Chapter 7
A Confession Explains Much
A few minutes later
Octavius found David Fitzwilliam in a salon at the end of the hall, staring at the dying flames in the room’s fireplace. An empty tumbler dangled from the fingers of his right hand.
“Have you been awake all night?” the duke asked as he moved to the sideboard and helped himself to a whisky. He brought the crystal decanter along with his glass to place it on the side table next to David’s chair.
The earl tore his gaze from the fire and turned it on the duke. His reddened eyes were either testaments to a night of too much drink, or the man had been crying. “Of course not. I might own this place, but I certainly don’t spend my nights here,” David replied, his voice sounding rather cross.
Octavius settled himself into the overstuffed wing chair, rather surprised at how comfortable it felt. He had half a mind to ask who had made the furnishings and then order new ones for his townhouse. “Seems we have a problem,” he murmured.
“More like three or four,” David countered in a whisper. The duke didn’t yet know about the series of dominoes that were about to start tipping over in David’s life.
First, there was Lady Clarinda. His identical twin brother, Daniel, had done him the favor of spending time with the woman to whom he had been betrothed since well before she was out of the schoolroom. Now that Daniel seemed on the verge of proposing marriage—if he hadn’t already done so—David realized he needed to make it clear he would be marrying Clarinda. David supposed the contract for the arranged marriage between his father and Clarinda’s father, the Earl of Heath, wouldn’t hold up under current law, but if what Lady Isabella claimed was true—that Arabella Brotherton Tolson, Countess of Craythorne and aunt to Clarinda, was indeed dead—then he had every intention of marrying Clarinda as soon as possible—even if he had to steal her from his brother.
He was three-and-thirty, and he needed an heir.
Then there were his businesses.
The Elegant Courtesan and his gaming hell would have to be sold. Clarinda’s father, the Earl of Heath, had seen to that proviso when he set up the marriage contract, and Clarinda had reminded him of the agreement on the occasion of their ride in Hyde Park during the fashionable hour just the week before. It was unseemly for an earl to own such businesses despite the monies they generated. At least he’d had them long enough to ensure his financial stability and that of the earldom’s, probably for the rest of his life. That Clarinda knew anything about The Elegant Courtesan had David wondering who had told her. Certainly not her father.
The final domino was the one that had arrived on the doorstep of The Elegant Courtesan earlier that morning. She hadn’t even been in the game until that moment. He didn’t want Lady Isabella suffering anymore than she already had, though, and wondered what he might do to secure protection for her.
“Do you believe her?” David asked, his voice sounding weary in the quiet salon.
The Duke of Huntington nodded. “I believe she believes what she saw,” he answered carefully. “She’s frightened to death of her father. Can’t say I blame her. Even if he didn’t strangle his countess, Craythorne isn’t exactly known for his even temper.”
The earl shot him an angry glance. “Had I been there, I would have killed the bastard,” he whispered hoarsely. He still might, if what the girl claimed was true.
Octavius gave a start at the vehemence he heard in David’s vow. “Sounds as if you know more than I do,” he prompted. When the Earl of Norwick didn’t provide a reply right away, Octavius took a drink from his glass and closed his eyes. He tried to remember the last time he had drunk whisky before noon. It would have been during the year after Jane’s death. Probably the entire year, he thought with a wince. “Pray tell, what do you know?”
David allowed a sigh. “She needs a protector. A place to stay. Clothes. A life away from Craythorne,” he responded, as if he’d been writing the list in his head for some time. “Eventually, she’ll need a husband.” This last was said with a hint of despair, as if he couldn’t stomach the thought of Lady Isabella with a man.
“Agreed,” Octavius replied with a nod, rather impressed at the earl’s recitation. He finished off his glass of whisky. “She said her mother told her to find you should anything happen. She has your calling card, Norwick. Why do you suppose Lady Craythorne would give her that instruction?”
