At the sound of Florentina’s voice, the Dowager Duchess’s shoulders sank in relief. She turned away from Leonard.
“The biggest horse?” she said airily. “That sounds very exciting, my dear. You will be careful, won’t you?”
Leonard’s fingers tensed around the handle of his coffee cup.
What is my mother hiding?
* * *
The message from the Duke had made Deborah smile for the first time since she had discovered the diary. How desperately she wanted to share with him the things she had learned. No, not wanted. She needed to share. To tell His Grace everything that had been in Edith’s journal in an attempt to make sense of it all.
When he arrived in the parlor that morning, Deborah found herself racing toward him. Suddenly, she didn’t care about propriety. Didn’t care that Sarah was watching. She threw her arms around him and clung to his waist. The Duke slid his arms around her, pulling her close. Wrapped in his embrace, Deborah felt herself relax for the first time in days.
“I’ve missed you,” he said, his voice close to her ear.
“I’ve missed you, too,” she breathed, holding him tightly. “I’m so glad you’re here.” After a moment, she stepped back, keeping a grip on his hands. “There’s so much I need to tell you. So much I’ve discovered.” Her voice wavered and tears spilled suddenly down her cheeks.
The Duke reached up and brushed a tear away with his thumb. “What’s happened?” he said gently. “What have you found out?”
Deborah wiped her eyes hurriedly. “Everything,” she forced out. “And nothing. I’ve learned so much about my sister. And yet I still feel as though I’m no closer to really understanding why she did what she did. There are still so many unanswered questions.”
The Duke guided her to the chaise. “Sit,” he said gently. “Tell me everything.”
Deborah sat. And she told him everything she had learned about her sister and Lord Averton and their plans to run away. She told him of her visit with Annie the day before, and of the way Edith had returned home in distress the night before her death.
As she spoke, the Duke kept his fingers tightly interlaced with hers. How must such a story feel for him, Deborah wondered. She fervently hoped he could see he was not at fault. She found herself squeezing his hand a little tighter as she told him of Edith’s reaction to her betrothal.
I know the Duke of Tarsington is a fine gentleman, she had written. And I’m sure he would make a fine husband. But my heart is with another…
“You can see, can’t you?” Deborah said gently. “That none of this was your fault? Edith knew you had been forced into the marriage just as she had. She never sought to blame you for the way she felt.”
The Duke nodded. “I do see that,” he said. “I do. But it does not stop me from needing answers.”
Deborah ran a gentle finger over his smooth cheek. “I want answers, too,” she said under her breath.
“What happened next?” the Duke asked.
Deborah sighed. “I don’t know. The last pages of her diary were missing.”
“Missing?” the Duke repeated.
Deborah nodded. “They had been torn out. I can’t imagine by whom.” She played with the loose stitching on the edge of the chaise. “Someone wanted me to read this diary. They went to great lengths to ensure I found it. It doesn’t make sense that the rest of the story is missing.”
“Perhaps whoever gave you the diary did not know the final pages had been removed.”
Deborah stared into the crackling fire, her thoughts racing. “Yes. Perhaps.”
The Duke squeezed her hand. “I’ve been doing some searching of my own,” he admitted. “I wondered if perhaps there might be something in the letter your father wrote my mother asking to meet to discuss our betrothal.” He sighed. “I know it unlikely. But I had to do something.”
Deborah raised her eyebrows. “And? Did you find anything?”
He shook his head. “My mother claims she no longer has the letter. But her behavior. It’s been…” He hesitated. “Odd of late. I can’t help but think there’s something she’s not telling me.”
Deborah let out her breath. “You think she was involved in all this?”
The Duke shook his head. “I don’t know what to believe.”
Deborah stood abruptly and began to pace. Everything felt so overwhelming. The more she learned about this, the less she understood. Was the Dowager Duchess of Tarsington somehow linked to what had happened to her sister? The thought seemed foolish. And yet she was unable to discard it entirely.
She heard a cry of frustration escape her.
The Duke stood hurriedly, grabbing her hands and pulling her into him. She wrapped her arms around him, clinging tightly to him as though he were keeping her afloat.
“We will find out the truth,” he said gently, his words muffled by her hair. “Whatever it takes.”
Deborah buried her eyes in his chest. “I’m afraid of the truth,” she admitted.
The Duke didn’t speak at once. “Yes,” he said finally. “I think perhaps I’m a little afraid of the truth, too.” He kissed her cheek. Deborah tilted her head up to face him, her lips finding his. His kiss was warm and tender. Steadying.
After a moment, she pulled away. “Did you ever meet him?” she asked suddenly. “Lord Averton?”
