Unmasking the Duke, page 15
Johnny seemed about to dispute it when the full meaning of her words hit him. “Mother? How do you know what Margaret’s daughter was called?”
“Because I corresponded with her,” the duchess admitted, looking slightly shamefaced. “It seemed too harsh of your grandfather to banish her altogether, for she had been close to your grandmother for some years. I could give her no material help, of course, but I tried to keep in touch with her.” Her gaze, contemptuous once more, swept over Kitty. “Her last letter was to tell me she had given birth to a daughter, whom she had named Isabel.”
Isabel… The name sounded strange to Kitty, alien as applied to her. She could not be Isabel. Could she?
“That may well be true,” Johnny said evenly. “We don’t know her real name. Mr. Renwick, who rescued her as a baby and adopted her, renamed her Kitty.”
That seemed to throw the duchess off her stride, for she frowned.
“We can find out what I used to be called,” Kitty volunteered, speaking for the first time. “If my uncle doesn’t know, Sal Harris will.”
The duchess’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you offer that? So that you can prime them in advance?”
“No,” Kitty said bluntly. “Believe it or not, my origins are of at least as much interest to me as to Your Grace.”
“Don’t be difficult, Mama,” the duke said. “You must know I haven’t plucked some stranger off the street—or from the opera house. I believe Kitty is our cousin, but the main reason for her being here is to keep her safe after an attack at her home. You will know this if you have spoken to Meg. But whether or not she turns out to be related to the Winters, she is a welcome guest in my house.”
It was subtly done, the gentlest of reminders that not the dowager’s word but her son’s was law here. Curiously, Kitty had no doubt that Johnny would win that battle and any others. But it gave her an unpleasant hint of the hostility she would face for her intrusion.
*
Late the following morning, Kitty sought refuge in the small, formal garden at the back of the house, beyond the kitchen garden. Although there was a hint of fog in the air along with the inevitable if faint smells of the city, the outdoors gave Kitty a few moments to think.
She had written to Vera, suggesting they meet in the Green Park tomorrow, and asking her to find out from her mother what Kitty’s name had been at birth. If it was Isabel, then it was likelier than ever that Kitty was related to the Winters. If it was not Isabel, then this had all been a mistake.
And Kitty no longer knew how she felt about that. She had no doubt that the duke and his family would continue to keep her safe in such circumstances, but her position would be altered, subtly or otherwise. Without being of Winter blood, she had no pretensions to being a lady. And no excuse to be with Johnny except in a somewhat scandalous relationship.
The uncertainty kept her on edge. But the tension between them was strangely sweet, and she was aware she would not easily give up his company, which would put her firmly in that scandalous relationship category.
Could I really become his mistress? Would he even want me to? The man who had apologized for kissing her and yet held her hand at Maida Gardens as though they were a youthful, ordinary courting couple.
He is a flirt. That was undeniably true. He had always been a flirt, and it was more than likely that’s all he wanted of her, to enliven a few weeks of boredom. And yet that didn’t sound like him either. He was not so silly or so unfeeling.
In fact, they were friends. And although a few kisses had confused the matter, that was all they would ever be, whether or not she was a lady by blood. He was too honorable for anything else. So why did that not make her happy either?
“A penny for them, Miss Kitty.”
From where she stood still in the middle of the garden, facing the back wall, she jerked her head around to see Princess Hagerin, who looked as beautiful as always. Like Kitty, she wore no bonnet, but unlike Kitty, she had remembered to wrap herself in a shawl before venturing into the cold.
“For your thoughts,” the princess clarified, moving past her to examine a blooming Christmas rose bush.
“They are not worth as much as a penny,” Kitty said. Something beyond the princess’s head caught her attention. With a jolt, she realized someone was sitting astride the wall which separated the garden from the mews. He was largely screened by the young apple tree, which grew just in front of him and had not yet lost all its leaves.
She was about to seize the princess by the arm and drag her inside when it entered her head that it was probably one of the Dearham grooms or stable boys, perhaps even one who had been instructed to watch for their safety, even in the back garden. So, she used her sudden movement merely to step nearer the princess, and with her foot, she idly disturbed the earth in the nearby flower bed until her toe came across a decent sized stone.
“You are modest,” the princess said, presumably still discussing her thoughts. “And you are still here.”
“Do you expect me to run away because you tell me to?” Kitty asked. She bent and picked up the stone before straightening and hiding it among her skirts.
“Actually, yes. Because I can’t imagine what you think you are achieving by being here. Her Grace does not believe your claim, indeed can hardly bring herself to look at you, let alone speak to you. And Johnny will never marry you, though he might ruin you.”
How could she understand him so little? “His Grace would never ruin me. I am in his house, under his protection.”
And as she stepped away, the man on the wall moved out of the concealing apple tree. She only saw it out of the corner of her eye, and the princess’s focus seemed to be entirely on the flowers.
“You have made him a hero,” the princess observed, turning more toward her. She glanced up with a faintly rueful smile. “I can understand that. I suppose I have done the same. Laughter and love are a heady combination. But the truth is, he is not for innocent little girls.”
