The Duke (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 6)

by Mary Kingswood

  “I hope you will never guard your tongue with me,” Ruth said. “It is so tiresome to be perpetually kept in the dark and told nothing of interest. I am one and twenty, after all, and soon to be married.”

  “Very true,” Elizabeth said with a sigh of relief. “So I need not protect you from the realities of life. It is not known to this day who the father was, although Lord Bexhill’s name was mentioned. Luke wanted nothing to do with the child, and if it should be a boy, he certainly did not want some other man’s spawn taking his name and inheriting any money he might have accumulated, so he sent Daphne to Paris. And there she stayed, taking one lover after another, and making an utter fool of Luke, and her brother, too, whose poor wife had to raise Daphne’s several children. But there was some good came from it. She brought a good dowry to the marriage — twenty-five thousand, so it was said. Luke sobered up, settled down and learnt to manage his money, and turned that into a sizable fortune. And three years ago, she died, so he was free again, and… and now he is to marry again, so his last venture did not entirely discourage him from matrimony,” she ended, in a small voice.

  “He would have been much better with someone like you than to dangle after Susan,” Ruth said acidly. “I should not say so of my own sister, but she is no fit helpmeet for a man of five and forty.”

  “Well… I daresay they have their reasons,” Elizabeth said, but there was an expression of such hopelessness on her face that Ruth was greatly moved.

  Before she could say anything on the matter, the footmen appeared with the tea things and a whole array of cakes, biscuits and pastries, sufficient even for Elizabeth’s appetite. For a while, the business of eating and drinking was at the forefront of their thoughts, and when Elizabeth resumed her tale, the subject had shifted.

  “When I was two and twenty,” she said, “Papa began to despair of making a match for me. All my sisters were settled, but I was increasingly reluctant to brave the choppy waters of the season. I had been out for five years by then, had a fair idea of what I was not looking for in a husband, and was increasingly outshone by younger, prettier girls from the schoolroom. So Papa arranged a match for me with Lord Bexhill. I did not especially like him, for he had a certain reputation, but I did not exactly dislike him, either. He had been dangling after me for years, and he was amiable enough, in public. He was someone I considered a friend, of sorts. If he had gone about the business in a sensible way, I might well have taken him. But the fool posted the notice in the Gazette without bothering to ask me my opinion on the matter, and I shall never be hustled into a match. I took the newspaper to Papa and told him I would not have Bexhill. Even then, they might have salvaged the situation, but Papa blustered and told me I had to do it because it had been announced and that made it a binding contract, and Bexhill had not the courage to face me and explain himself. So I jilted him, and, since life at Valmont had become insupportable, I left.”

  “Oh, how sad!” Ruth cried. “Where did you go to?”

  “Only to Andover, where my Uncle Swithin Roswell, Mama’s brother, has a house. It was that or Great-aunt Winnie in Blackpool, and since she is stone deaf and has quarrelled with all her neighbours, I should have had a miserable time of it. Uncle Swithin’s house at least gave me someone to play whist with of an evening, even if the conversation was not lively. I lived there for eleven years with seven other relations, all of them much older than me, and I was never so glad of anything as when Ran asked me if I wanted to come home. And now I have a house of my own to refurbish exactly as I wish, and a friend with whom to share it, and I live within the walls of Valmont. I want for nothing.”

  “Except Lord Crosby,” Ruth said.

  Elizabeth’s expression shifted. “True. Is there anyone quite so foolish as a confirmed spinster still dreaming of her first love? I know he is lost to me, but I still remember, Ruth. What is he like now? Cheer me up and tell me that he is fat and bald, with a trail of snuff down his waistcoat.”

  “I am sorry to disappoint you, but I cannot. He has an excellent figure, a full head of hair worn à la Titus, and takes no snuff that I have ever seen.”

  “Ohhh!” Elizabeth wailed. “Wasted on a girl barely out of the schoolroom! She could have her pick of men half his age, I daresay. But does she love him? Or at least have a fondness for him, and he for her? I can bear it well enough if she will make him happy.”

