Never a Duke, page 30
Ned and the duke joined the women at Woodruff’s front door. One of the footmen banged the knocker three times, then withdrew as far as the steps.
“Ivor,” Her Grace said to the second footman, “you will accompany us.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Ivor’s smile would have done credit to a plundering Viking.
The door opened, and Rosalind sailed past a venerable butler. “Cranston, please inform my father and brothers that Their Graces of Walden and Mr. Ned Wentworth have come to call. I will escort our guests to the formal parlor.”
Cranston had likely never greeted such exalted personages, but he clearly realized that a visit at such an early hour was not social.
“I don’t believe Lord Lindhurst has come down yet, my lady.”
“Then please wake him,” Rosalind said, passing over her bonnet and cloak. “I insist.”
Cranston’s brows rose.
“As do I,” Ned said, adding his hat to the heap in Cranston’s arms. “As do Their Graces. Please have Woodruff, Lindhurst, and Mr. George Kinwood in the formal parlor at once.”
“And no perishing tea tray,” Rosalind added.
“Very good, your ladyship.”
Rosalind led them down a corridor that could have done with a good dusting and into a parlor that clearly saw little use. The room hadn’t been aired in some time, the hearth was not only unlit, but also hadn’t a fresh fire laid, and nary a single bloom graced either of the vases on the mantel.
“Rosalind.” The Earl of Woodruff paused just inside the parlor door some moments later. “You will explain yourself.”
Rosalind flinched under his lordship’s peremptory tone, then stood straighter. “Good morning, my lord. I believe you know Their Graces and Mr. Wentworth?”
“I know Their Graces, and I have had the dubious honor of meeting Wentworth. Why have you inconvenienced a duke and duchess and upset the peace of my household at this hour?”
“It’s no bother,” Her Grace said. “We’ve come to hear you explain why you should not be arrested for kidnapping, bribery, interfering with the king’s justice, wrongful imprisonment, and a few other felonies. His Grace will provide details when your sons have joined us.”
Woodruff inhaled through his nose, the sound approximating a windbroken coach horse. “Your Grace surely jests.”
“She does not,” Rosalind countered. “And you cannot bluster your way out of responsibility, Papa.”
“I do not bluster, Rosalind. Persist in this farce and I will disclaim any further connection with you.”
Ned was ready to pummel the old windbag for that, but Rosalind merely looked intrigued.
“Is that supposed to be a threat? If so, I must inform your lordship that the prospect of being disowned looms rather like a temptation.”
“You impertinent, disrespectful, ungovernable…” Woodruff took a step toward Rosalind. She stood her ground, while Ned took the place at her right, Walden at her left, and Ivor at her back.
“Your lordship should sit down,” Rosalind said. “You will give yourself an apoplexy if you yield to a fit of choler now.”
“I’d listen to her,” Her Grace added. “The discussion will be trying for all concerned, most of all for you.”
George chose then to stride into the room, looking quite well put together if a trifle wary. “We have exalted visitors, I’m told. George Kinwood, at your service. Roz, if you’d see to the introductions?”
“That’s Lady Rosalind to you,” Ned said. “Your Graces of Walden, may I make known to you Mr. George Kinwood, brother to Lady Rosalind. Mr. Kinwood, the Duke and Duchess of Walden. They are here as witnesses to a discussion of criminal wrongdoing.”
George smiled coolly. “Has somebody been naughty? Not dear Roz, I hope?”
“In company, you will address your sister as Lady Rosalind.” The duchess’s tone was arctic. “If you presume to address her at all.”
Lindhurst strolled into the room next, his cravat off-center, his curls looking more disheveled than stylish, and his pink boutonniere at an odd angle.
“Are we entertaining callers at the crack of doom now?” he asked, making a leg at Her Grace. “Lindhurst, at your service. I believe we were introduced last Season. Walden, good morning. Wentworth, didn’t expect you to show your face here ever again. What on earth could be of such moment that I must be seen barely dressed and without having broken my fast?”
