by Kate Pearce
“You’re his duchess?” Dr. Nash asked.
“Yes.” Margaret met his gaze head on.
“Then I apologize, and ask if you might send for your housekeeper or a maid so that I can proceed.”
“I’ll be happy to assist you, sir,” Margaret said. “I have much experience in dealing with the sick, the elderly, and the dying.”
He offered her a skeptical glance, but he bowed, and allowed her to precede him into the bedchamber where Phoebe was sleeping. He set his bag down on the foot of the bed and stood quietly observing his patient.
“Would it disturb her too greatly if you pulled the covers down so that I could see all of her?” Dr. Nash asked.
“She was exhausted after our journey, so I doubt much will wake her.” Margaret efficiently lowered the sheets. “Her skin is very red and swollen, and she said she had a very sore throat.”
He came forward, sat on the side of the bed, and held Phoebe’s wrist, listening for something Margaret couldn’t hear. “Her pulse is erratic. Has she complained of stomach pain or nausea?”
“She experienced both on our journey, as well as loose bowels,” Margaret said.
“How very unpleasant for her.” He leaned in, listened to her breathing, and then stood up.
“Would you care to come with me to speak to Hellion—I mean, the duke?” Dr. Nash asked.
“Yes, indeed. I will ask my maid to sit with Phoebe, and I will meet you in his grace’s study,” Margaret said.
The ducal townhouse was in almost as bad a state of repair as the house up north, and Margaret had already taken a dislike to it. Evidence of the previous occupant, Alistair’s cousin Farrell, was apparent everywhere. Margaret had sought her husband’s permission to remove every single item, including at least ten dubious remedies against syphilis, from Farrell’s bedchamber.
The current staff was lazy, and had not kept the house up to her standards. As soon as Phoebe was on the path to health, Margaret intended to sit down with Joseph Lang and devise a plan to hire new staff.
After settling Eileen in with Phoebe, she proceeded down to the kitchen, which was disconcertingly empty. The cook was absent, and the butler was drunk and snoring in his rooms. She made a pot of tea and carried it up to the drawing room, which was the only one of the receiving rooms fit to admit guests.
“Let me take that from you, your grace.”
Dr. Nash hurried over to relieve her of the tray as if she were far too delicate for such a task. Alistair raised his eyebrows.
“Do we not have staff?”
“The butler is drunk, and the cook has disappeared, probably because I had a few words with them about the quality of the food and service presented to us last night.” Margaret poured the tea. “I’d offer you milk, but there isn’t any, and the previous occupant drank every drop of brandy in the house.”
“This will do nicely,” Dr. Nash said. “It’s far too early for brandy.”
Despite his somewhat scruffy appearance, he had excellent manners to go with the upper-class accent of her husband.
“Well, Nash?” Alistair asked. “What do you think?”
“I think you are correct. Someone has been poisoning her.”
“What?” Margaret said. “Alistair—”
He held up his hand. “I didn’t want to believe what I thought I was seeing, and my first priority was to get Phoebe away from that house.” He nodded at the doctor. “Nash was a surgeon in the army. I remembered him discussing a particular case of poisoning just before I left for England, and, somehow, the details stuck with me.”
“It’s a good job they did,” Dr. Nash confirmed. “You might have saved your sister’s life.”
“Will she survive, though?” Alistair asked, his expression grave.
“If you have taken her away from her poisoner, then yes, there is a good chance that she will recover very well.”
“How do you know that?” Margaret intervened.
He turned toward her. “Because I’ve seen such cases before. Sometimes a person would inadvertently eat a small amount of something that contained the poison and be ill for a few days until they gradually recovered.”
“But this illness has been going on for months,” Alistair argued.
“Probably because whoever did this didn’t want to administer a large dose of poison and kill a young, apparently healthy, woman outright.” Dr. Nash glanced over at Alistair. “If that had occurred, I’m fairly certain you would’ve noticed and done everything in your power to discover why your sister had died?”
