Daring Lords and Ladies

by Emily Murdoch

  Angel’s hands trembled. She reread the note. “Lord Newsome lost his life,” she hiccupped in a watery voice. “And Lord Malvern stands accused.”

  A sob of terror caught in her throat. Her knees buckled, and she sank upon the linen box at the end of her bed. “The marquess holds the viscount’s notes.” The words on the page blurred as tears filled her eyes. “Lord Malvern possesses no memory of the supposed threats made by Newsome—only the reported knowledge of Sir Alexander and Lord Remmington. Could the authorities use the marquess’s lack of memory against him? Malvern’s family has disguised his malady from everyone. Would people even believe him at this time?”

  Angelica buried her face in her handkerchief, attempting to find reason as the possible ramifications flooded her mind.

  “It is my fault Lord Malvern has suffered so,” she wept. “I must do something.” She looked again to Lord Remmington’s note. A sash from Malvern’s banyan was about Newsome’s neck. “The marquess did not wear a banyan when he was in my room,” she reasoned. “In my room ...”

  The marquess refuses to share his whereabouts. “Lord Malvern protects my reputation,” she whispered. “I possess the means to prove the marquess innocent, but it will crush my father’s hopes and will guarantee my spinsterhood.”

  * * *

  It was near midnight when Angel lightly tapped upon the Duchess of Devilfoard’s door. She doubted if Her Grace was to bed. Angelica would not have done so if Malvern were her son.

  The previous two hours had been fraught with worry as Angel waited for the household to retire for the evening.

  From a series of forays to determine who might be still stirring, she determined the magistrate left the manor an hour earlier, accompanied by Sir Alexander, Lord Remmington, and Lord Malvern.

  From what she could decipher, the duke remained in his study. Although she knew she must face Devilfoard, Angel hoped to claim the man’s duchess as her ally.

  “Yes?” The duchess’s maid opened the door but a crack. “It is late, miss,” the servant said in reprimand.

  “Tell the duchess Miss Lovelace must speak to her on a matter based in my curiosity.” Angel hoped the duchess would understand her enigmatic entreaty. The panic rushed to her chest as she waited for the duchess’s response.

  “Permit the girl admittance,” the duchess’s voice called wearily.

  The lady’s maid stepped back far enough to permit Angel to enter the duchess’s quarters. Although the room remained draped in shadows, the grander captured Angel’s breath. White and lavender and light blue and gold. The room announced its owner’s station while possessing a welcoming simplicity with its sharp, clean lines and soft colors.

  “Miss Lovelace?” The duchess rose heavily. “What is this nonsense?”

  Angel shot a glance at the waiting maid, and the duchess sent the woman away with a flick of her wrist. When the door closed behind the woman, Angel took a tentative step toward Lord Malvern’s mother.

  “Lord Remmington sent me word of the marquess’s trials. I came to speak to you because I know of Malvern’s whereabouts during the time of Lord Newsome’s disappearance.” The duchess’s hands trembled, but she nodded her encouragement. Angel swallowed hard. Straightening her shoulders and squeezing her eyes shut to block out the dread swelling to strangle her words. “Lord Malvern was in my room for nearly three hours. He could not have removed Lord Newsome to the tarn.”

  A sob of relief claimed the duchess’s lips. “Are you certain, Miss Lovelace, that this is not some ploy to save my son? I know you possess a kind heart, but if word of this leaks out, your reputation will be ruined.”

  “I admit I would prefer to keep this from my father’s ears, but I cannot permit Lord Malvern to suffer for an action he did not commit.”

  The duchess took a step in Angel’s direction. “I recognize your fine countenance, but I cannot imagine Malvern would risk everything for a simple tryst. Tell me why Malvern called upon you, Miss Lovelace.”

  Angel heaved a sigh of resignation. “Because Lord Malvern’s head injury is my fault. I am one of the first people he saw when your son regained his consciousness after the incident. I am Lord Malvern’s only connection to his past. Since his injury, his life began again with me.”