  Ruth considered her answer carefully. “I cannot say that I have seen enough of them together in public to say, but I have seen enough of him to acknowledge him a sensible man who must know where his own happiness lies.”

  “Ah. A diplomatic answer. However, my correspondents in town say that he stays sequestered on his estate, and has not been near his betrothed since March. His mother had to take her to Surrey to see him, whereupon they promptly quarrelled. Forgive me if I am not sanguine about the prospects for their future happiness. Another almond cake? No? I should not either, but one more will not hurt, I vow. I do love Mrs Cromarty’s almond cakes. Shall we go and winkle Mary out of the library? And after that it will not be too long until it is time to dress for dinner. We shall dine here tonight, I believe. There is to be lamb and a lobster ragoût, I am told. So delicious! It makes me so happy to be back at Valmont.”

  ~~~~~

  Ruth had seen nothing of Miss Chandry since watching her dance in loving bliss with Ger. She never came down to dinner, even though Ruth was now the only visitor remaining, and no trace of her could be found in any of the public rooms. She was busy setting the Old Manor to rights, for little trains of footmen carrying chairs or housemaids with piles of linen could be observed bustling about, and Pinnock reported that all the estate’s carpenters and builders had been brought in, and there was a great pulling down of walls and raising of dust going on there.

  It rather suited Ruth not to see Ger’s mistress, for she would not feel comfortable meeting her. How did one talk to a mistress? Her previous very brief encounters had not worsened her opinion of Miss Chandry’s character, but nor had they imbued her with any desire to improve it. For once, she was in full agreement with her mother. Men might choose to keep a mistress, but such a woman should never, ever be inflicted upon respectable ladies.

  Elizabeth, however, had a less rigid moral compass, and very much wished to get to know Miss Chandry better.

  “She is important to Ger, and therefore to this family,” she said stoutly, as they sat companionably in the Spinsters’ Parlour one day.

  “But she is his mistress,” Ruth protested. “We should not even know of her existence.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Indeed we should not, but that is so typical of Ger. He is… well, I need not scruple to speak plainly to you now, since you are no longer betrothed to him, but he is dreadfully volatile, and we do not want him going off into his dark moods again. He is very much in the clouds just now, but I should like to reassure myself that this woman will not precipitate a crisis by suddenly packing up and leaving. He needs a steadying influence, not someone who is as wild as he is. That is why I thought that you would be so good for him, for you are always so… so unruffled.”

  “Yet when he was unhappy, nothing I did had any effect,” Ruth said. “I never could reach him. Even Ran could do nothing with him, yet Miss Chandry seems to keep him happy and stable.”

  “Exactly so, and we must ensure that she continues to do so,” Elizabeth said. “I have a great desire to see what is being done to the Old Manor, so I shall go over there to find out, and while I am there, I shall also be finding out a little more of Miss Virginia Chandry of Pendower House in the fine county of Cornwall. Will you come with me? I cannot tear Mary away from the library — I swear she believes she has died and is now in Paradise — but I should dearly like your company, if you can bear it.”

  Ruth was very torn. She could not be impervious to such a plea, and she was conscious of her own desire to know more of the woman who held Ger’s heart in her keeping, but equally she found herself still assailed by scrupl
es. Such a person had no place in polite society and therefore was not a proper person for Ruth to know.

  While she was wrestling with this dilemma, a footman arrived at a run, very out of breath.

  “Milady! Milady! Visitors,” he puffed.

  “Who is it, John?” Elizabeth said. “Not Lady Bamfield! She said she might call but I never supposed—”

  “No, no, milady. Not a morning caller. Lord Audlyn. Lady Susan Grenaby. Just arrived this minute.”

  “Audlyn?” Ruth cried. “And Susan? What on earth—?”

  Elizabeth rumbled with laughter. “What fun! I like your brother, Ruth, and I shall be most interested to meet your sister. Shall we go and welcome them to Valmont?”

  By the time they reached the entrance hall, there was no sign of either visitors or luggage, and whatever conveyance had brought them there had already disappeared. Brent was there, however, and held open the door to the Ante-Chamber. Inside, Audlyn lounged against the mantel, while Susan was simultaneously removing her bonnet and giving instructions to Mrs Newall.

  “Susan! Audlyn! What a surprise,” Ruth said. “Is anything amiss?”

  “Whatever should be amiss?” Susan said. “I notice that you did not say the surprise was a pleasant one. Are you not happy to see us, Ruthie? We have come to provide you with chaperonage, you see, and we shall stay to see you married, and wish you joy. Is that not charming of us?”

  “If Mama and Papa think it charming for you to come here, then so do I.”

  She performed the introductions, the ladies curtsied and Audlyn bowed, but they had not progressed beyond a few polite enquiries as to the state of the roads before the door opened and Ger came in. Susan looked at Ruth expectantly.

  “Susan, I should like to present to you His Grace the Duke of Falconbury. Ger, my sister, Lady Susan Grenaby, and my brother, the Marquess of Audlyn.”

  “I am quite delighted to meet you, Duke,” Susan said, flashing him her most flirtatious smile.

  Ruth’s heart sank. The last thing she needed was Susan practising her feminine wiles on Ger. This visit was going to be difficult.

  25: Unexpected Visitors

  Susan wanted to be shown all the treasures of Valmont at once, but Ruth determinedly bore her away to the room Mrs Brack was preparing for her. There in the middle of the floor sat a single valise, which a maid was unpacking.

  “Where are your boxes?” Ruth said. “Where is Hopwood?”

