Duchess by Day, Mistress by Night (Rebellious Desires)

by Reid, Stacy

  A happy sigh slipped from him when she opened the small leather volume and started the story of Rumpelstiltskin, one of his favorites. Soon they were singing the song he danced his triumph to when he thought the queen had not learned his name. Several minutes later, Nicolas was collected by his new nursemaid, Miss Amelia Williams, the niece of the local vicar.

  “Mamma, will you please inform Uncle Simon I must see him? We could have luncheon together.”

  A pang went through her heart. How Nicolas craved his uncle’s presence. She knew she would soon have to remarry, even if only to provide her son with a more stable role model and the influence of a gentleman. Her brother’s visits were too erratic. “I will have him spend the night, even if I have to chain him in a room.”

  Nicolas chortled, then slipped his hand into Miss Williams’s and left with her. Georgiana strolled across the lawn, smiling when she saw that Mr. Brantley, her son’s tutor, was taking their lessons outdoors today. She arrived at the house, and after inquiring about Simon’s location, headed toward the rose parlor. Taking a deep breath, she grasped the door handle firmly, straightened her shoulders, and walked purposefully into the room. Simon was lounging by the windows overlooking the eastern lawns of the estate, a cup of tea in his hand.

  She closed the door gently, and he spun and scanned Georgiana, no doubt looking for signs of her being debauched.

  “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

  “You said Nicolas misses me.”

  “Hmm, and is that your only reason? I recall you saw him a couple weeks past.”

  Amusement lit in Simon’s eyes. “I confess to also being interfering. Mr. Tremayne seemed very taken with you.”

  “The ball was three days ago, Simon. Must we really have this conversation?”

  “I was very shocked to see you gliding about the room with the man. I could not imagine you behaving in a manner that is not proper.”

  Her entire life she had been so decorous and ladylike. Her sense of duty and obligation to her family had never wavered. She’d molded herself into a wife Hardcastle and her family were proud of. Her son, once grown, would be proud of her legacy and reputation. She had never done anything to besmirch their family’s reputation. Except she did not believe discreetly reaching for a slice of happiness for herself was betraying her family. “It was only a few days ago you suggested I take a lover.”

  A flush ran along his cheekbone. “I meant a gentleman. Surely you did not believe I meant a man who had once been a dockside worker.”

  “If that is true, then Mr. Tremayne is a man to be admired, not looked down upon. I do not believe it’s anyone’s business who I…I…” Blast it. She could not speak of a lover so lightly to her brother. “I only danced with Mr. Tremayne and had a rousing conversation. He makes me feel different…more, I cannot find the word to express the feelings.”

  “Duty and honor come before such maudlin emotions,” Simon snapped. “Everything you do has the potential to affect this family, particularly Eleanor’s chances of securing a good match and our standing in society.”

  “I see, and how badly did my dance with Mr. Tremayne’s affect your, Mother’s, and Elle’s reputation?”

  His expression turned surprisingly wry. “I remained in town to see if there were any rumors after the fact.”

  “And I am certain there were none.”

  “You wouldn’t be the first lady to be attracted to those of the lower class, but kindly remember the consequences,” her brother said flatly.

  Georgiana knew he referred to a few scandals of the last season, where the affected ladies had been thoroughly shamed by society. The Countess Lauriston had been hurt by society’s mockery of her affair with Mr. Robert Johnson, a businessman who owned a string of butcher shops in England. A skimmington had been publicly staged—a woman dressed as the countess, a lowly dressed man who represented Mr. Johnson, with several pigs trailing behind them down Barker Street. Though it had been executed by people of the lower class, all knew it had been done at the manipulation of the aristocracy.

  “You worry for naught, I have had no further dealings with Mr. Tremayne. Now, will you spend the night? I think Nicolas wishes to impress you with his newly acquired acrobatic skills.”

  Simon sighed, clearly reluctant to cease his line of discourse. He raked his fingers through his hair, mussing the dark strands. The bluest of eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I’d planned to visit for a couple days. I am taking a jaunt into the village.”

