Loving Tales of Lords and Ladies

by Abigail Agar

  The nobleman before Jules reminded him of the night his parents were killed, poisoned. A draught of wine that should have killed Jules, but instead killed his parents. If he had just chosen not to abstain that night from alcohol, perhaps they would be alive. Jules hissed, “I do not wish to talk about that night.”

  “Very well,” Lord Portland said, albeit with a bit of reluctance.

  Jules narrowed his eyes at the man. “You seem very interested.”

  “I was there,” Lord Portland reminded Jules. “I could have swallowed that poison myself. I dare say that I have a right to be curious.”

  Jules snarled, “Did not seem to bother you while you were stealing from my family.”

  Lord Portland adjusted his waistcoat and said in a low voice, “Keep your voice down. Do you really need any more scandal?” The man eyed Jules for a moment before he shook his head. “I had every right to those shipping contracts. Your father and I often bidded against each other; you know that as well as any here do, Your Grace. I would advise you to keep your slander in your thoughts. I shall not be so lenient if I hear it again.”

  “You cannot cowl me, Lord Portland. The fact remains that very few others benefitted from my parents’ death the way you did,” Jules said with conviction. He pulled himself up to his full height, which was quite impressive as Jules stood a good two inches taller than Lord Portland at his six-foot height.

  Lord Portland shook his head at Jules as if he were not at all impressed by Jules’ station or title. The man smiled ever so slightly and said, “No one except for you, Your Grace.” Lord Portland turned on his heel and walked away with Jules glaring at his back.

  Scowling, Jules watched Lord Portland go over and strike up a conversation with the same young lady who had passed by Jules and the nobleman earlier with her escort. Someone clearing their throat behind him attracted Jules’ attention away from the suspicious nobleman. Turning, Jules’ scowl only deepened. “Duchess,” Jules said in as falsely flat tone.

  If the woman noted Jules’ displeasure at seeing her, then she did not let on. “Duke,” Lady Sutton said with a smile. “I appear to have lost both my husband and my niece. Have you seen them?”

  “I cannot say that I have,” Jules said. “Perhaps they are in the next room.”

  Despite Jules’ suggestion, the noblewoman seemed in no hurry to go after her wayward family members. She reached out and put her hand on his arm. “I have meant to apologise to you, Duke. My husband and I were out of the country and could not attend your parents’ funeral. They were kind people.”

  “Being out of the country is more than enough to persuade anyone into forgiving you and your husband, Duchess,” Jules said as he subtly removed his arm from her grasp. She gave him a faltering smile. “Pardon me, but I have to go meet someone.” Jules did not even care if the excuse was as flimsy as the woman’s gauzy sleeves; he had enough of repeating platitudes the month after his parents’ deaths.

  Besides, Jules noted that Lord Portland was on the move again. Apparently, the conversation with Lord Portland’s paramour was not amusing enough to keep the man rooted for too long. Jules gave Lady Sutton a half-hearted bow as she looked at him with something akin to confusion. He did not worry about his odd behaviour for Lady Sutton would also put herself at risk to be denounced for her forward behaviour. Jules had long suspected the woman was carrying on affairs behind her husband’s back, and he had no interest in being counted among the number of her conquests.

  Jules had other things on his mind than women. If Lord Portland knew of anyone that might have harmed his parents or was even in league with them himself, then he would certainly make haste for his conspirators to let them know that Jules was unwilling to let the matter lie. Jules spied the back of the man’s head moving towards the hallway.

  Without any more thought of the infuriating Duchess, Jules moved away through the knots of nobles and peers. Conversations floated around Jules as he frowned. He had lost sight of the Earl of Portland again. Where could the man have gone?

  “Someone has to inherit the land and look after things once your father is gone,” a woman said, and Jules turned his head slightly to catch sight of the person speaking but could not see them.

  “And I as a woman cannot do those things,” a young lady said. Jules smiled as he made his way through the crowd and spotted the two ladies, which were clearly mother and daughter by the tell-tale sign of their hair and faces. The older woman Jules thought he knew, but he was uncertain of her name.

  Jules chuckled as the mother began to reprimand her willful daughter. He had to focus on the matter at hand. As much as he felt a kinship with the girl at that moment at the utter absurdity that was this London Season, Jules had other things that he needed to attend to.

  “Your Grace,” a female voice said at his elbow. Jules had to forcibly stop himself from groaning as he turned to see the Dowager Reynolds and her niece.

  Jules put a smile firmly on his face and gave the women a bow. “My good Lady Reynolds, you look as if you are here to finally throw off the yokes of solitude and find a partner.”

