Unmasking the Duke, page 4
“If you’re going to do it, I want it to be properly. Did you help Dan in that lunacy last night?”
“No, Uncle.”
“I hope not,” Uncle Bill growled, “because if I have the law crawling all over here again…”
Kitty stopped listening, for they were approaching the rose garden, where drinks and ices were served outside in the summer. For the chillier months, a small marquee was set up to provide shelter from wind and rain. Since it was a pleasant day, the sides of the marquee had been rolled up, giving Kitty an excellent view of a tall, broad, well-dressed back in a blue coat and a shock of thick, dark blond hair.
No. It can’t be. Not twice in two days…
The fair man turned to his companion, and her heart lurched before seeming to stop altogether. It was Johnny, half-smiling as he listened to something said by the man sharing his table.
Kitty clutched her uncle’s arm but tried desperately to keep her voice casual. “Uncle Bill, do you know who that man is?”
“Ludovic Blasted Dunne,” her uncle said with a hint of bitterness. “If ever a man was put on this earth to cause bother…”
“Oh, I know him,” Kitty interrupted, recognizing Johnny’s companion. “But what of the man with him?”
Uncle Bill’s eyes narrowed. He flung a suspicious glance at her. “Everyone knows who he is. That, my dear, is His Grace, the Duke of Dearham.”
A duke? Oh, dear God…
“And you are to have nothing to do with him,” Uncle Bill added sternly.
“Why not?” Kitty asked, intrigued in spite of herself.
“Because he’s a damned rake,” growled Uncle Bill.
As if she couldn’t have worked that out for herself. He had told her as much last night, and flirting had seemed as natural to him as breathing.
“Anyway, I’ve said my piece,” Uncle Bill added. “You’d better run along and sort out the provisions you and Rob brought from…”
Again, he broke off for both Mr. Dunne and Johnny—His Grace—rose to their feet, pushing back their chairs. Kitty, who should have fled on her uncle’s instructions, found herself rooted to the spot by Johnny’s enigmatic gaze. Why had she ever thought it open?”
Mr. Dunne ducked out of the pavilion, quickly closing the space between them. He inclined his head. “Mr. Renwick. Miss Kitty.”
“Mr. Dunne. What can I do for you? Kitty, run along now.”
“If we might beg the favor of Miss Kitty’s company, too? This concerns her.”
Uncle Bill went very still. “Does it, by God?” he said with dangerous softness.
“Yes, but in no way that is an insult or a danger to her or to you,” Mr. Dunne said evenly. “Please, hear us out.”
For an instant, it hung in the balance, and then, for the first time ever, Uncle Bill placed her hand in the crook of his arm and walked with dignity into the pavilion, where the duke awaited.
He still stood by the table, which now boasted four chairs around it, and accorded them a small bow. Kitty bobbed a quick curtsey, forcing herself to meet his amiable gaze. She frowned deliberately and flicked her gaze toward Uncle Bill, hoping he would understand the need for silence.
His lips quirked, but beyond that, he gave no sign of comprehending the gravity. Or perhaps he did. Was it not ominous he was with Ludovic Dunne, a lawyer?
“Your Grace,” Mr. Dunne said, “allow me to present Miss Renwick and her uncle, Mr. Renwick, who, as you know, is the owner of Maida Gardens. And this is His Grace, the Duke of Dearham. Shall we sit?”
Under Uncle Bill’s fierce stare, the duke held a chair for Kitty, just as if she were a great lady, and sat beside her. Uncle Bill sat on her other side and said, “It’s getting to a busy time for us, gentlemen, so I must ask you to be brief.”
One had to admire Uncle Bill. He seemed not remotely awed by the presence of such a high-ranking nobleman.
A pot of tea, three mugs of ale, and a bowl of flavored ices appeared on the table—brought, oddly enough, by Dan’s waitress. When the ices were placed in front of her, she began to feel like a child being treated by the adults. Still, they were very good. She picked up her spoon.
