Dying For A Duke

by Emma V. Leech

  The shock in his eyes was only too visible. “Good God,” he said. He took a breath and ran a hand that shook a little through his hair. He turned back to her and then took both of her hands, his eyes serious. “You must stay away from Ben, love,” he said, his voice urgent. “I know!” he said with considerable heat when she would have spoken. “I know you don’t want to hear it but what else are we to think? Don’t you see? He’s marquess now, when Sylvester dies it will all be his!”

  Phoebe bit her lip against the angry retort that came to mind at that but took a breath to moderate her response. She didn’t want to give herself away. “I will not believe that Benedict did this, Oliver.”

  There was a flash of hurt in his expression for a moment but then he sighed. “How is it that people were quite happy to cast me as a murderer but dearest Ben is whiter than white no matter the evidence stacking against him?”

  “I assure you that isn’t the case,” Phoebe replied, her tone cold. “Mr Formby tried to arrest him yesterday and only Sylvester kicking up merry hell was able to see him off. He’s said he’ll be back though.”

  A soft and far off rumble of thunder rolled over the landscape, a small threat of trouble to come as the skies darkened and the evening drew in early. They had reached the front of the Court by now and as they entered the front doors it became clear that Mr Formby had indeed returned as raised voices came from the drawing room.

  Phoebe saw Miss Pinchbeck opening the door to the room and crossed the hall as fast as she could with Oliver in her wake.

  “Look, my Lord,” Mr Formby was saying, standing in front of the fireplace with his arms crossed. “I’ve told you twice now. The only way I can defer arresting you any longer is if you can give me an alibi for the time when Lord Rutland was murdered.”

  Phoebe blanched as she saw the mutinous look in Benedict’s face and the uncompromising set of his jaw. With a sinking feeling she realised it had been when they had been together down by the river. Benedict would of course never be so unchivalrous as to besmirch her name by allowing people to know they had been alone together all afternoon, even if he was to hang for it. Feeling her heart swell at the idea he would implicate himself in a murder before he damaged her reputation, she stepped forward to put Mr Formby straight and give him his alibi.

  To her surprise she was stopped in his endeavour by Miss Pinchbeck.

  “Mr Formby,” she said, her tone cold and imperious as she looked down her nose at the runner. “If you must have it, Lord Rothay was with me. He would never of course tell you as he seeks to protect my reputation but as we are engaged to be married and the situation is so serious I feel you must know the truth. We went fishing together and didn’t return until shortly before dinner. He did not leave my sight all afternoon.”

  Phoebe knew that both she and Benedict were staring at Miss Pinchbeck in astonishment. It did, however, seem as though Mr Formby was satisfied.

  “Well then,” he said, a glimmer of curiosity twinkling in his eyes. “That’s more like it. Though why we should have had all that go around the houses I don’t know.” He stared at Miss Pinchbeck, a considering expression on his face and Phoebe wondered if perhaps he wasn’t really as convinced as he made out. “Very well then, Lord Rothay, it seems as though you may be in the clear, for this last one at least. Don’t go thinking you’re off the hook for the first two mind,” he said, with a jovial air.

  Benedict looked at him with a weary expression. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he muttered.

  “Very well then.” Mr Formby said, picking up his habitual notepad and taking his hat in hand. “I’ve some more questions for the garden staff so I’ll be off and bid you good day, ladies, my Lords.”

  They watched as he closed the door behind him and Phoebe stared in confusion at Miss Pinchbeck, wondering what on earth she was up to.

  “Well, well, Miss Pinchbeck,” Oliver said, his tone mocking. “You are full of surprises now aren’t you.”

  Benedict gave Oliver a hard look but did not look back at Phoebe.

  “If you would both excuse us,” he said, his voice rather cool. “I would like a word with Theodora in private.”

  “Why of course, old boy,” Oliver said, looking back at him with curiosity shining in his eyes. “We quite understand. Come along, Phoebe, let us leave the two love birds to coo alone.”

  Phoebe gritted her teeth at that but managed to nod and leave the room when Oliver opened the door for her.

  Once alone in the hall again, Oliver turned to her, a rather smug look in his eyes. “She’s covering for him,” he said, sounding triumphant. “I don’t doubt the mean-spirited old bird covets the idea of being duchess as much as he does being duke!”

  “Oliver!” Phoebe cried in disgust. Though she experienced a prickle of alarm as she realised there was part of that statement she didn’t disagree with.

  “Oh come now, Phoebe. You can’t possibly believe that guff about her being alone with him all afternoon. She barely uses his given name. I doubt she’s so much as kissed him on the mouth let alone given him any other liberties! It’s too much to believe. She’s lying through her teeth, it was clear as the day is long,” he added, and then frowned. “Beats me why that Formby fellow didn’t see through her though,” he added. “I’d thought he was a pretty sharp character.”

  “Yes,” Phoebe replied, realising she’d thought the same. “He did seem to accept it rather easily, but then I don’t think he’s ever believed Benedict is guilty.”

  Oliver snorted. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” he said, glowering rather.

  “Oh, Oliver,” Phoebe exclaimed. “You must see that Benedict is the most honourable of men. Is it any wonder no one can believe it of him.”

  “Well that’s because they’ve all forgotten the rakehell he was before his father died!” he retorted. “But I assure you I haven’t. Good God there was none wilder than him. Made me look like a milk sop in comparison.”

  “Benedict?” Phoebe stared at him in surprise. She’d long known that his father’s death had changed him but she’d believed he had always been rather a sober kind of man.

  “Good Lord, Phoebe. The things he got up to would curl you hair,” he said in frustration as the thunder outside became ever more present. “His father’s doing of course, egging him on. Almost seemed to take a pride in the devilish larks he’d kick up, not to mention the petticoats he took up with.”

  “I think that will be quite enough reminiscing,” she said, her tone cold and rather prim. “I don’t think this is a suitable topic of conversation.” Not that she was the least bit concerned by Benedict’s past. Her step father had educated her fully enough on all the folly a man could get himself into. But that he was trying yet again to discredit Ben in her eyes did not make her think well of him.

  “Now if you will excuse me I am rather tired. I think I shall have a lie down before dinner.” With that she left him, fully intending to talk everything through with her maid, Sarah. Because there was too much that simply didn’t add up.

  ***

  Benedict stood by the fireplace, his expression serious and his mood dark indeed. No matter that he was grateful to Theodora for stepping in and giving him an alibi, he couldn’t help but wish she hadn’t. He would never have implicated Phoebe of course and he’d been horribly afraid Phoebe was about to do that herself when Theodora spoke up. Now, however, he was in her debt and any thoughts he may have had about extricating himself from their marriage seemed even less possible than they ever had. So either he would be accused of murder and hang for it, or he’d face a life sentence married to Theodora.

  Either way he looked at it he was well and truly trapped.

  “What is it, Benedict?” Miss Pinchbeck demanded, sounding cross and irritable. “I have a headache and I would like to rest before dinner.”

  He looked at her in surprise. Although she was cold and joyless she had never before spoken to him with anything less than perfect politeness.

  “I
’m grateful to you for what you did, Theodora,” he said, wondering just how he should approach this. “Though I wish you had not. There was no need.”

  “Of course there was a need, you fool,” she snapped at him. “That little slut you did spend your afternoon with was about to open her mouth. And if you think I’m going to let people tattle about your sordid affair before we are even married you are quite far and wide of the mark.”

  Benedict stared at her in shock. Not only at the fact that she knew, but at both the vitriol behind her words and the fact that she had still stood by him, even knowing he’d been with Phoebe.

  “How did you know?” he asked.

  She snorted, her expression one of disgust. “I went to look for you. Keane said you’d taken a fishing rod with you so it wasn’t hard to narrow down where to look for you. I saw both of you lying on the ground together like a couple of common peasants.”

