What a Duke Wants (20 page)

Annie—or rather Georgie – laughed, but not happily. “I long to go back. And no, I think Lord Richard would rather I left. We barely speak—except that I am always talking, but he never hears so that does not seem to count. It is clear he is uncomfortable with me in the house. I believe that is why he is hardly ever here. But, and it is a big
but
, I have decided that I want another child, and that does seem to necessitate us both being in the same location—even if it means I must leave my sweet baby in the country for a few months. Now, enough about me. Tell me what you have been doing. I know you are trying to avoid the subject, but this is I. You can tell me anything and I will not tell anyone. I may talk a lot these days, but I have never revealed a secret. Come now, I have told you all but the most intimate details of my life.”

Could she do it? Isabella had never talked to anybody about what happened, not a single soul. Her sister had been there at the end and must have some idea—and Lady Smythe-Burke knew that something had happened—but Isabella had never actually said the words to anyone. “Do you have any sherry to go with the cakes? Or is that too forward a question? I think I need more than tea if I am going to talk.”

“Let me call for it.”

They were silent for a minute, a good silence that filled the space by itself. How had she survived so long without a girlfriend to talk with? These few minutes had filled her with a warmth that ran clear down to her toes.

Annie—Isabella could not think of her by any other name no matter how she tried—poured generous glasses when the sherry arrived and lifted hers into the air. “To us, may we always be able to talk—no matter what.”

“To us,” Isabella said, mirroring the gesture. Then she put the glass down.

She was going to do it. With all that had happened today and in the last week she needed to.

“I killed Foxworthy.” There, it was out.

Chapter 20

A
nnie stopped her glass halfway to her mouth and stared. “You stabbed him? I wouldn’t blame you, but I don’t believe you.”

“No, no—or at least partly no. I didn’t stab him. I pushed him and he fell and split his head open, but I assure you he was most dead.”

“But he was stabbed. Everybody knows that. The knife was left sticking right out of the middle of his chest.”

Pulling a large swallow into her mouth, Isabella let it sit and burn for a moment. “I know—I have heard that—but I was there. There was no knife involved.”

“Perhaps you just thought he was dead. Maybe you didn’t kill him.” Annie sounded hopeful.

“No. I have wished that myself, but he was dead. I have no doubts about that.”

They were silent again and this time it was not wonderful and full.

The wind whistled outside the window and Isabella turned, shocked at how late it had gotten. She should be going, but who was there to miss her? Mark would not come by until late, probably very late, with the coronation little more than a day away. But now there was Duchess. “I should be going.”

“Nonsense. You have just begun to talk. I will not grill you about why you killed Foxworthy. I know your brother was trying to force you to marry him—and I know what a toad he was. I would imagine that he forced you to it.”

“If only all the world were as understanding as you. I did not mean to kill him. It was an accident, but as you do not wish to talk about the intimate details of your marriage, so I do not wish to remember that time. How it happened would not matter. I killed him and that really is the end of the situation.”

“It certainly is not the end. You have barely begun your story. I don’t even know yet where you went or what you were doing. You must tell me more—at least a little.”

Isabella glanced out the window again. A stiff wind was growing. The thought of going out and calling for a hack to take her back to her empty house was not pleasant.

“I’ve been in service. Can you believe that? I’ve been a governess, a companion, and most recently a baby nurse. Did you ever imagine to see me with a baby?”

“Actually I did.”

Annie’s words caught in Isabella’s throat. She’d always assumed the same. It was other people’s children she’d had a hard time picturing herself with, not her own.

Suddenly Annie leaned forward, a grin spreading across her face. “I’ve the most wonderful idea.”

Isabella remembered that expression well. “What?” she asked with some trepidation. Annie’s plots did not always end well.

“You can be my companion. Richard was just saying that he wished I had somebody to talk to so I wouldn’t bend his ear so constantly. Who could be better than you?”

“But I don’t want to stay in London. As long as I am here I fear that somebody will find out about Foxworthy. And—”

It was so hard to explain the rest of her situation. Confessing to murder should have been the hardest part of this, but somehow it was even harder to tell Annie that she was now a courtesan—even if she was a duke’s mistress.

“Well, that’s perfect. Nobody is talking about Foxworthy anymore. I can’t believe anybody even cares. And as soon as I am with child then we can move back to Richard’s country estate and spend our days sitting in the garden or walking by the lake. And if you have experience being a baby nurse and a governess so much the better. Oh dear. That did not sound like I meant it to. I would never consider you a servant, Isabella.”