Mr. Dunne said, “The matter is delicate. Several months ago, His Grace instructed me to find a lost member of his family, the child of a distant cousin who—er… fell on hard times but gave birth to a child before she died. It has not been an easy task, retracing the movements of this lady, let alone that of her child. I won’t bore you with the details of my search, but eventually, I did find the last known address of the duke’s cousin.”
Kitty and her uncle looked at him expectantly. From the corner of her eye, the duke appeared to be looking at Kitty.
“A building,” Mr. Dunne continued, “in Taverner Street, in Seven Dials.”
Kitty paused, with her second spoonful of ice halfway to her mouth. “We have friends who live there.”
“Yes, we do,” Uncle Bill agreed. “But what of any of this is to do with us?”
“Miss Kitty is your niece, but not the child of your only sibling,” Mr. Dunne said bluntly. “Or, at least, not that I can discover.”
Uncle Bill took a draught of ale and sat back, his fingers curled casually around the handle. “I don’t doubt your ability to nose out what’s there. Truth is, she ain’t my niece.”
Kitty dropped her spoon. “I’m not?”
“No, I adopted you when your mother died. She lived in Taverner Street. She and Sal Harris were friends, lived across the landing from each other. Sal and Jimmie would have taken you in, but they already had two nippers, and Jimmie wasn’t as flush then as he is now. Besides, I took a shine to you.”
This took some getting used to. Kitty had assumed she was an illegitimate niece, or perhaps even Bill’s own illegitimate daughter. Though Bill’s wife, Aunty Mary, had always treated her as her own.
Instead, she wasn’t related to any of them. It made her feel suddenly…adrift.
Bill’s hand closed over hers on the table, squeezing almost fiercely. “Chosen family is best, and you’ve been more than any daughter to me. Rob and Dan ain’t mine by birth either. They were Mary’s sons, by her late husband, but they’re mine in any way that matters, and so are you.” He glared at Mr. Dunne. “Did you have to bring that up now before my girl?”
“Well, yes, we did,” Mr. Dunne said apologetically.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, gentlemen. Kitty’s mother weren’t no duke’s cousin, however distant.”
“What was her name?” the duke asked, speaking for the first time since they had arrived.
Uncle Bill regarded him warily. “Maggie.”
“My cousin’s name,” said His Grace, “was Margaret.”
Chapter Four
Johnny had gone along with Dunne’s way of doing things because it made sense. It was important to see the reactions of Kitty or her family to this news, for, after all, playing a duke’s cousin was a tempting prospect. But it hadn’t entered his head, watching with secret, erotic pleasure as she enjoyed her ice cream, that Kitty would not know the story her uncle produced, that it would bring about that sudden, lost look of an abandoned child.
For the first time, he felt a complete scoundrel, as her uncle, not Johnny, comforted her with what was surely genuine anxiety.
“Margaret?” Renwick repeated with derision. “Maggie, Meg, Madge, and God knows how many other pet names. Got at least two of them working for me. Not exactly uncommon, is it?”
“That’s true,” Johnny agreed. “My own sister is called Margaret. Still, you must allow the coincidence to be great, to find a child of the right age, at the right address, with a mother called Margaret.”
“Yes, well, much as I’d love to be on family terms with the likes of you, that Maggie weren’t no lady. We’re no gentlefolk neither, and no wish to be so.”
Kitty was staring into her ice. Johnny poured a cup of tea, added a spoonful of honey, and pushed it toward her. She looked up at him blankly.
“You seem very certain, Mr. Renwick,” Dunne observed.
“I am,” Renwick stated.
Kitty blinked and picked up her tea. After sipping, she returned to the ice.
“If you don’t believe me, go and talk to Jimmie and Sal. They’ll tell you the same.”
“What, that you never met Maggie?” Dunne said mildly. “That she died three months before you adopted Kitty?”
Renwick’s hand slid away from Kitty’s, and he rose to his feet. “A word, Mr. Dunne,” he said pleasantly.
Dunne politely excused himself, and the two men walked out of the tent. Johnny dragged his gaze away from Kitty’s lips savoring the ice, trying to look into her averted eyes.