  “Oh, there was no room,” Susan said airily, “for Audlyn insisted on bringing his man, and I knew you would not mind me using Pinnock just for a day or two. Hopwood and the boxes are following on the stage.”

  “No room? You did not travel all this way in Audlyn’s curricle?”

  “Now you must not poker up like that, Ruthie. I swear you are as bad as Mama, sometimes.”

  “I should hope so, when it comes to making a spectacle of oneself for all the world to gawk at. Heavens above! And what if it should have come on to rain?”

  “Phooey! I care nothing for a drop of rain, for it was the most famous fun, Ruthie. We went so fast, you cannot imagine. Those bays are such sweet steppers, are they not? Except then Audlyn would not change horses, so we were obliged to rest at a post-house for hours, which was abominably tedious, but we had something to eat and I met someone I knew from London, so it was not entirely wasted, but I shall not tell you about it for you will only purse your mouth just the way Mama does. May I borrow your blue muslin? For Hopwood has only packed for the evening and my cambric is sadly crushed and dusty.”

  “You should not have worn anything so fine to travel in,” Ruth said crisply. “Come to my room, and you may choose what you wish to borrow. Mrs Brack, would you send Pinnock to my room, please.”

  Ruth’s room was directly opposite Susan’s. While her sister rifled through closets and drawers, Ruth sat on the bed, watching. “Susan, does Mama know you are here?”

  “I shall write and tell her in a day or two. Ooh, this is pretty! Is it new? May I have it? We are much of a size, after all.”

  “Sister, is all well with Lord Crosby? For you left Crosby Manor in such a hurry.”

  Susan flopped down onto the bed beside Ruth, a gown still clutched in her hands. “It was the most infamous thing, Ruthie! He treated me shamefully, accusing me of who knows what impropriety. Is it my fault that I have a naturally friendly disposition? It is not for Crosby to criticise my behaviour.”

  “It is precisely for him to do so,” Ruth said. “He is your future husband, and has every right to censure you for any perceived transgression. I take it you were flirting with a gentleman other than your betrothed?”

  “Not flirting. Merely being sociable. He was a cousin of Crosby’s and he was certainly flirting with me, but did Crosby berate him? Not a bit of it! The blame was all set at my door. I did not submit tamely to such treatment, you may be sure, and then he said such things to me. I was never more shocked in my life, for he is generally the most courteous of men and quite biddable, you know, but he made me sound like the most wanton person imaginable. And he shouted at me, Ruthie. Shouted! Crosby!”

  “Goodness! That is very bad, but I suppose he was jealous.”

  “Oh, I daresay, but that does not make it right, does it? He shouted at me, right there in the Great Hall where I imagine half the household could hear, and said I was not fit to be the wife of a respectable man and I was just a child and should go home until I could learn how to behave in polite society. Have you ever heard the like?”

  “No, indeed, that is not at all gentlemanly, but dearest, you must admit that you can be a little over-friendly in company, and a man who loves you very much might well take exception to it. It is not right to chastise you so publicly, but perhaps in the violence of his affection for you, he was not entirely himself.”

  “Perhaps,” Susan said with a shrug. “Mama wished me to write and apologise, and assure him that I will never behave so again, and I told her I would, but I shall not. I have done nothing to apologise for, and if he thinks to prevent me even from talking to other gentlemen, he is very much mistaken. He should apologise to me.”

  “Has he not done so?”

  “Not a word, but then he has too much pride to admit to any fault. He never has written to me, even when we were apart for weeks on end. I suppose he is not much of a letter writer.”

  “It does not sound very promising,” Ruth said, frowning. “Is your betrothal now at an end?”

  “Oh no! At least, I do not think so, not exactly. Neither of us said anything to that effect, so I suppose it is still on.”

  “Whether it is on or off, please refrain from over-friendliness with anyone here.”

  Such an admonishment was a waste of breath, for Susan could no more refrain from flirting than a fish could refrain from swimming. While there were only ladies assembled in the Grand Saloon that evening before dinner, Susan sat silent and pensive, responding monosyllabically to Elizabeth’s attempts to draw her out and playing idly with the fringe of her shawl. However, as soon as Ger entered the room, she was wreathed in smiles. She was the newest guest, so for politeness’ sake he went to her first, and there he stayed, trapped by her smiling chatter. Whenever he began to look around for an escape route, she would rest one dainty hand on his arm and say in an artless manner, “And did you hear about…?” Then he felt obliged to lead her into dinner, and she happened to have Uncle Arthur on her other side, who was not a great conversationalist at the best of times and especially with food before him. Poor Ger had no respite.

  When the ladies withdrew, Ruth drew Susan to one side. “If you continue to monopolise the duke in that shameless fashion, sister, I shall have you sent home. Do try for some decorum.”

  “You have no right to tell me what to do!” Susan hissed.

  “As your older sister, I have every right, and as the future Lady Randolph Litherholm, I am at this moment in all essentials the mistress of Valmont. So have a care how you deal with my future relations.”<
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  “How high and mighty you are become, Ruthie! You should not be quite so grand in your ways, for whenever the duke marries, you may find your nose put quite out of joint.”

  Ruth laughed. “That is true enough! It would serve me right if he marries someone quite unbearable, but at the moment he has no thought of it. He has only just escaped a lifetime with me, poor man, and must be feeling the relief extremely.”

  However she protested at the reproof, Susan was more circumspect in her behaviour for the rest of the evening. Nevertheless, Ruth determined to write to her mother the next day, to be sure that her sister’s travels accorded with her wishes.

