Unmasking the Duke, page 7
Because she had once been dazzled by a romantic illusion. And although that illusion had never had anything to do with reality, she was foolishly reluctant to let it go.
One thing she could do, though, and she did as she walked beside Toby back to the cottage after the last dance of the evening. She took his arm to hold him back a little from the others.
“Wait a moment. I want to talk to you in private.”
He smiled at that and covered her hand with his. “I wondered how long it would take you,” he said smugly.
“Oh, you aren’t going to enjoy it,” she said grimly. “What do you mean by interfering in my business with the Duke of Dearham?”
“Just doing you a favor, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that. You mean, you hoped to extort money from him by pretending I am his wretched cousin.”
“Money for you,” Toby corrected. “You can thank me later.”
“Money for me because you think I’ll marry you? I won’t, Toby. I don’t know where you got that locket, but—”
“From Ma, of course.”
She cast him a disbelieving glance. “I’m not so gullible, Toby.”
“Ask her,” he insisted.
“I will, but it makes no difference. I won’t beg via you or anyone else. And whoever I am, I am not related to the Dukes of Dearham!”
“Keep telling yourself that, love,” Toby said with maddening condescension. “You may not want the life of a nob—after all, it would take you away from me. But we can have the best of both worlds.”
“Toby, you get neither me nor the duke’s money. Good night.” She tugged her hand free of him and marched ahead to join Sal.
For the first time ever, Kitty was ambivalent about Vera staying overnight at the cottage. Probably because, for the first time ever, she didn’t know, apart from annoyance with Toby, exactly what she felt. But sharing a room and a bed with her friend, there was really no way of avoiding late-night confidences.
“I like him,” Vera said dreamily. “Your duke. So handsome and tall, and those smiling eyes of his must just drop women in his lap.”
Kitty really didn’t want to hear this.
“Will you still talk to us in the lower orders once you’re a duchess?”
“Duchess?” Kitty repeated, startled. “Don’t be so ridiculous! I’m not even his distant cousin, though Toby seems to be trying to persuade him I am. I don’t want to be his family, Vera. I want to be left alone as I am.”
In the dark, she couldn’t see Vera’s eyes, but she could imagine them, penetrating and shrewd. “And marry Toby?”
“No. Toby and I would not suit.”
“I told him that.”
“So did I,” Kitty admitted. “But I’m not sure he believes me.”
“He never used to be so full of himself,” Vera said sadly. “I think a little success with certain females has convinced him he’s irresistible.” She giggled suddenly at the idea of her brother’s irresistibility, and Kitty couldn’t help joining in.
After a few moments, Kitty said sleepily, “Feeling as you do about Luke, do you ever look at other men?”
“I look,” Vera admitted. “But I don’t ever want them. I only want Luke, and I always will.”
It was a warm sentiment to fall asleep with. But as Kitty closed her eyes, it wasn’t Luke and Vera she saw, but the duke’s distant smile as he bade her farewell.
*
In the morning, Vera’s dad appeared to inspect the work on the hotel and to bring a couple of burly new workers to speed things up. Like several others, Mr. Harris said, they would sleep rough in the part of the building already roofed to make sure there was always an early start. While Luke put them to work, Mr. Harris and Uncle Bill sat in the corner of the kitchen discussing business. Rob and Dan went off on their duties about the Gardens, and Vera accompanied Kitty on hers. Toby sat in the parlor with a newspaper on his knee, watching them leave.
“What does he do?” Kitty asked Vera.
“Wanders about with my father sometimes, apparently learning the business,” Vera said wryly. “But between you and me, he’s never done a hand’s turn in his life either in the house or the office or on a building site. But then, neither have I. Not like you.”
“You help in the house, though. So when you marry Luke, you’ll make a fine home.”
“I think Toby imagines he’ll have a wife and servants, and probably Luke to run his business when Dad steps back. Not sure Luke will like to answer to Toby, though.”
“Is there nothing Toby wants to do?” Kitty asked.
Vera shrugged. “He did say something once about working for your uncle, but Dad scoffed at him.”
“Why would he want to work here?” Kitty asked. “He’s never shown any interest in the place.”
“Not sure it’s the place so much as your uncle,” Vera said. “Toby admires him, thinks everyone looks up to him. And by everyone, I mean the people your uncle doesn’t let you meet.”
*
Johnny surprised his sister and brother-in-law, and the whole Staunton family, by joining them for breakfast, a chaotic affair since both Lord Staunton’s children and Meg’s older twins were with the adults. It reminded Johnny a little of long summers spent in the country when he and his siblings had been inseparable from Staunton and his. Of course, Johnny had not been the duke, then, and Robert had not been Lord Staunton. And now their children seemed to be forming the same kind of bonds.
After the well-ordered quiet of Dearham House, he rather liked the noise and carnage of breakfast with the Stauntons. He even helped the children create more.
“How are my new nieces?” he asked Harry at last. “Are they and Meg visitable?”
“Of course,” Harry said at once. “Meg will be glad to see you. She comes down for meals occasionally, but the little devils are quite demanding.”