“Be patient,” Ned said. “His Grace will explain the nature of our errand, and you lot will listen. Your ladyship, should we be seated?”
Rosalind took a wing chair at the end of the sofa. Their Graces appropriated a love seat, and Rosalind’s brothers settled onto the sofa. Ivor was in position by the door, while Woodruff remained on his feet.
As did Ned.
“I’ve a mind to absent myself from this display of disrespect,” Woodruff snapped. “Rosalind, have you taken leave of your senses?”
“I have not,” she replied. “His Grace will offer a brief recitation of the facts.”
Walden lounged on the little love seat, duke of all he surveyed. “Mr. George Kinwood has been implicated by witnesses in a scheme that begins with young ladies offered false overtures of gentlemanly interest. When the women, all of good character but of humble standing and without family in the metropolis, have placed their trust in Mr. Kinwood, he lures them into situations from which they can be spirited away. They are then held against their will for weeks.”
“This is preposterous,” Woodruff said. “George is the son of a peer. He has no need to coerce young women to do anything.”
“He has no coin and less honor,” Ned said, taking the place beside Rosalind’s chair. “Walden, if you’d continue.”
“When a transport ship is ready to depart for the Antipodes,” Walden went on, “the captives are substituted for married women, or women more aged or infirm. The female convicts are set free, which is one perversion of justice, while the innocent women are consigned to transportation, with a premium paid to Mr. George Kinwood for providing the younger, healthier, unmarried women, and effecting the switch. That, I believe, constitutes several more perversions of justice.”
“I say.” Lindhurst peered at his brother. “Not the done thing, George. Is this true?”
“Lindhurst, shut your mouth,” Woodruff bellowed. “This is slander, nothing more than Rosalind’s unbalanced imaginings. If I hear that a word of this fantasy has been repeated in polite circles—in any circles—I will bring suit in a court of law.”
Rosalind stared at the carpet, and in the ensuing silence, Ned feared that she’d lost her resolve. He wanted to plead with her—the women were owed justice, the public paying to support transportation was owed justice. Some part of Ned himself felt a yearning to see Woodruff held accountable, but not at the expense of Rosalind’s well-being.
“What do these so-called witnesses want?” George drawled. “A few pounds? Passage to Italy? I’m not saying a word of Walden’s fairy tale is true, but to avoid unpleasantness, sometimes a little generosity goes a long way. Wouldn’t you agree, Woodruff?”
A tacit negotiation ensued between father and son. George’s tone was that of a casually interested bystander, but his gaze was worried, and Woodruff’s complexion had turned the same shade as the carnation on Lord Lindhurst’s lapel.
“To avoid the shame of a daughter bringing scandal down on her own family,” Woodruff said, “I am willing to entertain terms here. What are your demands, Wentworth? For despite the august company you keep, I sense the tantrum of a spurned suitor in these lies.”
Rosalind looked up. “I beg your pardon?”
Woodruff stalked halfway across the room, as if he’d make a grand exit, then seemed to recall that Ivor would prevent such histrionics.
“I said”—Woodruff positively glowered at Rosalind—“that just as I did when dealing with your wayward mother, I will school myself to discretion in the face of these fabrications and insults that you and Wentworth have concocted. You are a disgrace to the Kinwood name, Rosalind, and I wash my—”
Rosalind rose slowly, an eruption of feminine dignity that had Woodruff stepping back.
“Fabrications and insults, my lord? Shall we descend to the sort of cruelty you showed me when I was a mere child, innocent of adult machinations, grieving the loss of my mother and clinging desperately to familiar surrounds? Shall I inflict on you the hurt caused when a stammer is made into a source of ridicule? When my brothers were encouraged to condescend to me by your sneering example? A man who would treat a helpless child thus would not flinch at exploiting honest women for his own ends. George might well have executed your orders, but now I see that the greed and arrogance behind this scheme have your stamp all over them.