  ~~~~~

  Ran returned a day later than planned, exhausted but rather pleased with himself for accomplishing everything he had set out to do. He had seen his own lawyers and cautiously advised them of the need for new settlements. He had made a new will in view of both his lower status and his forthcoming marriage. He had bought a wedding gift of emeralds and diamonds for Ruth. He had set Giggs the task of finding a valet for Ger.

  He had visited the Duke and Duchess of Orrisdale and secured their permission for the marriage, as well as the ten thousand pound dowry that had been promised before. Since seven thousand was an obligation imposed by the duchess’s marriage settlements, it could hardly be said to be a generous offer, but Ran was satisfied. On one point they were determined, however. No argument that Ran could put forward managed to convince them to attend the wedding, and eventually he gave it up.

  He quickly discovered that the wildest of rumours were sweeping across town. Ger’s supposed death, much mourned by all who knew him, and his miraculous return from the grave were the wonders of the day, and all Ran’s acquaintances were agog to know more about it. He could not visit his club or even walk down the street without a concerned face accosting him and asking questions that he found impossible to answer. His own part in the affair was easy enough to explain, for it was entirely true that he had simply been mistaken in thinking the still, cold, battered body before him was his brother. Easy enough, too, to confess that Ger had engaged an actor to play the part as a joke, for that was entirely consistent with his character.