by Karen Ranney
He preferred the congestion of the London streets to this room.
After Suzanne sat at the end of one of the uncomfortable-looking sofas he took up a position in one of the wing chairs opposite. Neither he nor Suzanne said a word. Even conversation was choked to death in this parlor.
Thankfully, they didn’t have long to wait until the duke’s secretary made his appearance.
Sankara Bora was a tall, stick figure of a man, with an elongated neck and a prominent Adam’s apple. His hawk-like nose looked as if it had been stretched to match the length of his face. His large mouth, now smiling, was his only softening feature. Even his brown eyes were hard, like clods of earth in a drought.
“Sankara,” Suzanne said, smiling. “Thank you for seeing us.”
“On the contrary, Your Grace. Thank you for coming to see me. I have few visitors these days and none who bring me memories of happier times.”
“I would like you to meet a friend of mine. Adam is from the War Office, and he has some questions about George.”
Her words surprised him, but they shouldn’t have. She wouldn’t have continued with his masquerade, although he wasn’t quite ready to give it up. They needed Sankara, however, and perhaps the best way to approach him was with directness and honesty.
The two men sat in the matching wing chairs opposite Suzanne.
“You are the majordomo at Marsley House,” Sankara finally said. “Or you have pretended to be.”
Again, Adam shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was.
“You have friends on the staff,” he said.
Sankara nodded. “I bring Mrs. Thigpen some spices for her cook from time to time as well.”
He couldn’t remember having seen such a distinctive man before. When he said as much, Sankara smiled once more.
“I have found that it is better to be unnoticed than it is to be singled out.”
The secretary struck him as the type of man who would avoid a direct answer and use words as a wall. Therefore, Adam used a frontal attack.
“I was the majordomo,” he said. “I was placed there by people who believed that the Duke of Marsley acted contrary to England’s interests when he was in India. Do you have any knowledge of that?”
“You have come here to prove that the duke has done such a thing?” Sankara asked, looking at Suzanne.
“On the contrary,” she said. “I’ve come to have you help me prove George was not a traitor.”
They were silenced by the arrival of a maid carrying a heavily laden tray. Adam wanted answers, not tea, but he buried his impatience after Suzanne’s quick look. Refusing Sankara’s offer of refreshments would be an insult.
There were more rules on how to treat people socially than all the regulations in the army.
After Suzanne had been served, he accepted the cup of tea as well as two sugary biscuits. They would have to suffice for breakfast and maybe lunch if he couldn’t speed this meeting along.
For a few minutes, Suzanne and Sankara discussed matters of mutual interest: the cook’s new curry recipe, Mrs. Thigpen’s interest in the stable master at Fairhaven, the contents of the kitchen garden. Adam ate another two biscuits, drank the tea that smelled and tasted of citrus and cinnamon, and listened to them talk.
Finally, during a lull in their conversation, he turned to the former secretary. “I believe that the duke gave information to the rebels about Manipora,” he said. If he didn’t get to the heart of the matter, they would be here all day, being polite and oh, so proper.
“Who has given you this information?” Sankara asked.
He was violating all sorts of rules and had, ever since yesterday. But seeing Hackney in Roger’s office had also alerted him that he might have gotten everything wrong.
“An undersecretary at the War Office,” he said. “His name is Roger Mount. He says that the Duke was a traitor and the information is in a journal that the duke kept.”
Sankara didn’t say anything for a long moment. “You have looked for this journal?”
Adam nodded. He decided to tell the other man the truth. “I’m not the only one,” he said. “I believe there’s another operative at Marsley House, someone who injured the duchess the other night.”
He sent a quick glance to Suzanne, hoping she understood why he hadn’t mentioned his suspicions to her earlier.
She gave him a look that made him certain they were going to discuss this omission later.
“I have seen his journals,” Sankara said. “Before the duke’s death, he required me to write in them.” He gave Suzanne an apologetic look. “Forgive me, Your Grace, for speaking of such personal things, but the duke was not well.”
“In what way?” Suzanne asked, sounding surprised. “He never mentioned his ill health to me, Sankara.”
“This I can understand,” the secretary said. “His Grace was a proud man, but his vision was not what it had been. He was finding it difficult to read.”
Adam exchanged a glance with Sankara. If the duke had been as much of a lecher as he’d written about for years, it was entirely possible he had been suffering from the end stages of syphilis. Adam knew the signs only because some men in his regiment had been unwise in their choice of partners.
“An aadmi came to see the duke not long before his death.”
“I don’t know what that means, Sankara,” Suzanne said.
“A man,” Adam translated.
“You speak Hindi?” Sankara asked.
He nodded. “I lived in India for a number of years. It’s a fascinating country.”
“That it is. Almost as intriguing as your England. And Scotland, if I do not mistake your accent.”
Adam inclined his head.
“You say a man,” Adam said. “Who was he?”
“A soldier. One from a native regiment that reported to His Grace.”
A Sepoy, in other words. Nearly eighty percent of the Sepoys had participated in the rebellion of 1857. Those who hadn’t had proved invaluable to understanding what had started the open resistance to British rule.
Had the one who’d visited the duke also come bearing information?
Sankara was a man comfortable with formalities. Being direct with him hadn’t helped. Adam had a feeling they would continue to circle the issue until the man felt more at ease. Either that, or he needed something to cut through to Sankara, some knowledge that would jolt the man. It was entirely possible that the secretary had been privy to the duke’s secrets. Whether he would reveal any of them was the question.
“I lost my wife at Manipora,” Adam said. It was a story he didn’t often tell, yet here he was divulging it again.
The secretary looked at him, his eyes intent.
“You have my deepest condolences, Mr. Drummond. Is it vengeance you seek?”
“In a sense,” Adam said, giving the other man the truth. “I want the person who betrayed us punished.”
“Vengeance does not restore our loved ones to us, however.”
“No, it doesn’t. But perhaps it allows those of us left behind a little peace, knowing that justice has been served.”
Sankara contemplated the contents of his teacup. Adam bit back his irritation.
“I can understand why you would want to protect his memory, Sankara,” Suzanne said. “Especially if he was guilty of such a terrible deed. But if he was not, if he is innocent, will you help me prove that?”
“Silence is a shroud we should wrap around our heroes,” Sankara said.
Adam could feel his temper ratchet up a few notches. Hero? What the hell had the Duke of Marsley ever done to deserve that label?
“Not if it conceals the truth,” Suzanne said. “What is the truth, Sankara?”
He lifted his eyes and exchanged a glance with Suzanne. “You do not know what you are asking me, Your Grace. I was the duke’s faithful servant. I was his confidant, if you wish.”
“I don’t care about his women, Sankara. If you think to keep that knowledge from me, then you�
��re too late. I know and I’ve always known.”
“And I don’t care about his personal life,” Adam said. “All I care about is whether he betrayed us. Did he?”
He and Sankara exchanged a long look.
“If I give you proof of his innocence, will you use it to ensure His Grace isn’t portrayed as a traitor?”
“If it’s really proof,” Adam said.
The secretary abruptly stood and left the room. He and Suzanne glanced at each other. What proof was Sankara going to bring them?
Chapter Forty
“Do you think he’s coming back?” Suzanne asked.
She hoped Sankara was, for Adam’s sake. He looked as if he wanted to pummel the absent secretary.
She couldn’t blame him. Were she Adam, she’d probably feel the same way. If the person who was responsible for the bridge’s collapse was before her now, she doubted if she would be understanding. Instead, she’d want some kind of justice for Georgie.
The problem was that she honestly didn’t believe George had been a traitor. From what he said, nothing else in his life had meant as much to him as his position in the army. He loved his medals and being able to inspect the troops. He loved being thought of as a general. She assumed it was because he hadn’t done anything to be the Duke of Marsley. Being awarded a position of leadership had required that he convince others he was worthy of the honor.
It was the one thing he’d done on his own.
Granted, he might have been as inept at command as he had been other things. But a traitor? He was related, albeit by some distance, to the Queen. The relationship mattered to him and she couldn’t see him betraying the crown.
However, Sankara’s reluctance bothered her.
Who decreed that nothing bad should ever be said about the dead? Was it just one of those rules in society that everyone agreed to obey? The minute you died a halo surrounded you or, as Sankara said, a shroud of silence.
She would hate if George’s honor was tainted and his reputation suffered, but if he was guilty of what Adam believed, then it would be the price he needed to pay for his treason even posthumously.
Standing, she smoothed down her skirt. She’d worn her at-home hoop only the day before, and the dress was one of her favorites with lace on the shoulders and down the bodice. Still, she was in no condition to be calling on anyone.
She’d worked diligently on her hair using Adam’s military brushes, but she’d been missing a few of her pins and the style was more casual than she normally wore.
Nor was she going to think about the fact that her lips still looked swollen and there was a pink spot on her chin—a mark from Adam’s night beard.
What had Sankara thought of her appearance? The secretary had always been a proper individual and it was quite obvious that she hadn’t been all that proper recently. Surely she should be feeling more ashamed of her behavior? At the very least she should be chastising herself.
How very odd that she wasn’t.
In fact, and it was a confession that she didn’t feel comfortable saying aloud, she didn’t want to return to Marsley House all that much. The house had become a prison of sorts. While she was within it, she was expected to act in a certain way, to be a certain person. She couldn’t be the Suzanne of her youth, but must always be the Duchess of Marsley.
“I never wanted to be a duchess,” she said, moving to the window.
The room was quite oppressive and all these ferns in front of the glass blocked the view.
She hadn’t meant to say that, but now that she had, she turned and faced Adam.
“My father was all for having a title in the family. What was a great deal of wealth, after all, if you couldn’t buy your way into the peerage?”
He didn’t say anything, but his look wasn’t condemnatory. Instead, she saw warmth in his eyes, the same look he’d had this morning in his bed. She smiled at him, suddenly absurdly happy despite the seriousness of their errand.
“The Whitcombs were on the edge of poverty. They had an ancient family name. They had enormous credit, which they used to live on. By the time George came around, the credit was used up and the money was gone. So my father bought me a duke and George got a fortune in return.”
Adam still hadn’t said anything.
“It’s the way of the world, I was told. The law of supply and demand. There aren’t that many dukes, all in all. They cost a pretty penny. I don’t know how much my father paid George, but it was evidently enough.”
“Do you think it was worth it for him?”
“For my father or for George?” she asked.
“Either or both,” he said, smiling.
“I don’t think George cared all that much. I think he was content enough to have his second cousin assume the title at his death. When Georgie came along, everything changed. He was devoted to Georgie. As for my father, his investment hasn’t ended. George might be dead, but he still has a duchess for a daughter. I’m a commodity he trots out whenever he can. I think he was annoyed the first year of my mourning because he couldn’t present me at his dinner parties and gatherings. It would’ve shocked society. But it’s been two years now and he’s all for getting me out of black and parading me around.” She shook her head.
“What if you had fallen in love?” Adam asked. “Would he have allowed you to marry the man of your choice?”
“Only if the union could benefit him in some way.” She turned back to the window, fingering one of the fern leaves. “My father is desperate to be accepted,” she said. “I never realized that when I was a child. Or even when I married George. It was only in the last few years that I’ve become aware of it.”
He didn’t say anything in response. How tactful Adam could be at times.
“As for love, I don’t think I’m that brave.”
“Is love something you need courage for?”
She nodded. “I think that when you love someone, you also invite pain into your heart. You tell it to come in, but sit in the back, because it isn’t needed right now. Then one day, maybe sooner, maybe later, you summon it forward and you tell it, ‘It’s your turn.’”
“That doesn’t always happen, Suzanne,” he said.
“It has for the two of us.”
He stood and walked to her, grabbing one of her hands and holding it between his.
“That doesn’t mean it would happen again.”
“What about you, Adam? Are you ready to marry? To fall in love again?”
He didn’t get a chance to answer, because Sankara entered the room, hesitating at the doorway.
They turned to face him.
Suddenly, Suzanne felt a sense of dread that she had to keep swallowing down.
In his arms he cradled a large volume, one of the journals that George had used to chronicle his days. She’d never known why he had documented everything so assiduously, especially since some of his actions had not been especially laudable. She’d never read any of the journals, unwilling to be privy to his intimate thoughts, especially those dating from the years of their marriage. There were some things she didn’t need—or want—to know.
“I have guarded the duke’s secrets as if they were my own,” Sankara said. “Some of which are detailed here. Even more important, however, there is proof of his innocence.”
Adam strode toward him, but Sankara shook his head. Instead, he approached her and extended the journal with both hands.
“Your Grace, I know you to be an honorable woman. For the friendship and affection I held for His Grace, I beg you to read this with kindness. Do not fault him for his failings. He was, after all, no greater than the rest of us.”
She didn’t quite know what Sankara wanted from her, but she took the journal, and said, “He was my husband and Georgie’s father. For that alone, he gets my loyalty, Sankara. I will leave it up to God to judge George.”
He relinquished the book and stepped back, bowing slightly. “That is as much as I can expect, Your Grace.”
; “Why did you take it?” Adam asked.
“To protect George,” Suzanne said. “Did he have another mistress, Sankara?”
The secretary bowed his head before meeting her eyes. “And another child, Your Grace.”
Her stomach clenched. “What does that make? Eight?”
“I believe so, Your Grace.”
She wrapped her arms around the oversized journal, nodded to Sankara, and looked at Adam.
He startled her by addressing Sankara again.
“Did you speak to anyone at the War Office, Sankara?”
Sankara didn’t answer him, merely regarded Adam as if he’d suddenly sprouted a horn in the middle of his forehead.
“I was told that their informant was someone close to the duke, someone who was disturbed by learning of the duke’s treachery.”
“I know of no treachery, sir. His Grace was not a perfect man, but he was no traitor.”
Adam didn’t answer, only nodded once.
Soon enough, they said their thanks and their farewells, hopefully masking the fact that she was desperate to leave Sankara’s home as quickly as possible. Once they were in the carriage, she clutched George’s journal to her chest and sat back against the seat.
Reason enough, perhaps, to succumb to tears.
Chapter Forty-One
Adam decided that he could go for a very long time without seeing Suzanne in tears again. At least this time, he had not caused them. Or perhaps he had, by insisting that the Duke of Marsley was guilty of treason.
He pulled the journal from her grasp, placed it on the seat, and moved to sit beside her. Putting his arm around her, he encouraged her to place her head on his shoulder. When she finally did, he held her as she wept, thinking that he would rather face a hundred rebelling Sepoys than her tears.
Her crying affected him in an odd way. A cavernous space opened up in his chest, almost as if he had been shot. Right at the moment it was preferable to this.
