Duke Of Deception (Wentworth Trilogy)

by Stephie Smith

  If the smugglers knew of his operation, they most likely knew of the masquerade. Stephen could be in danger even now, without having any idea of it, and if so, it was Derek’s fault. He had drawn his friend into his personal fight without considering the dangers involved, hell-bent on solving what his father couldn’t and bringing closure to his father’s legacy, but as he was beginning to realize, one man could not make decisions involving others without taking on the responsibility for their lives, and often that responsibility wasn’t his to take.

  As he weighed his options, he heard the fast thudding of footsteps running on deck. Two seconds later came the cry, “Ship to starboard!”

  Chapter 25

  Lucy slept half the morning away as though she’d been drugged and awoke sleepy still. She groaned and rolled over, holding her breath as a wave of nausea beset her.

  Thank goodness there would be a few days to rest before the next project began, for she was exhausted to the bone. It didn’t seem right that the roadwork repairing the lane to Stonecrest should have worn her out so very much—she’d done no physical labor at all—but she supposed it was due to her poor eating habits. She must take better care of herself, or she’d waste away before Derek returned.

  If he returned.

  She sighed and rolled back over, staring unseeing at the silk canopy.

  In the beginning she’d insisted she didn’t expect him to return, that there was no reason he should. She’d even announced it matter-of-factly to her aunt almost the moment Eleanor stepped out of the carriage upon her return from her travels. In truth, she’d only said it in case he didn’t come back, and as the days passed, that possibility loomed greater in her mind. Almost two months had passed since Derek’s departure, and as each day ended she found herself thinking more and more about him. She wanted him to come back, she realized, but she didn’t know why. She had achieved her goal with regards to Stonecrest, and her life would be less complicated without Derek in it, but the thought of living the rest of her life without ever seeing him again left her feeling forlorn.

  She was lost in those thoughts when Bridget entered the room.

  “I brought some scones for you, m’lady, since you fell asleep before dinner last night, and here’s a nice piece of ham too.”

  The smells drifted to Lucy, nauseating her. “Oh, please, take it away. I suppose I’ve been overdoing it. I’m so exhausted all the time. It’s no wonder I feel ill every morning.”

  Bridget shook her head sympathetically. “Well, stayin’ in bed won’t help much. You’ll be sick again tomorrow and just as exhausted. When my sister Trisha was breedin’, she slept for the first three months straight, ’cept when she was throwin’ up.”

  Horrified, Lucy raised her head from the pillow. “What? What did you say?”

  “Oh, yes, m’lady, she was a tired one the whole time, and with every single babe. Slept round the clock, ’cept when she was sick.”

  Lucy sank back weakly onto her pillow. Breeding. She couldn’t be. She couldn’t. “Why would you think that?”

  “She said so, that’s why. Ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

  “No, why would you think I am breeding?”

  Well, ain’t you? You missed your monthly, and you’re always sick in the mornin’ and well, there’s the other…” Bridget waved her hand.

  “What other?”

  “You, know, m’lady, your breasts. They’re swelling.”

  Lucy pushed herself up and stared down at her breasts as though they were traitors.

  “You mean you didn’t know?”

  “I-I never noticed, I guess, and I’ve been so busy, I forgot about my courses. It never occurred to me that… but how can you be sure?”

  Bridget’s smile was confident. “With seven older sisters, I’m pretty sure, but you can always call for the midwife if you want another opinion.”

  Lucy barely heard the last of Bridget’s words. A baby. A baby. Now what would she do? This only made her situation worse. If Derek did come back, she didn’t want him to stay in England only for their baby, and she certainly didn’t want—oh! What if he tried to force her to go to America with him because she was carrying his child? Or worse, what if he took the baby away from her? She gasped at the unspeakable thought.

  “M’lady, are you all right?” Bridget stood wringing her hands. “You should try and get some more rest before you get up for the day. Don’t think about all this just now. I’ll come back and wake you up in a little while. You need yer rest.”