“Yes.”
“Then this method of slowly weakening her was far more effective. A country doctor who would probably have no knowledge of the effects of such poison would attend her. He would prescribe treatments such as bleeding, which would make her even weaker, until he inadvertently killed her.”
Margaret shivered, and Alistair reached for her hand.
“Then you think that if we keep her safe here, she will recover?”
“I don’t see why not.” Dr. Nash looked from Margaret to Alistair. “Do you know who did this?”
“I have my suspicions,” Alistair said grimly. “But I am not at liberty to share them with you at this moment.”
“Well, if you need a signed statement detailing what I observed, and my conclusions for any court of law, I’d be happy to oblige.”
“Thank you.” Alistair nodded at his friend as he stood up. “I’d ask you to stay for dinner, but it appears that my wife has frightened away all my staff.”
Margaret smiled. “If it comes to that, your grace, and cook doesn’t return, I’ll wager I can cook you a better dinner myself!”
“I am almost tempted to stay just to watch her grace roll up her sleeves.” Dr. Nash bent to kiss her hand. “A pleasure, duchess.”
“Dr. Nash.”
Margaret remained by the fire until Alistair returned from escorting his friend to the door.
His smile disappeared as he shut the door and came to sit opposite her.
“Do you really think Phoebe was being poisoned?” Margaret asked.
“Yes, don’t you?” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Thank God we got there before Frederica could finish her off.”
“But Frederica invited us to the house,” Margaret reminded him. “Why would she do that if she knew we might remove Phoebe from her care?”
“She probably gambled that we wouldn’t come. You have to remember that for the last two years she’s been attempting to get me back to Healdstone Hall, and failed miserably. If Phoebe had died, and I hadn’t bothered to come when Frederica had begged me to, can you imagine what damage she would’ve done to my reputation?”
“But she wanted to keep Phoebe by her so that she could go to London and find herself a new husband,” Margaret persisted. “Why would she kill the golden goose?”
“Because once I became a duke, she realized that her reign was over, and that I held all the power. She probably thought that if Phoebe was dead, she could go to London, play the part of a grieving stepmother, ruin my reputation, and acquire a new husband.”
“But what about Dr. McNeil?” Margaret set down her tea cup. “Isn’t it possible that he decided to poison Phoebe for his own reasons?” Alistair was looking at her as if she was mad, but she carried on talking. “Why assume that it is all about Frederica trying to hurt you”
“Because it always is!”
She blinked at the intensity of his tone as he took a hasty tour of the room, suddenly aware that they were circling back around to a discussion that she still wasn’t ready to participate in.
“As you know your stepmother far better than I do, I will not argue with you.” Margaret studied her linked hands in her lap. “Perhaps as a precaution, we should make sure that no one from Healdstone Hall is allowed inside this house.”
“I can certainly agree with that.” He stared out of the dirt-encrusted window. “I hate this house. I had to stay here by myself sometimes when my father wouldn�
�t allow me to come home in the school holidays. There were two Christmases when, if it hadn’t have been for the Nash family, I would’ve been here on my own, gnawing at a bone.”
“Dr. Nash seems to be a good man and an excellent and observant doctor,” Margaret remarked, more than willing to take the discussion away from the dangerous waters surrounding Frederica. “If we both dislike this house, perhaps we could sell it and find something more modest?”
“I’m not sure if that’s possible.” He glanced back at her. “Remember how your brother bought some of my debt? One of those items was the mortgage on this house my cousin took out without my grandfather knowing about it.”
“Perhaps Adam…”
“No.” He spun around, his expression cold. “Don’t even suggest that I ask your brother to release me from a debt of honor.”
“Honor?” Margaret came slowly to her feet. “What is honorable about a man who tried to bankrupt his own family? Why should you have to be responsible for paying back debts that your cousin incurred?”