“What about you, Miss Renwick?” he said. “Do you believe such a thing is possible?”
“That I’m your long-lost cousin?” she said derisively. “Of course not. I’m only surprised you’d pursue such a connection, rightly or wrongly. You can’t want a cousin from the slums of Seven Dials or from Maida Gardens.”
His lips quirked. “Why would you think that?”
He hadn’t meant to flirt, but she seemed to take it that way. Her skin—soft, flawless skin, as he knew—flushed, and there was a faintly outraged expression in her beautiful blue eyes. He didn’t blame her. This was not the time or the place.
“None of us can help where we’re born, Kitty.”
She lifted her chin. “All free and equal? What a very egalitarian sentiment for a duke.”
“And what an educated vocabulary for a girl from Seven Dials. Or even Maida Gardens.”
Her flush deepened. “I went to school. I can read.”
She was full of surprises, this tempting creature who might or might not be distantly related to him. “What do you like to read?” he asked.
She blinked as though taken aback by the question. A tiny droplet of melted raspberry ice clung to the corner of her mouth. “Whatever I can find.”
He took his clean handkerchief from his pocket. “Novels? Books of travel? Philosophy? Science?”
“Not science, but—” She broke off, flinching back as he reached over to her mouth.
“But what?” he said, pretending to be unperturbed by her reaction. But he didn’t like it, not when she had melted into his arms last night and kissed him so sweetly. Of course, that was before he had found her cousins with a crew of reprobate smugglers or thieves or whatever they were, and she had efficiently tied him up. Before he had told her she might be related to his noble family.
He paused for only an instant, then brushed the handkerchief across the corner of her mouth and sat back.
“A cousinly gesture,” he assured her.
“I’m not your cousin.”
“You might be. Would it be so very terrible? After all, the relationship is not close.”
Kitty frowned at him. “Then why do you care? What do you want with her daughter, whoever she is?”
“It was a guilt inherited by my father from his father and kindly passed on me. I’m not a very responsible duke, but I thought this was one wrong I could manage to right.”
“What wrong? If no one knew where to find her—”
“No one tried,” Johnny said. “My grandfather forbade it, and everyone obeyed. Even though she had lived in his household for several years, as companion to his wife, the duchess.”
A frown tugged at her brow, but Renwick and Dunne were returning, so he said, “We can at least be friends, can we not?”
She met his gaze. “We are not friends. Friends don’t lie. You came to Maida last night to look me over.”
“I came to meet you,” he corrected.
“You pretended otherwise,” she said starkly and stood up. Her curtsey was small and cold and, for some reason, cut him to pieces. “Good day, Your Grace.”
Renwick nodded curtly and somewhat suspiciously and then walked away beside Kitty.
Johnny sighed and threw some coins on the table. “Shall we go?”
“By all means,” Ludovic said. “Rebecca is coming up from the country and should be here by teatime.”
“Give her my regards. I hope she feels free to invite me to dinner.”
“Are you not bound soon for Dearham Abbey?”
“I will be, when I’ve seen Meg and Harry.” He frowned as they walked down the main path toward the gate. “What did Renwick say to you?”
“He told me to stop upsetting his niece.”
“Did you apologize?”
“Yes, though I upset him instead by reminding him—as he knew I would—that there was something of a riot in that particular building in Taverner Street around the time he adopted Kitty. And that a man vanished shortly after—Maggie’s lover, if not Kitty’s father.”
“And you know this because…?”
“His friend Jimmie told Napper.”
Johnny absorbed this. Only when they sat in his comfortable town carriage did he say abruptly, “She didn’t know anything about that. The idea that she’s related to me took her completely by surprise.”
“Not sure it surprised Renwick, though,” Dunne replied. “He knows more than he’s saying.”
“Then you still think it’s possible?”
“Don’t you?”
“The coincidences would seem too many,” Johnny said slowly. “And she’s been educated above her station. She even speaks better than her cousins.”
“Meaning you could turn her into a lady if you wanted to?”