  “I… yes, I think I will,” Lucy said, thinking she wasn’t going to get any rest at all but willing to try in the hopes that when she awakened, the conversation—the baby—would all have been a dream.

  But when she heard Bridget’s voice and opened her eyes to find that the morning sun was no longer shining through her window, she realized that although she had fallen asleep, the dilemma that seemed a nightmare was, in fact, reality.

  She sat up and closed her eyes as dizziness washed over her. Opening her eyes ever so slowly, she looked at Bridget, noticing at once the maid’s guilty expression. “What is it?”

  Bridget’s hands shook as she pulled something out of her pocket. “I’m not fer this, m’lady, but I don’t want you unhappy neither.” She removed the ribbon from the rolled-up paper, revealing a small packet of herbs and instructions on how to take them. “It’s not as complicated as it seems. My friend says you just drink a cup of tea made with this each mornin’ before you eat, and after a few days…”

  Lucy stared at the herbs in horror, realizing what they were for. It had never occurred to her that a woman could get rid of a baby, and she wasn’t sure it was something she wanted to know.

  Hiding her revulsion from Bridget, who was only trying to help, she took the packet, deciding to tuck it away in her drawer. “I don’t think I could never do such a thing,” she said, “but I will keep this until I decide.” In her heart she’d already made the decision. Her own scheme had led to this moment, and she would live with the consequences.

  Whatever they were.

  *****

  Eleanor leafed through the pieces of mail, hoping to see a letter from the Duchess of Dorrington, but was disappointed once again. In the weeks since her return, she’d checked the mail every morning, hoping for an answer to the question that had been troubling her since she’d first suspected Captain Wainright of deceit.

  She’d traveled to Dorrington, only to find the duchess away on travel as well, and she had even stayed on as a guest in the chance that they would return. Finally, when she could no longer ignore her worries that Lucy might need her, she traveled home to Stonecrest, leaving only a letter behind as explanation of her visit. The duchess would no doubt be astonished when she read it, and Eleanor knew a reply would immediately be sent.

  She didn’t need a reply, though. Not really.

  She knew now that the whole idea was preposterous. She’d realized it as soon as she began talking to the few servants she’d had the chance to draw out. The Duke of Dorrington was meticulous, they’d said. He was extremely conservative and quite responsible, a stickler for the conventions of society and the differences in the classes.

  He was also a man with his nose to the grindstone. During the eighteen months since his return, there hadn’t been a single party held or social invitation accepted. Instead, he’d worked long hours in his office and on the land, traveling from one estate to the other, restoring the family’s prosperity. He was in America now, selling his business and properties there, preparing to return and take his place in society and the House of Lords.

  From everything she heard, she knew Captain Wainright couldn’t be the Duke of Dorrington. One could not call the captain responsible, not when he had risked Lucy’s reputation on their very first meeting. Nor could one say he was conservative or a stickler for the conventions of society.

  She had been a complete fool journeying all that way with an idiotic thought in her head, all of it based on a
seductive smile from sixteen years ago, but that smile… She recalled the memory and as happened every time, in her mind that boy was him. But it just could not be.

  If only she’d been able to speak with the duchess, she might have alleviated her fears completely, or else had them confirmed so that she could go to Lucy with the hard facts of the captain’s hidden identity, but her niece had too many other things on her mind right now to be burdened with conjecture. Until Eleanor knew the truth, she would say nothing.

  Lost in thought, she jumped at the sound of footsteps and turned to see Lucy coming down the stairs.

  “Darling, you’re finally up,” she said cheerfully before stopping short at the pale, drawn expression on Lucy’s face. “Are you ill again?” She hurried to Lucy and put a hand to her brow. “You simply must go easier on yourself. You haven’t the constitution of these men you are ordering about. You need to think of your health.”

  Lucy smiled wanly at her aunt and smoothed her hair with a shaky hand. “Yes, you are right. I must start taking better care of myself. For my baby.”

  “Baby! Are you certain?”

  Lucy nodded, embarrassed since she’d said nothing about consummating her marriage. She made her way to the parlor and waited for Eleanor to join her.

