One for the Rogue

by Charis Michaels

  Jocelyn went on. “I told him, ‘But this has not been my experience at all with Teddy Holt. Perhaps you are mistaken. Teddy exhibits none of this behavior, none at all. I assist in his care on a weekly basis, and he is a quiet and gentle boy who sleeps and eats and is suitably attired, just like anyone else.’ ”

  “And what did he say?” Elisabeth now rose from her chair.

  “He said . . . ” Here, Jocelyn paused, barely able to say the words. “He said, ‘Naturally the servants are paid to conceal the boy’s episodes.’ And then he said something to the effect of . . . having proof enough to lock Teddy away from ‘able-minded people and defenseless children’ forever.”

  Emmaline mouthed no, too devastated to voice the word. “But these are lies. Teddy is perfectly composed unless he’s provoked, and even then he only wishes to be left alone. He is not a bother to anyone. Why would Ticking do this? We were never anything more to him than . . . than little-known relatives who posed the smallest possible imposition. And my marriage to the late duke bathed the lot of them in money. They live in Portman Square now because of me. Why?”

  Jocelyn shook her head. “The doctor stood by and studied Teddy with an interest that bordered on salacious. I could not bear the look, and the duke would not hear my protestations. This is when I took Teddy by the hand, and we ran. Sewell has just now let us in.” She looked at Emmaline. “I’m so sorry, Emma.”

  The viscountess shook her head mutely, back and forth, back and forth.

  Elisabeth reached out and grabbed Jocelyn’s hand. “You’ve done everything exactly right. You handled it far better than I would have done. She looked at the viscountess. “Deep breaths, Emmaline. That’s right. Take a moment to be duly outraged, and then let us work out a plan.”

  Emmaline continued to shake her head. “But why produce a doctor? If what Jocelyn says is true, he’s brought this man up from Surrey, just to hound us.”

  Jocelyn said, “They made no move to apprehend Teddy from me, but there was something about him. I believe that if Teddy had been unattended in the park, they would have snatched him up and taken him.”

  “Of this I have no doubt, but why?” Emmaline repeated, throwing her hands in the air. “Ticking will gain none of Teddy’s inheritance, even if he was locked away. Why would he do this?”

  Just then, Sewell stepped into the room and said, “His Grace the Duke of Ticking to see you, my lady.” All eyes swung to the butler.

  “His Grace is here?” asked Bryson Courtland.

  “Indeed,” said Sewell. “He is accompanied by a man he identified as a doctor and a Runner from Bow Street. Should I tell them . . . ”

  He let the sentence trail off and looked first to the viscount, then Emmaline, and then to Mr. Courtland. The authority of the house was uncertain, and even Sewell was lost.

  Elisabeth spoke first. “Show them nowhere. They may remain in the entryway. We will attend them there. Thank you, Sewell.”

  “A Bow Street Runner,” repeated Emmaline, starting for the door. “But have they come to arrest my brother?” She looked back at her husband who stood, motionless, behind his chair.

  She stopped. She held out her hand. “Beau? Will you come?”

  The viscount stared at her, hesitating. His gaze dropped to her hand. He did not move.

  Oh, no, thought Jocelyn, looking away.

  Bryson opened his mouth to speak, but Elisabeth took him by the arm and pulled him from the room.

  Emmaline made a strangled noise, the sound of frustration and despair.

  The viscount remained unmoving and silent.

  Jocelyn closed her eyes, miserable for Emma, worried for Teddy. She slipped from the room. In the hallway, Elisabeth and Mr. Courtland whispered fiercely. She was trapped by silence behind her and rising voices before, and she hovered in between.

  At last, Emmaline emerged from the dining room.

  Jocelyn looked up.

  Thank God, the viscount was at her side.

  The five of them exchanged looks but said nothing. In a grim line, they proceeded to the doorway that would admit them to the duke. Ticking’s voice could be heard making some proclamation. There were other voices, too—affirmations, a cough.

  Mr. Courtland turned to Rainsleigh, but the viscount looked away. Emmaline closed her eyes. Elisabeth and Mr. Courtland exchanged glances, and then his wife gave him a shrug and slight nod. The elder Courtland sighed, adjusted the lapels of his coat, and led them in.