  She paused in the act of pouring a cup of tea. “To visit Sir Robert Penwittle, perhaps, and his daughter?”

  Her brother scowled, and she grinned. “I, too, can be interfering. Did you think it escaped my notice you find some silly excuse to ensure your path crosses with Sir Robert’s daughter whenever you visit?”

  He gave her a black scowl before polishing off the rest of his tea in a long swallow.

  “The squire and I have business. That is all there is to it. I’ll be back in time for luncheon.” He prowled over and brushed a kiss against her cheek then departed.

  Georgiana wasted no time hurrying to the library. She was considering a hefty investment into steam canals, and she needed to review the information her banker had sent and see to her mountain of correspondence.

  A couple hours later, a knock sounded on the door of the library. She replaced the packet of invitations she was wading through. “Yes?”

  The door opened. “Pardon me, Your Grace,” Miss Williams said, hovering in the doorway of the library.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s His Grace…I have not been able to locate him for the last thirty minutes or so.”

  With a frown, Georgiana glanced at the pocket watch placed across her desk. It was almost time for luncheon. She had broken her fast with her son earlier, and then they had spent an hour together as their wont, strolling across the lawns of the estate with their dogs. Then he had been delivered to the schoolroom for his lessons.

  “Perhaps he is hiding in the pantry again,” she said with a smile, pushing from the desk. Quickly organizing the sheaf of papers into a tidy pile, she pushed the financial reports into the folder. She needed to have a stern talk with her son about tormenting his tutors and nursemaid. Nicolas would oftentimes slip from the schoolroom as quick and silent as a wraith and elude his lessons for hours. He enjoyed playing outdoors, climbing, and running more than the schoolroom. Only at her calls would he reveal his hiding place, all the while chortling as if they played a grand game.

  Exactly an hour later, according to the timepiece, her son was still nowhere to be found. She strolled through the echoing empty entrance hall at an unhurried pace, her mind pulled in several frightful directions.

  “Please abandon all duties and help me find my son. Nicolas has never remained hidden for so long before, and I am concerned,” Georgiana said to the dozens of servants gathered in the prodigious hallway. “We need to search every room, the lawns and gazebos, the conservatory, and all the gardens.”

  A series of agreements filled the air, and then the footmen, maids, and even the butler dispersed. She felt slightly better knowing more than one hundred servants were searching for him.

  She turned to the nursemaid who hovered with perceptible uneasiness.

  “Please inform me again, where was the last place you saw my son?”

  “The little duke was feeling a bit restless during his lessons, so I took him for a stroll. We were in the eastern gardens, and I rested only for a minute on the stone bench. When I called for him, there was no answer. I started searching, believing he was playing a game of hide-and-seek,” Williams said, her voice wobbling and her eyes filling with tears. “It’s been a little over two hours, Your Grace.”

  A cold foreboding permeated her entire body, and Georgiana was suddenly consumed with a sense of overwhelming urgency. She hurried to the library and scribbled a note to her brother. Then she took it to a footman and ordered for her letter to be delivered with all hast
e.

  She donned her bonnet and slipped her feet into more comfortable walking shoes, calling for Calliope and Barnaby, and started to search for her son. If he were truly hiding still, he would not be able to resist the yelps and howls of his dogs.

  As she was about to exit the manor, Gibbs hurried toward her, panting from his frantic pace. “Your Grace, Rogers, the head gardener, reported he had seen an unfamiliar man lurking near the gazebo by the lake. Rogers had simply thought him a new hire and had not queried his presence at Meadowbrook Park.”

  Georgiana knew a sudden, bone-chilling fear. “Summon the magistrates at once, and I must speak with Rogers.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” he said and scurried away.

  Quelling the shiver of apprehension that scythed through her heart, she ran down the steps, the massive dogs at her heels, a protective comfort. Another hour rushed by, and Georgiana stood by the lake, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. The wind gusted, tangling her skirt around her legs, and she placed a hand atop her bonnet to keep it in place. The sense of anxious dread grew stronger. Something dreadful had happened to her son.

