Last Duke Standing

by Cheryl Bolen

  She conceded that Lady Wycliff was possessed of uncommon intelligence. “It’s a pity,” Lady Wycliff said, “the British cannot learn from the American Mr. Jefferson, who has written that all men are created equal. Here men who are not freeholders are not considered worthy to vote.” The lovely lady, dressed in an exquisite pale blue muslin dress, paused, eyeing each woman seated in gilt chairs forming a ring around her. “It is wrong.”

  Georgiana was stunned. Lady Wycliff was, after all, the wife of an earl. In addition to being exposed to thinking so alien to everything she had ever heard in her four-and-twenty years, Georgiana sighed at her own lack of knowledge. To be truthful, she had never heard of the American Mr. Jefferson. How did one like Lord Wycliff’s beautiful wife acquire such knowledge?

  The more Georgiana listened, the more she admired Lady Wycliff’s magnanimity to the masses. Georgiana bore no ill will to the illiterate. She had even on occasion helped to teach the unwashed young girls at the school Mama sponsored. She had knitted gloves to keep their little hands warm, and had also presented her glove work to the family’s coachman, over whom she worried on cold days. She had begged her Papa to increase the meager wage he paid his servants, though her pleas had fallen on deaf ears. She had wept at the sight of hungry, barefoot young orphans in the Capital and had spent her entire quarter’s allowance in feeding and clothing dozens of these children.

  While she might not be possessed of the knowledge of Lady Wycliff, she equaled her in compassion. But caring for the masses and considering them equals were two completely different matters. Was that Mr. Jefferson delusional?

  Anyone who was not blind could observe the advantages of a man like the Duke of Fordham and see how vastly different he was from a ragged chestnut hawker on The Strand. No one could ever think them equal. Yet, if she understood what Lady Wycliff was promulgating, both men should be extended the right to vote.

  It was such a novel idea that it was impossible for Georgiana to accept such a far-fetched scheme.

  Though Georgiana had little interest in politics, she found herself wishing to be more educated on such matters. Though, of course, she would never sympathize with those Whigs.

  * * *

  Harry Wycliff quietly entered Alex’s library. The Fordham butler had instructions that Wycliff’s and Sinjin’s cards were not ever to be presented. Those two old friends were always to be shown straight away to whatever chamber Alex occupied.

  Alex looked up over the top of his Morning Chronicle. “Ah! It’s Tuesday. Your good lady has thrown you out.”

  “Yes and no.” Harry came to sit on the sofa closest to his friend. “Today she’s actually asked that I speak at the end of the meeting, and I’m going to make you come with me.”

  “What topic are you to address?”

  “Louisa’s discussing expanding the franchise today and wants me to more thoroughly explain just who is allowed to vote. She thought having a Member of Parliament there would give more credit to her Tuesday gathering, and she encouraged me to bring other MPs.”

  Alex playfully lowered his brows. “Before you wed Lady Wycliff, did you not poke shameful fun at her bluestocking friends?”

  He chuckled. “I can hardly admit that now that your worthy sister has joined the group.”

  Alex nodded thoughtfully. “Freddie was not happy when he learned Margaret was casting her support to the Whigs.”

  “Then I expect he nearly had apoplexy when you became a Whig.”

  “Fortunately, Freddie was possessed of a mild manner.”

  “Speaking of your brother, how go your inquiries?”

  “Poorly—until last night.”

  Harry’s brows arched.

  “It’s not much, but I may have found a motive.” He moved to the sofa across from where Harry sat and proceeded to tell Lord Wycliff of Lord Barnstaple’s suspicious behavior.

  “I agree,” Harry said. “It sounds damned suspicious, but how in the devil can you ever prove it, were he to be the killer? It’s not as if there were any witnesses, and the bloody man’s not likely to confess.”

  “I suppose I shall have to beat a confession out of him,” Alex said drolly.

  “A pity you can’t.”

  “There’s another possible suspect. Lady Georgiana, who’s mad to help in these inquiries, is convinced that Freddie’s dismissal of Sophia Langston sent the actress into a murdering frenzy.”