  “Here they are,” said the Duke of Ticking. He stood beneath the chandelier in the center of the entryway, tapping his gloves against his palm. “You see, sir, how my father’s widow seeks refuge among indulgent friends, just as I’ve said? They harbor her in this opulent house, employing wealth to conceal the lunatic.”

  “How do you do?” said this man to the Courtlands. He wore the blue jacket of a Bow Street Runner and juggled a pen and packet of papers. Jocelyn had not seen him in the park with the duke and doctor.

  Ticking ignored his greeting and continued. “They encourage the reckless, irresponsible care she takes with her brother. And when his temper is too much for her, they work together to disguise the dangers to the innocent and able-minded.”

  The blue-coated man had begun to scribble notes on paper. “Before we explore danger to the innocent and able-minded, Your Grace, I shall require everyone’s name and places of address.”

  The duke wasn’t finished. “But how much does she pay them to assist her with her brother, and for how long can they safely contain him? These are the questions one must ask.”

  Jocelyn turned to her friends. Emmaline had gone white. Her mouth hung open in shock, and Elisabeth took hold of her arm. Mr. Courtland looked from the women to his brother. The viscount’s eyes were narrowed, and he looked to be moments from launching himself at the duke.

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” said Bryson Courtland quickly. “I propose that we begin again.” He looked to the man with pen and paper. “If you please, identify yourself, sir.” To the duke, he said, “You and I are acquainted, but I should like to know the meaning of this intrusion. By whose leave do you enter this house and spew accusations?”

  “By whose leave?” said Ticking. “By the law of this land. Can you not see that I have brought an agent of the magistrate’s office in Bow Street? Will you now pretend not to know of the attack on my son?”

  Emmaline let out a noise of desperation, but Bryson Courtland spoke again. “I make no pretense, I assure you. And I can see very plainly, Your Grace, but I have not been made privy to who or why or even what. I will ask once more. Introduce your colleagues and plainly state your business. You alarm the ladies, you irritate me, and my brother looks to be a heartbeat from launching himself at the lot of you.”

  “Threaten me, will you?” said the duke. “You have very little room to accuse, sir.”

  “I will accuse you of interrupting my breakfast, if nothing else. What do you want?”

  “Perhaps if you’ll allow me, Your Grace,” said the man in the blue coat.

  “Yes, yes, what are you waiting for?” said the duke. “These people are impervious to reason. Just what you would expect from a family that harbors a lunatic.”

  Viscount Rainsleigh made a growling noise, but the officer cut him off and introduced himself as Agent Matthew Roe of Bow Street. The other man was identified as Dr. Gene Vickery of Surrey. Mr. Courtland nodded and, in the most measured tone, introduced all of the Courtlands and Jocelyn Breedlowe.

  “But what can we do for you, Agent Roe?” he finished.

  “Investigation,” Mr. Roe replied, gazing down at his papers. “I’ve the charge of an assault, allegedly perpetrated by one Theodore Holt, aged nineteen. I understand he resides in this house.”

  “But Theodore Holt is my brother, Teddy,” said Emmaline. “And I assure you, he has assaulted no one.”

  The officer studied her and then made a notation. “So you say. I assure you, Lady . . . Rainsleigh, is it? Ah, yes, Lady Rains
leigh. I assure you that I have been dispatched by the magistrate in Bow Street to determine just that.”

  “But assaulted whom?” asked Emmaline.

  The officer consulted the papers again. “The Lord Orin Crumbley, son to the Duke of Ticking.” He looked up. “But the victim does not reside here; is that correct?”

  “As I explained in detail to the magistrate”—Ticking gritted out the words—“my son is convalescing at home. I’ve summoned you here because here is where the lunatic resides. It is from here that you should haul him away. I’ve brought Dr. Vickery so that he may vouch for the boy’s mental vexation. It is to Dr. Vickery’s asylum that I hope the law will convey the boy.”

  Emmaline cried out now and began to quietly sob.

  The viscount said, “If you lay one hand on the boy—”

  Bryson Courtland cut him off. “So a charge has been filed? May I see it?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Mr. Roe. “Forgive me. Your copy is here.” He extended the paper.