  The duchess’s tears continued, but a smile accompanied them. “When you offered to serve my family, I held no thoughts of your doing so before the night was over. Will you agree to explain all this to Devilfoard?”

  Angel glanced nervously at the door through which the servant had disappeared. “Although my father is privy to what occurred in Oxfordshire, he holds no knowledge of what has transpired since then. Is it possible we keep word of this indiscretion from his ears? I would prefer not to witness his disappointment?”

  The duchess nodded eagerly. “Permit me to send Mrs. Janson for the duke. I will also secure my maid’s secrecy. Have a seat, Miss Lovelace. I imagine Devilfoard will have a multitude of questions. He always does.”

  “That particular trait is one of the things I feared,” Angel grumbled as she seated herself before the empty hearth.

  The duchess chuckled. “The duke possesses an elevated sense of importance, but do not fear Devilfoard. He is a man who truly appreciates a woman of intelligence, and, moreover, the duke is simply a father wishing the best for his children. Devilfoard honors those who do not bend to his will every time.”

  “Just some times?” Angel asked tentatively.

  “Just some times,” the duchess repeated.

  Devilfoard’s lady was correct. The duke held many questions.

  Twice Angelica explained how she had sent her maid and the footman home before the wreck occurred, how she had crawled from her Uncle Lance’s coach, pulling herself up the steep embankment to appear upon the rain-soaked road to frighten Lord Malvern’s horse, how the marquess mounted Alibi before he collapsed, how she climbed up behind Lord Malvern to seek higher ground during the storm, and how the Wendts accepted them into their home.

  “As I explained,” she said with a bit of undisguised impatience, “when Lord Malvern did not recall any of his history, I thought God had answered my prayers. Your son would not betray us to the Wendts, who assumed we were newly married. However, when the marquess’s memory did not return after several days, I worried how he might survive without the experiences, which molded him into a man. In Crockett, I planned to send word to my father and to beg Papa to assist the stranger to a position or to find his family. I did not know the man I assisted was Malvern. He wore clothes of the merchant class. My plan changed when Malvern encountered Lords Harrison and Remmington.”

  The duke listened carefully, but his expression did not betray his feelings.

  Angel expected him to know outrage at his son’s aligning himself to a girl without a title, but nothing in the duke’s countenance indicated his inner thoughts. “And last night was the third time Malvern called upon you since your arrival at Devil’s Keep?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Angel felt the heat rising to her cheeks. “The first time was the night of our arrival. Lord Malvern brought me news of the Earl of Sandahl’s relationship to my father.”

  “And?” the duke prompted.

  “And nothing,” Angel declared indignantly. “We talked of what might occur when Lord Sandahl encountered his despised brother in the duchess’s drawing room. I cried over the possibility of a duel between the brothers. Lord Malvern held me, but that was the extent of the contact. When I fell asleep on the settle, Lord Malvern covered me with a blanket and left.”

  A long silence followed.

  The duke studied Angel carefully. “What did Malvern wear last evening?”

  “A shirt and breeches, but no banyan. His lordship was not perfectly attired, but neither was he dressed for a seduction.”

  The duke and duchess exchanged knowing glances, but neither spoke a word. Nonetheless, Angel wondered if she was more naïve than she first thought.

  The duke mulled over his words. �
�While you made your explanation, I considered how we might use what occurred and make a statement, which will provide Malvern an excuse without destroying your reputation.”

  Yet, before Devilfoard could speak his suggestion, a light tap announced the presence of the duke’s man. “Your Grace.” The valet bowed low. “Pardon. But Lord Sandahl and Lady Mathild request an audience.”

  The duke’s frown deepened. “At this hour?”

  The valet appeared quite flustered. “The earl insists he must speak to you.”

  “This cannot be good,” the duchess whispered.

  The duke stood and extended his hand to his duchess. Angel approved of the gesture, which indicated Devilfoard held no doubt of his lady’s loyalties.

  “I do not wish for Lord Sandahl to know of your presence in the duchess’s quarters. Please wait. I realize it is late, but we have much still to discuss. Her Grace and I will hear Sandahl in my sitting room.”