David shook his head. “I suppose because I’m to marry Isabella’s cousin,” he murmured, his voice far too calm. Jesus! He hadn’t even considered that particular connection until just then. He had struggled in vain not to think of the woman who had apparently been killed the day before. Once he gave into his memories, the pain would become real, as would the anger.
The tears had already fallen.
What was it about the Brotherton women that had him acting like a lovesick puppy?
He blinked suddenly. Arabella’s family would soon figure out she had died. Someone would inform them, whether it be Craythorne, or the coroner in Basingstoke, or someone else. Then Clarinda would learn of her aunt’s death, as well, and then tell him the circumstances. If she didn’t offer the information of her own accord, he could always ask. Claim he heard it from someone at Parliament. He wondered how different the story would be from Craythorne compared to how it had been relayed by Isabella.
The girl had no reason to lie. No reason to falsely implicate Craythorne in her mother’s death.
Did she?
The thought of how bedraggled she appeared that morning was his answer, of course. Of how bone-tired and frightened she sounded as she explained what had happened.
She had no reason to lie.
Octavius allowed David his brief woolgathering before he shook his head. “Those of us who have paid witness to Lady Clarinda’s courtship and who can tell the difference between you and your brother know that you aren’t the one courting Lady Clarinda,” he accused suddenly. When David’s attention finally turned on him, he angled his head. “I’ve seen your brother, Daniel, with her in Kensington Gardens. Several times. Since you’re not the one courting her, perhaps you would be amenable to marrying Lady Isabella instead of Lady Clarinda.” The words were out of his mouth before he considered the age difference between David Fitzwilliam and the young lady. The earl was a bit older than Octavius. Mid-thirties, perhaps? But marriages with age differences far larger weren’t so uncommon. Sometimes they were even love matches.
But why did the thought of Norwick marrying Lady Isabella make him wince just then? Surely it wasn’t just because the earl owned a brothel and a gaming hell.
“I will be the one marrying Lady Clarinda,” David stated, his voice rather stern. “Daniel knows Clare and I have been betrothed since... well, since our fathers made the arrangements a long time ago.”
The duke winced, wondering why David would allow his brother to court the woman who was to be his wife. Couldn’t Lady Clarinda tell the difference between the twin brothers? Perhaps not, if she was only allowed a few minutes of time in the company of a Fitzwilliam brother. Octavius was about to ask but decided not to anger David anymore than he already was.
Angered and hurting.
“Still, arranged marriages mean nothing these days. So ... why don’t you marry Isabella? She’s young, yes, but you’re not getting any younger, and you need an heir ...”
“As do you.”
Octavius nearly hissed at the simple words. The wounds of having lost a loving wife and a babe the year before were still too raw. Too fresh. It would be a long time before the widower would consider marriage again. Even then, he had made a promise to Jane to never love another. It wouldn’t be fair to Jane. To his memories of her. “There must be a reason Lady Craythorne would send her daughter to find you,” he tried again. “Perhaps she thought you two should wed—”
“I cannot wed Isabella.”
The clipped words had Octavius straightening in his chair as David suddenly stood up from his
and moved to stand before the fireplace. One of his hands gripped the mantle, as if he needed its support to remain upright.
Octavius stood up and joined him, wondering at the man’s reaction to his simple suggestion. He raised himself up on the balls of his feet, attempting to match David’s height. “What do you mean, you cannot?”
David’s eyes darted to the left and finally returned to regard the duke. “She’s my daughter.”
The duke settled back onto his heels, his body giving a start as if the earl had slapped him across the face. “What?” he managed to get out, his brows furrowing in confusion.
The earl sighed and moved to retake his chair near the fireplace. “Isabella doesn’t know, of course. That is, unless Arabella told her, and I rather doubt she would have said anything to anybody. Especially not to Craythorne.”
Octavius stood before David another moment before slowly settling himself into the other chair. “What the hell? When ... how ...?”