  Bryson looked at his brother.

  The viscount made no move to take it.

  Emmaline began to raise her hand for it, but Mr. Courtland stepped forward, smiled gently to her, and took the papers up.

  Mr. Roe went on. “In view of the Duke of Ticking’s charge, I will be carrying out a full investigation. I should like to begin with the victim, Your Grace, as is customary. But since this was the address you provided, I might as well make myself known to the accused and apprise him of his rights.”

  “No,” said Emmaline tearfully. “No, you might as well not. I am responsible for Theodore Holt, sir, and these accusations are but lies. My brother is not a madman. His brain is affected, yes, but it is the brain of a harmless child. He cannot understand legal charges, especially if they are fabricated. The duke terrifies him, and I shall never, ever allow him to be examined by this . . . doctor. Furthermore—”

  Bryson Courtland cut her off. “I think the less we say, Emmaline, the better. Until you’ve spoken to legal counsel.”

  “You see how her friends protect her?” said he duke.

  Mr. Courtland ignored him. “The charge is serious but, clearly, false.” He waved the papers in the air. “It claims Teddy launched himself at the duke’s son, chased him with a fireplace poker, and gouged him in the eye.”

  “But this is preposterous,” said Emmaline.

  “Quite,” said Mr. Courtland thoughtfully. He looked at the officer. “Is the viscountess required by law to produce her brother at this moment?”

  “Yes!” said the duke in the same moment Mr. Roe said, “Not necessarily. As I said, I typically begin an investigation with the victim. I can return to Mr. Holt presently. Likely, I will return several times.”

  “Very good,” said Mr. Courtland. “This will allow the viscountess to explain the situation to the boy. You’ll appreciate that this is the first we’ve heard of the charges against him. The Viscountess of Rainsleigh only departed from the duke’s household yesterday, and we knew nothing of his son’s injury then.” He motioned to Sewell to open the door.

  The duke was shaking his head. “We will not wait. The more time passes, the better she may coach the lunatic into respectability.” He glared at Mr. Roe. “I bade your office dispatch you here so you might witness the boy in his wild, unfettered state. This is the entire purpose of your call, sir. By my word, Dr. Vickery and I just happened upon him in Cavendish Square this morning, and he veritably swung from the treetops. Didn’t he, Dr. Vickery?”

  “Quite so,” confirmed the doctor.

  “That is a lie,” said Jocelyn, surprising herself. “Teddy and I fed the birds and exchanged not five sentences with His Grace and his . . . associate. We were—”

  She was cut off by the sound of voices down the hallway. Laughter. A boast. A male voice singing two bars of a jig. More laughter.

  It was Stoker, Joseph, and Teddy, clattering in from the mews. There was a bark. The viscount’s dog. Jocelyn shut her eyes. Why hadn’t she bade Sewell to confine the boys outside?

  The voices grew nearer, not five feet from the door. More barking.

  “Teddy!” Emmaline called frantically.

  “Malie,” came the answer.

  “Teddy, darling, I’ve just—”

  Mr. Courtland cleared his throat loudly, cutting her off. He gave another very slight, very fast jerk of his head. No.

  Emmaline fell silent, and the three boys walked into the hallway, the dog at their heels.

  “Oh, hello,” said Joseph on a laugh. “Forgive our intrusion. We weren’t aware of callers.”

  No one spoke, and Joseph and Stoker looked slowly around, taking stock of the hard expressions of the men in the room, the grim faces of the ladies. Joseph studied the duke, and defensiveness crept across his face. He stepped forward with his chest out. Stoker stepped beside him. Peach let out a low, ominous growl.

  “Is everything quite all right, sir?” Joseph asked Mr. Courtland carefully.

  “You’re a good man to ask, Joe,” Mr. Courtland said. “ ’Tis nothing about which we want to concern Teddy.”

  Emmaline tried to go to her brother, but her husband held her firm.

  Bryson continued. “Mr. Roe, since the opportunity has presented itself, I should like to point out that the . . . accused, Teddy Holt, has just stepped into this room. He’s one of these three young men, actually. They are of the same general age, and family friends, all.”