  Chapter Seven

  The ticking of the clock seemed inordinately loud. Georgiana fiddled with her teacup. Several hours after her son had gone missing, her brother had managed to fetch the magistrate. Simon had used their influence, and several Bow Street runners had arrived with him to Meadowbrook Park, although they had no obligation to assist anyone in need outside of the greater London area.

  Somehow, she had taken a bath and dressed in an icy-blue gown and had allowed her lady’s maid to arrange her hair in a loose chignon, with a few tendrils escaping to brush against her cheek and neck. There was no doubt she appeared calm and serene to the magistrate, so very different from the creature who had roamed the lawns and hidden crevices of the vast estate, screaming her son’s name.

  She fought the suffocating dread of utter hopelessness. Oh, Nicolas, my darling. I’ll find you… Somehow, I’ll find you.

  A throat cleared, and she lifted her eyes from her tea.

  “Your Grace,” Sir Edward Blaine, the magistrate began. “Is it possible your son…ran away?”

  She blinked. “He is a child of six years.”

  He flushed. “These are standard questions, Your Grace.”

  “My son…my son has not run away. He is not hiding on the estate. Even as we speak, almost all the servants are out searching for him, here and in the nearby villages. He is not in the house. He…he…he must have been taken,” she said, gripping her teacup so tightly it was a miracle it did not shatter.

  Compassion warmed his eyes. “Let me assure you, Your Grace, dozens of volunteers from the village are working with the servants to locate him.”

  “Thank you.”

  He nodded. “Do you have any enemies?”

  Simon stirred from where he had stood frozen in front of the windows facing the great lawns of the estates. “She has no enemies,” he said.

  The magistrate nodded, but still pinned her with a stare that demanded an answer.

  “I do not.”

  He scribbled in his book, and she wanted to snatch it from his hands and read what he thought was noteworthy in her answer.

  “Have you made any recent acquaintances? Anyone suspicious?”

  She stilled, a prickle of doubt and disbelief scything though her heart. “I’ve made several recent connections, but none were suspicious.”

  “Are you able to provide me a list?”

  She set the teacup and saucer down with a rattle. “I can. Most are lords and ladies from London society and have had no contact with Nicolas. I cannot see how they would benefit from taking him.”

  “And do you know of someone who would benefit?”

  Simon strolled over to rest a hand on her shoulder. She desperately wanted to lean into his comforting presence, but forced herself to sit spine stiff and straight.

  Simon replied, “The late duke had a younger brother, Lord James Rutherford. He is Nicolas’s uncle…and the man with the most to gain if something ill befalls—”

  She surged to her feet, dislodging herself from Simon’s arm, and whirled to face him. “Do not say it!”

  Regret gleamed in his gaze, but there was also knowledge in his eyes she hated to see. It filled her with fear and rage. “What do you know?” she breathed.

  His lips flattened. “Little of value. When I know more, I will inform you.”

  “Don’t you dare, Simon. If this is in relation to Nicolas, I demand to know,” she insisted.

  The magistrate stood, his beady eyes bouncing between them. “I believe whatever knowledge you may have will be of aid in my investigation, as well.”

  “I doubt it,” Simon said coolly. “You do your part, and I will do mine. If our paths collide, then so be it.”

  She laced her fingers tightly together in front of her. “Tell Sir Edward what you have learned, Simon.”

  A few seconds ticked by before he spoke. “Lord James is in enormous debt.”

  Sir Edward reopened his leather notebook. “And you discovered this when?”

  “Just a couple hours past. When I got word of my nephew’s disappearance, I immediately reached out to…certain connections to glean some information.”

  Rhys. Her heart lurched. If the information had come from his quarter, there could not be any doubt of Lord James’s precarious financial state. Her late husband’s brother had always been amiable, if a bit too cheerful. The few times he’d visited, he’d always brought a present for Nicolas, but otherwise had seemed disinterested in his nephew. The very idea that he would orchestrate her son’s disappearance was outrageous.