  The older woman laughed jovially and waved off Jules’ words. “Not at all,” she assured him. “I am merely here to play escort to my niece. May I present, Miss Henrietta Douglas, to you, Your Grace?” Dowager Reynolds gave her niece an impatient, yet gentle shove forward which sent the young lady up onto her tiptoes.

  Jules just managed not to laugh at the very literal picture of the dowager throwing her niece at him. The girl mumbled, “It is wonderful to meet you, Your Grace.” She gave a stilted and sloppy curtsy that Jules held no grudge against her for.

  “Never you mind the nerves, Miss Douglas. They get better with time,” Jules assured the young lady whose cheeks were coloured a deep pink by this time with the stern gaze of her aunt burning into her.

  Miss Douglas gave Jules what appeared to be a grateful smile before her aunt apologised for the intrusion and ushered the girl away. Jules could hear the hissing of the woman’s breath as she redressed the young lady for her awkwardness.

  The London Season could be a cruel place when someone first took a step into the world of high society, Jules mused as he turned again towards the door that he had seen Lord Portland go through.

  Jules made it a couple of feet towards his goal when a hand clasped around his arm. The pressure was so great that Jules thought the person might just mean him harm, but he turned to see his childhood friend Thomas Sullivan, who was now a Count if Jules remembered correctly. “Tom,” Jules whispered, unable to say more.

  Thomas nodded at him. “Your Grace,” Thomas said with a glint in his eyes that Jules did not like.

  “There is no need for such titles,” Jules chided. “As long as we have known each other we should look on the other as a family would.”

  Thomas’ hand dropped back to his side. “Your parents were also my family. They loved me well and I them.”

  “I miss them too,” Jules said as he tried his best not to take offence at the way Thomas’ eyes stared right through him. “I have not seen you since they were laid to rest. I suppose you have been busy.”

  Thomas said, “Yes. An uncle of mine passed away and left me some land and his mantle of count. I have been trying to sort out if that makes me still myself or am I someone else now?”

  “Titles do not change men,” Jules told his old friend.

  Thomas’ blue eyes came up and locked onto Jules’ darker eyes. “You know very well that they do,” Thomas practically growled out in a low whisper.

  Jules was taken aback by his friend’s anger. “That is true,” Jules admitted. “Titles and property can make men forget themselves at times, but not you, Thomas. I would never imagine that of you.”

  “Nor I you,” Thomas said with a hard edge in his voice.

  Jules could not bear to look at his friend. He knew that most of society held him at the gallows for his mother and father’s deaths, but to see the accusation in Thomas’ eyes w
as too much even for Jules. As ready as he had judged himself for this, Jules would bet that not even the gaze of Hades would be as cold as the look in Thomas’ eyes.

  “I did nothing to my parents,” Jules whispered as he trembled with outrage that he held in check behind the iron bars of his will. His voice was soft, but it would not stand to give an inch.

  Thomas whispered back as he stepped a bit closer, “Would that you had died instead of them.”

  Jules could do scarcely more than breathe. Thomas looked right at him, into his very core, and had judged him guilty as all the others. Jules’ torment was that he agreed with Thomas. He should have died instead of his parents. That poison should have killed him. It was his to take, and he abstained. Of all the nights, Jules chose that moment not to drink the spirits, and his parents were taken from him as punishment.

  Jules was barely aware of Thomas’ departure. He stood there a long while tormented by his own demons. How they laughed at Jules’ agony as they salted his wounds and drank his tears.

  Finally looking around Jules found himself alone. A couple of ladies nearby regarded him with damning glances. How long had Jules been standing there? He did not know.

  Thomas and Lord Portland were gone. Jules forced himself to walk on to the door that let out into the hallway. He might have lost Lord Portland entirely, but he had nothing to lose in trying to find the man.

  ***

  The hallway was by no means empty when Jules peered out the doorway from the main room. There were knots of three or four partygoers talking here and there along its length as far as Jules could see in both directions. Yet there were no signs of Lord Portland.

  Jules sighed in frustration. How could he have allowed himself to be sidetracked while attempting to follow the man? Then again, what would he have done differently? Throw Dowager Reynolds and her niece out of his way like some savage?

  Without having anything to lose, Jules chose to go in the direction of the foyer. Surely, if the man was going to leave he would have to go that way. Jules gave a nod to one of the gentlemen that he recognised from his father’s business dealings. The man was a merchant of some sort if Jules remembered correctly. The man offered him a smile of recognition as Jules passed by.

  Being a Duke made it hard to go anywhere and not be recognised; Jules had found that worked both to his advantage and against him during the month that he had been attempting to find any bit of truth that could help him glean what had happened. Jules pressed his lips together and frowned at a lamp as he passed it. The lamp feigned innocence, but Jules glared at it all the same.

