The Duke's Dilemma (The Wolf Deceivers Series Book 2)

by Elaine Manders

  “No, I’m just on a shopping trip. Ester Harcrumb invited me to stay a few days at their new home. Ester and I have been friends since childhood. You were aware that Sir Harcrumb is back from the last voyage?”

  “I had heard that,” the duke responded. Sir Harcrumb was a bounder and not received by the best society, but that wouldn’t bother Millicent. “A shame Lord Wayte couldn’t have accompanied you.”

  “George is at this moment speaking with your man of business about selling that acreage on the northeast corner of Waytefield.”

  “Indeed?”

  “You didn’t know of the transaction?”

  “Truthfully, I had no idea the property was for sell.” The duke’s tone was pleasant. “But I trust Hastening will settle the matter to my satisfaction.”

  Millicent lowered her voice though Cassandra could still hear. “It grieves me that George has to sell that land, but what are we to do when repairs are needed. Poor George is reminded over and over how cruel his father was. That’s the worst of it.”

  That Millicent would disparage her late husband in front of the duke infuriated Cassandra. She’d stop that now. Without another thought, she flung the door wide and stepped into the shop.

  Millicent stepped back, her features congealed with surprise and anger. “You.”

  Edward smiled as if nothing was untoward. “Lady Cassandra has graciously agreed to help my sister select a party gown.”

  “She’s with you?” Millicent’s voice strangled.

  “With me and Lady Sarah. Where is Sarah?” He directed the question to Cassandra.

  “She’s trying on one of Madam’s creations for your inspection. Madam LeCleir will be occupied for some while, Millicent.” She hoped that would be reason enough for the woman to leave.

  But having recovered her composure, Millicent’s curiosity seemed to have been whetted. She threw her head back to look down her long nose. “I’m surprised to find that you’d show your face in Mayfair, Cassandra.”

  Cassandra was saved from the retort that hovered on her lips when Sarah’s chatter preceded her into the room. “Lady Wayte, do you think I might wear the white and yellow when you and Edward take me to the Punch and Judy show?” Sarah cast a suspicious glance to Millicent and sidled between Cassandra and Edward.

  “When you attend the Punch and Judy show?” Millicent glanced back to the duke.

  Cassandra swallowed her anger. Sarah had given Millicent enough to think about…and no doubt…gossip about.

  “Yes, there’s one being presented here in Mayfair tomorrow.” Sarah turned to her brother and twirled around in a circle. “How do you like my new gown, Edward? Isn’t it vastly pretty?”

  “It is indeed, and you look like a princess, but perhaps we should leave now so Madam can help Lady Wayte.”

  “She’s already helped Lady Wayte.”

  “I was referring to Lady Millicent Wayte.”

  Sarah pivoted to Cassandra. “Is she your sister?”

  “I am not.” Millicent quivered with outrage. “There’s no need to leave on my account. I’ll return later.” She snatched up her skirts and stormed out. No doubt on her way to report to Daphne Ashford and her good friend, Ester Harcrumb.

  Cassandra had forgotten about Ester Harcrumb, a woman who loved to entertain the impoverished gentry who gave their favor only because of her husband’s wealth. Now that the Harcrumbs had moved to town and had the friendship of Millicent and Daphne Ashford to give them respectability, Sir Harcrumb might try to socialize with those of higher class, even the duke.

  That thought repulsed her as nothing could. She remembered Harcrumb’s threat of revenge when Lord Wayte had rescued her from the vile beast. If he learned of her association with Edward, he might do something to harm the duke.

  She clenched her hands into fists at her sides. He didn’t know she’d sworn revenge too.

  Chapter 8

  After his morning ride, Edward found Charles Galloway waiting for him. He’d invited the viscount to drop by today but didn’t expect him so early. Charles had gained experience spying in the military and could make discrete inquiries better than Edward could.

  “Join me for breakfast, Charles.”

  The two men served themselves from the sideboard and sat down to the typical English breakfast of steak, eggs, and kippers.

  “I’m going to Tattersalls today.” Charles looked up from his plate.

  “You want my opinion of a particular animal? I inspected the jumpers last week.”

