A Scandalous Charade (25 page)

With a shrug, he dropped onto the settee, keeping his eyes on his father. “Just what we knew before. Juliet was involved with this Luke Beckford fellow, but he’s been out of Town for weeks. She didn’t appear to have many friends.” He’d be loath to mention either Susan Clarke or Lady Staveley, in any event.

“Pompous little twit,” Lord Albert grumbled, and Hugh wasn’t certain whether his father was speaking of him or Juliet. Then he stomped across the room and poured himself a glass of whiskey from the sideboard. “Tonight I paid a visit to Lord Staveley.”

Well that name caught Hugh’s attention.  “Staveley?”

His father grunted. “It seems that Lady Staveley was Georgina’s dearest friend. I thought it was worth a try…”

And? Hugh almost yelled. But he maintained his composure. Obviously, Juliet wasn’t there or his father wouldn’t be looking so cross.

~ 19 ~

Prestwick House was swathed in mourning and a black wreath adorned the front door. Luke heart sank with every step up he took until he finally reached the stoop. What had happened to make the members of Prestwick House fall into mourning? He frowned as the brass knocker clanked against the door.

When Crawford answered, the elderly man looked anguished and even older than his years, though his features seemed to relax a bit when he recognized Luke. “Hello, sir.” That was a good sign. Juliet must not have barred him from the place for the butler to be so friendly.

 “Afternoon, Crawford. Is Lady Juliet in?” Luke inquired as he stepped over the threshold.

But Crawford’s eyes dropped to the floor and Luke felt his chest instantly contract. Prestwick House couldn’t be in mourning over Juliet!

“I’m sorry, Mr. Beckford, but Lady Juliet… Well, no one seems to know where she is.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. She must be out shopping or visiting someone. “I’m sorry I missed her. When do you expect her back?”

“I really couldn’t say, sir.” Though it seemed as if the old man had something he did want to say, and he pursed his lips.

Luke frowned. “Lady Teynham, then?” If he was to patch things up with Juliet, he’d have to win Georgie over. Though, he would’ve rather had Juliet by his side when he dealt with her dragon of a sister.

Crawford sniffed back a tear. “I’m afraid Lady Teynham has passed away, sir.”

Shocked, Luke’s mouth dropped open. He’d known Georgie for fifteen years or so. She was younger than him by a good five. And she’d been in perfect health when he’d last seen her. This was simply tragic.

Before he could mutter his condolences, a man he didn’t know but who seemed somehow familiar stepped into the hallway.

“Crawford, who is our guest?” intoned the man, who appeared to be an exact duplicate of the late Duke of Prestwick—receding ginger-colored hair, large bulbous nose, icy blue eyes.

Luke stepped forward and offered the man his hand. “Lucas Beckford, sir.”

The man’s frosty eyes narrowed to little slits. “Ah, the rogue who ruined my niece. I can’t imagine why you would darken the doorway here, sir.”

That accusation nearly sent Luke tumbling to the floor. Ruined was a terrible word, true though it may be. But to be spoken aloud in front of Juliet’s staff? And how the devil did this man—still Luke didn’t know his name—know what had transpired between himself and Juliet? “You dare to impugn your niece’s honor?”

Luke coughed in surprise. He wasn’t a saint by any stretch of imagination, and he’d done many things he wasn’t proud of. But he hadn’t even known Georgie was gone until two minutes ago—and he certainly wasn’t responsible for her death. “I’d like to know exactly how you’ve come to that conclusion,” he snapped.

The uncle, whoever he was, motioned for Luke to follow him down the corridor. Which was about bloody time. Such topics shouldn’t be discussed in front of servants, no matter how loyal they were. Finally, the man stopped in front of the blue parlor and motioned Luke inside.

There was a young man already in the room, and he stood when they entered the parlor, looking quizzically at the uncle.

 But Luke paid him very little attention. He was lost in his memories. On his second trip to Prestwick House all those many weeks ago, Juliet had been silhouetted against the window and Georgie sat on the settee, knitting. A chill crept over his body, realizing that scene would never be duplicated again. What he wouldn’t give to have Juliet here, standing sentry against the window. He was certain she must be devastated over Georgie’s death and must have need of him.

Lord Albert sighed and dropped to the settee, on which Georgie had once droned on about Mrs. Wilcox’s gout. “My nieces foolishly left London at a blistering pace after you ruined Juliet. Apparently the trip was too much for Georgina, who became sick along the way. After reaching Prestwick Chase, she succumbed to the illness and passed away.”

Lord Albert glowered at him. “I thought perhaps she’d run back to you, little whore that she is. But I don’t think you’d be here now if that was the case. Nevertheless, we’ll find her.”

Luke wanted to tear Lord Albert from limb to limb. How dare he say such awful things about Juliet? She wasn’t a whore! Her only crime was in loving Luke, which should have made her a saint. And she was missing? Adrenaline began pounding through his veins. “Where could she be?” he whispered to himself, though the old nobleman heard it.

“As I said, we’ll find her. She recently sent Carraway a note, saying that she was staying with friends and she’d know when he returned and come for Edmund. So she must be somewhere near London. I have men looking for her as we speak.”

Somehow Lord Albert’s reassurances didn’t make Luke feel better. He felt as if he was going to be sick. But he nodded his head anyway. “Thank you for telling me.”

Then he started for the door. He couldn’t stay here any longer.

“You don’t know which friends she’d go to for help, do you?”