“Then why,” Kitty asked, tracing with her eyes the angle between the princess and the watcher on the wall, “are you so eager for me to go?”
The man on the wall raised his hand and drew it back, and something glinted in the low, autumnal sun.
The princess said, “Because—”
“Run!” Kitty commanded and hurled her stone with all her might.
Some instinct or the sheer force of Kitty’s voice made the princess jump back on the path, but she did not run. At the same time, the stone connected audibly with the man on the wall, accompanied by a ludicrously surprised cry as he fell backward off the wall. The glinting weapon he had thrown must have lost its aim just in time, for it landed on the lawn, several feet short of its mark.
“What the…?” the princess uttered.
But Kitty did not stay to hear the rest. She flew across the garden and leapt, using one foot to spring from the lowest branch of the apple tree, and grasp the top of the wall with both hands. They were still tender and didn’t much like to be scraped, but at least she managed to haul herself onto the wall, from where she could see the attacker bolting down the muse.
A stable boy and the under-coachman had emerged from the Dearham carriage house and were gawping between the running man and Kitty on the wall.
She pointed desperately after the attacker. “Catch him! He tried to kill us!”
It was enough to inspire a stream of men from the mews buildings, all shouting and haring after their quarry.
The princess exclaimed, “Oh, excellently done! I didn’t even see him! Come down from there before the wrong people see you.”
Kitty slipped down, and the princess caught and steadied her. Their arms dropped from each other, and Kitty said, “He was aiming at you.”
The princess’s lips quirked into a rueful, unexpectedly deprecating smile. “You see why I need to retire. My instincts are no longer what they were. Without yours, I would probably be dead.”
“It seemed…wrong for him to be there, but I didn’t know if he was friend or foe until I saw the blade.”
“Well, you are either a damned fine shot—if you’ll pardon my language—or a lucky one. Either way, you have my undying gratitude.”
Kitty shrugged with embarrassment. “Childhood games with my male cousins, who were obsessed with hitting things with other things.”
“I’ll wager you beat them all to flinders.”
“Sometimes,” Kitty agreed, returning the princess’s smile with a quick, shy one of her own.
The princess took her arm and set off for the house. “I think we need to find His Grace before his servants haul that miscreant before him. And I don’t know about you, but I feel the need of a very large brandy.”
It wasn’t really funny, but a breath of laughter escaped Kitty’s lips.
Chapter Sixteen
His Grace, however, was not at home, though he entered the library some twenty minutes later and came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the princess and Kitty swigging brandy together on the sofa. His face was white, his eyes desperately angry and anxious and full of some pain she could not read. Then he stretched out one hand and gripped the nearest table as though to steady himself.
“Thank God. I thought one of you had been injured or worse.”
“Oh, no,” the princess said with enthusiasm. “Kitty saved the day using a stone wielded with terrifying accuracy. I owe her my life. Did your people catch the perpetrator?”
The duke’s eyes had found Kitty’s gaze and were staring at her. It seemed to take an effort to drag his attention away. “What? Yes. He’s one of the men who attacked you in the park, though he either doesn’t know or won’t say who hired him. The stable boys in pursuit apparently yelled instructions ahead, and our would-be assassin ran into a strategically opened stable door. We’ll haul him off to Bow Street and let the magistrate’s fellows have a go at him.”
“You might want to send this, too,” the princess said, picking up the blade from the table. “He was about to throw it when Kitty’s stone took him between the eyes.”
Wordlessly, the duke took it and strode back to the door. They heard him shouting to someone, and a few moments later, he returned, walking quickly, and threw himself into the armchair closest to them. A trace of anger still lurked in his eyes, but to Kitty, there was an air of rare uncertainty about him, as if he had no idea what to say or do next.
Kitty put down her glass, from which she had taken only a couple of steadying sips. But the princess raised hers to their host. “Join us? For medicinal purposes, of course.”
His hand gripped the arm of his chair. “It seems I can’t protect you sober. I really don’t fancy my chances if I start drinking brandy in the middle of the day. I think we need to go early to Dearham Abbey.”
“We could be followed there, too,” the princess pointed out.
“But anyone who did would stand out as a stranger.” He closed his eyes. “One man, sitting on the garden wall with a knife, barely yards from my own staff… Only a miracle prevented murder.”
“Well, I think we are agreed Kitty is all the miracle we need,” the princess drawled. “In which case, it does not matter where we go.”
“And the duchess has only just arrived,” Kitty reminded him. “She won’t thank you either to abandon her or drag her off on another journey. Besides, if the assassin gives away any details, we might get to the princess’s true enemy.”
The duke looked from one to the other, his tension slowly dying into a wry but definite smile. “The pair of you put me to shame. You are a formidable alliance. And I’m glad to see it.”
With that, he rose and strode out, leaving the women looking at each other in bafflement.
*
In truth, Johnny was thoroughly rattled by the assassination attempt, and not just by how close disaster had come. There had been a terrifying few moments when his people were all talking at once, when all he had heard was Kitty’s name, and the blood had roared in his ears at the unendurable thought that she was dead. That the sweet, spirited presence that had become so necessary to his contentment was simply wiped out, horrifically, tragically, before she had truly lived.
