“Exactly.” Frost cleared his throat. “This endeavor gives McCarthy one more way to hang himself, so to speak. One more opportunity for law enforcement to catch him, especially if Hurley continues to sell bad alcohol that might kill someone.”
Elijah shuddered at the thought, realizing how close his mother had come.
“Yes,” Rutland agreed. “More opportunities for us, but for him as well.”
“What if I were to have a word with the Earl of Pennsboro and encourage him to purchase liquor from Hurley if he’s approached to do so?” Elijah asked.
“Without the intention of it being served to anyone?” Frost asked.
“That might work,” Rutland said. “Of course, if the alcohol isn’t poisoned, no good will come of it, but if it is...”
“And we can prove McCarthy had a hand in it, both Hurley and McCarthy could be charged.”
“I’ll have a word with Pennsboro,” Elijah said then turned to Frost. “Has your lad come up with anything more of note?”
“Only that Hurley is still working out of the location on Gray Street. I’ll see if he has any further updates for us.”
“Advise Victor to take care,” Rutland warned. “If McCarthy is involved, the danger increases for everyone. The man has eyes everywhere.”
“So do we,” Frost said with a smile.
“Shall we plan on meeting again in two days’ time?” Elijah suggested. “That should give us enough time to find out more and determine further details on how to proceed.”
“Good idea. This could be an excellent chance to put away Hurley and McCarthy,” Rutland advised. “We don’t want to act hastily.”
Elijah nodded. Funny how that advice seemed to hold true with several issues in his life of late. As he and Frost walked out, Elijah considered saying something to Frost about Lillian. But what could he say? That he wished Lillian would tell him what she was thinking? What she wanted?
He scoffed at the idea. He’d have to settle with taking Rutland’s advice and not act hastily.
~*~
Lillian sighed at the pile of invitations on the tray as she passed through the foyer. Rather than look through them, she left them where they were.
“What has you sighing so heavily?” Julia asked as Lillian joined her in the drawing room.
“Nothing in particular.”
Julia only continued to stare at her as though daring her to continue with her fib.
“Did you see the number of invitations that have arrived of late?” Lillian asked. She bit her lip, well aware it was a ridiculous thing to complain about.
“You poor dear,” Julia said with mock sympathy and a smile.
“No one paid me much notice until Elijah started to do so, and now suddenly everyone not only knows who I am but wishes to befriend me.” The fact did annoy her but wasn’t truly the problem.
She couldn’t bring herself to share with Julia that she didn’t see how she could pursue a relationship with Elijah when she lacked the cleverness, polish, and skills to be a duchess. Though she was the daughter of an earl, she’d been raised in the country. Living in London was a different experience. Heaven knew her mother would be happy to prepare a list of Lillian’s faults and the reasons she’d never make Elijah happy. Lillian need only look at Elijah’s mother to see how special of a woman it took to have the poise to be a duchess.
Julia tsked-tsked, obviously amused by the situation.
“You have to admit how ridiculous that is,” Lillian protested even though Julia must think her mad.
“It is ridiculous. But people so often are. We all wish to be popular and well liked. Being seen with someone who we perceive to be makes us feel better about ourselves.”
“I just wish it didn’t involve me.”
“Are you certain that is what’s truly bothering you?” Julia asked.
Lillian plucked at the lace trimming her gown, wondering how much to share with Julia. “I’m not certain of the reason he’s doing this.” That was part of the problem as well. She couldn’t get past the idea that his interest in her had more to do with her relationship with his mother than anything else.
“Because you’d suit?” Julia suggested.
“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“I have to wonder if you’re thinking about this too hard.”
“How do you mean?” Lillian frowned.
“Ask yourself a few questions. Do you like Burbridge? Can you see yourself spending time with him in five years? And most importantly, does he make your stomach flutter?”
Yes, yes, and yes, she wanted to respond. But it wasn’t that simple. “Would you mind asking him those questions? I should very much like to know his response before I offer my own.”