  “I guess I shouldn’t say I am certain,” she said, after shutting the door for privacy, “but Bridget assures me of it.”

  “Bridget!”

  Lucy’s lips lifted in a faint smile at the incredulous look on her aunt’s face. “Well, she does have seven sisters, all older than herself, and she says I have all the signs. I suppose I shall call for Mrs. Sutton, as Bridget suggested, just to be sure.”

  Eleanor collapsed onto the sofa. “What shall you do? What if he doesn’t come back? Or comes back only long enough to tell you he is returning to America?”

  Lucy walked to the window and looked out, trying to gather her thoughts enough to put voice to them. “I don’t know,” she said, “but I won’t go with him. I have responsibilities here. I’m not even certain I will tell him. If he returns soon, I won’t have increased enough that it’s noticeable. Perhaps it will be better to see what his plans are before I make that decision.”

  She turned away from the window, her eyes filling with tears. “Oh, why do things have to happen this way?” she asked, unable to control the quiver in her voice. “I thought I had reconciled myself to never having a child, and then suddenly, within moments, I’ve realized how very much I want one. But not like this. Never like this. What lies in store for us? I am married to a man I hardly know, a man I’ll probably never have the chance to know, and I…” Her voice broke and she began to weep softly.

  Eleanor arose and took Lucy into her arms, soothing her as the tears fell. “Oh, darling, everything will work out. You’ll see. I know it is a shock, but think what you will have in the end. A baby. A baby, Lucy! What greater gift could you ever hope for?”

  “Yes, b-but what if he takes the baby away or-or—”

  “Takes the baby away? He will never be able to do that! Why, if he so much as hints at it, I’ll-I’ll—”

  “You’ll what? Attack him with your embroidery needle?” Lucy tried to laugh at her own words, but a sob caught in her throat.

  “I don’t know exactly what I will do, but mark my words, darling, your child will never be taken from you. I will make certain of that. Perhaps you are wise to keep this to yourself until you know his plans. If he returns to America, he doesn’t need to know.”

  “What of the scandal?” Lucy asked miserably. “I have soiled your reputation already, but now you shall never recover from my actions. And what of my child? He—or she—will never be accepted by society because of my reputation.”

  Eleanor hugged Lucy to her again and then held her away and looked into her eyes. “My darling child, do you not know that my reputation means nothing compared to you? You are the only thing of value to me, and as far as I am concerned, this is wonderful news, for both of us. As for your child, he—or she,” she added with a smile, “will be legitimate and the Chelton title will pass down the line, and we shall work on the rest. Let us not worry about any of that now. Just think, Lucy. A child! It is a gift from God, and I think it has been given for a purpose.”

  “A purpose?” Lucy asked. She fingered her locket, drawing strength from it, while she forced herself to focus on her aunt’s words.

  “Yes, a purpose,” Eleanor said. “You have built a wall around yourself, a wall that doesn’t allow anyone to get too close, not even me. Why, you have been so intent on keeping my involvement in your life to a minimum that you didn’t even tell me of your betrothal, not to mention your plan to avoid it. No, no,” she said, when Lucy lowered her gaze. “Your reaction is understandable; it is difficult to let yourself love again when the person you have loved more than anything has left you forever. But you cannot continue this way. Love is all we have, any of us, regardless of how long it lasts, and your baby will make you realize that. This is truly a gift from God.”

  Lucy looked up to meet her aunt’s loving gaze. “I want my child more than anything, and I want to love my husband. Or at least I wish I could. But it would be foolish to let myself fall in love with such a man. You must know that. Regardless of his character or anything else about him, he lives in a different county. I have gotten myself into the worst possible mess with this marriage, given my fear of losing someone I love.”

  Eleanor gave Lucy one last loving caress. “Oh, darling, I do understand, but perhaps that is exactly the way it is meant to be. Perhaps it is only under the worst of circumstances that we can learn what truly holds our hearts.”

  Chapter 26

  What now?” Derek muttered. He dropped the smuggled musket, allowing it to clank against the others, and hurried up the ladder from the hold.