  As they exited, the duchess spoke over her shoulder. “I shall leave Devilfoard’s door ajar if your curiosity proves more than you can bear.” The duchess smiled in Angel’s direction. “I know mine would be impossible.”

  The duke chuckled. “Perhaps I should leave you both to eavesdrop.” He directed his lady’s steps through the narrow dressing room.

  Angel rose to follow the pair. The Duke and Duchess of Devilfoard were nothing if not magnificently matched. Both tall and lean and dark of head. And obviously devoted to each other, her inner voice announced.

  The valet preceded the pair so he might light candles in the duke’s sitting room before admitting Lord Sandahl and his daughter. From the darkened dressing room belonging to the duke, Angel held her breath as the earl and Lady Mathild made their obeisance to Devilfoard. All Angelica could see through the small crack was her uncle’s shoulder, but she could hear the conversation quite well.

  “I beg your forgiveness, Your Grace,” Lord Sandahl said with feigned humility in his tone. “I realize this is a terrible imposition, but when I heard of Malvern’s difficulties, I knew you would wish to speak to Mathild immediately.”

  Angelica realized some servant’s head would be on the proverbial chopping block tomorrow for speaking of the duke’s family to others.

  “Malvern’s difficulties?” the duke asked suspiciously.

  If Lord Sandahl heard the caution in Devilfoard’s tone, the earl ignored it. “Yes, Your Grace. I learned of Lord Newsome’s demise and of Malvern’s being under suspicion. It is my understanding the marquess refuses to offer an explanation for his being from his quarters during the night’s middle. Recognizing Malvern’s fondness for Mathild—”

  “Fondness for your daughter?” the duchess said with evident disbelief. “I believe during this evening’s entertainments Malvern did not once address Lady Mathild.”

  Sandahl’s indignation arrived too early to impress Devilfoard or his duchess. “A man with who practiced a seduction only the previous evening does not relay his actions by showering his attentions upon his amour, Duchess.”

  Devilfoard spoke through what sounded of tight lips. “Are you insinuating Malvern and Lady Mathild enjoyed an assignation during the night of Newsome’s disappearance?”

  “It is not something of which I am proud or which I condone,” Sandahl said with a touch of disapproval, “but women of all stations have succumbed to a powerful man, and it is not as if we have not spoken of a possible joining between Lady Mathild and Malvern. Our children recognize our wishes.”

  Silence followed the earl’s bald statement, and Angelica imagined the duke considered his response to Sandahl’s claims. She could easily imagine a deep frown forming upon Devilfoard’s brow.

  “And a tryst is what occurred between you and Malvern? Is that correct, my lady?”

  “Tell the duke the truth, Mathild,” Sandahl encouraged.

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Although she listened intently, Angelica could barely hear the girl’s response, but embarrassment and a bit of fear, as well as another emotion Angel could not identify, laced those three words.

  “You are saying Malvern brought you to completion, Lady Mathild?” the duke continued. “That my son claimed your innocence?”

  Sharpness colored the earl’s response. “There is no reason to berate my daughter, Devilfoard. It is what it is!”

  Angel could view the wide-sweeping gesture, which accompanied her uncle’s complaint.

  The duke’s impatience arrived. “On the contrary, Sandahl. I have the right to know whether your daughter is possibly carrying the future Duke of Devilfoard.”

  Angel heard the leather creak as the duke rose to his feet. She could observe his shadow upon the Persian rug. She stifled her laugh, knowing Devilfoard meant to intimidate the pair with his height.

  “Well, what is it, girl? Did my son leave his seed in your body?”

  Even without viewing the duke’s expression, Angel blushed with Devilfoard’s crude accusation. She would not wish to be on the receiving end of his disapprobation.

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Angel felt empathy for the girl, who was in an unconceivable position. Obviously, Lord Sandahl meant to barter away Lady Mathild’s reputation in order to claim a connection to the dukedom.