“Well, the usual way, of course,” David answered with a shake of his head, his manner rather gruff. “Arabella and I had an affaire when I was at university. She wasn’t yet married to Craythorne, of course, but ... she was betrothed to him.” The last came out as a whisper, almost as if he hesitated to admit anything more than he was forced to just then. He paused a moment. “I suppose you could say I am rather attracted to the Brotherton women,” he added with an arched eyebrow, daring the duke to make mention of it.
Octavius shook his head, still rather stunned by the news. There had never been a hint of gossip about David and Arabella, which meant the two had kept their affaire a secret from everyone.
“Heath doesn’t know?” Octavius ventured, referring to Clarinda’s father, the Earl of Heath. His older brother, the prior earl, had been Arabella’s father.
“God, no. Neither did his brother,” David replied with a shake of his head. “Truth be told... you’re the only other one besides me who knows,” he murmured, his brows furrowing in sorrow.
Octavius considered the information, rather impressed the earl had taken him into his confidence, although given the circumstances, he had been forced to do so.
“So, we’re still in a quandary,” Octavius said in a low voice.
Lady Isabella needed protection, protection best supplied by a husband. Without her parents’ consent, though, she couldn’t legally wed until she was one-and-twenty.
Well, she could, but banns would have to be read in her parish as well as the parish of her future husband. Craythorne would surely learn of the impending nuptials and protest. Then he would demand to know where his daughter was staying.
The duke briefly wondered if he could find a bishop willing to perform the ceremony. If a special license were purchased, he would have to swear he had her father’s permission, though, since Isabella wasn’t yet of age. Octavius didn’t think he could do such a thing.
Worried that word might get back to Craythorne had him rethinking the strategy. The earl would probably react in a violent manner. Pistols at dawn might be the least of the man’s vengeance.
“What about Heath? He’s her grandfather. Certainly he can provide protection...”
“Stockton House will be the first place Craythorne will look for her,” David countered, referring to the Earl of Heath’s mansion in London.
Realizing the earl was right, the duke gave a shake of his head. “Well. This is a quandary. Who else do we know who needs a wife and can hide her until she’s old enough to marry?” Octavius asked, his question almost rhetorical.
The earl didn’t pause a single moment before saying, “You.”
The duke turned to stare at David, his brows furrowed. “Me?”
David nodded. “As her real father, I cannot think of a more advantageous marriage for her,” he murmured. “You can send her to your country estate in Sussex. She loves horses. You can provide protection. You have the resources. You need an heir,” he added, one eyebrow arching up. “She’s not a milkwater miss, Hunt. She’s... she’s brave and resourceful, and I’m quite sure she will be much easier on the eyes once she’s out of the bath she’s probably taking this very moment.”
Octavius couldn’t help the thought of a naked Isabella that formed in his mind’s eye just then. She was young, yes, but in a couple of years—two years—she would be one-and-twenty. More beautiful. More mature. Old enough to marry without her parents’ permission. Old enough to be a wife. Old enough...
What the hell am I thinking? he chided himself. I certainly cannot marry the chit, nor anyone else for that matter. It wouldn’t be fair to any woman given the grief he still felt over the death of his wife and son. Besides, he certainly couldn’t marry someone who wanted anything more than a marriage of convenience. He had made that promise to Jane. A promise never to love another. The moment before the light behind her eyes dimmed and her body went slack. The moment before their son joined her in death.
I still need an heir.
But can I afford to wait another two years to marry? he wondered with annoyance.
Two years?
No. Maybe. Yes.
He wouldn’t marry Isabella, though. But he could at least provide protection and a place for her to live. A place to hide her away until they could learn more about what had happened to her mother. Until she was old enough to marry.
She will simply be my ward, Octavius decided. Who else could David trust to provide protection for her? Especially given the current circumstances?
She’s almost nineteen, he reminded himself. Neither he, nor anyone else, for that matter, would be able to take her as his wife anytime soon. When someone did, Craythorne would discover her whereabouts. She was still the man’s daughter as far as everyone else knew. She was Craythorne’s to do as he pleased, and at the moment, he was either intending to end her life so that she couldn’t spread word of her mother’s murder, or he was experiencing a good deal of regret at what had happened and was hoping to beg for Isabella’s forgiveness.
