The Way to a Duke's Heart: The Truth About the Duke

by Caroline Linden

  Eugenie’s face lit up. “Indeed! I knew even you could not deny how very attractive he is. And he is even more charming! He said I reminded him of his aunt, the Countess of Dowling. My dear, can you imagine? I reminded him of a countess!”

  Tessa smiled. “I like him a little better now.” A very little, but she did. Not every man would pay so much kind attention to a lady like Eugenie. It shocked her that the earl would do so out of nothing more than Christian charity, but perhaps she was judging him too harshly. She had a tendency to do that, according to her sister.

  “And he spoke of his brother, who has been living this summer in Bath. He’s a decorated army captain, newly married and very dashing. And— Oh!” She tittered with laughter. “Here is something that will amuse you: he is a passionate coffee drinker, like you! Although he has a low opinion of the coffeehouses here in Bath. What was the one you particularly liked? I tried to remember to recommend it to him.”

  “Gardner’s,” said Tessa.

  “Oh, yes, now I remember. But he said they were all dreadful, so he only drinks tea in Bath.”

  “How very principled of him. Who could possibly dislike such a paragon?” She rose and went to kiss Eugenie on the cheek. “I’m sorry I arrived to cut short your visit with him. If only something half so pleasant would happen to me!”

  “Oh, but it would, dear, if only you wouldn’t—” Her companion stopped suddenly, her fingers on her lips.

  “If only I wouldn’t lose my temper and insult perfect strangers?” Tessa gave a wry, guilty smile. “How fortunate I am to have you along to smooth the way after my wayward tongue.”

  Eugenie sighed wistfully. “And he wished us to dine with him! Dinner with an earl, could you imagine it? If only we weren’t leaving tomorrow.”

  “If only.” But inside Tessa was glad. The earl might be as handsome as the devil, and even more charming, but the way he looked at her made her skin prickle. The sooner they were away from him, the better.

  Charlie was mildly shocked at how resourceful his valet turned out to be. He expected Barnes to discover a few mundane details about Mrs. Neville, but his man came back after dinner with far more.

  “They arrived the same day Your Grace arrived, from near Malmesbury. Mrs. Neville paid the bill in advance, and she got a very pretty price, too.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Barnes glanced up from the trunk he was packing. “I nipped into Mr. Lucas’s office and read the account books.”

  “Oh, indeed?” Charlie raised an eyebrow.

  His valet didn’t look abashed in the slightest. “As Your Grace’s man, I expect I could go anywhere in this hotel and not be said nay.”

  “Right. Go on.”

  “The lady left word she was expecting a gentleman, a Mr. Hiram Scott.” Barnes paused at Charlie’s sudden stillness. “Your Grace?”

  “Nothing,” murmured Charlie. “Who, pray, is this Mr. Scott?”

  “A businessman of some sort. The waiter who served them in the tearoom said Mr. Scott had brought a number of ledger books and plans with him, and Mrs. Neville read them with great attention. He thought he heard them talking of canals.”

  Charlie’s eyes narrowed. Canals were all the rage. He vaguely remembered vigorous debates over their efficacy, but he didn’t know much about them. Somehow he’d pictured the blackmailer as a scoundrel with expensive tastes, gambling debts or loose women or something equally ordinary. A canal must be accounted a very expensive endeavor—so expensive, in fact, five thousand pounds would hardly suffice to build it.

  But what did that make Hiram Scott? Was he an innocent businessman, wrongly identified by a postal clerk as the man who sent those blackmail letters to Durham? Or was he a rank opportunist, with his fingers in a variety of pockets? For a moment Charlie wished he could quiz Mrs. Neville about the man, but he didn’t dare. Either she knew nothing about the blackmail, and therefore could tell him nothing, or she knew she was associating with an unscrupulous fellow, perhaps even approved of his actions, and was just as unlikely to reveal anything helpful.

  “That fits with what the lad in the stable said,” Barnes went on. “Mrs. Neville engaged a travel chaise to take them toward Frome tomorrow, where they’re building a canal. Mrs. Bates is uneasy about the journey, and sent down a half-dozen requests for hot bricks and the like.”