The Duke hesitated, a frown creasing the bridge of his nose. “No,” he admitted. “Not that I recall. But perhaps he simply kept to himself. From your sister’s description of him, he sounds as though he did not involve himself with the rituals of the ton.”
Deborah nodded. “Perhaps you’re right.” She found herself playing with the buttons on the sleeve of the Duke’s coat. “This is a small town. Surely someone must know of him. He must know what happened to Edith. Why she did what she did.”
“You’re right.” The Duke took her hands in his and kissed her knuckles gently. “If Lord Averton is here, we will find him.”
Chapter 21
Leonard left Chilson manor full of fresh energy. He was determined to find Lord Averton.
But where to begin?
He decided on the coffee house on the corner of the main street. Leonard had never been inside without coming across a parade of over-stimulated noblemen lecturing each other about the issues of the hour.
Today, he was not disappointed. Through the window, he could see two of his friends hunched over a table, gesticulating wildly as they conversed. Leonard smiled to himself and made his way inside.
At the sight of him, the two gentlemen looked up. “It’s been too long, Tarsington,” said James Worthington, the Earl of Milton. “Thought you’d abandoned us in favor of a lady.”
Leonard chuckled as he joined them at their table. “I’m sure she’ll survive without me for an hour or two.” He unbuttoned his coat and slung it over the back of the chair.
Milton’s sparring partner, the Viscount of Lawlor, waved for a server to bring a third cup. He filled it for Leonard from the coffee pot in the center of the table.
Leonard brought the cup to his lips. The coffee was strong and bitter, and made the muscles in his neck tighten. He smiled faintly. It was good.
“So,” said Milton. “What brings you here?”
Leonard wrapped his hands around the cup to warm them. The day was cold and he wished he’d thought to wear gloves. “I actually came here hoping I could find someone who could help me,” he began. “I need information about someone. Charlie Ellis. The Baron of Averton. Have you ever heard of him?”
Milton and Lawlor eyed each other blankly.
“Averton?” Lawlor repeated. “Never heard of the fellow.”
Milton rubbed his bristly chin. “I daresay the name is a little familiar. But there’s not much else I could tell you about him. I don’t recall hearing a thing about him for some years.”
Leonard nodded. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
Lawlor raised his eyebrows. “What’s this about, Tarsington? Why are you hunting down this
Averton fellow?”
Leonard hesitated. “It’s not important.” He sat back in his chair, taking another mouthful of coffee.
What now?
He glanced around the coffee house. There were other people he knew, faces he recognized. Ought he ask them all if they had heard of the Baron? He knew it was best to be discreet. But how was he to find answers without asking questions?
Finally, he opted for answers over discretion. Having finished his coffee, he made his way around the establishment, asking after the elusive Lord Averton.
No one, it seemed, knew a thing about him. Had the gentleman even existed? What if Edith had made the whole story up? She had clearly been troubled enough to take her own life. What if she had also been troubled enough to make up Lord Averton’s very existence?
No. Edith had not been the only one to see the Baron. Her sister had seen him that day in the street. Annie, the lady’s maid, had met the gentleman on several occasions.
So Lord Averton was real. But where is he?
Deciding the coffee house was going to provide him with no answers, Leonard bade his friends goodbye and stepped out into the street, turning up his collar against the bitter wind.
He eyed the village tavern. Perhaps there were people he could ask there.
Hands dug into his pockets, he made his way down the street. The last of the light was fading from the day and long shadows were lying over the cobbled streets. Leonard could smell rain in the air.
“Sir?”
He turned at the sound of a small voice behind him. There stood a young woman in a blue woolen gown and apron. Leonard recognized her as a server from the coffee house.
“I lied to you before,” she admitted. “When you asked me about the Baron of Averton.” She looked down. “I do know who he is.”
Leonard frowned. “I see. Why lie?”
The woman rubbed her bare arms. She had clearly charged out of the coffee house to catch him, with no thought of bringing her cloak. “Lord Averton is something of a mystery,” she began. “The people who knew him, we don’t like to speak much about him. We just don’t know if we ought to…” She faded out.
Leonard sucked in his breath. “The people who knew him?” he repeated. “Is Lord Averton no longer with us?”
The woman hesitated. “That’s the thing, Sir. No one is quite sure.” Seeing Leonard’s quizzical expression, she said, “My mother used to work at the Averton manor. She was a scullery maid. Lord Averton was the only child of ageing parents. When they died, the Baron had no choice but to let his workers go. His father had left him in a great amount of debt.”
The woman paused. Leonard nodded at her to continue. “What happened after the former Baron died?”
“My mother found work in another household,” said the young woman. “And Lord Averton, he kept to himself. Sometimes I’d see him walking along the river, or hunting in the woods near his house.” She smiled crookedly. “I used to think him ever so handsome.”
