The Reluctant Duchess

by Sharon Cullen

  “We can’t arrive at a nethersken in a ducal carriage,” he said as he offered his arm and they walked down the street. It was early enough that no one except servants were up and about, but it was still strange to stroll the street on the arm of the Duke of Rossmoyne in a dress she would never wear in public.

  “You’ve thought of everything,” she said.

  “Not everything.”

  “Tell me about this nethersken.”

  “It’s run by a woman named Mrs. Kettles. It’s a rather large nethersken, dominated by a variety of thieves and displaced servants.”

  “Hopefully none of your servants.”

  “I have found that if you treat them with respect and kindness, they remain loyal.”

  “Some would say that is a strange concept.”

  “I’ve been called strange before. It’s nothing new to me.”

  “As have I,” she murmured.

  “Strange is not all bad.”

  “Only if one is not in society. Then strange is very bad indeed.”

  “Do you really care what society thinks?”

  Did she? “Society has never paid me much mind. I was always Meredith’s shadow, more a chaperone than anything else. Someone to be pitied.”

  He gave her a sideways look. “I wouldn’t say pitied.”

  “You are correct. No one thought of me long enough to pity me.” She shook her head. “It sounds as if I’m feeling sorry for myself when that isn’t so. It’s never bothered me overmuch. I’m not a great conversationalist, and the act of making small talk makes me anxious. I prefer to sit in the shadows and watch people.”

  “I didn’t think you were feeling sorry for yourself. In fact, I envy your ability to fade into the shadows.”

  “You do?” She looked up at him in surprise.

  “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  “You’re a duke. I would think a duke would expect to attract attention and would crave it.”

  “Oh, I expect attention, but I don’t necessarily crave it.”

  She thought of all those appearances Ross and Meredith had made at social events. As soon as their engagement had been announced, they had nearly been mobbed wherever they went.

  “I can see why it would get tiresome.” Sara liked peace, and she enjoyed being by herself. She could not imagine the life Meredith had led, always being the center of attention. Callers had flocked to their house one after another, and Meredith had basked in it. Not Sara. She’d begged off more than a few times, leaving the socializing to Meredith.

  She had assumed that Ross was the same as Meredith. It was shocking and fascinating to learn differently. She wanted to know more about this man who turned her beliefs upside down every time she talked to him, but they arrived at the hackney stand, where he hired a vehicle for them.

  He helped her up into it and grimaced when he settled across from her, lifting his feet from the days-old straw at the bottom and staring at the muck.

  “It’s a good thing your valet gave you old boots to wear,” she said with a straight face.

  He shot her a disgruntled look. “Do these drivers not clean their conveyances?”

  “Not often enough, apparently.”

  He looked around with a frown. He may have been dressed as a displaced noble, but he was still acting a duke. How he thought he was going to convince this Mrs. Kettles that he was a commoner was beyond Sara. Once he spoke, the ruse would be over.

  “I must confess that I know very little about netherskens except that they are dangerous,” she said as the carriage rattled away. The driver must not have believed in quality springs. She would have a sore bum when the ride was over.

  “They are rooms for let, although that is not quite right, either,” Ross said as he grabbed for the edge of the seat after a bad rut in the road. “A person will rent space from the proprietor to stay for a day or a night. From what I understand, they are quite overcrowded with unsavory characters.”

  “And what are we hoping to find?”

  “Thomas said a person by the same description of the one who delivered your letter is residing there. Or at least he was as of yesterday. Netherskens are notorious for drifters.”

  “So this man could be long gone by the time we get there?”

  “Could be.”

  The scenery went from stately mansions to smaller townhouses to small houses built willy-nilly and nearly on top of each other. The people changed accordingly. Here everyone was up and about, if they weren’t at their jobs already. Children ran unattended through the streets, while women hung the wash out the windows and men leaned negligently in the doorways.

  The smell made Sara’s eyes water. Decay and desperation. Everything was blackened by smoke spewing from hundreds of cooking fires, and the sun dared not peek through the cracks between the buildings. Every once in a while they passed a dead dog or cat. Rats scuttled from here to there, hugging the walls and sticking to the shadows.

  Sara had always thought she had an open mind when it came to social issues, but she found herself leaning away from the window and swallowing the bile that rose in her throat. The children affected her the most. They reminded her of Thomas. How many of them would fall into a life of crime, driven by the simple need to eat? How many of them would not live to see next year? She turned her head away from the window.

  “If we’re lucky, Mrs. Kettles will be able to tell us a little more about the man we’re seeking,” Ross said.

  “If this place is notorious for housing criminals, then this Mrs. Kettles is probably in league with them. How do we know she will tell us anything, and how do we trust what she tells us?”

  Ross inclined his head toward her. “Not only beautiful but smart as well.”

  She stared at him in surprise. He thought her beautiful?

  He thought her beautiful?

  She had been told she was smart, but not in the appreciative way Ross had said it. To be smart was not exactly a trait to be admired in a woman. It scared off suitors, because no man wanted to think a potential wife was smarter than he. Ross, it appeared, didn’t seem to mind. Then again, he was not thinking of her as wife material.

  “My hope is that she can be bribed.”

  “If her tenants discover she’s snitching on them, she could lose her business.”

  He raised a brow. “Snitching?”

  She shrugged.

  “We have to at least try. It’s the only lead we have.”

  The carriage slowed and Sara looked out the window. The street, if it could be called that, was so narrow that the hackney could barely fit through. It was eerily deserted.

  “It’s strange,” she murmured, still looking out the window.

  “Strange?”

  “It’s like Grosvenor Square, only the opposite.” At Ross’s puzzled look, Sara indicated the scenery outside the window. “These people. They exist because people like you and I exist. They live our hours because that’s the time to steal from us or sell their bodies to the gentlemen who seek that sort of entertainment. Would they be here if it weren’t for us?

  “Or would they prey on others? Do they live our hours because we’re susceptible? Because we think we are so important or so far above them that they are inconsequential, and that makes us vulnerable to them?

  “If we weren’t here, would they turn their attention to other, better pursuits?

  “More honorable pursuits? I don’t know. Maybe some would. But some people are simply born bad. I think they would turn their eye to even less honorable pursuits.”

  “Maybe. We will never know, because there will always be people like us for people like them to live off of.”

  The carriage stopped. There wasn’t enough room for it to pull to the side. If another hackney wanted to get by, it wouldn’t be able to. Then again, she hadn’t seen another hackney in a while.

  Butterflies started up in Sara’s stomach. It was one thing to say she would accompany Ross to a nethersken and quite another to be there. She had ne
ver ventured this far into the belly of the city. If her father knew, he would have a fit. If James knew, he would have apoplexy. Then she thought of the letters, and that strengthened her resolve.

  Even dressed in their worst clothes, they stood out as being finely dressed. People stopped to stare at them. Men eyed them not out of curiosity but as if calculating their worth. Sara tried to hide her shiver of alarm. “We should have brought James with us.”

  “You don’t trust that I can keep you safe?”

  “I put my life in your hands, Your Grace.”

  “Don’t call me that,” he whispered harshly.

  “So are you saying I should not curtsy, either?”

  He stared at her for an incredulous moment before he burst out in laughter, attracting more attention from people who had come out of their homes to see the newcomers.

  Chapter 13

  Ross stood next to the carriage and prepared himself for what was to come. Calling their transportation a carriage was like calling a nag a thoroughbred. The hovel in front of them didn’t even have four walls. More like three and a half with no panes in the windows. Ross was not unmoved by the poverty surrounding him. He couldn’t imagine how cold these people were in the winter or how hungry or desperate. By some quirk of fate, he’d been born to privilege, and by the same quirk of fate, these people had not.

  It made one think.

  He was very aware of Sara beside him. His responsibility for her rested heavily on his shoulders. He was all that stood between her and the people eyeing them like they were the next meal. And it wasn’t just the men. The women and children were as dangerous as the men. Desperation drove people to desperate measures, and he couldn’t forget that here.

  Unconsciously, he took Sara’s hand and held it tightly. She squeezed his fingers and smiled up at him. The smile gave him the reassurance he needed. Together they walked to the front door.

  There was no need to knock, for there was no actual door, just an opening. Nevertheless, Ross knocked on the outside wall to announce their presence. No one answered. Sara shrugged and they both stepped in.

  The front room—or what passed as the front room—blended into what looked like a crude kitchen. Pallets lined the walls and spilled out to the middle of the floor. Most of them were occupied with lumps covered by thin blankets. He supposed those were people sleeping.

  Children ran about, some toddling as if they had just learned to walk. Something inside Ross twisted at the thought that these babes would lose their innocence long before they should. Some would not make it. Some would turn to a life of crime. The girls would resort to selling themselves on the street. If they were lucky, they would find a trade and toil away from sunup to sundown for a pittance.

  He had to look away from them but saw that Sara could not. She was watching them with a mix of horror and sadness. Her gaze locked on a girl whom he hadn’t seen when he first walked in. She was wraith-thin, with dirty blond hair that looked like it had been hacked off with a knife; bits of it were sticking up every which way. She was holding a small baby sleeping peacefully against her shoulder. She looked at Sara with huge blue eyes, and when she turned those eyes to Ross, she quickly turned her head away and tugged on her shorn hair as if she could pull it longer and hide behind it.

  A woman stood at the stove stirring several steaming pots. She was tall, with ample hips and wide shoulders, and she was watching them closely as she continued to stir.

  “ ’Elp you?” she asked, eyeing Ross up and down. He had a feeling his valet hadn’t done nearly enough to disguise his appearance. And Sara’s brown gown was too well made to ever pass as that of someone who lived in the rookery. The pink tinge to her cheeks marked her as a person who lived much better than the pale-skinned, wan-looking souls here.

  “Pardon our intrusion, ma’am, but we’re searching for our brother.”

  Sara looked at Ross in surprise. He had cobbled together this story overnight when he couldn’t sleep because he couldn’t stop thinking of Sara sitting in the chair with tears racing down her cheeks or of the feel of her trembling hands in his. He probably should have told her his story before, but he’d been so involved in their conversation on the way here that he’d forgotten to tell her. It was strange how she made him forget things.