  “Did Freddie not make a generous settlement on Mrs. Langston?”

  Alex nodded. “An exceedingly generous settlement.”

  “And is she not now under the protection of Sir Arthur?”

  “She is, but there’s a letter she wrote to Freddie in which she voiced her humiliation at being tossed to another man as if she were a common doxy.”

  “And I perceive Lady Georgiana has seen this letter?” Sun streaming in the nearly window caused Harry to squint as he spoke.

  Alex rose and went to draw the celery-coloured velvet draperies closest to Harry.

  “Yes.”

  A grin on his face, Harry eyed him. “And how go things with you and Lady Georgiana?”

  “I don’t know to what you’re referring. Do not forget the lady was betrothed to my late brother, and don’t forget Freddie and I had vastly different taste in women.”

  Harry cocked a brow, a mischievous grin on his face. “I understand she’s not wearing mourning for him.”

  “Lady Georgiana is unlike other women. One should not judge her by conventional measurements. Her decision to wear no mourning has nothing to do with the degree of her affection for Freddie and everything to do with her abhorrence of ducal hangers-on.”

  “So she didn’t feel right passing herself off as a member of the Haversham/Fordham family since she had not actually married your brother?”

  “Correct.”

  “Admirable, I should think.”

  “Yes.”

  “Louisa told me she expected Lady Georgiana to attend today’s gathering.”

  “That’s what my sister said. It surprised me, given that the Marquesses of Hartworth have always been so strongly associated with Tories, and I believe she, too, sympathizes with them.”

  Harry stood. “Then we must help convince her otherwise.”

  Alex left his desk. “Is Sinjin coming?”

  Wycliff’s brows lowered. “What do you think?”

  “Since his charming wife is as passionate over civil liberties as is your wife, I expect she’s persuaded him to come. You two are very lucky.” Alex doubted he would ever find a wife half as compatible—or as loving—as the ones Harry and Sinjin had found.

  * * *

  The three lords previously of Eton, along with Lord Wycliff’s cousin, Edward Coke, who’d had the misfortune of having attended Harrow, reached the Wycliff drawing room a few minutes before Lady Wycliff wrapped up her comments. At first Alex stood at the chamber’s doorway, surveying the gathering. Gilt side chairs formed a circle facing the speaker. Georgiana sat next to his sister.

  He strode to the back of the room, took an unclaimed gilt chair, and moved to place it between Margaret and Georgiana. His sister looked up and smiled at him. Georgiana scowled, which is exactly what he had expected of her. He’d spent enough time in her company to accurately predict what she was going to do—much of the time.

  He almost spoke to her, but that would be discourteous to Lady Wycliff. Better to wait until she finished.

  “One last comment,” Lady Wycliff said, “though this is actually the subject for another program, but while we’re examining our country’s electioneering, I propose that everyone in this chamber—including our right honorable Members of Parliament—consider the merits of a secret ballot and the prohibition of bribing voters.”

  While most of the ladies nodded approvingly, Georgiana did not. From the shocked expression on her face, Alex thought she may never before have heard of such a thing as a secret ballot.

  “And now,” Lady Wycliff concluded, “I have asked Lord
Wycliff to enumerate our country’s qualifications for voters. He has also said he will do us the goodness of answering any questions we ladies might have.”

  It only took Harry a moment to sketch out the qualifications for both candidates and voters, then he proceeded to field questions.

  “So,” Alex whispered to Georgiana, “I perceive you are shocked at the notion of a secret ballot.”

  She lowered her voice. “Indeed I am! I’ve never contemplated such a thing. Do you not agree one must be held accountable for one’s actions?”

  “In most cases, yes, but - - -”

  The bespectacled older woman at Georgiana’s left spun around, glared, and shushed him.