Lord Albert’s words stopped Luke in his tracks. Juliet didn’t have friends. Not really. She’d been friendly with Miss Clarke at his behest. And she rubbed along well with Caroline, but truly his sister was Georgie’s friend. But even if he knew of someone, he’d search those places himself. He didn’t trust Lord Albert as far as he could throw him. If someone was to find Juliet, it was going to be him.

***

Hugh had watched the little display with a heavy heart. He had so hoped that Juliet had been with this Luke Beckford, but that was evidently not the case. The man was clearly devastated. No one was that good an actor. He obviously cared for Juliet.

Hugh turned his attention to his father. “Why didn’t you mention Dorset?” The letter Lord Albert had absconded with from Lord Carraway’s had mentioned friends in Dorset. It was possible Luke Beckford might know who that was. And though Hugh was appalled that his father had stolen the letter for the viscount, he was relieved to know that she was safe—wherever she was.

His father was frowning at him. “Are you truly that incompetent, Hugh? Mr. Beckford is the last person I want to have that piece of information. He’s not the sort that would help us, and appears to genuinely care for that little bitch. So the last thing I need is to involve him in looking for Juliet.”

***

Luke found himself staring at his sister’s Curzon Street door. He’d been standing there for probably ten minutes, but still he hadn’t knocked. He wasn’t afraid of seeing Caroline, but he was still trying to come to terms with everything Lord Albert had told him. And having a very difficult time in doing so.

Then suddenly the door opened and David, Viscount Staveley, stood before him. His stuffy brother-in-law was of average height and light brown hair. He always wore wire-rimmed spectacles and simple, unadorned coats. Caroline was lavish, but Staveley was plain. His brother-in-law’s brow furrowed when he saw him, and for a moment Luke thought Staveley might thrash him over the puppy debacle. What a lifetime ago that seemed now.

“Dear God, Beckford! Why are you just standing in the rain?” Staveley asked in surprise.

Rain? Luke looked down at his coat, surprised to see that he was soaked through to the skin. How the devil had he not noticed that? “I—um—I’ve just come from Prestwick House.” As if that statement should explain everything.

Apparently it explained enough, as Staveley stepped aside and dragged him into the entryway. He looked back at Merton, concern etched upon his face. “Please fetch her ladyship. And then we’ll need some strong tea in the parlor.”

Staveley draped his arm around Luke’s wet middle and ushered him into his white parlor. Luke must be in a daze. He and Staveley had never seen eye to eye, and it was a bit disconcerting to have his brother-in-law suddenly doting on him.

“Sit. Sit.” Staveley directed him with a wave of his hand.

His coat still dripping wet, Luke shook his head. “Caroline will kill me if I ruin one of her chairs.”

His brother-in-law snorted at that. “Please! She’ll just spend more of my money getting new ones made. Sit, Beckford. You look as if you’re about to fall over.”

Luke shrugged out of his coat, dropping it next to a chintz chair and followed his brother-in-law’s advice. Staveley’s eyes never left him, and Luke figured he must look as pitiful as he felt. “Georgie’s dead? And Juliet’s missing?”

Staveley took a spot on the gold and white brocade settee and inclined his head. “Unfortunately, that appears to be true.”

Tears welled up in Luke’s eyes. Hearing Staveley confirm it made it more real. The other awful things Lord Albert had said still echoed in his mind. Did everyone know about Juliet’s ruination? And if so, how? He had promised her that no one would ever know. He braved a glance at his brother-in-law and took a deep breath. “Is Juliet ruined?”

Staveley looked surprised at the question and shook his head. “I don’t understand what you’re asking. I suppose she could be ruined, it all depends on where she is—who she’s with.”

“Who is ruined?” Caroline’s voice came from the open doorway, Merton right behind her with tea. Then when her eyes fell to Luke’s disheveled state, she rushed forward and dropped to her knees in front of him. “Darling, what’s happened to you?”

Caroline grasped his hands and held them tightly in her own. Her hazel eyes started to pool with tears. “Darling, I didn’t even know where you were.  How should I have contacted you? Besides, what would you have done?”

He didn’t know the answer to those questions, so he just stared blankly at his sister. “I was in Yorkshire.”

“Well, there’s not a lot you could have done from there anyway.” She smiled supportively.

He should never have gone.  He shouldn’t have run from her. For all the nasty things Lord Albert said, he was right on that score. It was Luke’s fault. If he hadn’t run, if he’d worked through his feelings for Juliet, then she’d never have gone to Derbyshire. Georgie wouldn’t have taken ill from the travel. And Juliet…Juliet would still be here. With him.

“I’ve got to find her.”

Caroline frowned at that and rose to her feet. “You know how resilient she is. I’m sure she’s fine.” Then she walked over to the tea service and began to pour. “Besides, darling, I’m certain you’re the very last person she’d want to see anyway.”

Fury began to build inside him, and Luke felt his face turn red. “What is that supposed to mean?” he demanded as his sister handed him a cup.

“It means,” she started, her voice a bit chillier than normal as she sank into a chair across from him, “that you broke that poor girl’s heart, Lucas. It means that I saw the aftermath of your little fling, and it wasn’t pretty. Juliet was in love with you, and, well, she’s not the same girl anymore. I’d just be surprised if she wanted to see you, is all.”

 “Caroline,” Staveley remarked reproachfully, “I don’t think now is the time for that. He doesn’t quite seem himself.”

Never in his wildest imaginations would Luke have thought that Staveley would come to his defense. Especially against Caroline. And how exactly did his sister know what Juliet wanted? Had she seen her? Was Caroline the friend she was staying with? “Where is she, Caro? Where is Juliet?”