  “Not that, although I’m well aware of your knowledge of horseflesh.” Charles cut his steak. “We missed you at the opera last night.”

  Edward poised his fork in mid-air. “I gave my seat to Lady Hayes. Aunt Chloe said the lady was feeling up to it, and I felt it was the kindest thing to do since her health is precarious. I can attend the opera any time.”

  “Daphne was incensed.”

  Edward chewed thoughtfully. She’d likely be more incensed today when he took Sarah and Cassandra to the puppet show. “I’m sure she’ll be looking for better prospects afore long.”

  “Who can know what a woman will do?” With a chuckle, Charles returned to his food.

  Edward decided to get to the real reason he’d invited Charles. “Have you found a Bow Street runner to investigate Lady Wayte?”

  “I did and discovered she has her own runners.”

  Edward dropped his knife. “For what purpose?”

  “As you know, that information would be confidential. I heard about her runners by accident.”

  Only the tinkle of silverware broke the silence as Edward considered this. His suspicions were correct. Cassandra was in some sort of trouble.

  Charles shifted in his chair. “If I may be so bold, is your interest in Lady Wayte mere curiosity, or is it a matter of the heart?”

  “Let’s say for the moment I am merely curious.” He wouldn’t discuss matters of the heart with anyone. In fact, he wasn’t even sure of his feelings as yet, but the lady intrigued him.

  And Aunt Chloe was right. A courtship with Lady Wayte would cause a stir that would rock London to the core. The Regent might intervene. It was a dilemma Edward hadn’t thought through as yet.

  Charles’s gaze fell to his plate. “The rumors about Lady Wayte aren’t entirely unfounded. She has been associating with actresses, one in particular—Jane Vernon.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “It leaves one befuddled since Jane Vernon was rumored to be Lord Wayte’s mistress.”

  Edward suspected that story was concocted by Lord Wayte’s enemies, those who opposed his efforts to close the flash houses. Most of the peers considered such efforts a waste of time since more important issues demanded their attention. “I never believed that for a moment. Lord Wayte was a Christian man if any are.”

  “But he had a close association with Jane Vernon and several of the actresses. Yet, you must be right. Lady Wayte wouldn’t befriend her late husband’s mistress. Why either Lord or Lady Wayte gave their attention to the ladies of Vauxhall or Convent Gardens is baffling. I can’t help but feel Lord Wayte left his young widow with more than his property.”

  “What would that be?”

  Charles shrugged. “A fine kettle of fish, perhaps.”

  “What about this Lucy who was drowned?”

  Charles lifted his head. “Oh, no secret there. Her name was Lucy Kilroy. She served as an upstairs maid until Lord Wayte’s death, and then came to work in one of his lordship’s seamstress shops here in the city. The word is that she was in love with one of the sailors on Sir Harcrumb’s ships. Went onboard to see the sailor and was rebuffed. Distraught, she jumped overboard.”

  Edward sipped his coffee with half-closed eyes, a mannerism he’d affected to belie the fact he was intently alert and interested. “That seems rather—contrived.”

  “It happens.”

  Yes, it happened, perhaps too often, which made the explanation sound pat. Edward recalled Cassandra’s
reaction to being notified of Lucy’s death. Why would a noblewoman be that concerned about a former maid?

  Almost as if reading his thoughts, Charles continued, “It’s not unusual that Lady Wayte would associate with the lower class. She was born into that station. But as the dowager countess of Waytefield, she should have a care. Yet she flaunts convention, and that feeds the rumors, and some of those are truly scandalous.”

  “I trust you’ll find out if there is proof to substantiate those rumors.”

  “I shall do my best. Incidentally, I’m most appreciative for the stallion you’re purchasing for my stables. He’s a high-stepper. I could never have afforded such a valuable stud.” Charles laughed. “I just hope I don’t have to go into disguise while trying to unravel Lady Wayte’s mystery.” He propped his arms on the table and leaned forward. “Did I tell you I had to keep my hair dyed to pass as a Frenchie?”

  “No, but I did hear you were one of the best spies Wellington had. If you do as good a job for me, I shall restock your entire stable.”