  That was no surprise. “Frome,” he said thoughtfully. “That’s rather near, isn’t it?”

  “Close on a dozen miles.”

  Charlie rose. “Excellent work, Barnes. Be sure to pack some good sherry. And hire a travel chaise, to depart tomorrow.” He had worn his horses into the ground lately, first coming to Bath from London and then helping Gerard retrieve his wife. As much as he preferred the luxury of the Durham coach, it was best to leave it in Bath, for many reasons. He caught up his hat and let Barnes help him into his coat, and left the hotel.

  It was only a short walk to his brother’s town house, where he found Gerard fortunately at home. “Come in, come in,” Gerard said. “Bragg, bring the port,” he called to his batman, who nodded once and vanished.

  “I trust I haven’t interrupted anything.” Charlie glanced from side to side. “Where is my charming sister-in-law?”

  “Lying down. She felt a bit faint.”

  Charlie drew a breath and waited, bracing himself for an announcement of impending offspring. It was clear to see his brother was utterly besotted with his new wife, and Charlie was sure he would be an uncle inside a year. But Gerard merely waved him toward a seat. “Have you learned something?”

  “Hiram Scott is involved with the canals,” he told his brother. “It seems he was in town to meet with someone, armed with ledgers and maps.”

  Gerard’s eyebrows went up. “So that’s it. I wonder why none of my queries turned him up?”

  Charlie shrugged. “He didn’t seem overtly mysterious in his visit; he visited the post office and called upon a lady at the York, then left her a letter. He’s not staying at the hotel.”

  “Hmm.” Gerard leaned back and kicked his feet out in front of him, crossed at the ankle. He frowned thoughtfully, his arms folded. “There are speculators around every corner in these parts. The coal fields, I suppose; that’s mostly what the canals transport through Bath. Still, I never heard of him.”

  “You didn’t know you were looking for Hiram Scott,” said Charlie. “Perhaps you heard the name but had no reason to remember it.”

  Gerard hesitated, but admitted, “That’s possible.”

  “Or since he was blackmailing Durham, perhaps he wished to stay out of sight. Perhaps he wanted the money to purchase shares of his own and grew more desperate—or brazen—after Father died without paying him a penny. Who knows?” Charlie waved one hand, as though swishing away his own doubts about Scott’s motives. “Perhaps he’s gulling half of Parliament, and thinks himself too clever to be caught.”

  His brother shot him a narrow-eyed look. “You haven’t forgotten what I said, about Scott wanting to torment us more than to profit from Father’s indiscretion?”

  Charlie hadn’t, although he still didn’t know what to make of the idea. Gerard had suggested that Scott didn’t really care about the money he’d tried to extort from Durham, that his true purpose was merely to torment and harass his sons. That would explain why the demand for money was made only once, months ago, and never repeated, but otherwise it made little sense. Why had Scott sent the letters only to Durham, not to any of them, if his aim was to rattle them and not Durham? And why hadn’t he sent more, once the scandal broke? It had been several weeks since a gossip sheet ignited the furor over his father’s clandestine first marriage, but not a single scurrilous letter had arrived in over two months. Of all the people Charlie could think of who might wish to torment him—and he allowed there were some—he couldn’t think of one who had the restraint not to.

 
“He hasn’t sent another letter,” he reminded his brother. “If he wished to torment us, wouldn’t he have tried to draw a little more blood, once his threats blossomed into public scandal? Edward would have paid a small fortune to end the rumors, if Scott had approached him at the right moment. If his sole purpose was to torment us, he must have great discipline in savoring his triumph in silence, without even a single word of gloating.”

  “True.” Gerard thought a moment. “What lady at the York Hotel did Scott meet?”

  Charlie’s smile was slight. “An interesting creature. She despises me.”

  “What did you do?” asked his brother, half in interest, half in suspicion.

  “I believe I inconvenienced her,” he said mildly. “Without any forethought or intention, but it roused her ire.”

  “Is she part of the blackmail scheme?”

  “I’ve no idea.” But he thought it still possible. Such hostility must spring from something more than a dislike of his appearance. Indolent! Surely it would take more than a passing glance to determine that.

  “What are you going to do?” Gerard, as ever, leapt right to action. “Shall I send out inquiries about her as well? I know an excellent fellow here in Bath who would be glad to take up the task, Lieutenant Carter from my regiment.”

  “I’ve already learned a good deal about her, thank you.” Charlie raised one eyebrow at his brother’s expression of surprise. “Do try not to look astonished. It required nothing more than sitting in the tearoom, chatting with her elderly companion.”

  “The tearoom?” Gerard repeated incredulously, a tinge of horror in his voice. And no wonder; sitting with Mrs. Bates would be truly awful to Gerard, who never had been able to sit still for long, especially not to converse about fashions with elderly ladies. He was very like their father in that.

  Charlie chose to accept it as a compliment to his superior patience. “Indeed. It is a fine place to meet ladies.”

  “I suppose it must be.” Gerard grimaced. “What did you learn?”

  There was no reason not to tell his brother everything, but for some reason he hesitated. He could see no connection between his family and Tessa Neville apart from Hiram Scott, and no idea why Hiram Scott had begun blackmailing their father. It was possible the postal clerk had mistaken Scott for the true blackmailer as well. It was really a slender thread of possibility that he was on the right track by following Mrs. Neville, but he was still determined to pursue her. Besides, he had nothing else to go on. “Nothing of any obvious import,” he said slowly. “But she leaves Bath tomorrow—to follow Scott, I believe—and I intend to follow her.”

  Chapter 5

  The trip south to Frome was every bit as trying as Tessa had feared.

  Eugenie had nothing to do with it. Contrary to her usual fretting over the inconveniences and discomforts of travel, she was quiet the entire journey. Tessa enjoyed the peace at first, but then grew concerned. It was so unlike Eugenie to be silent, she began to fear her companion had taken ill.

  “Eugenie, are you feeling well?” she finally asked.

  “Yes, dear, I’m very well.” The older woman summoned a rueful smile. “I shall miss Bath, though.”

  “Of course. But we will be in London within the month, and that must cheer you,” Tessa cajoled her.

  “It does! Most certainly.” She sighed, flicking at the fringe of her shawl. “I do hope I shan’t be a bother to you until then.”

  “What nonsense,” said Tessa in surprise. “You’re not a bother to me. I’m delighted to have your company.” Which was generally true; the moments when Eugenie made her want to tear out her own hair were infrequent and brief. But it was very uncharacteristic for Eugenie to be so melancholy. “If anything, I’m sorry I cannot offer you a more diverting trip than through the backways of Somerset. I know you would rather have remained in Bath.”

  Eugenie’s face lightened a bit. “Indeed,” she said wistfully. “But it was not to be.” She looked at Tessa’s face and blushed. “Don’t worry, dear, about me. I’ll be cheerful, I promise.”

  Tessa suspected her companion was still mourning the loss of Lord Gresham’s company more than anything else. She felt sorry for depriving Eugenie of something so wonderful and thrilling, but at the same time, she couldn’t shake her relief to be away from the earl. It seemed odd for a dazzlingly handsome, wealthy nobleman to pay attention to any woman unless he wanted something from her, and there was precious little an earl could hope to gain from Eugenie, who had neither money nor rank nor influence. She was simply a sweet, kindhearted older lady who liked her novels and gossip about the latest fashion.

  So why was he interested in her? Eugenie declared Lord Gresham didn’t care a whit for Tessa’s impertinent remark about him, which only doubled the mystery. What other connection was there between them that he would care about? Tessa hadn’t been to London in years, and she was sure she would have remembered if she’d ever met Lord Gresham. Heaven knew she hadn’t been able to get his face out of her mind, nor forget how his voice sounded, which was almost as unnerving as the mere fact of his interest in her. She told herself she should be more concerned about that than about whatever he might want from her or Eugenie. And now that they’d left him behind in Bath, it was highly unlikely she even needed to worry about it. Chances were, he wouldn’t remember her even if they came face-to-face in London.