“The scandal here,” she said, more quietly, “is that men of enormous privilege stooped to criminal exploitation of defenseless women, and for so paltry a consideration as coin. You had me kidnapped as well, the better to frighten me into docility yet again. You disgust me, sir, and I am glad you are no blood of mine.” She aimed her next words at Walden. “See him tried in the Lords, Your Grace, and I will testify against him gladly.”
Ned stopped himself from applauding, but only just. He held out a hand to Rosalind, thinking to assist her back into her chair, but she bundled in close and treated him to a fierce hug.
Woodruff, Lindhurst, and George all started babbling at once, with Woodruff prevailing by dint of excessive volume.
“Tried in the Lords? Don’t be preposterous. If George got up to some misguided bit of mischief, that is no concern of mine.”
“Papa!” George was on his feet, no cool smile to be seen. “What do you mean, no concern of yours?”
“Why don’t we all have a spot of tea,” Lindhurst murmured, “and just calm down?”
“He’ll see me hanged!” George retorted. “See me packed off to Newgate like a footman purloining the silver.”
Ivor seemed to gain three inches in addition to his already considerable height and another four stone of menace.
“If a footman steals a fork,” Ned said, “you’re happy to see him hanged. You stole lives, Kinwood. You stole peace of mind and liberty from women who never offered you a moment’s disrespect. You turned them into goods on offer, and worse, tossed their good names—the only treasure they had—into the river.”
“It wasn’t my idea,” George wailed. “I only charmed them a bit, and they were willing to be charmed. I had nothing to do with snatching Rosalind. Papa, tell these people the truth before it’s too late.”
Woodruff shot his cuffs. “Best mind what you say, George. Rosalind has already admitted she’ll testify against her own family. I would hate to be called upon to do likewise.”
George sat forward. His mouth worked. He ran a hand through his hair. “Papa, how can you do this to me?”
Rosalind eased away from Ned, but kept hold of his hand. “Now you know exactly how I’ve felt for years. Betrayed, belittled, and bewildered, but unlike you, I was innocent of any crime save being my mother’s daughter.”
“I only did as I was told,” George said, turning a mulish stare on his father. “Papa, you either find a way to intervene on my behalf, or I will tell the authorities everything I know.”
“Tell them anyway,” Ned said, “and Rosalind might prevail on Their Graces to see you transported rather than hanged. And when that transport ship catches the tide, and fourteen years of penal servitude stare you in the face, you might know the magnitude of the harm you so casually planned for innocent women.”
Rosalind linked her arm with Ned’s. “All so you could afford a little more lace on your cravats. Not well done of you, George, and more fool you, you let Woodruff set you up to take all the blame.”
“But he’s my father!”
Lindhurst passed George a flask. “Mine too. Don’t fret, George. At least you aren’t engaged to Clotilda Cadwallader. I’ll write to you, and fourteen years will pass before you know it.”
George began to cry.
“Ned,” Rosalind said, “let’s be on our way. I don’t believe I’ll be coming back here ever again.”
Ned bowed his farewell to the duke and duchess, and then he and Rosalind were out in the pretty midday sunshine, strolling arm in arm all the way home.
Epilogue
“Lady Dinkle is expecting,” Rosalind said, wanting to hug the letter to her heart. Amelia Barnstable had been an ally all through George’s trial and sentencing. Lord Dinkle, after proving that he could moderate his consumption of port, had been permitted to pay Mrs. Barnstable his addresses, and Mrs. Barnstable had become Lady Dinkle six months after Rosalind had married Ned.
“I will send a note around to Dinky offering congratulations and commiseration,” Ned said, knotting off a bright green thread. “He has a difficult few months ahead if Walden’s experience is any indication.”
Ned’s embroidery had become yet still more brilliant since he’d become a husband. He worked at small tapestries full of butterflies, flowers, napping cats, and colorful birds. They decorated the house, and two hung in the bank, one in Walden’s office, one in Lord Stephen’s. Arthur had asked to be shown a few stitches, as had several of the other children.
“Lady Dinkle faces more than a difficult few months, Ned. Her Grace says the lying-in is only the beginning.”