  Charles straightened, surprise etching his features. “You’re roasting me? Are you quite serious?”

  “Quite.”

  “Then Lady Wayte is that important to you?”

  Edward apprised the man as he had the soldiers who’d served under him. He decided he could trust Charles. “She’s that important to me.”

  ***

  Cassandra bounced on the seat of the hackney she’d hired to take her to Cheapside. She’d walked three streets from her townhouse to flag the conveyance rather than taking her own crested carriage. No one must suspect.

  Her fears were groundless. No one would recognize her in disguise. Enveloped in an ugly brown muslin gown with a large matching bonnet, she’d managed to hide all but a few wisps of her blonde hair. The thick glass of the spectacles she wore distorted her blue eyes and made her squint.

  Despite the fact she felt safe in her disguise, she grew more uneasy as the hack lumbered down the quiet early morning streets. What would the duke think if he knew where she was at this moment? That look of admiration she’d seen in his eyes would turn to disgust.

  Why did her thoughts always travel back to the duke? She couldn’t hope for a future with him. Or any man. After agonizing over this decision for too many sleepless nights, she’d accepted the truth. God had been gracious enough to send her the love of one man. That was enough.

  Memories of her late husband brought her mind skidding back to her present unpleasant task.

  She glanced out the dingy window and realized she was entering the poor side of town. Debris lined the sidewalk, and the smell of vermin filled the air. Vagrants huddled into corners, no doubt sleeping off the night’s intoxication.

  The crumpled piece of paper in her hand contained the address that Jane furnished for one of the better bawdy houses on Grape Street. The hackney halted with a jolt that brought her to the edge of her seat. As she opened the door, the stench overwhelmed her, and she pressed a handkerchief to her nose. Swallowing hard, she forced nausea back down her throat and stepped onto the cobblestones.

  “If you’ll wait here, I’ll give you twice this amount when I return.” She held a guinea out to the driver.

  He took the coin and bit into it. “Ye’ll give Oi twice as much, ye say?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oi kinna stay here, but Oi’ll circle around the street and return here on the quarter hour.”

  “But I don’t know how long I’ll be, could you not…?”

  The driver shook his head violently. “Oi kinna stay. Oi be robbed an’ worse, and if yer knows what’s best, ye won’t be long.”

  With no other choice, she trudged toward the recessed door. Several raps of the knocker brought no response. After the third attempt, the door opened, and a boy of about twelve with a thatch of straw colored hair blinked at her.

  “I wish to see Mrs. Hanks.” Being dressed as a matron, she didn’t attempt to modify her voice.

  The boy squinted and Cassandra wondered if his sight was already failing. Lord Wayte had told her of the appalling conditions under which these children lived. “She ain’t here.”

  Cassandra was about to try another line of reasoning when a voice called out, “Who’s that, Tom?”

  The boy darted a glance over his shoulder and sped away. Cassandra found herself facing an amazon with henna hair wearing a gaudy dress adorned with paste gemstones. Lilly Hanks was exactly as Jane had described her.

  “Mrs. Hanks, we have a mutual friend. Jane Vernon. I believe she saw you earlier this week and explained the purpose of my visit.”

  “She did.” The woman’s blood-shot eyes narrowed.

  Mrs. Hanks reeked of body odor and whiskey, and Cassandra forced herself not to return the handkerchief to her nose. “I’d like to see the girls now. As Jane must have told you, I have a business proposition that will be of benefit to us both.”

  The towering woman stood aside for her to enter. “Come with me. We’ll talk in my chambers.”

  Cassandra sighed with relief. She suspected Mrs. Hanks’s chambers would be the best in the house. Jane had told her that of all the bawdy and flash houses, Lilly Hanks’s was the best, and the girls and few boys who served as her prostitutes were treated better than most.

  She found that hard to believe. But Mrs. Hanks struck her as being greedy, a trait Cassandra could take advantage of.

  Mrs. Hanks’s bedchamber was as garish as her clothing. Cassandra sat on the edge of a gilded chair and spilled forth her fabrication of being a fellow proprietress with plans to entice girls from the countryside to the city. Mrs. Hanks said nothing but nodded from time to time as if this was a ploy she was acquainted with.