  He and Georgiana exchanged amused looks, and he shrugged. He planned to continue the conversation when Harry stopped talking, but by then everyone was milling about, and Sinjin and Coke were speaking to him, then Coke’s little blonde wife came up to Alex. “Your grace, it was so very kind of you to pay back the money you borrowed from Edward—with such interest! We’re exceedingly grateful. We’ve been able to purchase a house just around the corner from here—all thanks to you.”

  “It’s I who am grateful. Your husband advanced me the money at a time when I was in desperate need.” Desperate might be a bit too strong a word, but at the time it had been very important that he secure the loan in order to win his seat in the House of Commons. He’d patched together several donors, but when the bills were settled, he hadn’t enough without the loan from Edward Coke.

  He returned his attention to Georgiana, who stared at him as if he’s just sprouted a pair of horns.

  “Really, my lady, there is much to recommend secret ballots,” he said.

  His sister moved closer and hooked her arm to his. “Indeed there is, Lady Georgiana. We must strive to convince you.” Margaret turned to him. “Do ride back with us. It’s your coach, after all. You and I can try to sway the lady.”

  He eyed Georgiana. “I consider it my mission.”

  There was a coolness about her that he hadn’t seen since that first week.

  * * *

  It wasn’t the prospect of a secret ballot that had deprived Georgiana of the ability to smile. It was Ellie Coke’s comment about the loan Fordham had received from her husband before Freddie’s death. That gave Freddie’s younger brother a much stronger motive to commit murder. She’d not known that before he inherited a prosperous dukedom, the new duke been desperate for money.

  That knowledge sent her insides sinking and her exterior shaking. Was he so desperate for money that he would kill his own brother?

  In the coach on the way home, he faced her. Even fearing him as she did at that moment, the sight of his finely chiseled face, the playful curl of his mouth, and the memory of their searing kiss, sent her heartbeat strumming.

  “So what does our little Tory sympathizer think of expanding the voting base?” he asked.

  She glared at him. “I am not your little anything.”

  He turned to the sister who sat beside him. “My lady thinks it’s unfair to our dead brother for her to be pleasant to his successor.”

  Sweet-tempered Margaret smiled at Georgiana. “As much as I grieve my brother’s passing, I can truthfully say there’s never been a better Duke of Fordham than my youngest brother. Not even our dear father.” She shrugged. “I know it might seem too early to tell, but I know Alex. I’ve known him since the moment of my birth. All his predecessors were Tories who cared more for increasing their own worth than they cared for Humanity. Alex is the most altruistic man I’ve ever known. It was only natural for a man like him to turn his back on the Tories.”

  He rolled his eyes and directed his attention to Georgiana. “I daresay my sister’s both drunk on Whig principles and blinded by devotion to the brother who defended her against our two elder brothers.”

  “I am not blind. Can you deny that before you left Gosingham—just the day after you succeeded—you gave instructions that a school must be set up to teach every lad and every girl? The cottagers’ children as well as the children of every servant at Gosingham?”

  He gave a casual shrug. “A small thing to do. I mean to do it at the other seven estates belonging to the Duke of Fordham.” He turned to Georgiana. “Do you not think the distribution of wealth in our country is embarrassing? Is it not ridiculous that I am the possessor of eight estates, a town house in London, and a shooting lodge in Scotland while so many of our countrymen have no home?”

  “But that’s the way it’s always been,” Georgiana defended.

  “And the Whigs and the Radicals are all about change, change that will afford all our countrymen rights—rights to vote, rights to be educated, rights to form labor unions to demand a decent wage.”

  Georgiana could not argue with such noble sentiment. “How did someone from your background come to embrace such ideals?”

  He shrugged. “It started with Sinjin, Lord Slade. Since he was a lad, he was the most honest, noble person I’ve ever known. He encouraged me to stand for the House of Commons. I resisted at first. Because of him, I began to read. Jeremy Bentham. Thomas Paine. Philip Lewis’s essays. Like Sinjin, I came to realize the old way of doing things was wrong. Change was needed.”

  “So you converted to a Whig, stood for office, and won,” Georgiana said. She was starting to thaw. Everything he’d said since joining her in the coach convinced her of his good heart. How could such a man ever contemplate murder?

