Wagers of a Duke's Daughter (The Duchess's Investigative Society Book 3)

by Samantha Holt

  Her gaze narrowed. “I have good reasons for not telling my sisters of my gambling and you know it.”

  He lifted his shoulders and smirked. “It might do you some good to confess all,” he said sagely.

  “You cannot lecture me upon secrets. Ever.” She wagged a finger at him. “Now I have an idea. I do believe a friend of mine, Charlotte Summers, knows a few people who live in this area. I shall talk with these women but Charlotte might have more luck finding anything out than we will.”

  There was little sense in arguing with her. For a quiet woman, she had more determination than anyone he’d ever met. With only the slightest shake of his head, he leaned against the wall and watched her engage the women in conversation. He grinned to himself. Lady Demeter Fallon really was a woman to be admired.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Blast.”

  Demeter stopped mid-step and sent an inquiring look her sister’s way.

  Eleanor nodded down the street. “I do not like that man.”

  She followed her sister’s gaze to Lord Ashford, strolling their way. Since she’d been spending more time with Blake, the viscount inevitably spent more time with all of them. They’d known Lord Ashford for as long as Blake and, actually, Demeter considered him a friend of sorts. Though they were not exactly close, he was polite and they engaged in mild conversation most Seasons.

  “What has the poor man done?”

  Eleanor ducked into the doorway of the foundling charity and motioned vigorously for Demeter to join her. “Quickly, or he shall spot us.”

  Ashford gave them a wave and Demeter shrugged. “It’s too late.”

  “Blast,” her sister said again.

  “I s-still do not see—” Demeter smiled swiftly when Lord Ashford approached, stopping at the bottom of the steps to greet them with a tip of his hat.

  “Lady Demeter, Lady Eleanor.” He flashed a genial smile. “How happily met.”

  Demeter returned his warm smile but her sister remained in the doorway of the tall building, her lips pressed into a thin line. Eleanor’s social graces were about as good—or as bad—as her own, but it was unlike her to be openly rude. She stepped swiftly down the final steps to approach Lord Ashford. “Good afternoon, my lord.” She gestured frantically behind her and her sister slowly, reluctantly came to stand beside her.

  “Lord Ashford,” she muttered.

  Amusement twitched on his lips. Demeter eyed him for a few moments. Did he know the reason for her sister’s annoyance? If he did, apparently he did not mind it one jot. In fact, he seemed entertained by it, his gaze lingering on Eleanor.

  “Have you been visiting the foundlings?” he asked, motioning to the building.

  Demeter nodded. “I-I try to visit weekly but I have not had time recently...” She clamped her mouth shut when a knowing look entered Ashford’s eyes.

  Because she’d been spending too much time with Blake, he finished silently for her.

  “The fire quite devastated the girl’s wing. We are lucky no one was harmed,” she said swiftly. If he was thinking of the grim nature of fires and the risk to the children he would not be concentrating on her and Blake.

  And then maybe she would not be thinking of Blake either.

  And their kiss. And their engagement. And every second since then.

  Or was that kisses?

  The first one might not really count did it? It was so brief, even if it was interminably sweet. Her stomach gave a little swoop. The second one counted, though. Most definitely. His tongue, his body, his lips... She held back a sigh. The lethal combination left her in no doubt that had been a kiss—one she would never forget.

  “I recall,” Lord Ashford said. “The rebuild is going well, though. They’re using the same fellow who helped with my Somerset estate.”

  Eleanor blinked rapidly. “How would you know that?”

  “I recommended him,” he replied nonchalantly.

  A strange expression crossed her sister’s face.

  When she didn’t respond, Demeter was forced to leap into the silence. These were strange days indeed when she was the most sociable sister. “What brings you here, Lord Ashford?

  “I am visiting with the boys.” He gestured to the building. “They are not nearly as impressed with a viscount as I’d like but they listen to me and I hope I can be a good influence in some way.”

