by Tessa Candle
Eleanor wondered who these people were. Was Lord Benton a close friend? She noted the unimpressed faces of Rosamond and Tilly and decided he must not be.
After a few moments of stunned silence, Mr. Wells finally spoke. “Lady Fenimore, I beg your pardon for the intrusion.”
Rosamond inclined her head. “Not at all, Mr. Wells.”
Thus emboldened, Wells turned to Tilly. “Your grace, I could not help overhearing your mention of Mr. Deville, just now. You said that he is in your debt. Does this mean you know of his whereabouts?”
Lord Benton bristled and looked as though he were about to object.
But he did not go so far in his discourtesy as to interrupt a duchess, when Tilly replied with admirable smoothness, “Delville? Oh no, I was saying that the devil was in my debt. It is an old expression. Have you not heard it before?”
“I have not.” Wells’ reply was matter-of-fact.
“I believe that I have.” Lord Benton perked up. “Yes, I am quite certain. Very ancient saying.”
“I only ask, because it has reached my ear that Mr. Delville is alive and well and in residence here at Fenimore.” Wells still looked hopeful. “That is the reason for my visit.”
Rosamond sighed sadly. “I have heard of these odd rumours. If only they were true, I should be happy to play host to my cousin—or even merely to know him, for he passed while I was but a youngster. However, I am afraid that is not possible, and I wonder at the sort of people who make up such stories. Have they no respect, neither for the sanctity of the dead, nor for the feelings of the living?”
It was an admirable drama of the grieved relative. Eleanor forced herself to look solemn.
Frobisher arrived and went straight to greeting the visitors. “Good day, Wells, Benton, Tilly. I can imagine why you have popped by, Tilly.” The two exchanged smiles, then Frobisher returned to his two male guests. “But I wonder to what I owe the pleasure of your call at Fenimore?”
“Put concisely, I have heard that the rightful heir of Pallensley, Mr. Delville, was in residence here. I am come to enquire if this rumour were true.”
Benton’s face was sour, and he asserted himself in a loud voice. “And I am come to witness the repudiation of this ridiculous bit of humbug. For everyone knows that Delville is departed, and that I am the rightful heir to the Pallensley duchy.”
Eleanor finally put it together. Lord Benton was some relation to Delville, and the next in line to become a duke—so long as Delville was dead. But did that not mean Benton was also Rosamond’s relative, however distant? Where had he been all those years when Lord Screwe was trying to murder Rosamond? Minding his own interests, it would seem. Oh, he could rouse himself to call upon Rosamond now, when a duchy was at stake, but had no interest at all in putting himself out to assist her when she was a young orphan in dire need.
She contrasted Benton with Delville, who had taken great pains to rescue a child who was not even a relative. Eleanor did not think she was biased in finding Delville much more worthy to become a duke than this selfish, loud and arrogant interloper.
“Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, Wells, and even sorrier to oblige you, Benton—that is to say, because I should of course prefer to have my old friend alive and here with me—but he is not here. And if he were alive, do you not think he would be the first to come forward and claim his place in the Pallensley line?”
Wells did not look as satisfied with this reply as Benton did, but remained quiet. One did not lightly contradict or cross-question a marquess in his own parlour.
Frobisher continued with good humour, “But as you are both here, may I offer you some wine and biscuits?”
“I thank you, Lord Fenimore.” Benton walked with him to the sideboard, and boomed out in a resonant baritone, “I should be most grateful for a glass, so I may raise it in a toast to finding that the rightful duke of Pallensley is me.” He received his drink and raised it to himself. “Now, Wells, perhaps you can stop shilly-shallying and get on with giving me my duchy.”
As he was saying this, Lord Laurentian and Miss Fitzpatrick were announced, and a brief period of mayhem ensued as introductions were made and the requisite polite nothings were exchanged.
