by Gayle Callen
The day before the dinner party, Nurse Weston took Stephen so that Meriel could go for a walk. Meriel headed straight for the stables. She had brought tarts from the kitchen on the pretext that Mrs. Theobald had sent them. Luckily, she found the coachman alone in his coach house office, and she gave him his tart. He was an older gentleman, still trim, his livery clean and pressed.
After putting aside the harness buckles he was polishing, he grinned and ate half the tart in one bite.
Meriel smiled at him and began to nibble on her own. "Mrs. Theobald can be very thoughtful," she said.
He nodded and took another bite.
"You deserve it, after you've helped look after Stephen when he wanders the estate."
He shrugged. "I don't mind."
"Were you here when the duke was young?"
He nodded and reached for another tart.
"It must have been even more work for you, what with two curious boys."
"They weren't bad, though the duke himself could be a regular mischief maker."
Meriel smiled. "I hear he liked to pretend to be his brother."
"He was good at it, too. Not so much the other way around. Master Richard didn't like to tease people."
"Have you seen him lately?"
"In London, on occasion, when the brothers meet." He sat back and closed his eyes in thought. "Master Richard had the newest carriage when I saw him six months ago. Four horses that put ours to shame, they did. It's good to see him doing well for himself."
Meriel gave her excuse of passing out the rest of the tarts and took her leave of the coachman.
So Mr. O'Neill was still wealthy, at least a few months ago. It would be hard to imagine a man losing so much in the brief time since the coachman had seen him. Meriel's own father had tried to correct his financial fate for years, until it had all fallen apart.
Money didn't seem to be a strong enough reason for Mr. O'Neill's masquerade. Another reason could be the power of the dukedom, but if it were that, Mr. O'Neill must be biding his time, for he hadn't exercised much power. What made more sense was that he thought he was a better duke than his brother was, and needed to prove it.
But where was the real duke? Did every second's delay put him in greater danger?
* * *
The next day, the dinner guests started to arrive early in the evening. Richard moved between the small chatting groups in the drawing room, feeling more and more at ease when no one seemed uneasy or overly curious. The women wanted to be teased, and he was more than capable of doing that. The men wanted to laugh, so he had prepared some fictitious London stories guaranteed to make everyone believe he spent much of his time there.
His cousin Sir Charles Irving was the last to arrive. Richard studied him from the far side of the room, only slightly paying attention to the mama discussing the merits of her marriageable daughter. Charles was six years older than Richard, but he had kept himself in trim form. His favorite amusement was hunting, Richard remembered, whether it was fox or grouse. He rode endless hours in the saddle to keep himself well prepared. Whenever they'd been together as children, competition was something Charles relished, and winning was the only goal. His dark hair was gray at the temples, but that didn't stop other mamas from seeking him out. Richard wondered why he'd never married. Maybe he didn't want to spend his wealth on anyone but himself. Richard delayed their reacquaintance just enough to annoy Charles. When he finally approached his cousin, he thought Charles's eyes were narrowed in poorly concealed anger.
"A good evening to you, cousin," Richard said, oozing too much charm in Cecil's teasing manner. "I'm glad you could attend my reentry into hospitable society."
Charles smiled. "Your illness seems to be a thing of the past, Cecil."
"I am still a bit fatigued, but I'm resting well at Thanet Court."
"I'm glad to hear of it. And how is my young cousin, Stephen?"
Was that a deliberate taunt or an innocent inquiry?
"Doing well, thank you. He'll come down to greet everyone after dinner."
"I was hoping to see how much he'd grown since I last saw him."
As if Charles cared about children, Richard thought, remembering the special pleasure his cousin used to take in making other children cry.
Hargraves alerted him that dinner was ready, so Richard led his guests into the dining room. He had seated Charles far enough down the table so that he wouldn't have to speak to him during the meal.
After dinner, the women waited in the blue drawing room, and Richard made sure the men joined them after only one drink. He was anxious to finish this evening, to see Charles's reaction to Stephen and be done with it. After a game of charades, he sent for Meriel and Stephen.
The women oohed and aahed over the boy. Richard remained alone near a wall and watched Charles. His cousin barely noticed the boy at all, which was surprising. Charles's gaze was fixed on Meriel, who had retreated to a window seat.
Charles approached her, and she rose to her feet. At first Richard couldn't hear what they said. He moved closer, standing just out of their line of sight, in time to hear Charles say, "For only six years old, Stephen is quite accomplished."
"You are being too kind, Sir Charles," Meriel said. "I have only been in charge of Lord Ramsgate's education for two months. But he is a bright, inquisitive boy, and he learns quickly."