“But he wanted nothing to do with the ton,” said Leonard. “He kept to himself.”
The woman nodded. “I suppose that was the case. Perhaps he was ashamed of being so poor.”
Leonard nodded. “And you’ve not thought of where he is?”
The woman shook her head. “No, Sir. I’ve not seen him in years. Once, out of curiosity, a friend and I went past his house, just to see if there were any signs of life. And the place looked simply abandoned.”
Leonard frowned. “The house. Where is it?”
“It’s past the village, Sir. About a mile out. An old manor house on the bend in the river. It’s almost hidden by trees these days.”
“Yes. I know it.” Leonard’s heart began to quicken with a mix of anxiety and anticipation. “Thank you,” he told the young woman.
She flashed him a small smile. “I hope it’s of help to you, Sir.”
He nodded. “It’s more help than you could know.”
Chapter 22
Deborah could not shake the sense that she was walking in her sister’s footsteps. The previous evening, a message had arrived from the Duke.
I have found Lord Averton’s house. They say it’s abandoned. I plan to visit it in the morning.
Deborah had written back immediately. She needed to be there when he explored the house, she told him.
I will meet you at the river.
The words had been written almost on their own accord. Here she was meeting her beloved in secret, in the exact same place Edith had conducted her affair with the Baron. And she was also asking the help of her trusted lady’s maid, just as Edith had done.
Sarah handed Deborah her own gray woolen gown. “This ought to fit you, Miss. We must be close to the same size.”
Deborah nodded her thanks. In Sarah’s skirts, with her hood pulled up, she would have a far better chance of sneaking from the manor grounds unseen.
She stepped into the woolen gown and worked at the buttons down her front. “If anyone asks after me—”
“You’re not feeling well,” Sarah finished. “I’ll see to it that no one knows you’re gone.”
Deborah smiled nervously. “Thank you, Sarah. I appreciate it more than you could know.”
The maid gave her a small smile. “You need to understand what happened to your sister, Miss. If I can help in any way, I’m happy to do so.”
* * *
Deborah hovered among the trees, feeling rain drizzle down the back of her neck. She bounced from one foot to the other, unable to keep still.
Lord Averton’s house, abandoned. The news had come as a surprise, though she was unsure why. No one seemed to have heard of the Baron in the years since Edith’s death. It made sense that he had disappeared from the village.
How many times had my sister waited in this very place?
Had she bounced back and forth on her toes like this, waiting for her beloved to appear?
Deborah peered through the trees. And her heart gave a tiny skip at the sight of her own beloved, trudging through the mud toward her.
Deborah flashed the Duke a nervous smile.
“You must not be thinking well of me,” she said, trying to force a lightness into her words. “This is the second time I’ve engineered a meeting between us without the proper supervision.”
The Duke smiled and took her hands in his. “I hardly think the situation calls for proper supervision. Do you?” He planted a gentle kiss at the edge of her lips.
Deborah shook her head.
The Duke glanced down at her gray skirts. “A disguise?”
She smiled. “Perhaps not a very good one.”
The Duke slipped his gloved hand into hers. “I’ve a carriage waiting by the road.”
“A carriage?” Deborah’s boots slid through the mud. “Are you certain it’s a good idea to let your coachman see us alone together?”
The Duke shook his head dismissively. “There’s no need to worry. I’ve known the man my entire life. We can trust him.” He squeezed her hand and looked up at the blanket of clouds above them. “Besides, it’s too far to walk in this weather.”
They reached the carriage waiting by the side of the road. The Duke pulled open the door and offered Deborah his hand to climb inside.
She sat tensely on the bench seat and peered out the rain-splattered window. The Duke climbed in beside her and rapped on the wall of the carriage to signal to the driver.
As though sensing her nervousness, he reached out and pressed a gentle hand to Deborah’s wrist. In spite of the situation, she felt a bolt of desire shoot up her arm. She had not had nearly enough time with her husband-to-be in the past few days. Had barely felt his lips against hers, or the warmth of his skin. She found herself aching for it.
She pushed away the thought, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand.
A far less pleasant thought to focus on than the warmth of the Duke’s skin.
Was she really to go exploring in the Baron of Averton’s abandoned house? When she
had begun to search for answers about Edith’s death, Deborah had no idea that it might lead her to such a place.
Everything will be all right. I am not doing this alone.
The coach rolled steadily out of the village before climbing a hill and clattering down the other side. Deborah could just make out the Baron’s house through the thick canopy of trees. She had passed this manor many times, she realized. Had never thought anything of it. Had certainly never had any thought that the place might be abandoned.
Guilty Pleasures 0f A Bluestocking (Steamy Historical Regency Romance) Page 13