  Cassandra drew a deep breath and coughed against the heavily perfumed air. “I’m hoping your girls can supply me with the names of former friends or relatives from their home villages or farms. I shall give you a pound for each one.”

  “That’s a right clever scheme, now ain’t it?” Mrs. Hanks laughed. “But what do I have to lose? You might lose a tidy sum, though, if you can’t lure any scamps to town, and I ain’t saying these gels’ll give you real names. They might not want their friends to end up here.”

  “I shall take that chance.”

  “I know yer type. Jane told me how your customers are for the gentry. Ye don’t live in a dump like this, do ye? Ye live in a fine house, I wager. Got plenty of blunt to lose.”

  “I shan’t lose it.”

  Mrs. Hanks turned and lumbered across the floor. Opening the door, she shouted, “Hey, ye scum, git in here.”

  A dozen frumpy, sleepy girls assembled in the room within minutes. Apparently, Mrs. Hanks had them waiting for this visit.

  “Now ye tell the…lidy what she wants to know.” Mrs. Hanks barked her order like an officer, and the girls cast suspicious glances in Cassandra’s direction.

  She began her interrogation, making a pretense of writing down the names and locations. What the girls said was unimportant. She was looking for the girl with the greatest anger and defiance. The one who’d risk Mrs. Hanks’s wrath in order to get away.

  Most of them stared at her blankly with the vacant look such victims bore, but the eighth girl was different. A glint of rage burned in her eyes. Cassandra dared to hope as she continued the interview.

  At the end, she approached the eighth girl and dropped her reticule at her feet. The girl gazed at her from under wrinkled brows, then bent to retrieve the bag.

  Cassandra sank to the floor, her back to Mrs. Hanks. “If you wish to escape,” she whispered through her teeth, “meet me tomorrow at six in the afternoon at the Red Fox. Say nothing.”

  With reticule in hand, she rose and turned to Mrs. Hanks. “As I have twenty-one names, I owe you this.” She pulled out the pound notes and offered them with outstretched hand.

  Mrs. Hanks grabbed the blunt and addressed the girls. “Get on back to work with ye.”

  They pushed each other in the rush to leave.
With a nod to Mrs. Hanks, Cassandra followed them.

  ***

  After Charles had taken his leave, Edward stopped at the foyer’s window. The open Maroon drapes revealed an expanse of his manicured lawn and the side of Lady Wayte’s residence.

  He poised on the precipice of a turning point, one that might not end well. The sense of excitement shot with danger swept through him, that same feeling he’d experienced when beginning a siege against Napoleon’s army.

  The enemy in this case wasn’t French soldiers but women like Millicent Wayte, Daphne Ashford, and those like them who were even at this moment raising a hue and cry over his association with Cassandra. But he had some influence with the great patronesses of Almack’s, Lady Jersey and Lady Cowper among them. If he could attain a voucher for Cassandra, that would solve the matter. Yet he couldn’t approach those fastidious ladies until he knew what secrets Cassandra held.

  In the meantime, she needed a woman’s support. If he could get Aunt Chloe on their side, Daphne would have to accept the situation.

  At this time of morning, Aunt Chloe would still be in her boudoir. With purposeful haste he climbed the stairs, stopped at her door and gave it several sharp raps until she responded.

  She sat at on a chaise lounge with book in hand, munching bonbons. “Staying in today, Aunt Chloe?”

  “Not the entire day. Lady Hayes invited me to tea.”

  “Oh, you’re deigning to enter Lady Wayte’s residence?” This was welcome news. Better than he’d hoped.

  Aunt Chloe lifted her shoulders. “What could I do? How could I hurt dear Alice’s feelings? She and I were the closest of friends at one time. Two old maids touring the continent. We had some amusing experiences, I declare.”

  “I imagine you did, but are you not concerned about what your other friends might say?”

  “Well, of course.” Aunt Chloe pursed her lips. “It’s most unfortunate dear Alice must depend on her notorious goddaughter, but we’ve found a way to preserve the proprieties.”

  “Might I hear your plan, you old schemer?” He crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels.