Last Duke Standing

by Cheryl Bolen

  Wycliff’s dark eyes met his. “Then do so tonight.”

  Alex stood at the cabinet and poured three glasses of Madeira and handed two of them off. “You’re sure I won’t be considered insensitive?”

  “Wear full mourning attire,” Wycliff suggested.

  Dressed entirely in black, Margaret came into the room. “I thought I heard voices,” she said, her gaze scanning the group. Alex’s friends came forward and bowed and kissed and gave the proper greetings. Alex urged her to sit with them.

  She sat on the sofa near the fire.

  “We hope we’ve just persuaded your brother to take his seat in the House of Lords this afternoon,” Sinjin said.

  Her face brightened. “Then will you deliver what was to have been your maiden address in the House of Commons? It was such a fine speech.” Margaret, who had become fast friends with Wycliff’s and Sinjin’s reforming wives, had been kind enough to listen to him rehearsing and had added a few salient points to his talk.

  “You don’t think it would make me look uncaring? About Freddie’s death?” Especially since Freddie had made no bones about his objection to raising more money for the military. When all was said and done, Freddie was mostly interested in Freddie. And Freddie disliked any measure that would make him have to pay a farthing more in taxes. Alex had been proud of Margaret for standing up against Freddie for Alex and his politics.

  She thought for a moment before answering. “I think those who’ve kept up with your short-but-very-fruitful Parliamentary career would be offended if you suddenly dropped your championship of the military funding bill. But . . . you must wear full mourning.”

  As awkward as it would be to take Freddie’s place so soon after his death, Alex knew it would be wrong to turn his back on all the work he’d done since being elected to Parliament. “Very well.”

  * * *

  Georgiana was stunned when she read the morning newspapers. The Morning Chronicle printed the full text of a speech Fordham had delivered the previous night in the House of Lords. He had—she reluctantly admitted—eloquently spoken in favor of the military funding to which Freddie had so violently objected. Her brother also opposed the measure. How dare Fordham disrespect his departed brother in such a manner!

  As angry as she was, she read on.

  The newly succeeded Duke of Fordham’s highly regarded speech was met with raucous cheering—even by several noted Tories who were stirred by Fordham’s patriotism when he said, “England cannot afford NOT to put every effort it can into winning this war. As Lord Nelson so poignantly put it on the very night before he gave his life for England, England expects that every man will do his duty.’”

  The Duke of Fordham is carrying on with the stellar leadership he demonstrated in his short career in the House of Commons where he was the Member for Blythstone. Whig grandees appear to be grooming this ex-soldier to be First Lord of the Treasury.

  First Lord of the Treasury? This man who’d disrespected his brother’s memory was in line to lead the nation? He might even have murdered his brother. He was the one who would benefit the most from Freddie’s death.

  In the short time she had come to know him, though, she did not believe him capable of murdering his brother. His reverence of truth, his deep, lifelong friendship with the highly respected Lord Slade, the allegiance of his sisters, all pointed to Fordham’s innocence. Yet she kept remembering that his own mother had feared he might kill Freddie. Or vice versa.

  Later that day, his sister, Lady Margaret, called at Hartworth House. She came with Lady Slade and Lady Wycliff. Georgiana had been mesmerized by the uncommon blonde beauty of Lord Wycliff’s wife. Her face was perfection, a perfect porcelain oval with large blue eyes, full lips and even white teeth, all framed with hair the colour of wheat shimmering in the noonday sun. Her morning dress and matching pelisse were of pale blue, the exact shade of her eyes and flawlessly constructed in impeccable taste.

  Then Georgiana’s attention turned to Lady Slade. It was difficult to tell what that lady’s age was for she looked so very youthful with a smattering of freckles across her pert nose. Her Christian name was Jane, and no lady could be more of a plain Jane as far as appearances went. Her hair was an unmemorable shade of brown, and her green eyes were unremarkable. At first Georgiana was surprised that a handsome peer such as Lord Slade, who was perhaps too large for Georgiana’s taste, had fallen in love with the lady. Was she an heiress? Then Georgiana remembered Lord Slade had married a Featherstone. Everyone knew the respectable Featherstones, though having aristocratic connections, did not have a feather to fly with.