In fact, Meg was discovered in a bright new dressing gown, laying the tiny bundles of difficulty in their cot. She looked tired but happy and smiled as she beckoned Johnny over to see her new babies. He duly admired them. Although there was little to distinguish them from others of the same age, the perfection of their tiny features always took him by surprise.
“You look well, Meggie,” he told his sister when they had crept into her sitting room.
“I am. Harry and I are going for a walk this afternoon with the boys and then tomorrow with the babies. And then it’s our reunion at the Hallands’.”
“Are you feeling up to all this?”
“She planned it,” Harry said wryly. “But don’t worry. I won’t let her overdo it.”
“You always were the only one she listened to.” Johnny stuck his hand in his pocket and brought out the locket Harris had shown him last night. “Have you ever seen this before, Meg?”
Meg took it and turned it in her fingers peering at the painting. “Oh, it’s Grandmama when she was young before she became the duchess.”
“I thought so, too.”
She glanced at him quizzically. “You’re not sure? It looks like a miniature of the portrait in the drawing room at Dearham Abbey. Where did you find it?”
“A complete stranger showed it to me. Do you suppose Grandmama gave it to Cousin Margaret as a keepsake?”
Meg frowned. “I’ve a feeling we were never to mention Cousin Margaret, though I can’t remember why. I certainly don’t remember her. Why?”
Johnny shrugged. “I’ve had someone looking for her daughter,” he said vaguely. “No matter. So, tell me about your new posting, Harry?”
After an hour with Meg and Harry, he took himself off to the jeweler who had enjoyed Winter patronage since time immemorial, and in the privacy of the back room, showed him the locket, too.
“It’s not my work or my father’s,” the jeweler said at once. “Although I can point you to one or two likely candidates.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary. I was hoping you could simply tell me the age of the piece. Is it new?”
“Not especially, no.” The jeweler peered at it through his glass. “I would say it’s fifty or sixty years old. Which fits with the lady’s costume.”
Johnny nodded and stood up. “Thank you. That’s what I thought.”
His next visit was to the city, where he found Ludovic Dunne about to leave his office, although he returned to the inner office as soon as he saw Johnny.
“You have news?” Dunne asked.
Johnny produced the locket and set it on the table in front of Dunne. “I’d like you to send someone to the house in Taverner Street to return this.”
Dunne’s eyebrows rose. “It came from there?”
“At some point. I think it was Margaret’s. She was my grandmother’s companion for a few years, and this does appear to my grandmother. Apparently, the dying Maggie gave it to Sal Harris.”
“Then Kitty Renwick is Margaret’s daughter?”
“Possibly. Someone is certainly anxious for me to believe so, although there’s an air of the flim-flam about him. Kitty herself knows nothing about this and has no interest in being adopted as a Winter. So I think we just have to leave it. Some wrongs cannot be righted without making the wrong worse.”
*
For Kitty, the chill of autumn seemed to seep into her bones. It was the start of the Gardens’ quiet season, so there were fewer events and entertainments to keep her busy. They had a real masquerade ball for the children at Hallowe’en, with all the guests dressing up, and one with fireworks to celebrate Guy Fawkes Night. And in the daytime, people brought their children to walk and play, but it was often too wet or cold to linger.
If Kitty had hoped to see the duke’s tall figure wander through the Gardens to speak to her, she was disappointed. She could not help feeling hurt that he had abandoned her, although it was what she had told him to do. And she went over and over their final conversation, wondering what she had said to make him decide so suddenly to walk away.
She suspected it was something to do with the locket. He probably thought she and Toby between them were somehow trying to push him into the belief that Kitty was his cousin. Though where Toby had got the wretched locket was anyone’s guess.
By the night of the firework ball, Kitty had convinced herself that he would make an appearance then. She refused to go looking, either in the pavilion or by the lily pond. But she did stand by the garden gate to watch the fireworks for quite a long time before they began and for quite a long time afterward.
Uncle Bill put on a good show, lighting up the sky with beautiful colors and patterns. She could hear the frequent “Ooh!” of the watchers, even through the hissing and banging. And it was well attended. Even the builders who lived on the hotel site had been there, according to Rob, as he passed through for a sustaining bite to eat. And, certainly, Kitty saw movement up there until late. She doubted there would be an early start the next morning.
But, shivering in the cold as it began to permeate her bones, she acknowledged that the duke would not be coming. She turned back inside, hung up her cloak, and huddled before the parlor fire. In her heart, she recognized a lost chance, though the chance of what was a question she couldn’t answer. It hardly mattered if she was never to see him again.
And then she heard the creak of the gate, quick, quiet footfalls, and in spite of herself, she jumped to her feet. But she heard no knock on the door over the drumming of her heart. Though…was that the gate clicking shut?
Oh, no, have I lost him again?
The thought may have been idiocy, but it got her to the front door in an instant, letting chill air into the cottage. But no one stood on the doorway or the path, and there was no movement beyond the gate.
Slowly, she shut the door again, trying not to care. Something rustled beneath her feet, and she bent and picked a piece of folded paper off the floor. Her fingers flew to the base of her throat, for by the light of the lamp, she saw it was addressed in a bold hand to Miss Kitty.
