The Duke of Debt

by Kate Pearce

  “I believe so, but I haven’t been able to see him or Bottomly.” Alistair smiled. “It’s almost as if they are avoiding me.”

  “With good cause,” Francis said. “If I see either one of them, I will make sure they know that their underhand tactics are pointless.”

  “Thank you.” Alistair toasted his friend. “I don’t think they have the nerve to openly challenge me assuming the title, but gossip and rumor can be effective to destroy a family’s reputation. Frederica blackened my name after my father died, and I still haven’t lived it down.” He drank more brandy. “I did wonder if Frederica had sought out Bottomly to make trouble for me.”

  Francis rolled his eyes. “You’re obsessed with the woman. Why should she do that when her social prestige is higher because her stepson is now a duke?”

  “You sound like my wife.”

  “Your duchess has always struck me as a remarkably sensible woman. Perhaps you should listen to her,” Francis said. “At some point Bottomly or Pritchard will reappear in society, and we will be ready for them.”

  “I appreciate the ‘we’,” Alistair said drily.

  “I was a witness to what went on that night, and Dr. Nettles can confirm what I saw,” Francis reminded him. “You have nothing to worry about.”

  “Let’s hope that you are right,” Alistair agreed, even though he had a nagging sensation that things were far from settled. “The poor old dukedom can definitely do without any more scandal being attached to its name.”

  The waiter returned to let them know that their table was ready in the dining room. Alistair followed Francis through the throng of gentlemen, stopping to acknowledge acquaintances, and accept congratulations on his marriage and his new title. It was strange how many men were willing to tolerate his existence now that he was a duke and not a somewhat questionable marquess.

  Margaret had made no objection to him taking Francis out of the house on the night on his arrival. Her joy and relief at seeing Lottie had been all too evident. Had he failed her so badly already? He’d vowed to be everything she wanted and was already aware that he was letting her down.

  He took his seat and remembered to thank the waiter. He had a terrible sense that a reckoning was coming, and he still wasn’t sure whether either he or Margaret would survive it.

  Chapter 18

  “Lady Hellion.” Alistair bowed as his stepmother came rushing toward him.

  “Alistair, darling, thank you so much for coming.”

  Did she ever get dressed? As usual, her hair flowed around her shoulders in luscious waves and her dressing gown was untied. He could easily see the shape of her breasts against the thin fabric of her nightshift.

  “You said there was an emergency concerning my wife.”

  He still couldn’t believe he’d actually responded to her anguished note, but while he’d been at the bank with Francis, Margaret had gone out with Lottie that morning and had not yet returned. If something had happened to her, it was highly unlikely, but possible, that Frederica had been informed if he was not available.

  “I thought you should know as soon as possible.” Frederica was speaking again. “Yesterday when I was out walking in the park, I met Lord Bottomly and his friend, Mr. Pritchard.” She looked expectantly up at him, but Alistair was done with playing her games.

  “And?”

  “They asked me about you again. Mr. Pritchard said that he was a close friend of your cousin Farrell’s, and that he couldn’t believe that a young man in such good health would die from hitting his head.”

  “Farrell was a drunkard; he was hardly in good health,” Alistair said dismissively. “Is there a point to this story, or did you merely wish to attract my attention again?”

  Frederica fingered the lace of her gown. “The thing is, a few days ago, I saw your wife with Mr. Pritchard.”

  “That’s extremely unlikely.”

  “He was helping her into your carriage. I noticed the Thorsway arms on the door.” Frederica paused, her gaze avid. “Did she not tell you about this?”

  “She might have done. I can’t say I would have taken much notice if she had.” Alistair managed a shrug even as his mind was racing.

  “Mr. Pritchard said he was meeting her again today by the Serpentine at two.”

  “Well, her grace has developed a great fondness for ducks, so perhaps they will be feeding them together?” Alistair inclined his head. “Is there anything else you wish to speak to me about? I have a meeting in an hour.”

  “Alistair, this isn’t a matter for levity.” Frederica touched his arm and paused dramatically. “What if your duchess is conspiring with these men against you?”

  “To do what exactly?” Alistair inquired. “Throw me a surprise birthday party?”

  “What if Mr. Pritchard thinks he can accuse you of Farrell’s murder?”

  “There’s nothing stopping him accusing me to my face. He hardly needs my duchess’s approval to do that.” Alistair retrieved his hat. “If he’s toadying up to my wife rather than facing me like a man, then he’s probably in for something of a shock. She doesn’t suffer fools gladly.”

  “You care about her, don’t you?”

  “She’s my wife.”

  “But it’s more than that, isn’t it? And she is such a practical creature and so lacking in finesse and, dare I say it, class. The poor dear probably isn’t capable of reciprocating your feelings, as she only married your for your title.” Frederica sighed. “What a shame it is that you always fall in love with the wrong people, Alistair.”

  “The only person I’ve loved who betrayed me is you, my dear.” Alistair turned to the door. “And, in truth, I’m beginning to think that my father did me a huge favor.”

  He had barely shut the door before something smashed against it. His smile died as he went down into the hotel entrance hall. If she was right and Margaret had somehow gotten herself involved with Pritchard, he was going to wring her bloody neck.

  “I am coming with you,” Lottie announced as she came into Margaret’s dressing room. She wore a cherry-red bonnet, a brown coat with matching red buttons, and a very determined expression.

  “No, you are not. Eileen will accompany me.” Margaret frowned at her sister and wished not for the first time that she hadn’t told Lottie what she was intending to do.

  “I swore to Adam that I would make sure the money was correctly delivered.”

  “Which you have done, thank you.” Margaret shot her a repressive look.

  “Not quite, if Mr. Pritchard is the person you intend to deliver it to,” Lottie countered somewhat piously.

  “Lottie, if he sees you, he will disappear,” Margaret said as she buttoned up her blue coat and put on her matching bonnet. “If you insist on coming, you will have to stay completely out of his way.”

  “If I must.” Lottie’s sigh was large enough to turn a windmill. “But if he does anything terrible, I will come and save the day.”

  “That will not be necessary, as I am quite capable of saving myself!” Margaret reminded her, earning her sister’s chuckle. “It is all very simple. I make Mr. Pritchard sign a letter renouncing all claims to further payments and some other matters that Adam’s solicitor made sure to include in this letter. I hand over the money, and that is the last we will see of him.”

  “I do hope you are right.” Lottie didn’t sound very convinced as she followed Margaret out of the door.

  “I am always right,” Margaret said. “If you insist on accompanying me, you will stay in the carriage until Mr. Pritchard and I have reached the banks of the Serpentine.”

  “As you wish,” Lottie acquiesced.

  There was no sign of the new butler in the hallway, but the carriage was already outside awaiting them. Margaret glanced anxiously over at Alistair’s study. She hadn’t seen him all day and devoutly hoped he would remain busy with Francis Grafton sorting out their finances well into the evening.

  She still felt a little guilty at deceiving him, but if her
plans came to fruition, and he was no longer bothered by the obnoxious Mr. Pritchard, then she would be more than satisfied.

  When she arrived in the park, she made sure Lottie stayed hidden and alighted from the carriage with Eileen at her side. She walked down to the place where she had agreed to meet Mr. Pritchard and sat down on the bench to await him. She had deliberately arrived a little early just to make sure she had time to review her plans and prepare herself for any eventualities.

  She took a deep, steadying breath and focused her attention on the pair of swans currently gliding along side by side on the smooth surface of the water. She’d been told that swans mated for life and raised their chicks together and was suddenly and stupidly envious of the beautiful pair.

  A light touch on her shoulder made her gasp and swing around to see, not Mr. Pritchard, but her husband, behind her.

  “Good afternoon, duchess. Whatever are you doing sitting here all by yourself?” He paused, his blue gaze furious enough to convince her that any attempt at subterfuge would be pointless. “Would you care to explain?”

  Alistair held the door of his study open, and Margaret walked past him, her head held high. He shut it behind her and leaned against it, aware that even after the carriage ride, when she had refused to say a word in front of Eileen and Lottie, that he was still angry.

  She stopped, took off her bonnet, and placed it and her reticule on the top of his desk.

  “Well?” he demanded.

  She raised her eyebrows. “As I assume someone has been telling tales, so why don’t you start?”

  “Because I am not the one consorting with my husband’s enemies?”

  “Has it not occurred to you that if you had not interfered, you would’ve had one less enemy?” Margaret asked.

  He felt his temper rise. “It is not your job to save me from anything or anyone. What exactly were you trying to achieve by meeting with that man?”

  “I was trying to protect you.” Margaret wasn’t backing down, and in some part of his soul, he was pleased about that. “I had a plan—”

  He cut across her. “Please humor me and start at the beginning when you first conceived of this hare-brain notion that I needed ‘protecting’, and that you were going to lie to me.”

  “I haven’t lied!” Margaret protested.

  “You’ve not been completely honest with me, either, have you?” The incredulous look she gave him made him come away from the door. “What?”

  “You are hardly the epitome of honesty, yourself, your grace.”

  He glared at her. “Stop trying to change the subject. What were you doing with Pritchard?”

  She leaned back against the front of his desk, her arms folded over her chest. “He thought to blackmail me.”

  “About what?”

  “He said that he was there the night your cousin Farrell died, and that he witnessed you hitting your cousin with a poker and then covering up a murder.”

  “Did he, now.” Alistair released a slow breath. “And what did he want for his silence in this matter?”

  “Money, of course.” She shrugged. “Which is why he came to me.”

  “And you were going to give it to him?” His fingers curled into the palms of his hands.

  “Well, not exactly. I asked Adam—”

  He interrupted her again. “You asked your brother for money?”

  “Yes.” She studied him uncomprehendingly. “Only because I knew he could help me with this particular matter.”

  Alistair took a short turn around the room, and ended up back where he had started, facing her calm expression as his anger turned to ice.

  “Your brother should have told you to go to the devil.”

  “Why?” A small frown appeared on her forehead. “He has great faith in me and understood my plan and what I needed from him.”

  “Because…” Alistair shook his head, aware that the thought of her turning to another man, even her own brother, made him even more furious. “You should never have approached him in the first place! If you needed money, if you needed to deal with a blackmailer, you should’ve come to me! Your husband!”

