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

by Elaine Manders

  A fond memory was better than being repulsed.

  She didn’t have time to think about that now. Fear crowded in again as she realized how much was at stake. If Hilda Garth didn’t make an appearance soon she’d have to abandon this scheme, but foolhardy as it was, no harm was done. No one would recognize her in disguise. The voluminous brown muslin gown with padding underneath made her look like a fat hag, and the matching bonnet hid all but a few wisps of hair. A pair of spectacles perched on the tip of her nose distorted her blue eyes.

  As unobtrusive as possible, she checked the watch pinned to the inside of her cloak. Half past five. Straightening her taut shoulders, she decided a half hour was long enough to wait. Had she misjudged the girl? Maybe the wench wasn’t as clever or as defiant as she’d suspected. Or, more likely, someone had detained her. In any event, this venture was spoiled.

  With a sigh of relief, Cassandra walked out onto the busy cobbled street and looked around for a hack. Spotting one, she quickened her steps. As she came within hailing distance, a hand grabbed her arm from behind.

  Her heart jumped, and she was on the verge of jerking away when she came face to face with Hilda Garth.

  Cassandra tried to control her irritation. “I’ve waited nearly an…”

  The girl cut her short. “I couldn’t go in at the Duck. They’re waiting for me.” Her speech proved she’d acquired at least some education. She glanced over her shoulder fugitively, her eyes dark and fearful.

  Cassandra hailed the hackney and directed the driver to Westminster. That should give them plenty of time to talk. As the conveyance rumbled over the cobbles, she relaxed against the squabs, and studied the girl who sat opposite.

  They rode in stony silence for some minutes before Cassandra leaned forward. “You are Hilda Garth?”

  The girl hesitated a moment. “You can call me that.”

  Her name might be fictitious, but one name was as good as another. Besides, she could hardly blame the girl for distrusting everyone. She wondered how far she could trust Hilda.

  She pushed back against the seat and folded her hands, trying to appear tranquil though turbulent thoughts spun in her head. Still, she had to remain composed to give Hilda confidence. “I’m going to confide in you, Hilda. I need your help to carry out…a mission, and if I fail, both of us will be in jeopardy. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” Hilda stared straight into Cassandra’s eyes. She didn’t come from servant stock. “I knew you were disguised when I first saw you. You’re young, though you tried to hide it.”

  This girl was intelligent, her speech educated. Might she have been kidnapped? Whatever circumstances had placed Hilda in such dire straits, behind that haggard face lurked a pretty, winsome girl who could easily have found a good husband from the tradesmen of the city. Now that future was closed to her. A surge of anger ran through Cassandra at the injustice of it all.

  She’d discuss Hilda’s situation later. At the moment she must discern if the girl was up to the task at hand. “My late husband was deeply involved in reform. Specifically, he led campaigns to shut down bawdy houses, gaming hells, and flash houses. Unfortunately, every time he managed to get the law to close one of these places, another would spring up. Before he died, he charged me to carry on with this mission.”

  Cassandra paused, weighing the effect of her words. Hilda was little more than a child. “My husband’s plan was to rescue children from such places.”

  Hilda surprised her by pinning her with a direct glare. “I know who you are, Lady Wayte, and who your husband was. Sir Harcrumb described you to me. Your hair gave you away, though not much is showing.” Hilda snatched her bonnet off. A riot of blonde curls spilled out around her face. “He said I had hair like yours…and I fought like you. He speaks of you often and hated Lord Wayte because he stole you away.”

  Cassandra could only stare at her. “Does Harcrumb know I spoke to you?”

  “No, but he’ll come looking for me.” Hilda glanced out the coach’s window as if she expected Harcrumb to appear. “The other day, you said you could help me escape, but there’ll be no escape until he’s dead.”

  Hilda provided the opening Cassandra had been waiting for, so she plunged forth. “If you had the opportunity, could you kill him? If you had a weapon and could escape the consequences?”

  “In my dreams, I kill him with my bare hands.”