“You know why. Didn’t your brother do the same thing? Didn’t he repay all your father’s creditors?”
“He repaid his loans to the bank, and to his friends, but not his gaming debts. Adam did not see them as ‘honorable’.”
“But I do.” He met her gaze. “If I fail to pay them back, my credit will suffer, as will our family’s standing in the world.”
“With whom exactly?” Margaret asked.
He shrugged. “My peers, the world I inhabit, and the world my children will inhabit.”
“So you are saying that if you do not pay back all your cousin’s and grandfather’s debts that our children will somehow be affected?” The fact that he was currently using “I” rather than “we” rankled more than she had anticipated.
“If they wish to take their place in society, then unfortunately, yes.”
“And you agree with this?” Margaret asked.
He sighed. “It’s not a question of whether I agree with it or not, Margaret, it’s just the way the world works.”
“Maybe my children will grow up with a different set of values.”
He smiled. “Do you really think any heir to a dukedom would prefer to work in a factory like your brother does?”
There was a hint of amusement in his tone that she didn’t care for. But, if she were honest, it was a relief to be allowed to get angry about something.
“Maybe if my son is a man with values, then yes.”
He straightened, his smile disappearing. “I wouldn’t want any child of mine working in a mill.”
“I worked there.” She raised her chin. “It did me no harm.”
“But you are an exception to every rule, duchess.” He paused. “Would you truly wish to go back to such a life, and for your children to have no choice in the matter?”
“If your son is told he has to be a duke, is that not another form of allowing him no choice?”
“Touché.” This time he grinned at her. “But I still insist that most men would choose to be a duke, my dear.”
“We shall see about that.” She sniffed. “Perhaps my son will surprise you.”
He came toward her, his hand outstretched. “As we have no staff, would you be agreeable to meeting my rather formidable great-aunt Lavinia and having dinner with her? I am hoping to enlist her aid to launch both you and my sister into society.”
“How formidable?” Margaret asked suspiciously.
His smile was meant to infuriate her. “You’ll see.”
“This is your wife?” Lavinia, the dowager countess of Thule, looked Margaret up and down as if she had come to apply for the position of parlor maid. She lived in a large townhouse on Portland Square owned by her son, and the entire family was obviously terrified of her. “I heard that you had to marry for money, Thorsway, but the girl doesn’t look too common.”
Margaret cleared her throat. “I can speak for myself, my lady, and I can hear you quite clearly.”
Lady Thule shuddered and continued to direct her comments at Alistair. “That voice! What on earth can we do about it?” She shook her head. “She’ll have to say as little as possible until we can teach her to speak properly!”
“I like my wife’s accent,” Alistair said and squeezed Margaret’s hand. “It is original and refreshing.”
“Well, that might be so in Yorkshire, but in Town, it will not do!”
Alistair guided Margaret to the seat opposite the countess. “I have to go and speak to Mark, I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.”
Margaret shot him a murderous glance as he left the room and squared her shoulders as the countess offered her some tea.
“Thank you.” She set the tea beside her. “It is very kind of you to invite us to dinner. Our cook had disappeared with most of the staff.”
“Farrell was a fool who could never keep his servants.” Lady Thule sipped her tea. “If I were you, I would start afresh.”
“That is exactly what I intend to do,” Margaret agreed. “Is there a hiring agency you recommend?”
“Ask my son’s wife. She deals with the domestic matters in this house.”
“Thank you, I will.” Margaret picked up her cup, aware that the countess was watching her intently, and barely refrained from using two hands, slurping the contents, and belching.
“You are quite well-mannered.”
“We do have manners up north, my lady,” Margaret replied sweetly. “We are not entirely savage.”
Lady Thule regarded her with faint approval. “It would seem Alistair has married a woman with backbone.”
“I’m not afraid to speak my mind or stand up for myself if necessary.” Margaret held her companion’s gaze. “But I am aware that I have no experience of London society. I will need help to learn how to navigate my way through it so as not to embarrass my husband or sister-in-law.”