  The officer studied the boys, and Mr. Courtland continued. “Two of the boys are down from university on holiday. The other is Teddy Holt. I wonder, if you had to guess, could you tell me which of the boys is suspected to be the ‘lunatic’?”

  “Well, of course he does not look like a lunatic,” said the duke.

  Mr. Roe considered the three young men and then glanced at the papers in his hand. “I cannot guess, sir. But I warn you—the investigation will not be carried out on speculation.”

  “Of course not,” said Mr. Courtland. “Nor should it. But for your information, Teddy Holt is the young man in the center. My point was to refute the duke’s claim that Teddy swings from the treetops, as it were. The truth could not be more opposite. We harbor no madman here.”

  “Yes, well, that remains to be seen, but I appreciate the introduction. You can be assured that a full investigation will follow, and I will call on this house again and speak to Theodore Holt at some length. In the end, the magistrate will likely decide.” He handed his card to Mr. Courtland. “I appreciate your cooperation in the matter. But first, I shall seek out the victim.” He raised his eyebrows at the duke. “If you would be so kind, Your Grace.”

  The duke objected to this, but Bryson nodded to Sewell again, and the door swept open to the January cold. Mr. Roe tucked his paperwork beneath his arm, nodded good-bye, and made his way into the street. Ticking and the doctor followed, calling after him. Jocelyn, along with the two couples and the three boys, were left to stare at the empty doorway. Sewell stepped up to close it with a firm click.

  For five beats, no one said a word.

  Joseph broke the silence. “What’s happened?”

  “Can we trouble you to keep an especially close eye on Teddy in coming days?” Elisabeth said. “There is some matter with Bow Street and a magistrate. We will explain later, but in the meantime, Teddy can never be left unattended. Can you do this for Lady Rainsleigh, Joseph? Stoker?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the young men assured her, looking at each other.

  Joseph said to Teddy, “Looks like you’re stuck with us now, mate.”

  Stoker was not so easily put off. “What’s been said?”

  Elisabeth shook her head. “Not in front of the boy,” she said softly. “I will tell you presently. Can you take him to the kitchen for tea, please?”

  Stoker hesitated, watching them, but Joseph called to him.

  When they were gone, Emmaline said, “I still cannot work out what Ticking has to gain from this. Why do it now?”

 
Her husband took a wide step back. “He does it because he can. He’s a bloody duke, isn’t he? His golden goose has been taken away, and this is his revenge. To hell with everybody else. It’s unconscionable, yet it happens every bloody day. No one is safe when small, spiteful men have so much power.”

  He took another step back. And another. His dog heeled at his feet.

  Emmaline watched him, her face still white, but he would not look at her.

  Mr. Courtland said, “But where was this rebuke when the duke was here? It would have provoked him, but at least you would have contributed to the exchange. You’re the ranking member of this family now, Beau. Teddy is your brother-in-law. Had you nothing to say?”

  The viscount looked from Mr. Courtland to his wife and back to his brother.

  Mr. Courtland tried again. “I have the charges here.” He held out the paper. “Take it.”

  The viscount shook his head and took another step back. And another. His dog barked.

  “Beau,” called Mr. Courtland. “Do not think of leaving.”

  Beau Courtland answered him with footsteps. He turned and walked down the hall.

  Jocelyn looked down, allowing them a private moment to register his retreat. No one spoke. In the distance, they heard a door open and close.

  When she looked up, Emmaline was staring after him down the hall.

  Mr. Courtland swore under his breath and crossed to the window.

  Emmaline said softly, “Abuse of power is a great struggle for Beau.”

  “Struggle is a great struggle for Beau,” Mr. Courtland said.

  “He would have fought the duke for me, if it had come to that,” she said. “Of this I have no doubt.”

  “Oh yes, he can fight, can’t he? But after the age of fifteen, fewer and fewer of life’s challenges are solved with one’s fist. I apologize for his behavior, Emmaline. This is the very last thing you need.”

  She shook her head. “You are not responsible for the Duke of Ticking or for your brother. I will . . . I will call upon my lawyer.” She reached for the charge papers, and he gave them to her. “Beau rescued Teddy from the streets of London twice, something few men could have done. That is help enough for me. I can manage whatever comes next.”