  The veracity of the remark made Cassandra recoil, and that dull ache in the back of her head began to throb. Could she trust this girl? And a greater problem loomed. Hilda was willing, but she didn’t fit into Cassandra’s plans because Harcrumb knew her. Even if Hilda could be sneaked into Harcrumb’s residence, he’d recognize her.

  Unless he was asleep. A servant could be bribed to give her entrance after the household had retired for the night.

  She rubbed the back of her neck. “Do you know of another girl you could trust? Someone Sir Harcrumb hasn’t seen, but who’d wish to escape with you?”

  “They all wish to escape. As to trusting—” Hilda’s gaze traveled all around the interior of the coach as she worried her bottom lip. “Milly might be trusted. She has brown hair. Harcrumb doesn’t favor brown-haired wenches, and as far as I know, he hasn’t seen her. But—”

  “Yes, but?”

  “She’s easily frightened.” Hilda had been gazing out the window until this moment. Her stare bored into Cassandra. “If you help us escape, what do you want with us?”

  Hilda was obviously no fool. Cassandra admired her for that, and it gave her hope the girl had the intelligence and nerve to carry out this plan. “Sir Harcrumb has bought a new residence. His wife likes to entertain. They will be engaging new servants, and I can arrange for one of those servants to let you inside.”

  She was contriving the plot as she spoke, but Hilda didn’t seem to notice. “Of a certainty they will hold some party soon. On that night, you’ll seek entrance into the house. Could you go to Sir Harcrumb’s bedroom while he sleeps and plunge a dagger in his chest?”

  Hilda’s eyes grew large. Cassandra gave her a few moments to digest the magnitude of the situation before adding. “You would be dressed as a maid, and I don’t think your presence would be questioned. My investigators have reported that Sir Harcrumb doesn’t sleep with his wife, so it’s unlikely you’d be noticed. The next day, you and Milly will be sailing for Scotland to work at a posting inn, a respectable place I’ve sent others to on occasion.”

  “You’d send me to Scotland?”

  “That’s right. No one will ever find you or suspect. Do you think you have the nerve to do the deed? I’ve tried to gain the confidence to do so myself, but failed.”

  Hilda crossed her arms and closed her eyes. Cassandra suspected she was reliving some atrocity Sir Harcrumb had visited upon her. The girl’s eyes opened with a defiant gleam. “I could kill him well enough, even if I should be hanged for it.”

  The tightened bands in Cassandra’s neck released their hold. Now that the plot was out in the open, she could allow herself to relax. “Very well. I shall depend upon you. Reveal nothing to Milly except that you’ve found a way to escape. Both of you will be taken to the back gate of my residence on the morrow. We’ll discuss the particulars then. Don’t worry over the details, you shall not be hanged.”

  She rapped on the door to alert the driver to return to Cheapside.

  Of course Hilda wouldn’t be hanged, and she sincerely hoped she wouldn’t be either.

  Chapter 10

  To keep from dwelling on the enormity of what she’d done, Cassandra turned to work. She’d not balanced the household accounts in a great while, so she sat at her secretary, pouring over the ledgers. Numbers never failed to keep her mind absorbed.

  After an hour of silent study, she pulled a sheet of paper from her stationery drawer, satisfied with her course of action. Before she had time to dip quill into ink, Gama burst through the doorway.

  “Look, my dear, the duke has invited us to the opera.�
�� Gama waved the invitation in front of her.

  “Another opera? Is it not unusual to have so many operas this time of year? I thought most were performed during the winter or the Season.

  “Indeed they are, but these are special performances because Marcelini is touring the continent. Lady Pugh cannot go, so you must.”

  You wish to hear Marcelini again?” Cassandra regarded her godmother with wide eyes, a teasing note in her voice. “I believe you’re besot with the man.”

  Gama chuckled. “Mayhap I am, but this performance is at Covent Gardens. We can’t miss that.”

  Cassandra could remember when attending the opera was just another mundane social function. She enjoyed a good performance well enough, but it was hardly the passion for her as it was for Gama. She ought to decline.

  The Ton was already buzzing about her association with the duke since their outing to Mayfair. If they were seen together at the opera— What if she were snubbed at the opera? The duke would be embarrassed and Gama as well. Yet how could she deny her godmother?

  Gama’s enthusiasm was infectious. She bubbled like a schoolgirl extolling the talents of Marcelini and the other performers. This recent change in Gama was astonishing, but Cassandra wasn’t surprised. She’d felt all along there was nothing much wrong with her. Lady Pugh’s friendship proved all Gama needed was a chance to enjoy life outside her chambers.

  “I do wish you would attend the opera, dearest. The duke is interested in you. And why not reconsider and accompany us to Langsdale? You’d enjoy the duke’s company, and might come to care for him, I dare say.”

  Cassandra found she cared very much. “There are other things to consider, Gama.” Like making Sir Harcrumb pay for his deeds. But what did it matter? After next week she might be in prison and out of the duke’s life forever. Why deny herself the opera, one last pleasure in his company?

  One last memory.

  She smiled. “You may send our acceptance, and tell Hetty to air my best gown. Now let me get back to these books.”

  “Dusty old things.” Gama giggled. “I can’t think why you should bother…oh,” her brows puckered and her mouth drew into a bow, “but I must find a suitable gown for myself.” She pivoted and scurried away faster than she’d done in a long time.

  For the first time since before Lord Wayte’s death, Cassandra felt the stirrings of excitement coursing through her senses. Emotions she’d thought long since dead surfaced, and any chance to be in the duke’s company sparked feelings she didn’t dare explore.

  She took her quill and began the task of transferring figures onto the missive to Lord Wayte’s trustees. Arrangements had to be made to leave Gama financially secure if anything happened to expose Cassandra’s plot.

  The image of Hilda Garth’s tragic face rose before her. No amount of work, nor even the pleasure of being with the duke, could stop her nagging conscious from reminding her of the burden she’d laid upon Hilda’s thin shoulders.

  ***

  Cassandra wasn’t surprised to find the duke’s comfortable, private box in a choice location. He gave Gama his seat, the one with the best view, and she sank into the cushions, prattling all the while in her excitement.

  A smile tugged at the corners of Cassandra’s mouth as she sent the duke a grateful glance. Gama reminded her of a child on Christmas Eve, and that was all due to his kindness.

  “Your Grace, I had no notion Marcelini would be performing at Convent until we received your invitation.” Gama opened her fan and waved it to stir the air. ‘How can we ever thank you?”

  “Your enthusiasm is thanks enough.” Edward lifted his opera glasses as the first performance began.

  Cassandra did likewise, and was soon lost in the dramatic voice of the singer. After the first song, she dropped her glasses and turned to find the duke staring at her. A magnetic charge coursed through her as their gazes locked. Marcelini’s soulful melody moved them both, and their eyes had sought each other’s many times during the performance.

  At the intermission, the duke stood. “Would you ladies care to take a turn around the walk?”

  “Oh, no, I fear I might miss something,” Gama said, “but Cassandra might enjoy a stretch.”

  Cassandra needed no prompting. She accepted the duke’s hand, and he led her to the promenade along the aisle outside the boxes.

  Most of the men they met nodded politely, but many of the women looked straight ahead or whispered behind their fans. The message was clear. She was still not safe to be acknowledged by polite society.

  Edward bent to murmur. “Keep your head up and look directly at the old cats. You mustn’t allow them to affect you.”

  A woman pushed her way from behind, demanding their attention. “Your grace.” Millicent Wayte paused to catch her breath. “George sent me a letter and said that if I should see you, to tell you he has some fine jumpers for sale along with the land.”

  Tall and lanky, Millicent’s height was exaggerated by a mass of brown curls atop her head. Her attempt at elegance might have succeeded except that when she opened her mouth, her prominent front teeth gave one the impression of a rabbit.

  Cassandra determined to avoid a scene such as she and Millicent had caused at the modiste so she kept her lips pressed firmly in place.

