“You thought I was lying to you. Because that is what we men do? Is that it?” His tone was curious, but underlying it Cecily heard a note of bitterness.
Before she could respond, he went on.
“Miss Hurston, whether you believe me or not I must needs inform you that when I remark upon your appearance, I do indeed mean it. You are quite a pretty girl. You have the sort of figure that men enjoy looking at. Surely that lot of preening peacocks who have surrounded you for the past several days have intimated as much.”
“Oh, they do not mean their compliments, either.” Cecily waved a hand to dismiss the notion, forgetting for a moment that she was terrified at being so high up off the ground.
“They have simply taken me up as their newest fashion because they saw me dancing with a couple of smart young gentlemen at the Bewle ball,” she explained. “I believe they see me as something out of the common way and are diverted by the novelty of conversing with a sensible creature for a change. They certainly are not doing so because they find me attractive. I am an Ugly Duckling, after all.”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Hurston,” he replied, shaking his head as if in sorrow for what he was about to say. “But as a gentleman … as a man,” he corrected himself, “let me be the first to inform you that you are utterly, splendidly wrong.”
“So you would deny the fact that my cousins and I have for the past three seasons been known as the Ugly Ducklings?” she asked. “You, sir, are mad.”
“Oh, I do not dispute that silly nickname that’s been inflicted upon the three of you for so many years. I simply am informing you that as a man, I know what men hold up as standards of feminine beauty, and you, my dear, are dam … er … dashed close to the ideal.”
He turned to look fully at her. Meeting her eyes in a manner that sent a thrill of excitement down her spine.
“This is a most improper conversation, Your Grace,” she said, for once falling back on the social niceties that she normally found so annoying.
Lucas laughed, his full, rich baritone sending another shiver down the same path as the last one.
“My dear Miss Hurston,” he said, a wicked grin bringing forth the dimples she’d found so enticing on the day they met. “I thought never to hear you accuse anyone of impropriety. I must have become very scandalous indeed.”
“Perhaps not scandalous,” she offered, unwilling to be thought overly prim, “but definitely less than absolutely proper.”
He grunted. “Then pray accept my apologies for offending your delicate sensibilities. Do, however, know that despite your despicable nickname, you are quite fetching when you choose to be. Indeed, I have heard more than one gentleman remark upon it.”
“Oh—”
“No, no,” he interrupted. “It is quite true, I assure you. And also remember that the proper response when a gentleman gives one a compliment is a simple thank-you. Anything else smacks of false modesty. Something I am all too sure you would not wish to be accused of.”
Cecily shook her head in disbelief. She wondered briefly what her cousins would have to say to such a notion. She was well aware that she was no beauty, no matter what the Duke of Winterson said. Still, she found his indignation on her part to be comforting.
“Then I suppose I should say ‘thank you,’ Your Grace, for your pretty compliments,” she said, still bemused by his words.
“You are quite welcome, Miss Hurston,” he responded, with exaggerated courtesy. “There, now. That was not so difficult, was it?”
“I suppose not,” she allowed, still reluctant to believe him. “But I take leave to tell you, Your Grace, that you are a most peculiar man.”
“I shall take that as a compliment.”
* * *
To Lucas’s surprise, after being ushered into Number 6 Bedford Square by a very proper butler, they were shown into a room that could only be described as extraordinary. There was, in fact, nothing whatsoever ordinary about Neddy Entwhistle’s drawing room.
The walls were draped with brightly colored fabrics in exotic patterns, the reds and purples and golds giving the room a richness and a warmth that was unlike any respectable home he’d ever been in.
Every stick of furniture, every bit of open wall space, every surface was occupied by what he could only presume were mementos and keepsakes from Neddy’s travels. Carvings, statues, bits of pottery, elaborately designed boxes—even, he was fascinated to observe, a stuffed monkey wearing a small cap. The chamber was like a museum of sorts, with a small, pantaloon-clad woman presiding over the whole affair from a pile of silken pillows, the makeshift bower draped tentlike with yet more colorful fabric.