How could it help Charles to put Stephen's governess at ease?
Unless he wanted easy access to the boy.
A governess would have no influence on whether Charles was named Stephen's legal guardian, should something happen to Cecil.
But of course, something had already happened to Cecil, and Stephen was vulnerable.
"So you are the duke's cousin," Meriel said, a bit too conversationally for a governess.
What was she up to?
Charles nodded. "I see you recognized my name."
"I've studied Lord Ramsgate's family, so that I can help him understand how everyone is related. Do you have any stories I can share with him about his father and his uncle?"
Richard was too surprised to interfere immediately.
Charles only laughed. "They were both younger than I, so we did not see much of each other. Our parents were not close. I'll be candid and admit that that was mostly my own mother's fault. Jealousy was not something she easily overcame."
"I wonder if that's a natural feeling between siblings," Meriel said.
"I wouldn't know."
If Meriel was fishing for information, it seemed Charles was not going to take the bait.
Richard approached them. "Charles, I see you've met my governess."
Meriel looked up at him with blank eyes, and he gave her a wide, innocent smile.
Charles saw it and looked between the two of them, but said nothing. Let him think what he would about Meriel and the duke— it was Stephen who was important.
"As usual, Cecil," Charles said, "you choose the loveliest of women."
Meriel took a deep breath, but said nothing, though her subtle anger was palpable.
"She was well qualified for the position," Richard said.
A mistake, for Charles's eyebrows rose. "I was not suggesting otherwise," he said.
Richard decided to change the subject. "I assume your estate is flourishing, as usual."
Meriel excused herself to return to her window seat.
"Do you remember that property I'd bought from Richard eight years ago?" Charles asked.
Richard nodded politely, but inside he tried to imagine every reason that Charles could be mentioning such a random thing.
"Of course you remember it, Cecil," Charles continued. "You were the one who forced Richard to sell his inheritance."
"You can't believe everything my brother says," Richard said dismissively.
"When you took his inheritance money, what else could he do but sell the land to begin investing?"
"Richard and I have gotten past that misunderstanding, Charles. You don't need to br
ing it up."
"You asked me how my estate was doing. That property I purchased from Richard has become a profitable farm since then. My tenants' harvest has succeeded my expectations year after year."
Richard smiled. "You always had a way with money."
"And you don't," Charles said bluntly. "You could use my help."
"To what are you referring?"
"You haven't made the wisest investments, Cecil. Good heavens, your clothing expenditures alone would feed a nation."
Richard laughed and clinked his glass with Charles's. "You can stop worrying about me, cousin. I've gone to my brother for advice."
Charles looked surprised. "Have you, Cecil?"
"I will admit I still have much to learn. That's why I'm here, taking control of my estates. We all grow up eventually."
"Ah, but not as far as your female servants are concerned, dear Cecil," Charles said. "Still choosing them all for their beauty— though I now realize that you don't want to say so in front of them. I regret the error with your governess. Have you chosen your latest mistress yet?"
Richard resisted the urge to sigh. He had thought flirting and debating his choice might work, but of course people outside the household wouldn't see that. They'd only see that the duke was not choosing a mistress.
"Charles, there are so many lovely women to choose from."
"I know. You even hired one away from me a few months ago," Charles said, shaking his head in a rueful manner. "You can be quite devious."
"But I offer them so much, Charles." Richard shrugged and donned an innocent smile. "They just can't help themselves. Now if you'll excuse me, Miss Barome obviously needs my assistance."
Meriel sat very quietly, withdrawn within her window seat, and watched with worry as the Impostor Duke left Sir Charles. She could see Miss Barome waving at Mr. O'Neill from across the room as she searched through sheet music at the piano.
Stephen was happily occupied with the wolfhounds, who were behaving themselves for the guests and performing their tricks on Stephen's command.
Meriel could see Sir Charles's profile. He still watched the man he thought was the duke, and though his face held no expression, the glacial coldness of his eyes chilled even her.
What was she to make of everything she'd overheard? Her own questions to Sir Charles had yielded nothing, but it was obvious that there was rancor between Sir Charles and— both the duke and his brother? It was difficult to tell, for Mr. O'Neill was a superb actor.
Sir Charles knew about the mistresses— maybe every man knew, and in the way of men, thought nothing of it. Meriel considered Mr. O'Neill's reaction, and she wondered how he felt, being forced to choose a mistress. Maybe his claim of indecision was actual…reluctance?