“But I am one—or at least I was. Now . . .” She pulled in a deep breath. “Now I am the Duke of Strattington’s mistress.”

Annie laughed. “Oh, what nonsense. You almost had me believing you. But you, you would never do such a thing.”

Isabella sank back in her chair. Life could always take you by surprise. “You believe that I killed Foxworthy with little more than a raised eyebrow, but you don’t believe that I am Strattington’s mistress? Whyever not?”

“Well to start with, if you’ve been in service how would even meet a duke? I’ve never known baby nurses and dukes to mingle, or is that the newest fashion?”

“Actually you’d be surprised how many young men seem to make their way to the nursery with a roving eye. It’s something to keep in mind if you ever do have that child you long for. But, as it happens, I met him on the road to London. Travel can relax many of the normal boundaries.”

Annie leaned forward again. “You mean you really are a duke’s mistress? How absolutely wonderful. That is even better than running off with a handsome footman.”

“You are being silly—and this is my life. There is nothing wonderful about the situation I have found myself in.” Well, there were plenty of wonderful points, but she was not going to discuss those with Annie.

“I am sounding like a silly fool,” Annie said. She leaned back and hooked a foot around a leg of the chair. “I hate that I’ve become this way. Ever since things went wrong with Richard, I chatter and indulge in silly gossip, things I never used to care about.”

Isabella made no comment.

“But you must stay for dinner. There is something else I need to talk to you about. I am sure your duke won’t be back until late and—”

Suddenly the door to the hall swung open wide. “Well, well, who is this, my dear sister? I did not know you had a guest.”

Isabella’s eyes widened as the Duke of Hargrove strode into the room. He stopped and stared at her a moment, the strangest smile playing about his mouth. She could only hope he had not seen her at one of the inns they had stopped at. Mrs. Wattington had pointed him out to her once, but why would he have noticed her?

M
ark resisted the urge to count the strokes of the clock. It was late, too late, and Douglas still had not sent him notice that Isabella had returned. He glanced at the cards he held, almost certainly a winning hand, and dropped them on the table, making his apologies. It was too hard to concentrate when he was worried.

And angry.

Isabella had left him. The cold conviction was growing deep in his chest, a small knot becoming ever tighter. It was a ridiculous thought. What possible reason could she have to leave? He gave her everything she could possibly want.

But the feeling would not leave.

He kept seeing her stoic face when she’d first climbed into his carriage on the way to London, her shock when he’d made his proposal. He didn’t know what it was she wanted, but it was not what he offered. He remembered her dreaming about that country cottage, with husband and family. That was something he could never offer—even if he wanted to. Yes, he gave her everything, but at the price of her happiness.

“You are looking glum—and that was not well done.” The Duke of Brisbane spoke from behind him.

“I am sorry.”

“A man of our stature always finishes the hand. To throw your cards in implies that you cannot afford to lose. It can lead to all types of mistaken conclusions—and it is just bad manners.”

“I was winning. I just lost my taste for the play.” He turned to face Brisbane.

“That is even worse. If you are winning you must finish the hand to give others the opportunity to regain their losses.”

“But I would only have taken more of their money.”

Brisbane raised a brow and gestured to two empty seats. “Do you have time for a drink? Tomorrow night will be filled with all the pre-coronation balls and soirees—and then the next day . . . Did you ever see your costume?”

Mark could not suppress a shudder at the thought. “Yes.”

“I imagine yours are at least somber, if not black. The joy of mourning. I am going to look like a peacock. I don’t think even our grandfathers wore such colors with their long powdered wigs. We will look like a parade of tropical birds as we stroll along to Westminster.”

“That’s a polite way of putting it.”

“That is part of the art of being a duke—saying exactly what you think, but without giving offense. Unless, of course, you mean to. That is a far different story.” Brisbane draped a knee over the armchair, but somehow still retained the appearance of upright posture.

Mark drew a long swallow of the offered brandy. The warm burn down his throat was reassuring. At least some things had not changed. He let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling. “It was so much easier when I was mere mister. Who wants to worry about what one says all the time?”

“I think you were doing it before and just didn’t realize it. A duke is actually far freer to say what he wishes, he just needs to say it in the right way.”

“I am not sure that I take your meaning.”

“If you wish to say something irregular, unpopular, or off-putting, you merely need to inject your voice with enough authority or disdain. If you look down upon someone and peer at them as if they are dirt, you can say whatever you wish. The only one this does not work with is the king.” Brisbane pulled out his monocle and swung it in easy loops. “And, of course, you should get a quizzing glass. Ever so valuable.”