  But still, he had a powerful motive. That motive, though, was even more powerful now that she knew he meant to use his new wealth to accomplish what he’d been passionately fighting for in Parliament—to help the less fortunate.

  She had never felt more confused. Ever since she’d sat in the Wycliffs’ drawing room that morning, she’d felt as if her four-and-twenty years had all been a huge deception. Were all these people right and generations of Fenton/Hartworths nothing more than selfish despots?

  Was Fordham truly the noble man he projected, or was he a cold-blooded murderer?

  “And now I’ve lost my hard-fought seat in Commons to sit in the House of Lords.”

  “Tell me,” Georgiana said, “if I were interested in learning more of political matters, which authors should I read? I confess to feeling most inadequate in the presence of the ladies who gather at Wycliff House on Tuesdays.”

  Lady Margaret answered. “Do you not think she should start with Mr. Lewis’s essays?”

  Fordham nodded. “A good suggestion, Maggie. They wonderfully distill the great thinkers of our generation.”

  “They’re in a book?” Georgiana asked.

  He shook his head. “No. You’ll find them in the Edinburgh Review.”

  “I don’t know that my brother subscribes,” Georgiana said.

  Fordham chuckled. “I doubt that he does.”

  “There’s nothing to prevent you from subscribing,” Lady Margaret suggested.

  Georgiana nodded. “A capital idea.”

  When they drew up in front of her house, the duke said, “If I learn of anything about . . . that Drury Lane situation, my lady, I shall contact you.”

  She realized he didn’t want his sister to know about the investigation into Freddie’s death. Drury Lane obviously referred to the theatre where Mrs. Langston trod the boards. “It’s very good of you, your grace, though I do think it’s too soon after Freddie’s death for us to go to the theatre. Much too frivolous.”

  A grin pinched his tanned cheeks. “You are, of course, right. Might I offer to bring you some of my copies of the Edinburgh Review?”

  “That would be very kind of you.”

  As conflicted as she was, something within her tingled with excitement at the prospect of him calling upon her.

  Chapter 16

  Unlike other valets who had first served as batman to a gentleman officer and whose manners weren’t fit for a drawing room, Gates effortlessly adapted to his roles so convincingly other servants in the household looked up at him as if
he were a nobleman who’d been switched at birth. These qualities enabled the young man to penetrate the circle of female domestics at Mrs. Langston’s house as easily as a fluffy kitten. Indeed, Alex had no doubts that those female servants would have done anything legal to gain the handsome young valet’s favor.

  Within three days Gates had ingratiated himself with the Langston staff, satisfactorily completed his mission, and returned to report to his master.

  A serious look on his lightly freckled face as he studied his master, Gates did not bring up the subject of his recent absence. Alex knew he was waiting to be asked.

  “So, my good man,” Alex said when the impeccably dressed Gates appeared first thing in the morning to shave his master, “have you learned if Mrs. Langston has undertaken any journeys?”

  “She has not, your grace. Her servants say that in the last year—coinciding with the time her connection to the late duke was severed—she has only left the house to go to Drury Lane.”

  “And has she had gentlemen callers, other than Sir Arthur?”

  “None whatsoever—except, I was told, the new Duke of Fordham.”

  It was really quite amazing how thoroughly servants kept up with their masters’ private affairs. “You have verified my instincts about the lady.” Unless she and Sir Arthur had concocted an unlikely scheme to murder Freddie, the lady was innocent.

  “It’s the opinion of the servants,” Gates said, “one and all, that she’s been rather pining away since the duke broke with her.”

  “And your Drury Lane investigation?” Alex asked when the hot cloth was removed from his face.

  “She’s noted for never missing a night—save one night a few weeks ago. She sent a missive to the theatre, saying she could not go on because she could not stop crying after being notified of the death of someone to whom she had been very close.”

  “You’ve done an excellent job of confirming everything I suspected,” Alex said, dismissing his man.