“I’m glad that you know your limits.” Lady Thule sniffed. “You at least look like a lady, and once you have visited a more fashionable dressmaker, I will make sure that you look the part of a duchess.”
Margaret held her tongue and sipped her tea. If it were up to her, she would have a few choice words to say to the stuck-up countess, but Phoebe needed to be introduced properly into society, and Margaret didn’t have a clue how to accomplish that. She devoutly hoped that Alistair would not wish to live permanently in London, or she feared she and Lady Thule might come to blows…
“I will expect you here tomorrow at two, Margaret.” The countess was still talking. “I will summon my dressmaker to attend you.”
“Does she not have a shop I could visit?” Margaret inquired.
“A shop?” Lady Thule looked appalled. “You are the Duchess of Thorsway, my dear, tradespeople come to you.”
Alistair was still laughing at his wife’s excellent imitation of his haughty great-aunt when they arrived back at their townhouse. There were no lights on, and Clarkson looked grim as he opened the door.
“Bloody butler’s buggered off and so has the cook.”
“Good, that saves me the job of firing them.” Alistair handed Clarkson his hat and cane. “Is my sister all right?”
“Yes, Eileen’s been keeping an eye on her. She made her some gruel, and she ate well before falling back to sleep.”
“I’ll go and check on her.” Margaret headed for the stairs, her bonnet swinging in her hand.
Clarkson waited until she’d disappeared before he spoke again. “That Dr. McNeil tried to get in here this evening. Asking about Miss Phoebe, he was.”
“Did he,” Alistair said grimly. “I assume you told him to leave and never show his face again?”
“I did, sir, but not in quite the same words.” Clarkson cleared his throat. “He said he’d accompanied Lady Hellion to London.
“What?” Alistair went still. “Was she with him?”
“No, my lord, but he did deliver a message from her.” Clarkson handed over a sealed note.
“Damn
and blast,” Alistair muttered as he went through into the drawing room where Clarkson had at least lit the lamps and dealt with the fire.
“Mr. Lang arrived, my lord. I told him to take his pick of the bedrooms, but that whichever one he chose he had to clean it out himself. He took it very well, considering. He’s gone to bed now and will see you in the morning.”
Alistair sighed. “I don’t suppose you managed to replenish the brandy supply, did you?”
“Well, you’d be wrong about that, my lord.” Clarkson grinned at him. “I just happened to be going past the pub at the end of the road, and I got us some.” He nodded toward the right side of the room. “It’s on the sideboard. Help yourself.”
“It is at moments like this that I remember why I haven’t fired you.” Alistair took the glass Clarkson had set next to the bottle, filled it with the cheap brandy, and swallowed it down, only shuddering slightly. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, and you owe me a guinea.”
Alistair poured himself another glass and raised an eyebrow. “How much?”
“For my time and effort, your grace,” Clarkson said primly.
“Which included you already drinking half the bottle?” Alistair got out his purse and searched through his coins. “I don’t have a guinea. Add it to your wages for the quarter.”
“A crown will do.”
Alistair tossed the coin over. “Did you get something to eat?”
“Yes, I bought me and Eileen meat pies.” Clarkson turned to the door. “Not sure what we’re going to do about breakfast tomorrow, but we’ll muddle through.”
“Thank you for your vigilance, today,” Alistair said.
“Don’t you worry, I’ll keep them out.” Clarkson nodded at his employer. “I’m not letting any harm come to Miss Phoebe, I can tell you that.”
Alistair opened the note, which informed him that his stepmother had taken up residence with her companion at Grillons Hotel and requested that he visit her as soon as possible.
After he finished his second brandy, Alistair made sure that the lights were out, and the fire contained, before he went up the stairs. He paused in the open door of the dressing room that separated the two main suites and observed his wife, who was contorting her body in a very peculiar way.