And then he had realized that his servants were far too triumphant for anyone to be dead. Collins mercifully had murmured, “In the library, Your Grace,” and Johnny had abandoned them all, taking the stairs three and four at a time, to burst into the library and find her side by side with Aline, cozily drinking brandy. There was no sign of injury, although her dress showed a streak of mud. And Aline, when he could drag his gaze to her, was as composed as ever.
He had not been able to deal with it then, but gradually, as he understood exactly what had happened, his heart swelled in pride.
“I always knew you were remarkable,” he said to Kitty the next day as they walked to the Green Park, trailed by two footmen.
He constantly scanned the street and the windows on both sides of the road for any signs of threat. His heart felt torn in two, for although he had wanted her to stay at home out of danger, he could not help rejoicing in her nearness.
“Because I can throw stones?” she said deprecatingly. “It is not a ladylike accomplishment, but I’m glad it was useful in the end.”
“There is that,” he allowed, “but also…you are taking the incident very much in your stride.”
Her eyes were distant, and he wondered if she were thinking about the fire.
She said, “I feel for her. For Aline.”
Johnny noticed the two women were now on Christian name terms, but he said nothing. If there was a danger to his hopes from Aline’s growing closeness with Kitty, it was outweighed by the care they could clearly take of each other.
Kitty said, “After the fire…when I was safe…it was not so much the physical pain that bothered me as the fact that this had been done deliberately to me. So, I feel for Aline, not so much for myself. It is important but doesn’t…shatter me. Does that make sense?”
He nodded, and after a few moments, changed the subject. “Are you sure Vera will come?”
“I haven’t heard from her, but I know she will make every effort.”
“Whether or not you are Margaret’s daughter,” he said carefully, “you are still our friend and under our protection.”
Her eyes teased him. “If by ours you mean yours and your mother’s, I think you might want to confer with Her Grace first. I suppose no one has found Mr. Franks or discovered whether or not he is really the Alf Smith I was taken from?”
He shook his head. “Dunne thinks he may have fled the city.”
“He might,” she reflected. “But it’s also possible he’s merely hiding in Seven Dials. No one there will answer his questions or anyone else’s. You can hide in there as if you were dead.”
He hoped she was wrong, though he suspected otherwise. “Did Toby Harris tell you that?”
“No. Uncle Bill.”
He wondered whether to tell her that Toby was probably indirectly responsible for the fire at Maida. That, according to what Dunne had learned, Toby had been running off at the mouth about how he and his sweetheart were about to fleece an amorous duke they had induced to believe was her long-lost cousin. He had thrown Bill Renwick’s name around, too, in a proud sort of way, but not in a manner Renwick would thank him for.
They found Vera Harris sitting alone on a bench in the autumnal sunshine, eating an apple, which she threw away with an exclamation in order to throw herself to her feet and into Kitty’s arms. Then she pushed her friend back and looked her anxiously up and down.
“You look better than the last time I saw you. But lawks, aren’t you fine!” Over Kitty’s shoulder, her gaze connected with Johnny’s, and she released her friend, curtseying low with what he could only describe as an impudent grin. “My lord duke.”
“Miss Harris,” he returned, bowing elaborately. “How do you do?”
“Lord, I’m fine,” she said impatiently, dragging Kitty down on the bench with her.
Johnny leaned negligently against the nearest tree and scoured the surrounding parkland for possible threats. At least it was quiet at this hour, with only a few children out with their nurses and governesses. He kept looking while the girls chattered.
“How are your hands?” Vera demanded, seizing Kitty’s wrists.
“Healed,” Kitty said hastily. “How is everyone? I saw Luke at Maida the other day, and he thinks you’re making progress with your mother at least.”
Vera nodded. “I think she’s been on our side for a while.”
“Because you threatened to marry without their permission?”
Vera appeared to consider. “Not really. I think she wants me to be happy. She didn’t really know Luke at first, assumed I’d throw him over as soon as someone richer and more obviously charming turned up. But she knows him better now, can see how wonderful he is. And she understands that I love him and will never love anyone else.”
In spite of his usual disinterest in girlish talk of love and romance, Johnny couldn’t help glancing at Vera. Her brazen brown eyes had softened, and he recognized she spoke the simple truth. It struck an alarming chord for him, as it apparently had for her mother.
He went back to studying the horizon and the paths. At a discreet distance, the footmen were observing the ground behind him.
“She hasn’t said so, of course,” Vera went on, “but even before the ball at Maida, I heard her dropping hints to Dad. She’ll bring him round, too.”
“I’m glad,” Kitty said warmly.
“I spoke to her about your mother as well,” Vera said in a rush. “Asked her what Maggie had named you when you were born. She said Isabel.”
Kitty’s breath caught, and her gaze flew up to Johnny’s. For an instant, he wondered why he didn’t feel more triumphant. Then it came to him that he didn’t actually care what her name was or whether she was his cousin or not. She was Kitty. And that was the simple cause of the happiness suddenly rushing at him.
He must have been smiling like a loon, for Kitty blushed a bright red, causing Vera to glance from her friend to him with some interest. He took control of his features.