  “And you would tell the magistrate your tale in order to save my eldest son?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Angel’s heart went out to her estranged cousin. What a life Lady Mathild must have led under her father’s thumb. Angel said a private prayer of gratitude. If her mother had married Carpenter Lovelace, Lady Mathild’s fate could be Angel’s.

  A long silence increased the tension. At length, the duke called out for the return of his man.

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Mr. Ross, show Lord Sandahl and Lady Mathild out.”

  “Is that all you have to say to me?” Sandahl blustered. “Surely, we have terms to discuss. After Malvern’s release, we should decide upon an official announcement.”

  “I think not,” the duke replied. “I do not know with whom Lady Mathild dallied, Sandahl, but it was certainly not Malvern, and I will not permit my son to know a woman of jaded consequence. Your source was only partially correct. Malvern did refuse to speak to his whereabouts, but not for duplicitous reasons. It seems Lady Stoke knew discomforts customarily associated with a lady’s lying in. My daughter feared worrying her mother. Therefore, Henrietta summoned her new friend, Miss Lovelace, for we all stood witness to the girl’s kindness to Lady Arcane. When Lady Stoke became more agitated, Miss Lovelace sent word to the one person the girl thought could comfort our Henrietta: her twin.”

  “If what you say is true, why would Malvern not disclose an innocent situation to the authorities?” Sandahl demanded.

  The duke chuckled, but to Angel the gesture sounded like the cat that had caught the mouse. “If Malvern compromised anyone last evening it was Miss Lovelace.”

  Angel heard the truth blatantly in Devilfoard’s statement. Because she trusted Malvern above all others, she had permitted the marquess to compromise her.

  “Although Henrietta was present, my daughter was not always in the best position to judge the appropriateness of their attending her without others in the room. Unfortunately, both Malvern and the girl fell asleep while tending Lady Stoke. My son did not wish to damage the reputation of a woman who had rushed to his twin’s side. Although quite innocent, there are those among the ton who would name their actions foul. I am certain Horace Lovelace would not wish his daughter’s credit spoiled,” Devilfoard declared pointedly.

  “I see,” Sandahl gritted. “Come along, Mathild.” Sandahl caught Lady Mathild’s arm in a tight grasp, reminiscent of the one he had used against Angel when her interference in the countess’s care displeased him. Angel expected the girl’s protest, but none came, which was a sorry proof of Lady Mathild’s state of mind.

  Devilfoard delivered one final blow. “Sandahl, I do not approve of anyone who would malign my son�
��s good name. It would be best if your family removed from Devil’s Keep as quickly as your countess claims a bit of health.”

  The earl dropped his grasp upon his daughter’s arm and stepped into the duke’s shadow. Angel edged the door a bit wider where she might view the two men nearly nose to nose. “You will know sorrow,” Lord Sandahl hissed.

  Menace exploded in her uncle’s words, and Angel cringed from the vehemence there, but she doubted the duke even blinked twice.

  “I am acquainted with regret.” The duke’s tone held icy accents. “Good evening, Lord Sandahl.”

  Angel returned to the chairs they had abandoned earlier to wait for the McLaughlins’ return. She could not believe her uncle thought to fool the duke into accepting Lady Mathild as his son’s wife. Did not Lord Sandahl realize the marquess would object to such high handedness? Clearly, if she had not acted, Lord Sandahl could have known success. Her uncle had wagered upon Devilfoard’s desperation, and lost.

  “I suppose you heard the excuse we will use for Malvern’s long absence from his quarters. I cannot completely protect your interests, but I mean to portray you in the best light possible,” the duke responded as he resumed his seat.

  “You will have my approval, as well,” the duchess assured.

  Devilfoard hesitated. “It would be best if you and Malvern announced your engagement at Season’s end.”

  “No!” Angel exclaimed.

  The duke scowled, the lines of his brow contracting together. “Miss Lovelace, I cannot overlook Malvern’s numerous breaks in propriety. If you wait to claim a marriage in a month or two, no one will consider your reputation in tatters. It will appear that the affection between you and the marquess grew naturally.”