  He was only aware that he was shouting when she winced.

  “I thought—”

  He pointed his finger at her. “You damn well did not think. What if he’d taken the money and a month later had come waltzing back? What would you have done then? Asked your darling Adam for more? Bled your own brother dry because you’re too much of a coward to have an honest conversation with me?”

  “No, of course not.” She blinked and looked away from him. “I’m not stupid. What would you have done if I’d told you what he was claiming?”

  “I would’ve sought him out, held him publicly accountable for his ridiculous suggestions, and made him apologize.”

  “And what if he hadn’t apologized?” Margaret asked.

  “As a man of honor, I would’ve called him out,” Alistair said.

  “And that is preferable to me tricking him?” She advanced toward him, hands on her hips “You dying in a stupid, pointless duel?”

  “I wouldn’t have died.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “You don’t know that. Mr. Pritchard isn’t exactly an honest, honorable gentleman.”

  “Nevertheless—”

  It was her turn to interrupt him. “If you had let my plan proceed, he would never have shown his face in society again.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She bit down on her lip at his contemptuous tone. “You handled this very badly, very badly, indeed. If Lady Hellion hadn’t told me about your meeting with Pritchard today—”

  Her head came up. “Lady Hellion told you?”

  “Yes.” He held her gaze. “What of it?”

  She didn’t look away, so he had the awful pleasure of seeing her eyes fill with tears.

  “Ah, of course it would be her.” She swallowed hard. “How fitting.” She opened up her reticule, and carefully placed a parcel and a letter on the desk before picking up her bonnet. “Good day, your grace.”

  “You can’t just walk away in the middle of our discussion,” Alistair protested.

  “I can if I don’t think there is anything left to say.” She gestured at the parcel and walked toward the door. “Perhaps when you have time, you will read the letter and examine the money I intended to give to Mr. Pritchard.”

  “I can do that right now while you watch,” he counter-offered, aware that she would no longer look at him and more disturbed by that than he had anticipated.

  She paused at the door, her hand on the latch. “I’m feeling rather tired. I need to go and lie down.”

  “It’s not like you to run away from a fight, Margaret.”

  She finally looked at him, and he wished she hadn’t. “No, that’s normally you, isn’t it? Or you laugh at me and expect me to forgive and forget, make light of my concerns, tease me or bed me, anything to distract me from getting close to you or upsetting you.”

  “That’s neither true nor fair.”

  She smiled. “It doesn’t matter anyway, does it? We made a marriage bargain. I promise you that in the future I will stick to it.”

  “That has nothing to do with our current disagreement,” Alistair said. “If the fact that Lady Hellion told me about your meeting disturbs you, I am sorry for it, but I’m glad she told me.”

  “Of course you are.” She nodded. “I’m sure she will be delighted when you go and give her your thanks.”

  “Why does it always have to come back to this?” Alistair demanded. “Your ridiculous fear that I am somehow still in thrall to my stepmother?”

  “Because you are!” She took a hasty step toward him. “I’ve seen you with her!”

  “Then you know how much I loathe and despise her.”

  “I’ve seen how easily she gets under your skin, how she arouses such passion in you—you who laugh and make light of everything else in the world—including me.” She forced a smile. “You loved her once; you still love her.�
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  “I bloody well do not. She taught me a good lesson,” Alistair snapped. “I don’t love anyone, and I never will.”

  Her sharp intake of breath as she turned to the door, one hand pressed to her bosom, made it look as if he had wounded her physically. He cursed himself for a fool as she fumbled for the door handle and fled.

  But what could he say?

  She’d summed up the entirety of his miserable and selfish existence quite eloquently. It also occurred to him that at no point had she ever doubted Pritchard was lying about him. He slammed the flat of his hand against the door and cursed like the lowest born soldier in his ranks.

  After a deep, steadying breath he opened the door and walked out into the hall, his gaze going upward. He had to go after her—had to reassure her that— That what? He’d misspoken? She’d seen the truth in his eyes. Nothing he could say, even though he desperately wished he could take the words back because he had started to care very deeply for her, would make any difference to his plain-speaking wife.

  The butler opened the front door and Francis appeared. He halted at the sight of Alistair standing by the stairs and scrutinized him carefully.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, of course.” Alistair advanced toward his friend. “Am I supposed to be meeting with you this afternoon?”

  “No, but I found Bottomly drinking at Whites, and from the state of him I don’t think he’ll be leaving any time soon.” He gestured at the door. “I have a hackney cab waiting. Do you want to come with me?”

  Alistair realized he was still dressed in his outdoor coat. He hastily picked up his hat and followed Francis out onto the street. If he couldn’t yet think of a way to deal with Margaret, perhaps venting his frustration on Bottomly would provide some relief.

  Margaret went up the stairs and locked both doors into her bedchamber, which would hopefully keep Lottie and Eileen out until she was ready to see them. She took off her coat and carefully laid it over the back of a chair before sitting down to remove her half boots. She noticed that Eileen had been in and left her some hot water, so she obediently washed her hands and face and then returned to sit in her chair.