  “You have me at a disadvantage, Lady Wayte.” Edward acknowledged Millicent with a smile. “I haven’t been involved with the sale, but I shall look into the matter when I travel to Langsdale in the near future.”

  “How fortuitous that you’ll be home. I shall be returning to Waytefield myself next week and Lady Ashford will accompany me for a visit. I intend to give her a ball. Since you’ll be in residence, we should be delighted for you to attend.”

  Lady Ashford planned to visit Waytefield at the same time as the duke would return to Langsdale. The estates shared the same border. Fortuitous indeed.

  “If I have no conflicting engagements, I shall accept, of course.” Edward’s tone indicated that he would likely have conflicting engagements, or perhaps that was wishful thinking on Cassandra’s part. Yet the prospect of Daphne Ashford chasing him to the country made Cassandra reconsider his invitation that she join the party at Langsdale.

  “Then I may tell George that he can set up an appointment with you later?” Millicent’s fingers nervously ran along the piping of her gown as she kept her gaze focused on the duke. She made it painfully clear she wouldn’t look in Cassandra’s direction.

  “Of course.”

  “I thank, your grace, and I won’t detain you any longer.” She sailed away like a tall ship skimming over a choppy sea.

  “You look as though you could use some refreshment, Cassandra.”

  “Some punch would be nice, but the coffee shop looks crowded, your grace.” She looked past the milling people to where the tables stood.

  “If we are to be friends, then I suggest you drop the ‘your graces’ and call me Edward.”

  When she lifted a skeptical brow, he added, “There are times when I find this duke business rather overbearing. If you can credit it, there are days on end that I don’t hear my given name.”

  She appreciated his humor and decided to tease him back. With an impish grin, she tilted her head back. “Yes, being a duke is such an onerous position with all those people fawning over you.”

  He laughed. “It can be. I’d prefer genuine friendship to fawning.”

  “Then I should…I shall be honored to call you…Edward.”

  He smiled in that broad, winsome way that touched her heart. Before she realized what he intended, he cupped her elbow and eased her into a small windowed alcove. “Stay here and I’ll fetch the punch.”

  Bemused, she turned to peer out the window at the darkening skies. Not since Lord Wayte’s death had a man been so attentive to her comfort. And never before in her life had she enjoyed it more.

  Barely a few minute passed when a footfall sounded behind her. She swung around wondering why Edward returned so soon and froze in t
error. The devil himself stared back with black, beady eyes.

  “Lady Wayte, imagine my astonishment when I saw you on the arm of a duke. You’re riding a high crest it would seem, but don’t forget my promise to you.”

  She wanted to turn away, but stood planted to the floor, as transfixed as one staring into the eyes of a cobra. Even if she could break the trance and try to flee, Harcrumb blocked the entrance.

  Good sense told her she had nothing to fear. He couldn’t accost her in this public place, yet fear strangled her, making speech impossible for several long moments. With concerted effort, she found her voice. “I care not for your opinion. Leave me.”

  “Then you have forgotten I told you that if I couldn’t have you, no other man would.”

  She hadn’t forgotten. That was the threat he’d hurled at her when she left with Lord Wayte. “But you are married yourself now.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized how foolish they sounded. Harcrumb would take her protest as weakness. She might as well try to confront a raging bull with a fly swatter.

  His low guttural laughter confirmed his contempt. “My marriage, your marriage, your remarriage—none is inconsequential. My promise stands.”

  He left as quickly as he’d come, and she waited until her racing heart slowed. Despair hung over her as dark and heavy as the night sky.

  ***

  Edward weaved his way through the crowd, hoping he wouldn’t spill Cassandra’s punch. She was enjoying herself despite the snubs. If luck was with him, he might yet convince her to accept his invitation to Langsdale.

  Her back was to him as he entered the alcove, but as soon as she turned, he knew something was wrong. “What’s happened?”

  She stared as if not understanding the question. In the candlelight, her face appeared white, her mouth pinched. She looked much as she had when receiving the news about Lucy. “Did you get over-heated? Here, drink this.” He handed her the cup.