  “You...visit...?” Eleanor repeated.

  “Indeed.”

  “Good influence?” her sister murmured, brows knitted.

  “Well, some would say differently.” He shrugged and grinned. “But the boys like to pretend to be gentlemen.”

  Demeter gave her sister a tiny nudge with an elbow. What was going on with her sister?

  “I did not realize you were involved,” Demeter said, keeping a polite smile in place in the hopes of drawing the attention away from Eleanor, who looked increasingly like her brain had come to a complete standstill. “How lucky they are to have you as a patron.”

  “As they are to have you.” His eyes warmed when he looked behind her and Demeter twisted to see some of the boys waving at him through the window.

  Demeter laughed. “I think you are in demand. We are keeping you from them.”

  “It seems so. I had better make haste or there shall be some form of rebellion.” He tipped his hat again. “Good day, ladies.”

  Once Lord Ashford entered the building, Demeter took her sister’s arm. “What has Lord Ashford done to you?” she asked.

  “Oh.” Her sister seemed to jolt to life. “Not a thing.”

  “Eleanor...”

  “He’s a rake, Demeter. I do not trust him that is all.”

  One could say the same of Blake, yet she trusted him implicitly. She sighed. What a dangerous situation to be in.

  “Anyway, should we not be discussing other matters?” Eleanor took Demeter’s arm. “Like your wedding plans. You know Anton is not impressed by the fact your Mr. Blake did not ask for his permission.”

  Demeter wrinkled his nose. “Anton is such a dry old stick. You would think Eliza would be a good influence upon him.”

  Their sister-in-law was less rebellious than the rest of them, but she was her own woman and usually managed to talk Anton out of pretending to be their father.

  “Anton has a point.” Eleanor stopped, forcing Demeter to turn to face her with a hand to both shoulders. “Are you certain about this engagement, Demeter? No one would blame you if you wished to change your mind? We all know Blake is rather, well…”

  “Well?”

  “Rakish.” She jerked her head in the direction of the hospital. “He makes Lord Ashford look like a monk.”

  “He is rakish,” she agreed, “but there is more to him than that.”

  “We only want you happy.”

  “You’ve all been discussing our engagement?”

  “Of course! Why would we not? It is about the most shocking thing to happen to us in ages, and that includes Chastity marrying Valentine.”

  Demeter glanced at the pavement. Of course it was shocking to them. To the whole of Society too, most likely. Who would have ever pictured the handsome and charming Blake marrying a meek, stammering wallflower? She inhaled slowly and forced a smile upon her face.

  “Do not worry about me,” she assured her sister. “I know exactly what I am doing.”

  She hoped.

  ***

  “Blakey.”

  Blake narrowed his eyes at his mother. “I told you not to call me that.”

  She swished into his study, plucked a letter from the stack atop his desk and tsked. “You hired a private investigator to look into Mr. Foster?”

  He rose from his chair, waved Hammond away with one hand and snatched the letter from her hand, crumpling it up and throwing it into the empty fireplace. The information was useless anyway. He’d yet to hear from Demeter—his own blasted fiancée—about what she’d discovered via her friend.

  He’d scared her away. It was the only
explanation. Scarcely a day had gone by without him seeing her since his return for the Season. Hell, she hadn’t even visited Ernest today, who was curled up by the empty fire, shedding hairs over the Khotan carpet. The mournful look in his eyes tugged at Blake’s heart. If his mother wasn’t here, he’d be tempted to curl up on the rug beside him and tell Ernest he missed her too.

  Rubbing a hand over his face, he sank onto the chair. Good Lord, how pathetic he was.

  “What can I do for you, Mother?”

  “I did not see you at Lord Marlborough’s last night.”

  “No.”

  “Nor at Captain Finch’s dinner party.”

  “I’ve been busy, Mother.”