  The woman turned her attention to Sara, eyeing her gown. She sniffed and looked back at Ross. “Your brother, eh?”

  “Are you Mrs. Kettles?” he asked. It was difficult not to simply demand answers. But that was what a duke would do, and at the moment Ross was not a duke. He was a modest man, a concerned brother looking for his sibling. It put him in mind of the conversation he and Sara had had: I would think a duke would expect to attract attention and would crave it.

  He didn’t want to attract attention here but feared they already had, which meant they had limited time to do what needed to be done.

  The young girl on the floor watched the exchange intently but had yet to move or utter a sound. Sara kept glancing at the girl.

  “That’s me,” Mrs. Kettles said, holding the spoon as if it were a weapon and eyeing him suspiciously. A blond tot with its finger stuck in its mouth, wearing nothing but a sagging nappy, stopped in front of Sara and looked up at her.

  Sara smiled down at the little one, then looked back up at Mrs. Kettles. “We have information that leads us to believe our brother is residing here.”

  Mrs. Kettles shifted her attention to Sara but didn’t put down the spoon. Ross checked his urge to step between the two women to protect Sara. Although he remained prepared.

  “What of it?” Mrs. Kettles asked.

  “Please,” Sara said. “We’re so worried about him. We just want to know if he’s well. Our parents—” She shot Ross a desperate look. “They are not well, and they’re beside themselves with worry. We just want to alleviate their fears.”

  For a moment Ross stood in awe of this woman. She’d picked up his story without hesitation and run with it, spinning her own web of tales. She’d almost convinced him that she truly was concerned for her long-lost brother.

  With every moment he spent in her company, his admiration for her rose. And now, standing in the filthiest nethersken in the most dangerous rookery in London, Ross felt his admiration slipping into something very close to attraction.

  “Get a lot of men in and out of here. Women, too.” Mrs. Kettle didn’t soften. In fact, her expression grew harder. She was tough, this one. Then again, she would have to be to run such an establishment of the underworld.

  “My brother is about average height. He’s educated,” Sara said, sounding desperate.

  Mrs. Kettle’s eyes flickered, and Ross felt a moment of triumph. There was someone staying here by that description, or at least someone who had stayed here.

  “Lots of men look like that,” she said, still not giving up any information.

  “Do you have lots of tenants who are well educated?” Sara asked.

  For a long moment Sara and Mrs. Kettles engaged in what Ross could only call a staring contest; it was both amusing and alarming. While Ross wouldn’t put anything past Mrs. Kettles, and he didn’t want Sara harmed, he was oddly reluctant to step between them. These were two strong women taking each other’s measure.

  Mrs. Kettles was the first to look away, and Ross felt his own little surge of victory.

  “Some,” she said reluctantly. “What name does he go by?”

  Sara hesitated, shooting Ross an alarmed glance. This was the sticky part of his plan. They had no name.

  Sara covered her eyes with her hand and drew in a deep breath. Her shoulders slumped, and both Mrs. Kettles and Ross stared at her, Ross in anticipation. He could only imagine that was what Mrs. Kettles felt as well.

  Sara raised her head and sniffed. “This is so difficult,” she whispered. “I don’t know what name he’s going by at the moment. He…This is not the first time he’s disappeared, and each time he creates a new identity.”

  Something in Mrs. Kettles’s
expression finally softened, a small crack but a crack just the same, and Ross wanted to applaud Sara’s performance. For one who didn’t crave attention, she was a fine actress, indeed.

  “I have a few gents who come and go. One sounds like he could be your brother. Goes by the name of Charlie.”

  Sara shot Ross a brilliant smile and pressed her hands to her bosom. “He’s using his real name this time.”

  Ross couldn’t help but smile back, even though he had to force his gaze from her hands. He was inordinately pleased that his fake brother was using his real-fake name. Damn, but this woman was good. “Can you tell us anything about him?” he asked Mrs. Kettles.

  The woman shot Ross a frown. She hadn’t warmed to him as she had to Sara. It was not in his nature to step back and let others take control, but he saw the advisability in doing so in this situation.

  “Was he here this morning?” Sara asked.

  “I can’t rightly say.” This time a cunning look crossed Mrs. Kettles’s face. Ross knew the meaning of that look. So did Sara, for she shot him a knowing glance. He dug in his pocket for his coin purse and extracted a crown.

  “Was he here this morning?” he asked with a bit more authority. If he had to pay for information, then he was going to get his answer.

  “He was here yesterday.” The coin disappeared somewhere in her skirts, and she kept stirring whatever was in the pot as if nothing had happened at all.

  The young girl hadn’t moved, and neither had the baby in her arms, which was concerning.

  “Did he say where he was going?” Ross asked.

  “No.”

  Mrs. Kettles had answered all the questions she was going to. Unless, of course, he paid her more. He handed her another coin.

  “He’s been here before?” he asked.

  She snatched the coin, and it disappeared just like the last one. “Sometimes. Sometimes not.”

  “So he comes and goes?”

  “Aye.”

  “When was the last time he was here?”

  “You mean before this?” She seemed to think about that as she stared off into space. “Few months ago, I guess.”