Ned wrapped his current work in progress around his embroidery hoop and tucked it into his workbasket. “Will you attend Lady Lindhurst if she asks?”
Rosalind looked about her family parlor, a smallish space where she and Ned spent most of their evenings. They socialized little—George’s disgrace was still fresh news—and loved much. George had taken all the blame for his father’s scheme, hoping Lindhurst might benefit from having only a black sheep brother rather than a black sheep brother and a scoundrel for a father.
George was on his way to New South Wales, the disgraced younger son about whom the family would not speak in public.
Ned had seen George off with some funds and a trunk of decent clothing. Bob had offered what advice and introductory letters he could, but George would face at least several years of hard work under harsh conditions.
If there was a silver lining, it was that the Earl of Woodruff’s children, by mutual agreement, no longer associated with him. Lindhurst was attempting to manage on Clotilda’s settlements and his own portion from his mother’s estate, and Aunt Ida had offered him and Clotilda a home on her property in Derbyshire.
Woodruff had departed from Town for the family seat the day after George’s arrest, and had not been heard from since. Polite society had apparently decided that banishment was to be his fate, and Rosalind found that judgment fitting. Fourteen years or so of exile should suffice, if Woodruff’s drinking didn’t do him in sooner.
“Are you up for a journey to Derbyshire?” she asked.
“I will cheerfully escort you there, but don’t go unless you genuinely want to.”
Ned did this frequently—asked Rosalind to pause and consider her true wishes and needs. She returned the favor, and they were slowly acquiring a habit of greater self-examination. Lord Stephen was more in evidence at the bank, Ned spent more time on his new project—turning the bank’s approach to the badgers into a plan for a school that took in the children of prisoners and transportees.
“Autumn in Derbyshire is beautiful,” Rosalind said. “Could we bring along a few of the children?”
Ned shifted from his wing chair to take the place beside Rosalind on the sofa. “I would rather have you all to myself, to be honest. We never had a wedding journey, and I believe Francine and the staff would manage without us well enough for a few weeks.”
Rosalind had made the choice to remain in London while the whole scandal of George’s arrest and trial were ongoing. Her Grace of Walden had been a stanch ally, as had the ladies who shared Rosalind’s concern for ill-treated animals.
Part of Rosalind’s motivation had been to ensure that Francine, Calliope, and the other ladies were all settled back into a decent life, inasmuch as that was possible. Francine had taken an interest in Ned’s project, and had turned out to have a way with upset children.
Several of the other women had taken on various roles, and Hope House now provided a home for two dozen children in addition to the eight teachers and staff who looked after them. Two of the older children assisted in Bob’s new shop several days a week, two were badgers, two assisted in the Walden stables.
The small-investor businesses had proved to be a fertile source of posts for the remaining older children, though duties were always light and secondary to basic education.
“Do you ever think of leaving the bank to make the school a full-time venture?” Rosalind asked, snuggling up to her husband.
“Yes.”
Ned’s answer should not have surprised her—he was a ruminating sort of fellow—but the alacrity of his response did.
“And?”
“And now is not the time,” Ned said. “Maybe after Papa arrives from Port Jackson, maybe in a few years. We are still in the learning-as-we-go phase, which never quite ends, and the school needs patrons if it’s to thrive. My personal fortune is sufficient to get the venture off on sound footing, but we want to establish an institution that will thrive well beyond our stewardship of it.”
“Would the bank become a patron?”
“Possibly.”
“What about Rothhaven? He’s a bright fellow and apparently quite the wizard with investments.”
“I hadn’t thought of him.”
People tended not to think of Rothhaven. He was the quietest, most unassuming peer Rosalind had had the pleasure of losing a hand of cards to. He was also devoted to his duchess, fond of children and animals, and shrewd without trumpeting his insights for all to admire.
Rosalind adored him and suspected he would gladly take a place among the school’s sponsors.
“He’d advise an endowment,” Ned said. “A fund that produces income, one that can grow gradually as the school’s alumni go forth into the world and prosper, perhaps adding a little to the fund themselves in the years to come.”