  Frome was barely a dozen miles from Bath, but the countryside underwent a complete change as they drove south. The rolling verdant hills around Bath degenerated into a harsher, wilder landscape punctured by rocky outcrops that gave a forbidding look to the land. The elegant cream stone of Bath’s buildings gave way to small towns garbed in brick and thatch, the houses smaller and meaner. At times the workings of the coal seams could be glimpsed from the road, the shouts and calls of the miners audible over the rattle of the carriage wheels. The roads were terrible, hardly more than rutted tracks; no wonder there was keen interest in a canal to bring the coal to market. It took almost the entire day to reach Frome, and Tessa stepped down from the carriage feeling as battered and tired as if they’d traveled forty miles or more.

  As promised in the letter he’d left her in Bath, Mr. Scott had arranged lodging for them at a small inn. After the luxury of the York Hotel, it seemed rather plain and almost shabby. Tessa saw Eugenie’s face fall at the sight of their small rooms, and tried not to sigh. First she had to disappoint Eugenie’s hopes regarding Lord Gresham, and now she would feel guilty for having dragged the poor lady away from the comfortable York for this lodging. Curse Louise for making such a fuss over this trip. Tessa couldn’t think of anyone who would care if she came to see the canal alone—not anyone whose opinion she valued, at any rate. She still suspected Louise had wanted Eugenie out of the way as she prepared for her move to London. Louise loved the older lady dearly, but she also knew Eugenie’s endless worries would wear away her most exuberant plans. After fourteen years of marriage to doughty Lord Woodall, Louise was ready to embrace widowhood and the delights of London at the same time.

  Still, Tessa had to breathe deeply to fight back her indignation. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Eugenie; rather the contrary, in fact. Eugenie had lived with them for almost as long as she could remember, as devoted to the three children as their own mother had been. Tessa never wanted to hurt Eugenie, no matter how trying her little vagaries could be at times. She hadn’t wanted to bring the older lady along on this trip precisely because it would be dull and uncomfortable and only Louise would care if anyone commented on Tessa traveling with only her maid, Mary, for company. She was eight-and-twenty years old, for heaven’s sake, and capable of taking care of herself. There was no need to fear ruining her marital prospects, because she had none and wanted none, and if someone decided to attack and rob her on the road, the presence of Eugenie was hardly likely to serve as any deterrent. If only Louise had been rational and logical, she would ha
ve seen that it made far more sense for Eugenie to stay home at Rushwood, or even to remain in Bath while she visited the canal works herself.

  But that was all pointless wishing now. She had given in, after all, when Louise grew hysterical and dramatic, and Eugenie was with her. They would all have to make the best of things.

  “Shall we step out to tea?” Tessa asked as Mary began unpacking their things. It was too late in the day to do much more, and after hours in the travel chaise, she wanted a bit of exercise.

  “Yes, dear, if you like.” Eugenie smiled valiantly, although without any of the wide-eyed enthusiasm she’d displayed on their arrival in Bath. Of course, it was highly unlikely they’d meet anyone as illustrious as the Earl of Gresham in Frome—and thank goodness for that, Tessa reminded herself.

  She gave her companion her arm as they left the inn. Another week or so and they would be on their way to London, where there would be plenty to brighten Eugenie’s eyes again.

  Once Charlie knew where his quarry was headed, he saw no point in rushing out of Bath at an uncivilized hour. He enjoyed his breakfast and then settled into the hired coach for the journey. At his instruction, Barnes put the leather satchel from Edward in the carriage instead of packed away in a trunk, and finally, reluctantly, Charlie opened it.

  The first item he removed was a copy of the petition filed with the Home Office, requesting the writ of summons that would establish Charles de Lacey as the eighteenth Duke of Durham. The pages of dense, neat script made his eyes cross. His brother Edward had hired the best legal minds in London to produce this; there was nothing he could add to it, even if he’d had the first idea about what it said. Gingerly, Charlie set it aside.