She didn't want to think well of him, and of course there could be many reasons he did not choose a maid to seduce. He probably just didn't have the time, what with keeping his dark secret.
What was most shocking to her was that the real duke had cheated Mr. O'Neill out of some of his inheritance. That was a strong motive for Mr. O'Neill to seek revenge, or even to take the money back. But if it was only money, he could have obtained that easily by now, with his access to the accounts.
Sir Charles had hinted that the duke had financial problems. Maybe there wasn't enough actual currency for Mr. O'Neill to take. If his inheritance was what he wanted, then perhaps he found himself overseeing the dukedom to correct its finances. After all, maybe it was true that the real duke had come to his brother for help— and gotten himself kidnapped for his effort.
All the while she was thinking, Meriel kept a close eye on Stephen. The Impostor Duke had previously sent word that Stephen was not to wander the house alone while they had guests. Did that mean he thought she would lose the boy, and embarrass the duke? Or was this for Stephen's safety? If only she knew what Mr. O'Neill had in mind for his nephew.
She looked around for Sir Charles and found him conversing in a corner with several gentlemen, local landowners all. He was the closest family member Stephen had. Should she confide her worries to him?
But Sir Charles had come between the brothers. He'd deliberately bought property from the illegitimate son, and made sure to throw it back in the face of the duke, even years later.
No, she couldn't trust him, either. In his zeal against the duke— maybe he was jealous, just like his mother— he might go directly to the police. The element of surprise would be lost.
No, she was still in this alone.
* * *
When the dinner party was over, and the last guest— Renee— had gone home, Richard was approached by Hargraves, who wished to speak with him alone.
In Richard's study with the door closed, the butler's usual remote expression gave way to worry. "Your Grace, you wanted to know if Sir Charles did anything suspicious during the evening."
"Did he?"
"Yes. While you were occupied singing with Miss Barome, Sir Charles left the drawing room."
Richard sat back in his chair and swore. "Where did he go?"
"Since I had servants stationed all over the house, no one ever lost sight of him. I did have to tell everyone that you were worried about a thief, of course."
"Yes, yes," Richard said impatiently. "But what did Sir Charles do?"
"Nothing, Your Grace. He simply walked from room to room and…looked."
"Looked?"
"He studied portraits and sculptures, almost as if he'd never seen them before."
"As if he was cataloguing what was still here," Richard said softly. "He might believe that Cecil was selling things off to support his vices."
Hargraves could only shrug.
"And he was in sight of someone for the entire evening?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Very well. Thank you, Hargraves."
When the butler had gone, Richard stared unseeingly at his desk. What was Charles up to?
* * *
After a sleepless night revising his plans, Richard sent for Mrs. Theobald.
When she arrived in his room, looking concerned by such an unusual summons, Richard put a finger to his lips and closed the door, summoning her near the window.
"Mrs. Theobald, I need your help," he said in a soft voice. "My plan to flirt with the maids is not working."
"I know, young sir," she said, glancing worriedly at the door. "They're beginning to fight over you, keeping the servants' wing in an uproar with their arguing. And I hear from the head coachman that the grooms are grumbling over their betting."
Richard closed his eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry. This is not fair to you."
"You learned nothing from Sir Charles last night?"
"Nothing much. He is a cunning man. But when even he asked me about my mistress, I knew something had to change. I've decided to choose one."
Her eyes widened as she searched his face. "You'll…do such a thing, young sir?"
"Not really, of course, but I can pretend. And the only one who'll fight me is Miss Shelby."
"Oh, sir, she'll be terribly angry. She insisted I inform you she'll never be your— the duke's— mistress."
"Then that's perfect, isn't it? I don't want a real mistress. She can refuse me all she wants, and it will look like for the first time a woman has said no. And of course I won't give up my pursuit."
"A woman did say no once, young sir, and the duke respected her wishes. Miss Shelby knows this."
"Ah, but I'm smitten this time, Mrs. Theobald. I'll continue to pursue Miss Shelby, in hopes that I'll be rewarded."
She frowned.
"I mean that's what the duke would hope," Richard quickly said. "I personally know she's too proud to ever give in."
"But won't it seem like you would eventually give up, as you did the last time?"
Now it was his turn to frown. "Hopefully it won't come to that. But I have no choice. I have to stop the maids from fighting, and I have to be the duke. So today I need you to prepare a picnic lunch. I'm going to begin wooin
g the object of my affections."
Chapter 15
Meriel and Stephen were studying a globe in the library when the Impostor Duke made a grand entrance. She looked up to see him flinging back the doors, carrying a large basket.