Julia laughed. “I would do so without hesitation as I think I know what his answer would be, but your brother might not like me doing so.”
“What might I not like?” Oliver asked as he entered the room. “Does it have anything to do with the pile of invitations we’ve suddenly received? Because I can’t say that I care for those at all.”
Lillian watched as he bent to kiss Julia’s cheek. His gaze swept over his wife as though checking to see how she fared as if it truly mattered to him. Because it did.
Julia’s smile was an intimate one meant only for him, the warmth of it reflected in her eyes.
That only made Lillian sigh again. The two were so obviously perfect for each other. She wished she’d been here when they’d first met to see how their love had come about. Perhaps that would resolve part of her own doubt.
“It is Lillian’s fault we have so many invitations,” Julia said.
“No,” Lillian denied. “That fault lies squarely with Burbridge.”
“Hmm. I shall have to have a word with him.” Oliver’s teasing made Lillian smile.
“Please do,” Lillian said. Maybe she should’ve returned home for a few weeks to allow the situation to calm, for her feelings—and his—to become clearer.
How could he truly care for her when he didn’t really know her? She couldn’t set aside her doubt that his interest was due to her helping him with his mother. Nor did she know how she could possibly follow in his mother’s footsteps as a duchess. Maybe if she spent more time with the older woman, she’d better understand which shortcoming she needed to address. Watching how the duchess acted in numerous social situations might provide the guidance she wanted. Her mother’s actions in the country weren’t the same as what was required in London.
“Would you mind if we had the duchess here for tea?” Lillian asked. “She seems rather reluctant to venture out since she fell ill.”
Julia’s eyes went wide, and she glanced at Oliver before looking back at Lillian. “Are you certain that’s wise?”
“She had us to her home for tea. Isn’t it polite to return the invitation?”
“Yes, but she’s a duchess. And having her here might cause more gossip since Burbridge has started to court you.”
“Oh.” Lillian’s stomach dipped at the thought. But the more she thought on it, the more she decided it was the right thing to do. “I think she’d enjoy it. What if we invited a few of her friends as well?”
“I don’t think that would prevent people from talking.”
“They’re already doing so,” Lillian said. “Besides, I’m more concerned with her than them.”
Oliver smiled. “That’s the spirit.”
His encouragement reassured her. This seemed like a good way to find out whether she should remain in London or return home and try to live without Elijah for both their sakes.
Chapter Nineteen
“One cannot see what moral lesson is to be deduced from ‘funny’ teetotal stories, unless it is intended to show that, from the lofty eminence of total abstinence, a child may despise his beer-drinking parent.”
~The Seven Curses of London
D.T. sipped a glass of ale as he sat on a stool at the bar of the only tavern he trusted. There were few
he knew that served decent drinks, but the Bull and Boar Tavern kept the atmosphere, along with the drinks, simple. The scent of onions, spilt ale, and sweat jostled for supremacy, just as it had in the many years he’d been a customer.
Most here were working men, a modest crowd made up of those who hadn’t yet ventured home for supper. They probably wouldn’t if they hadn’t left by this hour.
He couldn’t help but turn to watch the door as he waited for Sampson, the bobbie with whom he was meeting, to arrive. Sampson was off-duty this evening and would be dressed in plain clothes rather than the uniform he wore each day. He was one of the men on both McCarthy’s payroll as well as that of the Metropolitan Police.
D.T. should’ve waited for the man to arrive before ordering a drink. If he received pay from two masters, he surely had more coins in his pocket than D.T.
Then again, Sampson took a great risk by serving both sides of the law and deserved extra wages.
“Got ye a tiger by the tail, don’t ye?”
Startled by the voice in his ear, D.T. turned to find Sampson directly behind him.
“Don’t be lookin’ at me,” Sampson admonished, though he continued to face the massive, chipped mahogany bar as he slid onto the barstool beside D.T.