“The Duke of Winterson, and Miss Hurston,” the butler announced them, just as if it were a proper drawing room in a proper English home.
The odd little woman took a last puff from the hookah in her hand, and rose from the floor, her movements languid, as if she were moving through water.
“Cecily, my dear,” she said warmly, embracing Miss Hurston, “how lovely to see you. And who is this elegant gentleman? Never say you have succumbed to the pressures of convention and become betrothed!”
“Goodness, no.” Cecily laughed. “Neddy, please allow me to introduce the Duke of Winterson. Your Grace, may I present Lady Nedra Entwhistle?”
This fey creature was Neddy Entwhistle? Winterson fought to control his astonishment. But Cecily’s next words brought him back to the real reason for their presence in Lady Entwhistle’s home.
“He is the elder brother of Mr. William Dalton.”
A shadow crossed the tiny lady’s countenance at the words.
“Oh, how very sorry I am for your family, dear man,” she said with some feeling. Grasping his hands with the familiarity of an old friend, she continued. “William was a dear, dear boy and his loss was felt keenly by all of us on the expedition with him.”
“Thank you, Lady Entwhistle,” Lucas said with a small bow. “It is heartening to hear you say so. Though I would remind you that there is nothing to lead me to believe that my brother should be spoken of in the past tense.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” she said, her expression contrite. “Of course, you are correct. We have no confirmation of anything, have we?”
Turning to ring the bellpull, she said, “Let me offer you both some refreshment.” Facing them again, she gestured for her guests to be seated on the pillows.
“Wilton,” she said to the butler, “fetch us some tea, please. And some of those ginger biscuits, if there are any left.”
She turned back to Cecily and Lucas, who had carefully lowered themselves to the floor onto the cushions. It was difficult for him with his leg injury, but he doubted the pain was any worse than the deprivation his brother had endured in the Egyptian desert.
“I’m afraid that when I am in town,” Neddy was saying, “I am apt to overindulge in those vices unavailable to me in the course of my travels. Ginger biscuits most especially.”
When Neddy had resumed her seat on the floor, Cecily broke the silence.
“Neddy,” she began, “we have come with ulterior motives, I’m afraid. His Grace is in search of any clues or suggestions you might have regarding William’s disappearance.”
“I have, of course, dispatched an investigator to look for my brother in Alexandria and Cairo,” Lucas interjected, “but until I have word back from him, I am conducting an investigation of my own.”
Lady Entwhistle nodded. “As any man of sense would do,” she said approvingly.
They were interrupted by the arrival of Wilton with the tea, and for a few moments they were occupied with the ritual associated with the drink.
“I am not sure what help I can be to you,” Lady Entwhistle said, after they had all been served. “I spent a good deal of the expedition dealing with the transport of our finds from the excavation site back to Lord Hurston’s warehouse in Cairo.”
“But you were there,” Lucas said. “Even small details will be much appreciated.”
“I’m afraid I have very little to tell you, however, Your Grace.” Lady Entwhistle would not meet their eyes. Lucas was certain she was hiding something.
Cecily must have thought so too, for she reached out to grasp the older woman’s hand and said, “Neddy, I know you would do anything to protect me, but if there is something you can tell us … even something that might portray Papa in a less than flattering light…”
Cecily paused, letting her words sink in. “I am well aware that Papa is no saint. Please tell us what you know.”
Lady Entwhistle met Cecily’s gaze with the hint of a rueful smile. “You always were more perceptive than your father gave you credit for,” she said fondly.
Squaring her shoulders, she went on. “There is something, but Cecily, I’m afraid it will be more than just unflattering to your father.”
Lucas turned to Cecily, gauging her response, praying she would be willing to hear what the other woman had to say. To his relief, she gave him a reassuring nod.
“I am willing to hear it,” she said.