  “And who did you turn to that could uncover such information in such a short time?” the magistrate demanded, his voice rife with suspicion.

  “That is hardly your concern. Just know I trust in his source information, and you should leave no stone unturned as you search for the young duke.”

  The magistrate shifted his regard to her. “Have there been any demands for money?”

  “No.”

  He nodded. “If Your Grace will permit the intrusion, I will leave a few men here in the event a note is delivered. My constable will inform me posthaste. I will return to London and start my investigation. I will begin with Lord James.”

  “Yes, and thank you. I will provide a carriage to ensure your speedy return to town.”

  He bowed. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  A few seconds later, Simon escorted the men outside. Georgiana’s thoughts tumbled over each other in frantic haste. Was it possible for Lord James to act with such rank disregard of his own nephew? The last time they had seen him was the previous year. He sent the occasional letter inviting her and Nicolas to his estate in Cornwall, but she had always declined.

  The door closed and she glanced up. “If Lord James is in debt, why would he not approach me for a loan? How is taking Nicolas a viable plan? I am the one in control of his trust until he is of age.”

  Simon faltered, an unknown emotion flaring to life in the depths of his eyes before he lowered his lashes.

  “What is it?” she asked, almost afraid for Simon to voice whatever terrible thought he had.

  He expelled a soft breath. “His debt is in many thousands, Georgie. Here and abroad.”

  “And?”

  “Lord James needs to access money only the dukedom can provide.”

  She wanted to scream, to cry out her terror as Simon’s meaning became clear. The fear striking at her heart was overwhelming. “You mean…you believe he may have my…my Nicolas killed?” Georgiana asked through bloodless lips.

  “It is possible.”

  “Rhys gave you this information that Lord James is heavily in debt?”

  Her brother frowned at the intimate use of Rhys’s name but wisely refrained from commenting. “The instant I got your message, I prevailed upon him for the information. We haggled, and I got this information within a few hours.”

&nb
sp; She closed her eyes. “Did…did you tell him?”

  “No. I simply asked for the secrets of Lord James.”

  She pressed a closed fist to her stomach. “I need… Take me to him,” she said hoarsely.

  Simon frowned. “Who? Lord James would have hired underlings to do his dirty deed to cover—”

  “I am speaking of Rhys Tremayne. Take me to him. If Nicolas was taken…taken with such nefarious intention, he could unearth this information, yes?”

  “Georgiana, please, let me handle this.”

  “No. I need to see him myself.”

  “Not bloody likely,” he snapped. “I will find Rhys’s weakness and offer him the right deal for the work he will do.”

  “Take me to him, or I will go alone, shouting in the streets of London until I am face-to-face with him.”

  “You cannot be seen at Mr. Tremyane’s house. You are the duchess—”

  “Do you expect me to worry about propriety when my son is missing?” she snarled, fury filling her. “When my son may be the victim of a covetous murder plot?”

  Simon scrubbed a hand over his face. “No, and that is why I am doing the thinking for you. Let me travel to Mr. Tremayne and broker our new arrangement.”

  She wanted to cast up her accounts to hear her son’s fate being spoken of so heartlessly, her pain and despair rendered to a simple cold, businesslike transaction. She walked away from him, exiting the drawing room and issuing commands to the few hovering servants. Ignoring Simon’s virulent curses, she ran up the stairs to her chamber. Her lady’s maid entered a few seconds behind and aided Georgiana into her traveling dress, a dark-green redingote, and a matching bonnet.

  The door to her chambers was shoved opened, but she ignored her scowling brother and hurried past him. He was on her heels down the stairs.

  “I can see you are determined to be reckless. I understand your fear, Georgie—”

  At the bottom of the stairs, she rounded on him. “I know you love Nicolas, Simon, but it is impossible for you to know my fear and my torment. I…I am su…supposed to protect him,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’ll not sit idly by. So, if you know where Rhys is, take me to him now, and cease worrying about my sensibilities and position in society when my son’s life is threatened.”