Eleanor noted how attentive and wide-eyed Miss Fitzpatrick was around Benton. Had she overheard his claims to be a duke? As the call continued, she watched the two carefully. Miss Fitzpatrick laughed at anything Benton said that approached wit, and looked deeply impressed at several things that were mere arrogant stupidity. Eleanor experienced the strange comingling of amusement and disgust that Tilly had earlier described. What a mingle-mangle. Eleanor almost felt sorry for Auchdun and hoped this little episode would not harm his chances of successfully securing Miss Fitzpatrick.
As much as she wished for Delville’s return, she was glad he was far away from this mess. If Mr. Wells could corner him and make him a duke right before the eyes of Miss Fitzpatrick, he would be lost to Eleanor forever. She gasped at the thought. Such foolishness. She had no aspirations where Delville was concerned. She was quite happy to live out her days as a spinster.
Eleanor pushed these thoughts aside and glanced at the door, halfway expecting another set of callers to insert themselves into the bedlam of the parlour. But no one arrived.
Mr. Wells sidled up to Tilly and loudly expressed his intention of staying in the area to make a more thorough research into the Delville case. He seemed about to start a campaign of winkling information out of her, but Tilly interrupted his scheme, and the entire visit, by declaring that she had stayed longer than was polite, and intended to return to Blackwood.
Eleanor quietly blessed Tilly for this relief. Everyone would be forced to take their leave after a duchess had made such a declaration. She would finally get some peace.
“However,” Tilly’s smile was saccharine, but a twinkle of mischief animated her eye, “I hope Mr. Wells and Lord Benton will come dine with us at Blackwood this evening. Indeed, I should be happy to have you both stay at Blackwood, so long as you remain in the neighbourhood.”
This generosity apparently pleased both gentlemen, and the company began to quit the parlour en masse, with more decorum than had been practiced upon their entry.
Eleanor was grateful for the sudden quiet, but she could not be entirely calm, knowing that Tilly must be plotting something. She could think of no other reason for the duchess to make her house the site of such an odious assembly of company.
Chapter 24
Delville rolled along the shadowy street, staring gloomily out of the carriage window. The day had been another fruitless search for the new location of Red Martha’s strong box. It irked him that, in opting to save his informant and his friend’s daughter, he had lost his chance to secure what he knew must have been a collection of incriminating evidence.
He signalled the driver to stop and climbed out to walk the remaining few blocks to his own flat, as was his habit. At least the filet of sole upon which he had dined had been perfectly succulent and walking off dinner on one of the few dry nights he would see in London was some small consolation for the otherwise useless day.
He had gone several times to the flat from which he had seen Beatty and Hop remove the locked box, but it remained empty. Today all hope was lost when he returned to find that the property had sold, and a widow was now installing her meagre furniture there. Red Martha had clearly sorted out that she had been betrayed. Delville hoped Lucy Delight was now well-hidden in Calais.
As he approached the staircase to his flat, Delville spied his battered door gaping open.
Cursing under his breath, he pretended to walk past the building, loitering in a shadow a few doors down. He could hear two men talking inside and knocking things about, but could not make out their words. A crash which must have been his wardrobe being upended notified him that the yahoos were being thorough.
It was disturbing that he had been found out so quickly. Apparently his Mr. Dee cover was completely useless now, but there was
nothing for Red Martha to uncover in his flat, for he was in the habitual practice of keeping anything important well-hidden in certain secret locations, or else on his person. He was not terribly worried, but he sighed sadly as the first few drops of an evening rain fell on his head.
So much for a dry evening. It would be nice to be able to step inside and have a warm cup of tea. For that matter, it would be nice to be in possession of a change of clothes for more than three days together. He would have to leave it all behind now that his place had been invaded. Perhaps he had been too quick to dismiss the domestic comforts of establishing one’s own household.
He kicked a rock. He would have to come up with a new identity, now, anyway. Why not just have done with the whole thing and start afresh as himself? He had passed all his intelligence on to the home office—why not retire and let them worry about Red Martha?
Delville casually meandered closer to the flat to see if he might overhear anything. The occasional curse word issued from the entrance, but all else was muffled grumblings.