  The hall emptied out into the foyer where people who were arriving and leaving mingled together creating an ebb and flow like the way the waters mingled at the mouth of a river pouring into the sea. Jules scanned the crowd and caught sight of Lord Portland’s hat over the tops of some ladies’ bonnets. Jules murmured an apology as he brushed past the women.

  Lord Portland had already escaped out into the night, and Jules silently cursed. If the man got out onto the streets or in a carriage, it was unlikely that Jules could keep track of him. He strode quickly out the front door as his breath came in short bursts more from excitement than from labour.

  Movement caught Jules’ eye, and he strode purposefully towards Lord Portland’s retreating figure. The man had a good head start on Jules, but Jules was just thankful that Lord Portland had been delayed in leaving long enough for Jules to catch up to him. Jules slowed his steps when he reached the sidewalk, sidestepping a carriage that pulled up and giving the coachman a nod of his head.

  Jules heard the occupants of the carriage remark on how cold the air was for April, and indeed Jules’ breath ghosted out in front of his face. The chill of the cold months had yet to let go fully, but soon enough the warmth of summer would send all the gentry fleeing to their country homes or abroad. Jules rather liked the cool months even with the social obligations of festive parties to attend.

  The street lamp that Jules walked under provided little light. What little light it did send cascading to the ground seemed to be swept away by the growing fog that lay along the ground. Before long the fog would brush up against the houses and rise upward towards the doors and windows as if eager to get inside.

  Lord Portland, oblivious to Jules’ presence, turned and disappeared around a corner. Jules groaned inwardly and feared that perhaps the man had seen him after all and now would vanish into one of the buildings where Jules could not follow. Jules quickened his pace as much as he dared as the fog lapped at his boots.

  When he got to the spot where Lord Portland had disappeared, Jules’ heart sank. The man had turned down an alley, but even as Jules peered into the deep, dark space, he could make out no movement.

  The alley went from being merely poorly lit to complete darkness beyond. It was too dark to tell if Lord Portland were there or not. A voice in Jules’ mind that sounded very much like his mother told him he should go back and not venture into such a place.

  Jules took a breath and stepped off into the alley hoping that boldness would be a ward against anything that might lurk in the shadows. Even in this well-off section of town, cutthroats and thieves were never far away. Yet, Lord Portland had not seemed afraid when he entered the alley, and Jules was determined that he should not be so either.

  However, even as Jules strode down the alley, with the only sounds echoing back to him his own footfalls, he realised his folly. If Lord Portland had been in the alley, Jules would have heard his boots on the stones. Yet, Jules had heard nothing until his own feet made a sound against the stones.

  Uneasiness settled over Jules. He pondered calling out but kept silent out of caution. If he could barely see, then perhaps any that waited in the alley for prey would be equally at a disadvantage. Jules had no interest in making their sport easier for them.

  Momentarily Jules thought that perhaps Lord Portland might have met a fate such as that. Perhaps as the man turned down the alley, he had been assaulted. Jules shook the idea away. There had been scant seconds between the man’s disappearance and Jules’ arrival at the alley. He would have heard something of the struggle or aftermath, but he had not.

  What little light that came from the street and an overhead window faded towards the back of the alley. There the alley lay cold and dark and waiting. The fog was thick in the air in the alley, and Jules scanned the shadows of its faintly lit portion. Nothing moved; everything waited, including Jules.

  Lord Portland had turned down this alley – Jules was sure of it. Jules had passed no doors that he could discern, so the errant Lord he sought had to be further down the alleyway. Jules took a deep breath which he regretted as a scent accosted his nostrils, and he covered his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his coat.

  He walked on and was swallowed up by the darkest part of the alley as well. Jules paused and waited for his eyes to adjust. He was just beginning to pick out shapes when he heard a noise that seemed to be behind him, or perhaps it was to his right. Jules could not tell where the grinding noise came from.

  Fear laced through Jules. His mind screamed that he had stumbled into a trap. Oh, how his father would scold him for this if he were here. How could he have been so dull as to walk into a situation such as this? Only a common fool would go into a situation that put him at such a complete disadvantage, his father would have said.

  Jules turned to leave, but someone hit him from the side, his right side. Jules never saw the movement. He felt the weight hit him across his shoulders, his head. There were shoes, heavy and hard slamming his head into the stones of the alley. He tried to cry out but found his head slammed against the stones once more.

  With all his might, Jules shoved against the legs that assaulted him, the hardness of the shoes catching his arm. The person cursed, but Jules could barely hear from the ringing in his ears where his head had been slammed against the stones. As the ringing subsided slightly, Jules dragged himself up to his feet. He did not get far in his attempt to esc
ape.

  The person was there again. Jules could almost feel them like a spirit haunting him. Their breath practically scalded his skin as he anticipated the next blow, but the blow did not come.