Mark was about to answer when Brisbane suddenly straightened. “Damnation. You are about to meet one of the few great inconveniences of being a duke. The father with unmarried daughters. Beware, no matter what he says it will lead to a situation where you will be forced to converse with one of his daughters. And, I am afraid, Milton’s daughters all look like the horses he so values.”

“Brisbane, it is so good to see you.” Lord Milton approached, holding out a hand.

“Milton, as always.” Brisbane turned to Mark and it was impossible to miss the glint in his eye. “I am afraid I was just leaving, but you must meet His Grace of Strattington. I know you were well acquainted with his uncle. Do forgive me.” And then he was gone. Were dukes also given a special cloak of invisibility? If so, Mark wanted to know where his was. He rose from his chair and acknowledged Milton.

“Good to meet you. As Brisbane said, I knew your uncle well. We were in school together. A fine man. Such a pity about both him and your cousin—but good for you, heh?” He gave Mark an elbow nudge.

It seemed rude, the height of rudeness, to comment on death as being good for anyone. Mark almost smiled politely, but then he remembered Brisbane’s words. He stretched to his full height—it must be hard being a short duke—and peered down his nose at Milton. “Actually it was most unpleasant. I have never considered death good, having seen too much of it in the war. And you, have you ever experienced a good death?”

Milton took a step away, lost his jovial expression. “Do forgive me. I meant no harm. As I’ve said, I was friends with your uncle—and your cousin, Lord William.”

Mark just continued to glare.

Pushing his shoulders back, Milton tried again. “And how are you enjoying London? It is quite an exciting time with the coronation. I am sure you must have spent hours with His Majesty. I do look forward to the ceremony.”

Despite Brisbane’s comments it probably would not do to say exactly what he thought of all the pomp and foolishness. “It certainly is different than what I am used to.”

“And tomorrow evening? You must have invitations to all the best affairs. Will you be making the rounds?”

“I try to restrict myself to one, perhaps two, parties an evening.” He did not want to get back to Isabella too late. His worry over her absence returned to him. It was far, far past when Douglas should have sent for him. It was time for him to go and seek her himself.

“And which will you be attending tomorrow?”

“I thought perhaps Lord Richard Tenant’s masquerade.” He spoke the words before he saw the trap.

“Oh, then perhaps I will see you there. I must introduce you to my oldest. Caroline was a great favorite of your uncle’s. I am sure you would enjoy a dance with her.”

I
sabella could only stare aghast as the Duke of Hargrove entered the room. Did he remember her from the inn? Surely not. She looked far different here than she had in her plain gray dress with her hair pulled back. It was possible that she sparked some flash of memory, but she could not have made a true impression on him.

“It is so good to see you, brother.” Annie rose with a smooth grace she had not yet demonstrated. “Richard will be so sorry to have missed you. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I was coming to ask that of you. I am not sure why you and my brother wished to host this masquerade tomorrow night—and why you chose not to have it in my ballroom—but still I wish to do what I can.” He pulled out a handkerchief, edged in rich plum lace that matched his waistcoat, and lightly dabbed his lip. He turned back to Isabella, making it clear he expected an introduction.

Isabella almost held out her own hand. She didn’t know what she would say, but—

Reaching out a hand and laying it on Isabella’s arm, Annie smiled at her brother-in-law. “Let me make you known to Miss Bella,” she glanced about the room, “Miss Bella Crumpet. I have been looking for a companion, on Richard’s advice, and have decided upon Miss Crumpet.”

“I am pleased to meet you, Miss Crumpet.” Hargrove looked anything but. “There is something familiar about you. Have we met before?”

He couldn’t remember her. He couldn’t. Had they met sometime previously that she did not recall? “I do not believe so, Your Grace.”

“Probably not, then. I am sure you’d have remembered.”

“Do forgive me, my lord, but I must be going. I am sure you and Lady Richard have much to talk about.” Isabella eased toward the door.

“You will be by first thing tomorrow, will you not, Miss Crumpet? I do have plans that I need your help with.” Annie moved to intercept her.

“Surely you do not plan to put the poor girl to work on your masquerade on the first day?” Hargrove stared at Isabella coolly. She was tempted to wipe her nose to be sure there was not a blob of chocolate cream upon it.

Annie squared back her shoulders. “That, I believe, is my own business.” She turned to Isabella. “You will be here?”

“Yes.” Until she decided what she was doing she would hold tight to the one friend she had.

S
he should have taken Annie’s offer of a carriage. While it was still several hours until full dark, the streets had taken on the quiet feeling of a forest before a storm. London could never be still, but it seemed everyone moved with silent purpose.