  He scowled at that but he had to allow her to be angry after all. He had been unfaithful and broken their vow before they’d even wed. It was no wonder she was angry. “Theodora,” he said, wondering how to proceed but thinking that maybe this was a blessing in disguise. Time to make a clean breast of things. “I’m very sorry to have hurt you and ... and gone behind your back. You don’t need to tell me it was a despicable thing to have done, I know it was. But we should never have got engaged. You must see we are not well suited and ... the truth is that I’m in love with Phoebe. I don’t understand how or why as she seems to delight in infuriating me but it’s true. I think it would be best for both of us if we parted. I would only make you unhappy after all, for I will never live up to your high expectations.”

  He looked back at her, waiting for her reaction. Expecting fury, tears, recriminations ... anything. But her face was perfectly composed and as cool as the marble beauty he had once compared her to.

  “No,” she said, as the room lit with lighting as the storm drew ever closer. She smiled at him, though it was not in any way a pleasant expression. “I don’t care what you get up to with that whore or any other. I have no interest in it. Men are feeble creatures, always at the beck and call of their baser instincts and I expected nothing else from you. If, however, you think I am going to walk away from our marriage now, you are very much mistaken. We will marry, my Lord. For if you do not I will sue you for breach of promise, and you may be very sure that I will be vocal about your dear Phoebe’s part in the breaking of our contract.”

  Benedict stared at her in horror, a cold, clammy feeling prickling over his skin.

  “Now, then. I don’t have any more time to waste on such foolishness, so I will see you at dinner.” And with an imperious sweep of her skirts she left the room and Benedict with a sense of growing doom.

  Chapter 21

  If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,

  When other petty griefs have done their spite

  But in the onset come; so shall I taste

  At first the very worst of fortune’s might,

  And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,

  Compared with loss of thee will not seem so. - Shakespeare

  Phoebe sat staring at her reflection in the looking glass as Sarah brushed her hair. The storm was still rumbling around with a threatening air outside but as yet it hadn’t come to anything more than a bit of noise and the odd flash of lightning. She wished now it would just hurry up and break as the air had become oppressive and she felt she couldn’t draw a breath at all.

  “Now, now, my lamb,” Sarah chided, her tone gentle as her hand swept the brush with soothing strokes over Phoebe’s thick blonde hair. “There’s not the least bit of good you falling into the dismals and well you know it.”

  Sighing Phoebe put her head in her hands. “I know, Sarah, but what am I to do? That wretched woman will never give him up now, you mark my words,” she cried feeling despair creeping up on her. “She’s on her way to being a duchess and she cared nothing for him in the first place.”

  Sarah leaned down and gave her a hug but her eyes were sad as she looked at Phoebe in the mirror. “I warned you no good would come of this, little Bee,” she said, sounding as though her heart ached for Phoebe. “And now look, both of you breaking your hearts and neither of you any closer to being together. You should have let him be, love.”

  “No!” Phoebe objected, hot tears prickling behind her eyes. “If I had, he’d have spent his whole life ignoring the beauty to be found in the world, never seeing the love that his family have for him, the joy to be found in their company if he’d just stop disapproving of them for a moment. At least now he’s remembered what it is to live and to love. That has to be worth something doesn’t it?”

  She looked up at Sarah with pleading in her eyes.

  “Aye, my little Bee, but is it worth your heart?”

  Phoebe shrugged. “I know what it feels like now, Sarah. I know that he’s the only man I’ll ever feel this way for. I can’t regret it, no matter how it hurts.” She took a deep breath and sat up straight, brushing away her tears with irritation. “But I’m not done yet,” she added.

  “Oh Lordy,” Sarah muttered, putting the brush aside and screwing up the fischu Phoebe had just discarded in agitation. “Whatever are you thinking of now?”

  Phoebe pursed her lips. “Probably best you don’t know, Sarah dear,” she said with a sympathetic smile. “But the thing that’s worrying me most is that we still don’t know who the murderer is.”

