be alive, what can I do for you?”
Alistair followed his old friend to the back of the basement apartment into a cozy sitting room.
“I heard you’ve gotten very top-lofty now,” Nash said as he poured Alistair a brandy and handed it over before sitting down in one of the comfortable chairs.
“If you consider being a duke top-lofty, then, yes, I have.”
“I’m not surprised your cousin Farrell died young. He drunk far too much, and I suspect he had syphilis.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me, either.” Alistair was unwilling to share exactly how his cousin had died and was glad that the event had happened away from the gossips of London.
Alistair tasted the brandy, which was French, and remarkably good. His friend Nash might choose to ignore his title and live like a modest man, but his family roots went back to the conqueror. His father hadn’t approved of his son joining the military as a surgeon, and the two were still estranged. Nash had no need to earn his living but continued to work at one of the emerging London hospitals.
“This issue is somewhat confidential. You are the only physician I trust to act for me on this matter.”
“Carry on.” Nash waved his glass at him. “I’ll keep your secrets. I always have.”
Alistair took another fortifying sip of brandy. “Do you remember when we were in India and that colonel died quite suddenly?”
“That’s quite an open field, my friend. Being totally unsuited for the climate and equally unwilling to adapt, the amount of British deaths was quite high. Can you be more specific?”
“Colonel Clavering.”
“Ah, the miserable bastard who was on his third imported English wife and had an Indian mistress?”
“Yes, that one.”
Nash sipped his brandy, his gaze settling somewhere in the past, his expression grim. “He was a drunkard and a terrible officer. He beat both his wife and his mistress and was brutal to his men. When he died so unexpectedly, the matter was hushed up. His widow went back to England, and his mistress was paid off.”
“I seem to remember gossip suggested that he might have been poisoned,” Al
istair said gently.
“Indeed. I was the man who had to write the death certificate and speak to the coroner. If they had been able to convict the mistress, they would’ve done so, but it appears that the wife was involved as well.”
“The two women conspired to kill him?”
Nash shrugged. “That’s what I believed, and that’s what I told the coroner, who quickly decided that no charges would be forthcoming. In truth, I think the army were as glad to be rid of him as his womenfolk.” He eyed Alistair. “What this has to do with you is beyond me.”
“Do you remember telling me about the symptoms you observed that made you certain he had died of arsenic poisoning?”
“Yes, indeed.” Nash sat up straight. “I saw him twice before his death, but by the time I worked out what was going on, it was too late to do anything.”
“Why were you so certain that he was poisoned in this way?”
“Because unlike many of my colleagues, I listened and learned a lot from the local healers and went out with them on their rounds. Arsenic was easy to obtain and occasionally taken by accident, because it was commonly left out to kill vermin. I was able to observe the symptoms and see the progression of the illness.”
Alistair nodded. “Would you be so kind as to come and visit my sister?”
“Your sister?” Nash blinked at him. “You think—”
“Yes, I do.” Alistair rose from his seat. “Would tomorrow be too soon for you to call?”
“Not soon enough.” Nash leapt to his feet. “I’m coming with you now.”
Margaret opened the door of Phoebe’s bedroom to find her husband and a dashingly handsome black-haired man beside him. Alistair beckoned her to join them, and she closed the door and stepped into the corridor.
“This is my friend, Dr. Nash. I have asked him if he will examine Phoebe.”
“Ma’am.” The doctor nodded to her and then turned to Alistair. “I would appreciate it if your housekeeper remained in the room while I proceed with my examination.”
Margaret raised her chin. “I’m not the housekeeper.”
Alistair cleared his throat. “Ah, I apologize for my lack of formality. My dear duchess, may I introduce you to my old friend, Dr. Nash?”