  “Yes, writing letters about Foster.” She strode around the room, finally settling for standing in the same place as she’d just been, much like a cat twisting to find the perfect spot.

  Fingers to his temples, he tried to press away the impending headache. It would be a lot easier if his mother were not here.

  “I’m worried about you.” She remained standing in front of him, her posture firm.

  Wonderful. He’d have to talk to her if he ever wanted to get rid of her and address the problem that was Foster and his lack of past.

  “There is nothing to be worried about. Now if you do not mind—”

  His mother huffed, strode over to one of the two other chairs in the room and dragged it so that it sat directly in front of his desk. Finally, she sat, her spine rigid, her chin lifted. The only softness to her was the concern creasing her eyes. She reached across the desk only to draw back her hand when he ignored her hand.

  “Jacob,” she said softly.

  He swallowed. “I told you, there is nothing to be concerned about. So I missed a dinner party? Captain Finch is a bore anyway and he always lies about his battle experiences. Everyone knows he swoons at the sight of blood.”

  “Blake!”

  “Well, it’s true.”

  “It is so unlike you to miss these social events. Now you and Lady Demeter are engaged, I would have thought you would both be spending more time in society. Everyone is just desperate to see the two of you together.”

  “We have been spending plenty of time together,” he muttered.

  Though not enough to appease him apparently. The thought of going another day without her left his gut hollow.

  “And there’s the matter of an engagement ball. I cannot believe the Duke of Daventry has been remiss to arrange one.”

  “Demeter does not want a ball,” he said quickly because he knew it would be true, fake engagement or not. There was no chance she would enjoy the attention.

  “No engagement ball?” Her eyes were so round, her gasp so sharp that he might as well have told her he was breaking off the engagement to become a priest. Which, at this point, might not be a terrible idea. What else was he going to do with his time when this lie ended? Go back to drinking? Other women? He could scarcely imagine it now.

  “No,” he said firmly. “She does not enjoy balls.”

  “Well, I suppose if she does not like them...” His mother sniffed. “It seems a shame. You two are so darling together.” His mother cocked her head. “Which does not explain why you are so morose today. Is there...is there something the matter between you two?”

  Oh yes. There was plenty. Like the fact his heart kept thudding with such intensity when he thought of her he felt sick to his stomach and when he thought of releasing her from this arrangement, the nausea only increased.

  “We are perfectly fine, Mother.”

  “You are not, though.”

  Blake heaved out a breath. Demeter was right. Keeping secrets never did anyone any good. It was about time he and his mother hashed out their unspoken history. “What is this about? Since when do you care so for my welfare? I have seen you more this Season than ever before?” He pressed his lips together. “We both know you have never shown such interest the rest of my life.”

  Fingers laced together on her lap, his mother stared at them for a few moments before lifting her gaze to his. Her eyes shimmered with unspent tears. “I know I have not been a good mother to you.” She held up a hand before he could summon a response, though he could not be certain if he was going to protest the statement out of politeness or agree.

  “And Iris did what I could not,” she continued. “But when she died, I knew you would be alone, and I wanted to do something...” She lifted a shoulder. “I do not really know how to be a mother. Your father made certain of that.”

  “You did not have to let him,” Blake muttered.

  “I know.” Her chin wobbled. “I was young when I had you and scared. I thought he would kill me. I could not leave you alone in the world. What would you do if I was dead?”

  His throat tightened and he stared at the letter in front of him, the neat handwriting a blur of dark against the pale paper, recalling being told of his mother’s abandonment of him, his father reminding him of the time his mother would be having without him on the continent.

  “But you did leave.”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “I did, and I am sorry, Jacob. I wish I had been stronger, I wish...” Her chest rose and fell as she exhaled. “I wish many things and I know it might be too late but I would like to at least be some support to you.” Her throat bobbed. “I cannot be a mother to you now, I know that, but perhaps we could at least...be friends?”