She made her way back to the parlor where there was more light and sank on her knees before the fire.
Hotel, 3am. Dearham.
She stared at the few terse words, so un-Johnny-like. Disappointment warred with fresh curiosity. Why did he want her to meet him at the hotel? The structure was little more than half-built, although there was some shelter. Perhaps that was the reason.
And why three am? The Gardens were usually locked by one of the clock on a ball night, and her family in bed before two. A warning bell rang, a feeling that this was not right, not in character for him or for herself.
And yet she knew she would go.
When Uncle Bill and the boys were safely in bed, and the house was dark and silent, she crept down from her attic bedroom, already cloaked and booted. She eased back the bolts on the door, picked up the lantern, and crept outside, closing the door softly behind her. She had only starlight to guide her along the familiar path because she couldn’t risk lighting the lantern until she was distant enough from the cottage.
The track up to the building site had grown unfamiliar with the changes wrought by various carts and builders’ boots, and she rarely walked in this direction except, occasionally, to speak to Luke. She found herself glad it was not Hallowe’en, when spirits and all manner of wicked, unearthly things were apparently free to roam the earth. Not that Kitty believed such nonsense, but even once she had lit the lantern, she found herself curiously unnerved.
The building site was large, the building already showing signs of its fine façade. It was going to be four floors high in the center, a small, two-story wing on either side. The side wings were already roofed. In the nearest of those, slept the builders who did not go home at night. All was quiet and dark there, so Kitty hurried past, as quietly as she could, searching for another light or any sign of the duke’s presence.
With half her mind constantly speculating on the reason for this meeting, she felt more relief than unease when a light glimmered at the far end of the building. She strode toward it, paying less attention to silence now.
The light shone through the open door at the end of the building. As she drew even with it, she glimpsed a distortedly large figure behind it. Then it moved inside, and she followed impatiently.
The thought came to her that she had never known the duke so ill-mannered.
“What is this about?” she demanded sharply, trying to shade her eyes as the light blinded her. Oddly, a stale odor of onion, beer, and tobacco assailed her. And then something large swept viciously toward her, and the face behind it was that of a complete, brutal stranger. “Johnny!” she got out in panic and something horribly like disappointment, just as the object struck her with agonizing force, knocking her to the ground.
The world went black.
Chapter Eight
The pain in her head was blinding. She could not breathe and didn’t really want to, for her nose and throat felt so hot and dry that every attempted inhalation was agony. She felt as if she could not see, and yet the bare room was lit by an otherworldly glow. And a vile stench of burning.
Oh, dear God, I’m in the hotel, and the building is on fire! She leapt up and almost lost consciousness again as the pain battered at her. Disoriented and dizzy, she stumbled through burning, choking smoke toward what had to be the front door she had entered by. The handle seared her fingers, causing her to cry out. Using her cloak as feeble protection, she tugged uselessly. The door was locked, and there was no key on the inside. Whoever had hit her and locked her in here to burn.
Fire crackled, the heat and smoke were unbearable, but beyond the door, she could hear the clank of buckets, the yell of voices, warning as things fell from the burning building. Something fell from above, hot and heavy on her shoulder, knocking her down again. She barely noticed as the wood burned at her feet. She kicked it away, then threw herself bodily at the door, yelling as loudly as her poor, damaged throat would let her.
Pain no longer meant anything, only survival, and she would not give up.
And then, when the shouting and the ringing in her ears were one, the door suddenly seemed to push back at her. She was lifted in strong arms—either to safety or to God, she could no longer tell which. And the world receded once more.
*
Ludovic Dunne was enjoying breakfast with his wife, Rebecca, and small stepson, Tom, when Dawson the butler entered to inform him with an air of disapproval that a person requested to be seen. Dawson delivered the card on the usual silver tray, and Ludovic, not best pleased to be disturbed during private time with his family, scowled at the inscription.
William Renwick, Esq.
Proprietor, Maida Pleasure Gardens
“Shall I have the person removed, sir?” Dawson asked hopefully.
“No,” Ludovic said, rising reluctantly to his feet. “I’d better see him. Sorry, Rebecca,” he added to his wife, who merely smiled and saluted him with her coffee cup.
“Come home early instead,” she suggested.
“What an excellent idea,” he agreed with a grin of promise.
He ruffled Tom’s hair and strode off to the reception room. Many things about this visit disturbed him, mainly the fact that Renwick would seek him out deliberately and that he would do so at his home, which Renwick should know nothing about.
Renwick stood by the window, facing him.
“Two things,” he said without greeting. He held out a scrap of paper. “I want to know who he really is and where he is. Secondly, I want your company in order to get into your tame duke’s house.”
Ludovic took the scrap of paper and glanced at it. The name meant nothing. “Three things,” he said evenly. “First, good morning. Second, what is this man to you? Thirdly, if you refer to His Grace of Dearham, he is neither mine nor particularly tame that I have discovered.”
“I don’t have time for any damned nonsense,” Renwick snapped, pacing across the room and back like a caged beast. He flung out his arm, pointing at the scrap of paper. “That man set fire to my hotel last night, almost killing my niece, and I want him found.”