“If it was the right thing to do,” Johnny said. He became gradually aware of Dunne’s amused expression. “What?”
“Nothing. Just…for one tiny moment, you sounded almost responsible.”
“Ha,” said Johnny derisively. “Tell that to my mother.”
*
“Is it true?” Kitty asked abruptly.
Uncle Bill, apparently forgetting about his “rounds,” was walking beside her back toward the cottage. “It’s true you’re no blood relation, that I adopted you from Jimmie’s neighbor in Seven Dials. But you’re no more the duke’s cousin than I am.” He cast her a quick look. “Are you disappointed?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m just wondering how you can be so sure. They seemed to know an awful lot, and that Mr. Dunne—you’ve said yourself he’s too damned smart.”
“Watch your language, girl. There’s no need to repeat my careless talk. Yes, Dunne is smart, and he’s clearly done a lot of digging. He knows more than I thought anyone would find out. But the thing is, I know more.”
She stared at the ground as she walked, then up at the clouds.
“You don’t believe me?” Uncle Bill asked.
Again, she shook her head. “I believe you. Of course, I do. I’m just wondering why you never told me any of this before.”
He sighed and put his arm around her in a quick, rough hug. “Because I didn’t want to see that look on your face. A family’s about more than blood. Doesn’t matter to me whether you were born to my Mary, your Aunt Jane, or someone I never met. I’ll tell you something else. You know how I felt for my Mary, but when I first married her, taking on Rob and Dan with her, it was to give you a mother who could bring you up better than I could. And now you’re all my kids. Never forget that.”
Kitty took his arm and gave it a squeeze. He was right, of course. Whoever had given birth to her made no difference to her life. This was her family, her home, and she would never want another. Certainly not some grand, draughty palace full of servants snootier than Aunt Jane with her “going-to-church” face, and great lords and ladies wearing a king’s ransom on their backs and their noses held up in order to look down them at her. People who despised her or resented her.
Such a life held no warmth, no attraction. She was not sorry to be unrelated to the duke. Especially not, she told herself as his handsome face swam into her mind, when he had lied to her about his reasons for being at the masked ball. But…he had been sure enough to seek her out, not just at the ball, but this afternoon, with his very sharp solicitor in tow.
She could not help wondering if, on this particular occasion, Uncle Bill might be wrong. That he didn’t want the duke to be right, in case it broke up his family. She didn’t mind if that was true. It was the kind of lie she could live with.
*
The next morning, as Kitty fed the hens, Vera appeared at the back garden gate.
“You ever thought about being a farmer’s wife?” Vera teased.
Kitty laughed, tossed the rest of the feed in a heap, and went to meet her friend. “What are you doing here so early?”
“I came with Luke, and I’ll go back with him, so rejoice. I can spend most of the day with you.”
“Behold me speechless with pleasure. Not least because you were allowed to come with Luke. That is surely good progress.”
“It would be if my parents knew,” Vera said carelessly. “Don’t lecture me. I left a message.” She looked up the track toward the new building which was growing above the trees on the hill. “It’s coming on, isn’t it?”
“It is. Wouldn’t it be good if it made Luke famous?”
“It would, providing he didn’t forget me.”
Vera’s odd little vulnerabilities, rare but genuine, always took Kitty by surprise. She nudged her friend over the fence. “Don’t be silly. You’re not exactly forgettable. Come and help me set up the garden for the lunchtime concert.”
“Concert? Surely people won’t sit still to listen in this cold!”
“It will be warmer by lunchtime,” Kitty assured her as they walked. “Rain is more of a problem, but we have a little bandstand for the performers and a marquee for the audience. But most people wander about, stop to listen for five minutes, and then go off to watch the magician or the stilt-walkers.”
“True. I think we should take Luke when he stops for midday.”
“You can. Sadly, I have to work.”
“He’s a slave driver, your Uncle Bill.”
“Hardly that!”
Vera sniffed to concede the point, though she immediately added, “You want to get your hooks into your masked gentleman and become a lady of leisure.”