  Blake closed his eyes briefly. He could not deny he’d resented her over the years but most of his anger was directed at his father. The brute had driven her off, just as he suspected.

  “We could try,” he said quietly. “I am not making any promises, though.”

  She offered a tremulous smile. “That is all I ask.” She reached across the desk again and he didn’t flinch when she rubbed her fingers across his knuckles.

  First obsessing over Demeter and now practically forgiving his mother. What the devil was happening to him?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Charlotte always struck Demeter as a combination of her sisters. She’d joined their investigative club after aiding Chastity in a little matter of secrecy and attempted murder, and it was clear she had the determination of Chastity—but her effervescent energy made her think of Cassie. Few would look at the fair-haired, rosy cheeked woman and imagine there was a practical side, but there was even a little Eleanor in there, too.

  Charlotte waved away the butler who was well-used to receiving her at the house by now, though the first time he’d tried to make the maid go around the rear of the house. “I do not have time to stay,” she said, her breathing ragged. “I need to get back to work.”

  Demeter clasped her hands together. “Did you find out anything?”

  “Not much, but my cousin’s friend who lived in Devil’s Lane for a little while used to drink with this man who knew Mr. Foster.”

  Demeter blinked and forced herself to keep track of the thread. “Yes...?”

  “Well, Mr. Foster was in London but a short while before he left and gained his riches.”

  “Does anyone know where he came from?”

  “The country somewhere. Fred was convinced he’d come from the north by the way he talked. He also said Mr. Foster never worked yet paid for his and Fred’s drinks.”

  Demeter scowled. “I saw where he lived—it was a hovel.”

  Charlotte nodded. “Fred reckoned there was something odd but Fred likes his ale. He’ll drink with anyone if they offer it.”

  “Did he ever talk about his life before he moved here? Surely he must have talked about himself when in his cups?”

  Charlotte shrugged. “Fred said the man rarely talked of himself and was usually asking Fred questions. He often bought drinks for others and would engage them in similar conversation.” She wrinkled her nose and held up a hand before Demeter could question her further. “Fred is not the most sound-minded of men,” she warned her. “He drinks daily. But he did say he was asking if there were people in the area who could hel
p him with a letter.”

  “A letter? Mr. Foster can write. I’ve seen as much. Why would he need...” Demeter gasped. “You do not think he was looking for someone to forge a letter do you?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Last year, Cassie became involved in a case where a will was forged. The men were held to account and it was thought all involved were captured but someone else could be offering the same services.” She pressed a hand to her mouth.

  Now why did it not occur to her to investigate the idea Iris’s will might have been forged? How foolish she was. She’d been too wrapped up in being with Blake to even think on the matter.

  “Oh yes, Chastity told me about that. Were they not rather dangerous people?”

  Demeter nodded grimly. “They threatened Cassie and attacked one of our servants.”

  “They were all imprisoned, though, correct?”

  “I’m certain of it.”

  “It could be different people,” Charlotte suggested.

  “It could well be,” she agreed. She motioned for Charlotte to leave. “You must go or you shall be late. Thank you for your help. If I can get Blake to contest the will, perhaps we can prove it false.”

  “Always happy to help.” Charlotte grinned. “If you need me again, you know where I am.” She rolled her eyes. “Where I always am.”

  No doubt arm deep in dough. Since last year, Charlotte had left the employ of Chastity’s husband and started her own bakery stall. They’d all tried to convince her to let them fund a little shop for her but she would not allow it. Demeter was certain Charlotte would do well, so tried not to worry for their friend.

  “I’m off to visit Mr. Blake,” she announced to no one in particular after Charlotte left. She hadn’t walked today so she would use the short journey to Blake’s townhouse to unscramble her thoughts. Had she really missed something so obvious or was she leaping to conclusions purely because of what happened with Cassie?

  After donning a bonnet and shawl, for the spring weather was changeable despite the warmth of the day, she had scarcely closed the front door behind her before spying Mr. Foster.