  “She’s American, sir,” said one of his crewmen, pointing toward the western horizon. “She’s not heavily armed, and she’s alone!”

  Derek snapped open the spyglass and studied the ship. The lack of strong weaponry was obvious, as was the disorganization among the crew. Lowering his gaze through the lens, he saw the air holes that ran around the hull several feet above the water line, and his expression grew grim.

  A slaver.

  He wondered how many poor souls had been seized and taken aboard and how many remained alive as the ship drew near its destination, and all the anger he’d directed toward the smugglers, his father, and even himself pooled into a rage against the injustice done to these men, women, and children sitting chained together in that vile hold. He knew that while he might not be able to control the criminals he sought or even the events of his very own masquerade, he could stop this evil, this one ship, from the wrong it did these innocent people. Or he would die trying.

  He blew out his breath in a cursed sigh. But was that fair? He’d only just come to terms with the wrong he did to his own men by enticing them on this escapade through dangerous waters, and now he thought to make such a decision for them without their say?

  Michael Morgan appeared at his side, his jaw set in anger. “We’re with you, Captain. The entire crew is with you. If we seize her, we’ll take her wherever’s necessary. Not for the prize money, sir, but for them that’s stuck in that hellhole.”

  Derek gave a sharp nod to fend off his emotion. “All right then. Switch out the dummies from the starboard side and bring all guns to bear. We’ve one chance to scare the daylights out of her. Let’s make sure we do.”

  His crew bustled, and he prayed his plan would work. Though the Siren was pierced for sixteen cannon, only eight of them were real, due to the weight consideration and space required for ammunition stores. The captain of the slaver would never know, not if they could get their guns into place fast enough to fool him.

  “Get ready to come about! Careful, now,” he said to Morgan. “No firing into the hull. Use chain shot to bring down her sails, but don’t maim her so badly we can’t sail her.”

  “Aye-
aye, sir.”

  “And Morgan, no grape shot. We can’t afford to injure his crew. Our hands will be full as it is.”

  Morgan nodded gravely and shouted out commands to the crew, waiting until all was ready to give Derek the signal.

  “Fire!” Derek barked as they came fully about, broadsiding the low-riding frigate. The deafening roar of cannon thundered through the air as all guns were brought to bear in rapid succession, sending chain shot into the rigging. The broadside was perfectly executed, destroying any hope of escape the captain might have had, yet leaving the slaver in good enough shape that she’d be ready to sail with minimal repairs. Seconds later, the ship struck its colors.

  “Raise the British flag, Morgan, and prepare to board!”

  “Hoist the Jolly Roger!” shouted Morgan. “We’ll have to take on water and supplies, Cap’n,” he said to Derek.

  “Yes,” Derek agreed soberly. “And physicians and a few more sailmakers for wrapping the dead too. Let’s wait and see the extent of our needs. I’ll make arrangements when I go to shore.”

  His mind raced as the slaver’s crew scrambled. “We’ll board with three dozen men in case they decide to make one last try at escape.”

  “Captain, shall I hand out some of them smuggled weapons for us to carry? Most of our men don’t have guns, just knives. Not that we can’t keep that lot under control anyways, but the sight of us ain’t likely to scare anybody much.”

  “Good idea,” Derek said with a nod, knowing the crew would be less likely to attack heavily armed men. “But unloaded, for the most part. No one will know the difference, and I don’t want to chance anyone being killed.”

  They met no opposition when they boarded the slave ship, and Derek gave the order for his men to secure the prisoners. He sent a dozen below to begin the horrible business of bringing up the men, women, and children who’d been living through the worst nightmare of their lives.

  “Where’s your captain?” Derek shouted out to the men of the captured crew, receiving nothing but a host of belligerent stares and curses in reply. Quickly zeroing in on the man who seemed to be of highest rank, judging from the sidelong glances and expectant looks thrown in the man’s direction, Derek drew his rapier and sauntered over to him. He circled the man slowly, as the others shrank back. The man feigned nonchalance, but beads of sweat broke out on his brow.