All the same, Octavius didn’t care one whit about Craythorne or what he might want. When the chit reached one-and-twenty, she would be married, he decided. Until then, he had an estate in the country where she could hide.
A mostly-staffed estate with horses.
He regarded the Earl of Norwick for a long moment before finally giving the man a nod. “With your permission, she’ll be my ward. She can live at Huntinghurst until she’s either reached her majority or until Craythorne dies.”
David furrowed a brow before he finally nodded in return. “Agreed.” He paused a moment. “I have a cousin. In Boxgrove. She sees to one of my entailed properties.”
The duke furrowed a brow. “Fair Downs?” he questioned.
“Indeed. My uncle used to keep it up on my father’s behalf, and now his daughter does so on my behalf.” At the duke’s quizzical expression, he added, “As a châtelaine of sorts. I’ll see to it she befriends Isabella.”
Crossing his arms, as if he were about to argue, Octavius regarded the earl before finally saying, “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I thought we were supposed to be keeping her a secret.”
David gave a shrug. “Connie will. She’s good at keeping secrets,” he murmured, not about to add that she had kept his involvement in the death of a horse thief a secret since the night of her come-out. “And she’s sees to the horses at Fair Downs.”
Octavius straightened. “Race horses?” he countered, suddenly interested in learning more.
“One was. Two, really. None that I know of now, though,” David replied.
Giving his head a quick shake, Octavius asked, “How is it you don’t know your own stables?”
Taken aback, David replied, “Because the horses at Fair Downs are not mine. They are Connie’s,” he explained. “I gave them to her upon the death of my uncle, Edward. They were his, anyway, so I made sure they were part of her inheritance.”
He was suddenly reminded he needed to see to refilling the coffers for Fair Downs. Constan
ce Fitzwilliam had been good about keeping up the property with a small staff, but she did so on very little in the way of funds. She believed the money she found hidden in nooks and crannies and beneath loose floor boards was money her mother had hidden before her death years ago. Money she said her mother had squirreled away in an effort to keep it from her husband, Edward.
Addicted to gambling, especially when it came to horses, Edward Fitzwilliam had lost everything his race horse had won and more. But David had seen to it that more money was stashed away in less likely hiding places, like the bottom of the flour container and in the cushions of the parlor chairs. Behind books and at the bottom of vases. In the hems of bedchamber drapes and under mattresses.
Now that Isabella would be housed nearby, he would have an excuse to visit Fair Downs.
David suddenly frowned. “And look who’s accusing me of not knowing my own stables. When was the last time you had a nag in a horse race?”
Octavius allowed a sigh. It was true he had lost all interest in his hobbies upon the death of his duchess. Upon the death of their newborn son. He figured his interest in his horses would be piqued again in due time, though. Perhaps in a year or so. “I don’t have a contender this year,” he replied with a shrug. “No three-year-olds, and certainly no six-year-olds.”
David gave a snort, not believing the duke’s claim. “I admit to having other issues on my mind this year,” he replied. Selling his businesses, taking a wife, and seeing to Isabella’s well-being were just a few. Once he was married, things would settle down, and he would have leisure time once again.
“How long can Lady Isabella stay here at The Elegant Courtesan? Without being discovered by the clientele?” Octavius wondered.
Frowning, David thought of the brothel’s servants and who could be trusted. Thought of the bedchamber Isabella was in and if she could go out the back door without being seen. Thought of the girls who would insist on befriending her if they knew she was there. “A few days, I suppose. No more than a week.” He didn’t add that he would have to close the brothel before he married Clarinda. One of the reasons there was a bedchamber available for Isabella was because the former occupant had married. He didn’t want to hire another given the limited time The Elegant Courtesan would remain in business.
The Dream of a Duchess Page 5