Lady Entwhistle nodded. “Very well, then, my dear.” Her gaze was troubled as she continued. “For the two weeks preceding William’s disappearance, he and your father were engaged in a rather heated argument over how the artifacts unearthed during the excavation were to be disbursed once they were brought back to London.”
“But I assumed that everything would go to the Egyptian Club just like everything else?” Cecily said, her brow furrowed.
“That was true for all the things your father himself discovered,” Neddy agreed, “but the largest cache of treasures found up to that point in the dig were uncovered not by your father, but by William, who had decided that he wished for the artifacts to remain in the country where they were found. He’d even spoken with a gentleman in Cairo who planned to open a museum there that would rival the British Museum with its splendor.”
This was new, Lucas thought, listening with growing unease. Such idealism sounded just like Will. They had often been at loggerheads over their differing perspectives on human nature. Whereas Lucas was a realist, with a healthy skepticism of his fellow man’s motives and an eye out for practical consideration, William had ever been an idealist, his actions influenced by what he thought conditions should be rather than what they actually were. Had his reluctance to betray his own moral code led to his death or injury?
“But surely, as Father’s secretary,” Cecily said thoughtfully, “William cannot have done something so contrary to Papa’s wishes without losing his post. I know my father can be indulgent at times, but he wouldn’t countenance such subordination for very long.”
“Oh, by that point William had quit your father’s employ and struck out on his own.”
Neddy’s pronouncement was met with astonishment.
“How did my brother stay on with the expedition then?” Lucas did nothing to hide the incredulity in his voice. If Will had left Hurston’s employment, this was the first he’d heard of it. He made a mental note to question other members of the expedition so that they might verify her story.
“Your brother and Lord Hurston reached an agreement, Your Grace,” Lady Entwhistle said. “Though Lord Hurston was not best pleased with Mr. Dalton’s perspective, he was still in need of a secretary. And Mr. Dalton was so proficient at recording their finds, even while he himself was participating in the excavation, that Lord Hurston agreed to keep him on. Though they both agreed that insofar as their hunt for artifacts went, they were nothing more than fellow explorers. Once they returned to London, Mr. Dalton’s employment with Lord Hurston would be at an end.”
“Extraordinary.” Cecily shook her head in disbelief at Neddy’s story. “I cannot imagine my father agreeing to such a thing.”
“I was shocked as well, you may be certain,” Lady Entwhistle replied. “I have never known your father to be so accommodating. But he was so desperate to finish the excavation before the French team we’d met in Cairo learned of the dig’s location that he was willing to put his uneasiness about Mr. Dalton aside.”
“Yes,” Cecily agreed. “Papa is nothing if not competitive.”
“But how does this conflict between my brother and Lord Hurston reflect on my brother’s disappearance?” Lucas knew there must be something more to it than what Lady Entwhistle had told them.
The frown that crossed the lady’s face confirmed his suspicion.
“On the evening before William went missing, he and Lord Hurston had a particularly explosive falling-out. William had informed us at supper that he was donating the extraordinary death mask he’d unearthed earlier that day to his friend with the plan for an Egyptian museum. Hurston was furious, of course. I’d seen his eyes when Dalton showed us his find. He wanted that mask for the Egyptian Club. We all knew it.
“Dalton, of course, would hear nothing of Lord Hurston’s protests. He held firm to his notion that whatever treasures we found should remain in the country of their origin. They fought over the piece like two dogs after the same bone. I’m afraid Lord Hurston made certain threats regarding Mr. Dalton’s future in both the ton and the world of Egyptian exploration, vowing that he would never be able to find another position again.”
She paused. “Your brother was angry, Your Grace. But when Lord Hurston threatened his livelihood, his face lost all its color. I don’t really think it occurred to him before that moment that crossing Lord Hurston would be quite so dangerous.”