D.T. jerked his gaze away, then glanced at Sampson’s reflection in the mirror behind the barkeeps who hurried back and forth, filling customers’ orders.
“A tiger?” D.T. asked, confused by the entire situation, including Sampson’s question. How had the man arrived without D.T. seeing him?
D.T. was a simple businessman. These sort of espionage meetings were beyond his ken. The idea of speaking to a peeler was disturbing enough. How could they conduct a conversation if they couldn’t look at each other?
“That’s right. A tiger.” Sampson waved the barkeep over and ordered an ale, still not looking at D.T. other than briefly in the mirror.
D.T. had to wonder if he often met people he didn’t want to be seen speaking with as he certainly seemed to know how this was done. He waited until the barkeep slid a mug of dark ale toward Sampson and stepped away to serve another patron before speaking. “I don’t understand your meanin’.”
“Difficult to keep hold yet impossible to let go.” Sampson chuckled then took a deep drink, sighing in satisfaction. “I found out who’s been causin’ problems for ye. Overheard the sergeant speakin’ about it.” Sampson kept his voice low and his eyes forward.
Anger bubbled forth at the idea of one person causing all of his recent problems. “Who?”
“A duke, no less.” The peeler chuckled again. “Can you believe that?”
D.T. blinked, his anger fading at the idea that a duke was involved. He might tell himself that who one’s father was didn’t matter, that it was how a man lived his life that counted, but a duke? The idea took him aback. “Is that right?”
Sampson shook his head. “Might as well be a tiger.”
“Why would he be concerned with the likes of me?”
The man lifted a shoulder. “Don’t know.”
With a scowl, D.T. got a hold of himself. He’d sold more than one batch of liquor to the ton. Not all of it had been up to his usual standard, but the idea that a duke had bothered to find out who’d supplied it surprised him. Had the batch been worse than he’d thought?
“Do you have a name?” Damned if he was going to allow anyone to put him out of business, regardless of his title.
The man raised a brow, visible in the mirror behind the bar. “Ye intend to take on a duke?”
“I don’t care who he is. I’m not goin’ to allow him to cause me this much trouble.” Now that he had a target for his frustration, he was determined to put an end to it. In truth, he had no choice. Not when Jack McCarthy was breathing down his neck.
Sampson leaned closer as though settling himself on the barstool. “The Duke of Burbridge.”
D.T. nodded, repeating the title to himself, his mind churning along with his stomach. How in the hell was he going to take on a duke?
“What do ye intend to do?” Sampson sounded curious.
“Don’t know yet, but I’ll think of something.”
Sampson nodded. “I’ll wish ye luck. Ye’re goin’ to need it. But know this—McCarthy don’t like it if the ton gets involved. Things become complicated when they do.”
“McCarthy doesn’t have to worry over it. I’ll take care of things.” D.T. lifted his glass and drained it. He’d need more than luck to win this battle. After slipping Sampson a little something for the information, D.T. stepped out into the cool night air, his thoughts reeling from what he’d learned.
Who was he to confront a duke? As he turned toward home, he forced his spinning thoughts to slow. He needed to change his attitude. The duke was a man of flesh and blood, no different than any other man, just one with a little more power.
Yet he couldn’t help but shiver at the task before him.
~*~
That evening at the Cordesley’s ball, Lillian thought her cheeks might break from her constant, forced smile. It felt as if everyone watched her. Whispers had followed her progress into the ballroom and hadn’t seemed to stop. The feeling was terribly uncomfortable and took the joy from conversing with her friends and family.
Julia and Oliver stood nearby but visited with other guests. The sensation of being surrounded by people but feeling alone threw her off balance.
“Lady Lillian.”
She turned to find Lady Margaret beside her. Her cheeks hurt all the worse at the sight. She’d quickly become one of Lillian’s least favorite people.
“I must say, that is an interesting gown.” Margaret’s gaze swept up and down Lillian’s light buff-colored silk gown. “I suppose fashion is different in the country.”