  But the more Georgiana observed Lady Slade, the more she realized there was something special, an indefinable spark about her countenance.

  “I’ve been dying to make you known to my dear friends,” Lady Margaret said to Georgiana after the introductions. “I have been friends with Lady Slade for many years, and for many of those years Lady Wycliff, before she was Lady Wycliff, was hostess to the most wondrous Tuesday gatherings.” She sighed. “I have Lady Slade to thank for introducing me to those gatherings, and it’s my fondest hope now that you’re in London you’ll be joining us.”

  “I am flattered by your attentions,” Georgiana said. “But do those gatherings not appeal to Whig philosophy?”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Lady Margaret assured. “My family—except for dear Alex, er, Fordham—has always followed or led the Tories, but I pride myself on my ability to make my own decisions based upon my informed mind.” She came and clasped Georgiana’s hand. “And now that you’re at liberty to be in London with your mama, I know you’ll see the light.”

  Georgiana had led the group to the drawing room where they sat almost in a semi-circle. “I confess to being ill informed on political philosophy.”

  “I do hope you read about Fordham’s speech in the Morning Chronicle,” Lady Margaret said.

  “I did.”

  “What did you think?” Lady Margaret was incapable of not looking inordinately pleased.

  Georgiana did not know how to respond. Obviously Lady Margaret did not think the present duke had done anything wrong. And Georgiana had, after all, been friends with Lady Margaret these past several years. She did not want to offend her. “It appears that his grace gave a most inspiring, well-accepted speech. His maiden one, I believe?”

  Lady Margaret’s smile stretched from ear to ear. “It was wonderful. He practiced it with me—before he had to go north.”

  “Does it not bother you that the new duke is promulgating something to which his predecessor objected?” Georgiana asked. Lady Margaret was, after all, sister to the late duke as well.

  “Sweet saints, no! Freddie, as dearly as I loved him, was the perfect example of a closed-minded peer who only sought his own interests.” Margaret shrugged. “Freddie was the kind of man who would have worn a white wig long after the practice died simply because he didn’t like change.”

  That was true. The same could be said for Georgiana’s brother. “But do you not feel guilty for turning your back on the things your family has always stood for?”

  Lady Margaret squinted at her. “My grandfather had plantations in the West Indies. He owned slaves. I will never condone that. Could you, my dear Lady Georgiana?”

  “No, I don’t suppose I could.”

  “We will never try to bludgeon you with our ideas,” Lady Slade said, “but we’d be so gratified if you’d come just once. It’s not as if we’re asking you to attend the Wycliffs’ political dinners where everyone is a Member of Parliament or the spouse of one.”

  The beautiful Lady Wycliff smiled. “Lady Margaret says that you’re intelligent, and I believe you’ll be happy to surround yourself with a room full of other ladies of similar intellectual capabilities.”

  Now that intrigued Georgiana. She did want to demonstrate to that obstinate Fordham that she wasn’t just intelligent for a woman! “Then I shall come on Tuesday.” She turned to Lady Slade. “I understand you
are recently wed.”The bride’s face went from ordinary to celestial in the span of second. Her eyes seemed brighter, her smile ethereal, her lowered lashes longer. “Yes. I have the rare privilege of enjoying heaven in my third decade on earth.”

  Lady Wycliff giggled. “You see,” she said to Georgiana, “Jane had adored Sinjin since she was fourteen years of age.”

  “Sinjin - - -” Lady Margaret started.

  “Is Lord Slade,” Georgiana said, nodding. “Yes, I deduced that during the many hours I shared a coach with him and the new Duke of Fordham.”

  “And no two people could be of more similar temperament and interests than Sinjin and Jane. It’s a perfect marriage.” Lady Margaret turned to Lady Wycliff. “As is your match with Lord Wycliff.”

  Georgiana sighed and looked at Lady Margaret. “I do hope you find a mate as compatible. And me, too, now. . .”

  Their eyes all lowered. Freddie was gone. Her betrothal had been severed by death. She was once again a spinster. It was doubtful she would ever marry.

  Now—now that she had kissed the scandalous Fordham—she had a new impediment to finding a compatible mate. In the past, she’d rejected suitors who were dull or dim-witted or ugly or profligate. Now she would never be able to plight her life to one whose kisses did not move her as Fordham’s had. Even the memory of being held in his arms caused her heart to race.

  She must change the subject. Turning her attention to Lady Margaret, she said, “I suppose your sisters are grateful they need only mourn three months, so they’ll be able to participate later in the Season.”

  “Three months is a respectable period,” Lady Margaret said with a nod. “When one is but seventeen, a year or six months is such a large percentage of one’s life. A mourning of such length would be crushing.”

  An intelligent observation, to be sure, Georgiana thought. Perhaps she would enjoy belonging to the group of Tuesday ladies.

  Georgiana looked down at her own rose-coloured dress. “As much as I wish to honor the late duke, I’ve always abhorred it when those unrelated to the deceased mourn for him. You see it so much when one of the Royal Family dies and so many pretentious people adopt mourning garb as if to create a connection to the loftier personage.”

  Lady Margaret nodded. “Mourning should be a personal decision. Though I think of you as family, my dear Lady Georgiana, I appreciate that you’re cognizant you’re still a Fenton.”

  “One who makes her own decisions and is not bound by what others expect is just the type of person our group welcomes,” Lady Wycliff said. “You, Lady Georgiana, are possessed of the ability to be a free thinker. I just wish more members of Parliament were.”

  Georgiana had never thought of herself as a free thinker. Her family had always been Tories. She had never before questioned their political affiliations. Still, she could not imagine embracing the Whigs. She’d been brought up to rank them only slightly above those in lunatic asylums. On the other hand, she was flattered that these obviously intelligent ladies thought her capable of independent thinking. Poor, dear Freddie certainly was not. “Thank you, Lady Wycliff.”

  “How are you coming with Freddie’s papers?” Lady Margaret asked.

  “Sorting them has been a formidable task. I confess I feel like a voyeur even thinking about reading them, but I am most curious to read those from a certain actress.”

  Lady Margaret’s brows plummeted. “Then you knew about her?”

  Georgiana nodded. “Am I being gullible in believing he broke it off after I accepted his offer?”

  “Not at all. It’s the truth.” Lady Margaret turn to the two married ladies. “My late brother appointed Lady Georgiana as custodian of all his papers.”

  Lady Slade’s eyes widened. “That sounds a daunting task.”

  “It’s just the type of activity I like,” Georgiana said.

  “No one could do a better job. Of that I’m sure.” Lady Margaret stood. “We must be off, but before we go I’d like to say hello to your mother.”

  Georgiana got up and began walking toward the morning room that was now her mother’s bedchamber. “She’ll be delighted. Just don’t mention the Whigs,” Georgiana said. “Papa was violently opposed to them, and Mama was and still is his puppet though he’s been gone a half dozen years.”

  * * *

  This was the first day since Freddie’s death that Alex hadn’t seen Georgiana. The closeness that had developed between them in so short a period perplexed him. He knew he could cut it off at any time, but strangely he didn’t want to. He looked forward to seeing her every day. He thought she, too, enjoyed being with him, although she would be loath to acknowledge it.

  As much as he wanted to be with her, he fought it. This one day he would prove that he could stay away. She’d been right. He should not covet his dead brother’s betrothed. It was disrespectful of Freddie.

  Perhaps he would make himself known to Mrs. Langston today. He smiled to himself as he remembered Georgiana’s opposition to his meeting with the actress. Could she be jealous? When Mannings announced his cousin, Alex decided Sophia Langston could be put off another day.

  He went from his library to meet Robert in the broad entry corridor. He was happy to see him. Robert Cecil, though a first cousin, bore little resemblance to the Havershams. He had most decidedly taken after his Scottish mother with his red hair, ruddy complexion, and clear blue eyes. He had even inherited the Gordons’ propensity toward spreading girth. As to his temperament, he was far jollier than Alex or his brothers had ever been. That was why he’d always been such a great favorite with the Haversham brothers.

  As was fitting to the graveness of the occasion, Robert’s face was solemn. “I had to come straight away after I heard the shattering news of Freddie’s death. I’m so very sorry.”

  Alex put an arm around him. “So good of you to come. I’ve been wanting to speak to those of you who were with him his last day on earth. Let’s go to the library.”

  Alex poured brandy, and the two sat in front of the library’s fire. He felt wretchedly guilty that he was forced to hide the truth about Freddie’s murder from their own cousin, but as Georgiana had urged, he must consider every member of that final shooting party as a suspect. Even though he knew Robert Cecil incapable of committing murder.

  Robert sipped his brandy, shaking his head. “I still can’t believe he’s gone. Such a young man in the prime of life—and in such apparently good health.” He turned to Alex. “It’s some consolation to remember that he was in good spirits that day. I hadn’t seen him so happy since . . . well, to be honest, I’d never seen him happier.”

  “It is consolation to know his last day was a happy one.”

  “He was gleeful that he and Lady Georgiana were to marry in just a few weeks. He was totally besotted over her. And he was also happy because he’d had an excellent day shooting. Made the rest of us look like novices.”

  “And the group was congenial? No spoilsports?”

  “I thought it was surprisingly congenial. You know Freddie had not your flair for making friends, especially close friendships like with you and Wycliff and Slade, nor did he have your talent for endearing himself to others—and to women as you do—but he had gathered about him all of us who got along remarkably well with him.” Robert looked up from the rim of his glass to meet Alex’s gaze. “I feel beastly guilty that I never cared for him as much as I cared for you.”

  Alex felt even more guilty for not being completely honest with Robert. “Don’t feel guilty. Even though he was my brother, I always preferred you over him.”

  Robert’s brows lowered. “Why were you asking about spoilsports?”

  “I just wondered if there had been any unpleasantness that could have provoked a fatal attack. It’s so perplexing that a healthy young man just expired in his sleep.”

  “It’s as if our family is cursed. First Richard. Now Freddie.”

  It was so difficult for Alex to bring up the possible motive for Robert to kill Fredd
ie, Alex didn’t broach the subject for a moment. “Yes, it’s most distressing, old fellow. And if something happens to me, you’re next in line.”

  “God forbid! That never crossed my mind—not when there were three strapping sons to carry on when Uncle died.” His eyes misted. “It’s bad enough losing Freddie. Losing you would be more than a body could bear.”

  Such powerful emotions could not be feigned.

  Another suspect exonerated.

  Chapter 12

  “I’m not going with you to visit an actress.” Wycliff folded his arms across his chest. “I have Louisa to consider.”

  Alex had been in the process of handing his hat off to Harry Wycliff’s butler when he snapped it back. “But Sophia Langston might be culpable in . . . a certain . . . sibling’s death.”

  “Why can you not go alone?”

  “Lady Georgiana thinks that might send the message that I’m interested in securing Mrs. Langston’s affections.” He felt like a lad hiding behind a woman’s skirts, but he could hardly say that the actress could want to transfer her affections to him because of his strong resemblance to Freddie and because he was a duke. That would make him sound conceited.

  Wycliff eyed him quizzically, a smirk on his face. “She does, does she? You know what I think?”

  “As close as we are, Harry, I am not privy to your thoughts.”

  “I think Lady Georgiana Fenton has developed a tendré for you. She’s jealous of Sophia Langston. I also believe—and Sinjin agrees with me upon this—you and Lady Georgiana are well suited for each other.”

  Alex rolled his eyes. “We’re consoling one another. We each lost a loved one. Reading anything more into it could tarnish the lady’s reputation.”

  “It would take much more than that to tarnish her upstanding reputation. She’s the unblemished daughter of a marquess. Louisa assures me she’s intelligent, too, and Louisa’s an excellent judge of character. Lady Georgiana Fenton would never ruin herself by making unsound decisions.”