Though Lucas had encouraged his brother to accept an allowance from him when he inherited the dukedom, Will had been adamant about making his own way. Was he really so hell-bent on self-sufficiency that he’d face the loss of his position as if Lucas had never offered him an income in the first place? It was hard to believe, but if there was another man in the world who was more pigheaded, Lucas had yet to meet him. Then again, the loss of his position might not have been so alarming as the loss of his entrée into the world of Egyptian exploration. Lucas knew that his brother had fallen in love with the land of the pharaohs, and perhaps that was what had so unsettled him about Lord Hurston’s threats.
“When Lord Hurston alerted the camp later,” Neddy continued, her eyes shrouded with concern, “that his dueling pistols were missing, well, it did nothing to settle our nerves. Mr. Dalton had stalked off in an angry huff a few hours before, and I think we all suspected he was the one who had taken the pistols, though no one would admit to it aloud.”
It made Lucas cringe to think of his baby brother as the subject of such fear, and he had to stop himself from hotly denying the older woman’s concern. But he supposed things were different when one was deep in the desert with only one’s fellow excavators to rely on.
Unaware of the duke’s defensiveness on the part of his brother, Neddy continued her story. “We all retired that night with both the quarrel and the missing pistols on our minds.” She shook her head at the memory. “I woke up for every little sound, convinced that someone was going to be shot before the night was through.”
“But when dawn came and Mr. Dalton and the death mask were missing…” she continued, “well, I feel sure I’m not the only one who wondered if your brother had simply taken the mask and the pistols and run back to Cairo. One of the pack ponies was missing as well, so it wasn’t out of the question.”
“When did you decide he had not simply returned to the city?” Lucas asked, his tone as hard as granite. If these people hadn’t just assumed his brother was a thief and a liar, his disappearance might not have been dismissed so easily.
“One morning a few days later I had need of Hurston’s penknife,” Neddy explained. “He was down at the dig site while I was back at camp writing a letter. I knew he kept such things in a little pouch with his things. So I ventured into his tent in search of it.”
“Did you find it?” Cecily asked.
Lady Entwhistle’s eyes gleamed with apology. “Oh, yes,” she said sadly. “I found the penknife, but I also found something else much more alarming.�
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“What was it?” Winterson bit the words out, the desire to shake the words from Neddy making him close and unclose his fists.
“I found the missing pistols,” she said with an apologetic glance at Cecily. “They were sitting there, open in their case, atop your brother’s things. All of them, including the small bag he carried with him wherever he went.” She looked from one to the other of them with a frown. “But that was not the most troubling of my discoveries.”
Lucas felt Cecily stiffen beside him. Her body was as taut as a bowstring, and he could hardly blame her. Still, when Neddy continued, he almost wanted to stop her from saying what he knew would be bad news. Just as he and Will had done when they were children in the nursery, pretending that bedtime was still hours away, he wanted now to retreat into that place where nothing mattered but banter with Cecily and the cut of his coat.
Still, just as bedtime could not be ignored, neither could Neddy’s tale, which he knew would change everything.
“The most troubling of my findings,” their hostess went on, “was the fact that your brother’s bag was covered with reddish-brown stains that could only be one thing.”
Lucas was unable to remain sitting at the words. He needed to move, to pace, even for a moment to escape the news. Ignoring the protests of his leg, he stood.
“What was it?” Cecily demanded, climbing to her feet beside him, grasping his arm as she looked from Neddy to Lucas and back again
“Blood,” Lucas said bitterly. “It was covered with my brother’s blood.”
* * *
Her attempts at conversation on the ride back to Hurston House were met with monosyllables and a clenched jaw. Cecily had grown to appreciate Lucas’s easygoing but dependable personality, so seeing him in the grips of such a dark mood was unnerving. She was accustomed to being the more solemn one in their partnership, and his bleak expression made her want nothing more than to take him in her arms and offer him the comfort he seemed to need.
When they arrived at Hurston House barely having spoken twenty words to one another, Cecily made one last attempt to draw him out as he assisted her from the phaeton.
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