A few items of china hurtled through the door and crashed on the staircase. He supposed he might get out of London for a while. But to where? Fennimore was out, of course. It was too close to Blackwood where Miss Fitzpatrick was now staying. He would have to wait until he read a wedding announcement before he could return there.
And yet, he so longed to see Eleanor again. He corrected himself, this was not about Miss Dawling at all. But he did need to make sure the prisoner was still safely secured, and see what might be done about handing him over to the authorities.
Screwe would have a pretty tale to tell, but if Delville was cautious when he moved him, he would have no idea where he was being held, or who his captor was, so who would listen? Especially when Screwe had been so long in breach of the bond for his own charges. It would all sound like a conveniently made up story.
Just then the men emerged from the flat. He sunk further into the shadows and watched the two henchmen leave. He recognized Beatty, who was tucking a letter into his pocket.
Delville paled. Had he received a letter? Of course not. No one had his address except a couple of tradesmen. He let out a breath as he recalled his new clothes. That must be it. It was the bill from the tailor. Well, much good that might do Red Martha.
But Delville would make a point of dropping in at the shop and paying his bill before he left London. He needed to get back to Fenimore and clean up his mess, no matter the risk of encountering Miss Fitzpatrick. He could stay away from the manor. Frobisher’s cave would suffice as a hiding place for a few days.
He might even pop by the main house to see if he could catch Miss Dawling alone. It was a shame he would not get to see Persephone. Were she and Miss Dawling becoming friends? It was a comforting thought.
Chapter 25
Mr. Wells and Lord Benton proved to be relentlessly persistent invaders. Wells made free to check in at Fenimore every day to see if he might catch sight of Delville. Benton followed Mr. Wells wherever he went, decrying the possibility that Delville was alive, and insisting upon being awarded his dukedom.
This travelling theatre of the absurd might have merely amused Eleanor, if it had not made her nervous about going out in the morning to attend the prisoner. When Miss Fitzpatrick and Lord Laurentian began calling, no doubt in the hope of running into Lord Benton, Eleanor grew irritated.
The endless parade of nosey guests made visits to the cave far too risky. She had left extra helpings of everything two days prior, so that she might leave the prisoner alone for a day, as Miss Fitzpatrick had promised to make a morning call yesterday. But Mr. Wells’ promise to call early this morning had made Eleanor further delay in returning to the cave.
Eleanor felt anxious and guilty, but assuaged her conscience with the assurance that she would go in the late morning after everyone left. She did not like it, for it meant going at a time of day that she was more likely to be spied with her stash of provisions, but it could not be helped. Being caught by Frobisher or Rosamond was greatly preferable to a discovery by these self-interested strangers.
Eleanor wished Frobisher would send Mr. Wells packing, and Rosamond would declare herself not at home. But, alas, her hosts were far too kind to snub anyone who did not sorely deserve it.
So in the interest of preserving her sanity, Eleanor decided to hide herself. She dressed warmly, and sought out a grassy spot near an elm in the back garden. Perhaps the fur cape was not entirely necessary, but she did not wish to be forced to return indoors by a chill, and risk being drawn into entertaining the callers.
The birds were singing spring songs, and the few early flowers poking their faces through the grass were charming. She settled in to read in relative comfort and pretend that the tranquillity of Fenimore was not about to be shattered by more unwanted callers.
“Do you always move your lips when you read?”
Eleanor’s head snapped around and she was rewarded with a display of gleaming teeth exposed in a mocking smile.
“Delville!” Eleanor sprang to her feet. He was back and safe! And yet he should not be here. Indeed this was one of the worst moments for his return, with both Wells and Miss Fitzpatrick dropping in whenever they liked. She gestured for him to join her behind the elm and lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “You must get away from here at once!”
When he joined her behind the tree, he cocked his head and leaned in closer than was necessary for her to hear his low utterance. “Do not hide your feelings, Miss Dawling. I missed you too.”