  “Well there’s nothing changed there,” Sarah said in disgust. The poor woman sat down on the bed with a sob of distress. “I’ll say it again, love, you should leave and go back to London. I can’t believe I got you through a war safe and sound and the moment we set foot back in England you’re embroiled in a murder!”

  “Well it’s not like I planned it!” Phoebe replied with indignation, but on seeing Sarah’s distress she relented and moved to sit beside her. “The thing is, Sarah, we know that Benedict is innocent, and that means that the real murderer is still out there and ... Ben is next in line now. So far three men have died and ... each one of them was the next in line to the dukedom.”

  Sarah’s face paled as she realised what Phoebe was saying. “Oh, my Lord, you think he’s next!”

  Phoebe swallowed, her throat tight with worry. “I’m sure of it.”

  She watched as Sarah’s eyes grew wide and round with fear as she realised something else. “Oh, gracious heavens, you think you’re going to save him!”

  Her maid’s face settled into something harder, a look that Phoebe recognised as capable of reducing grown men to gibbering. “Something needs to be done, my girl,” Sarah said, her tone dark and forbidding. “But not by you,” she added, eyes flashing with determination. “You swear to me you’ll stay out of it!”

  It took Phoebe a full hour to calm Sarah and get her to go to bed with promises that she wouldn’t do anything rash. Though they both knew she had no intention of keeping those promises.

  She sat and read to while away the time until the house fell quiet and everyone was asleep but found herself rereading the same page over and again and still not taking it in. Finally, however, she thought it was safe enough for her to leave her room.

  Taking a candle in hand she opened her door as quietly as she could manage and tiptoed out into the corridor. She had barely gone two steps when the storm finally decided it was time to make itself felt and a sharp crack of lightning lit the corridor as the skies split with white light. Phoebe paused, hardly daring to breathe as she waited for the thunder to follow but it was still a little way off yet, though it grew closer, louder.

  Running on silent feet she flew down the corridor and found Benedict’s door.

  Taking the hair pin she had brought to unpick the lock - it was amazing the useful tricks the men of her father’s regiment had taught her over the years - she bent to open it and frowned as she found it was already unlocked.

  It was perhaps possible that Ben was still downstairs in the library she
supposed, but she ought to check his room first. If he was here she would scold him soundly. A murderer was on the loose and Ben the next target. Locking his damn door was the least he could do!

  She opened it with care, thankful to Lizzie for keeping the staff on their toes and the hinges well oiled as it opened without a murmur.

  Stepping inside she closed it with equal stealth and was about to move forwards when another crack of lightening illuminated the room to show a figure approaching the bed, knife in hand.

  “Ben!” she cried and dropped the candle in her haste to get to the bed. It snuffed out and the lightning was gone, plunging them into darkness. She heard the sound of a scuffle and a groan of pain as a fist connected with flesh and the next flash of lightening showed two figures grappling and stumbling towards the balcony. Stifling the urge to scream and panic, Phoebe groped about for a weapon and found the silver candle stick. She ran forward with it held aloft and prayed for another flash of lightening to be able to identify the intruder but none came. A crash sounded, the jolt of a heavy body falling and she stumbled over someone laying prone on the floor. Drawing a breath she went to scream but a hand covered her mouth.

  “It’s me,” Ben hissed and her heart almost burst with relief. She watched his shadowy figure as he jumped to his feet and they both ran to look over the balcony but there was nothing to be seen. Whoever it had been had escaped. But now the rain had begun, lashing against the building whilst lightening crazed the angry skies.

  “Ben!” Phoebe cried, throwing her arms around him. “Oh, Ben, are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine, love, I’m fine, hush now,” he said, pulling her inside and out of the rain. He forced the doors shut as the wind howled past and fought to smash them open again, and the next moment the great house was quiet apart from the storm that boiled around it.

  “Did you see anything?” he demanded as he lit the candles by the bed. “Did you see who it was?”