Margaret had made it clear she wanted Elijah. Her flirtatious looks in his direction as well as the way she placed herself directly in his path whenever possible made it obvious. Whether Elijah noticed, Lillian didn’t know.
Though Margaret had only spoken to her on two or three occasions, each time, she’d managed to find a way to disparage Lillian. More than once, the woman had suggested that as the daughter of a marquess who also held the title of earl, not to mention her family’s connections, she was far better suited to be the wife of a duke than Lillian.
Lillian well knew that wasn’t true, not in this day and age. But her other remarks, implying Lillian lacked in everything from fashion to manners, were difficult to ignore. Something about the way she spoke, along with her tone, reminded Lillian of her mother. Her comments brought forth the doubts Lillian was constantly trying to shut away. While she knew she should ignore them, a voice in her head refused to allow that.
Lillian tried to focus on feeling angry rather than hurt. Hurt left her weak, something she detested. But no anger was to be found, only doubt. Still, she had to do something to make the woman realize she wasn’t an easy target.
“Why, thank you.” She smoothed a gloved hand against the front of the gown. “My aunt and I travelled to Paris last autumn. Their fashion designs are wonderful, so many lovely gowns. Have you been there?”
“Of course, I have.” Margaret’s affront made Lillian hope she’d find someone else to bother. “We spend a month or more there each year. Last autumn, you say? I’m surprised you’d wear a gown that old. You poor thing.”
Heat filled Lillian’s cheeks even as her mind went blank.
“Lady Lillian?” Lady Elisabeth, one of Margaret’s friends, joined them. “You’re still in London? I thought you were returning to the country.”
“Yes,” Margaret agreed. “Surely it’s past time you left the excitement of London for the quiet of the country. That seems much more suited to your personality.”
Lillian gritted her teeth even as she kept her smile. “Actually, I’ll be remaining in the city for a time.”
“Truly?” Margaret appeared amazed at her answer. “Whatever for?” The scorn in her voice slowed Lillian’s thoughts, mak
ing it difficult to think of any reply, let alone a clever one.
Was it true? Should she return home? She didn’t always feel as if she belonged here.
“I-I’m enjoying my time with my brother.” She glanced at Oliver, wishing he or Julia would note her distress. But they’d moved even farther away to greet others.
“I have to say, it was a bold move to befriend the Duchess of Burbridge, especially inviting her to tea.” Lady Elisabeth shook her head as if to suggest she thought it anything of the sort.
“Bold? I’d say it was untoward of you,” Margaret countered. “Such an obvious step to attempt to capture Burbridge’s interest.”
“But that’s not why I—”
Margaret’s tittering laughter cut off her denial. “Surely you don’t expect us to believe you?” She glanced at her friend. “We know what you’re about. No doubt everyone else does as well.”
Lillian’s defenses rose even more. “I am very fond of the duchess.”
Lady Elisabeth nodded knowingly. “Aren’t we all?” Her smile couldn’t have been falser. She looked at Margaret, and they both laughed as they walked away.
Lillian hated the way their comments made her feel. Hated the doubt that took hold deep inside her and felt impossible to stop.
She wanted to run and hide—anything to escape the feeling of being an impostor, of not belonging. Instead, she did what she always did when doubt threatened to overwhelm her—she shoved it deep inside, hoping it stayed buried. Never mind that it tended to bubble up when she least expected it. Or that she feared one day the dark void inside would swallow her whole.
“Was that Lady Margaret?” Julia asked, joining her several minutes too late.
“Yes.” Lillian bit her lip. She didn’t like to speak ill of others, though the temptation was nearly overwhelming when it came to Margaret and Elisabeth.
“She never has anything good to say. Why are some people like that?”
“I thought perhaps I brought out the worst in her.” Her dismal tone must’ve caught Julia’s notice, for she turned to study Lillian.
Daring the Duke (The Seven Curses of London Book 7) Page 22