The flush she felt creeping into her cheeks was supremely irritating, especially as this rakish comment was made in such a mocking tone. She huffed. “Do be serious, now. Wells will be calling at any moment. I assume you do not wish to be discovered by him.”
Delville shrugged and gave her a more serious look, as though he were searching her face, her eyes for something. “I have come to the conclusion that becoming a duke might suit me after all. Settling down seems more appealing of late.”
Was he talking about settling down with Miss Fitzpatrick? Eleanor forced her jaw to unclench. “I suppose that would facilitate caring for a little girl much better than a life bouncing around in the shadows, pretending to be someone else.”
He smiled at her then—a true smile, not a snide grin—and her heart fluttered. But was the smile for her, or was he thinking of his fiancée? She was pretty enough, but Eleanor could not understand what he ever could have found appealing in that young woman.
He leaned in closer. “So you have met her? How is she getting on? What do you think of her? Shall you two be friends, do you think?”
Eleanor did not know what to say to this. On the one hand, it was flattering that he cared what she thought about his fiancée, on the other, the woman was a perfect horror. She could never make Delville happy. But was it Eleanor’s place to say so? Eleanor was better at half-truths that were biting, rather than diplomatic.
“Um... she is…very pretty. And I believe she gets on quite well.” Chasing after at least two other men seemed to agree with the minx, but Eleanor could hardly say that. “I must be honest and say that I do not think that she and I will be friends, but I did make an effort, I assure you.”
His face clouded over. “I had hoped that you two would bond. Perhaps she merely needs some time to adapt. I am sure she is not at her best. She has been through a lot, what with losing her parents and having relatives that only want to siphon off her inheritance for themselves.”
Well, Eleanor had not known Miss Fitzpatrick was an heiress to any fortune. But certainly losing a parent was hard. Eleanor, herself, missed her mother every day. However, Miss Fitzpatrick had been an orphan for a rather long time—certainly since before she and Delville had become engaged. He must be really in love if he was scraping that far back for an excuse. This change in Delville’s outlook—toward his fiancée and toward settling down—was rather sudden.
Eleanor found it perplexing. “I am sure Miss Fitzpatrick h
as had many hardships to endure, but, forgive me for asking, what has brought about the change in your opinion of her? For you did not seem terribly keen about seeing her, when last you were here.”
Eleanor hoped it was not merely a case of his discovering her inheritance. She did not like his marrying Miss Fitzpatrick. The woman was simply unworthy of him. However, Eleanor did not wish to think ill of Delville’s motives. She would prefer that he was merely deluded, rather than avaricious.
He gave her a puzzled look. “Miss Fitzpatrick? What has she to do with anything?”
“Was that not who you were enquiring about just now?”
“Hardly! Whatever gave you that idea? Of course you are not friendly with Miss Fitzpatrick—she is a nasty little snake in the grass. I was referring to Persephone. How does she get on?” His face showed that he was as relieved as Eleanor was to discover the mistake.
Of course he was thinking of the little girl! What was wrong with Eleanor’s brain? She did not pause to analyse the surge of relief that the discovery of this error brought on. “Ah yes, of course. She is doing well, I think. I would not see much of her, if I were not giving her French lessons, for she takes her studies very seriously. However, I think we will get on well, once she has settled in and lets down her guard. Even now there is much to like about her, for she is polite, thoughtful, and intelligent.”
Delville beamed at her in a way Eleanor had never seen him do before. Her heart filled with a golden light. He really was a good man.
His expression returned to a look of worry. “But does she hide away, then? Do you think she is troubled?”
His open solicitude for the child was disarming. Delville had clearly been hiding much more than his true name. Eleanor chuckled and shook her head at him. “She is well. We have been keeping her tucked away from the company, as per your instructions. However she has been enjoying a bit of fishing, and now that she has a governess, she applies herself to her lessons in the daytime and to learning to play cards and general etiquette in the evening. I am sure she is recovering from her ordeal, and only occasionally looks over her shoulder in a way that makes me think she has not yet entirely forgotten her troubles. But we must allow her some time.”