A Diamond for a Duke : Book 4: Camellia: Clean Regency Romance (A Duke's Daughters - The Elbury Bouquet)

by Arietta Richmond

  “This was tucked into Georgette’s hand by an urchin who ran off immediately, as we walked along the street when Blackwater took us to a bookshop, some days ago. Of course, with such an amount demanded, we had no way to pay it. That…” she waved towards the Daily Tattler, which Camellia had deposited on the couch beside her, “appears to be the beginning of the blackmailer’s response to us not having paid.”

  Camellia felt suddenly ill. If that was the beginning, what more might this unscrupulous person do? And they still did not know why it was happening, or have the slightest clue which might lead to the perpetrator.

  Lady Georgette sniffed, and gave Camellia a wan smile.

  “How can we possibly go to this Ball tonight, after that?”

  Camellia looked at her sternly.

  “But you absolutely must go. If you do not, everyone will whisper more – and what would you tell Blackwater? You must go, and pretend that you have not seen that nasty piece of drivel, that you have perfect confidence – doing so will make people doubt the gossip. And I will help.”

  “How can you help?”

  “By making sure that you are surrounded by important people, who treat you as close friends. That will make the gossips doubt what they have heard, or at least whisper more quietly. And – might I take that note with me? I have enlisted the aid of my brother-in-law, who does some… inconspicuous… work for the Crown, and seeing the handwriting may help us to find the blackmailer.”

  Lady Marie nodded.

  “I, for one, will be very glad if I never see that note, or that handwriting, ever again.”

  Camellia folded the note, and tucked it into her reticule. This was deeply worrying, and she was almost certain that, really, they should tell Blackwater about it. But she suspected that the girls would still refuse to do so. Still, she had to ask again…

  “Surely, now that this has happened, we should tell your brother?”

  “Absolutely not. Even more so now. I am so ashamed that, somehow, we seem to have made all of this worse, just by existing. I do not wish to lay that burden on him.”

  Camellia, bowed her head, allowing them their way, but more worried than ever.

  <<<>>>

  Damien tossed his hat to Dobson, and turned towards the stairs. And stopped. Lady Camellia Gardenbrook was descending, looking more beautiful than ever. She quite took his breath away. Her brow was creased with a small frown, and he felt the most ridiculous urge to wipe it away, to deal with whatever had caused it, so that she need never frown again.

  Annoyed with himself, he straightened his spine, shoved the paper which a grubby urchin had pushed into his hand as he approached his own front steps deep into his pocket, and stepped forward to greet her, as she reached the hall floor. To one side, a footman rose from a chair, and went to stand near her. At least she was well guarded, he thought wryly.

  “Good day to you, Lady Camellia. I trust that you are well – have you been taking tea with my sisters?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. They are nervous about this evening, but I have reassured them that all will be well.”

  “Thank you. I won’t keep you – you must have preparations to arrange yourself.”

  Not, he thought, that she need do anything to look beautiful, but undoubtedly, she would spend hours preparing for the Ball. That alluring scent she wore drifted to him as he stood there, and for a moment, he felt dizzy.

  He took a step back, bowed, and left her there rather abruptly, going up the stairs towards his study. The woman disconcerted him so!

  And he had been worried enough, off balance enough, before seeing her. Today, he had been to White’s, as part of his careful reintegration into society, and had been deeply alarmed by the gossip. A few of the chaps he had known since his school days had spoken to him quietly, and one had shown him a most alarming snippet in that damned Daily Tattler. He did not understand why anyone persisted with the gossip, so long after the revelation at the Will reading.

  But persist they did.

  If anything, it seemed to have become worse.

  Had his sisters heard any of it? He did not know, but the idea that they might have grated. He was supposed to protect them, and, instead, it seemed that his very emergence into society had triggered gossip which might destroy their chances at making good matches.

  If he could work out why it persisted, or discover the source of the ongoing whispers, he would seek that person or persons out, and deal with them in a summary, and very unpleasant – for them – fashion. But the fact that he did not know where to start looking left him unable to act, and thoroughly out of sorts.

  In his study, he dropped into his favourite chair, intending to review the books which his man of business had sent over, before preparing for the Ball. As he sat, an odd sound occurred, and he started, standing again, and examining the chair. Nothing. Then he remembered, and reached into his pocket, pulling out the crushed paper that the urchin had thrust at him.

  He sat again, and smoothed the paper flat on the surface of his desk. It was good quality paper, sealed with plain red wax, which was now cracked from being sat on, and addressed to him – just ‘Blackwater’ – in a spidery hand. He broke the seal completely, and unfolded the missive.

  ‘Perhaps you are the sensible one of the family, and will do what is good for you, and your sisters. Unless you wish to see their reputations utterly ruined, you will ensure that I receive payment by Monday evening. What has happened so far is merely a sample of the gentlest of the actions I might take, to encourage you to compliance. Deliver one thousand pounds, in notes, wrapped well in oilcloth and sealed, and tied with a burgundy ribbon, to Mr Tanner, at the Perfection Pawnbrokers shop, with the message ‘the past will be paid for by the present’. If you do not, I will be forced to take harsher action.’

  Damien stared at it, shocked. Blackmail. So, that explained the gossip, and its persistence. But… why? Who might hate him, and his sisters, enough to do this? And what did they stand to gain, apart from money? Surely, amongst the ton, there were easier targets, with larger scandals in their lives?

  The anger rose within him, like bitter gall, that, near two years after his death, his father’s betrayal still reached out to harm them. The very idea of paying the scoundrel who spread such malicious untruths was abhorrent – yet what else could he do? He could not expose his sisters to worse than they had already suffered.

  He crumpled the note in his hand a moment, then thrust it into his desk drawer. He would do as he always did when he needed to dissipate the anger – he would go to the salon set aside for it, take the swords from the wall, and lose himself in the patterns, and the physical effort. Perhaps after that, he would have a clearer idea of what to do next.

  <<<>>>

  Mr Bellditch, of Bellditch and Harper, Solicitors, looked at the book which his clerk had just handed him.

  “Where did you find this, Waters?”

  “In the bottom drawer of my desk, Mr Bellditch. I must assume that Mr Jonas left it there, when he left your employ.”

  “I see. Thank you. Please check that there are no other unexpected items in the desk and your cupboard. That will be all for now.”

  Waters gave a small bow, and left the room, leaving Mr Bellditch staring at the ledger on his desk as if it might transform into a spider and bite him. It should not exist – should never have existed. But it did, and he had best examine it with great care before he next saw the Duke of Blackwater.

  He opened the book, and began to read, noting that the first entries were from more than twenty-two years ago, which made him pause, and do some mental calculations. Two hours later, he was still not entirely certain why the ledger, and the payments it recorded, existed, but he knew one thing for certain.

  Every single month, since one particular November, twenty-two years ago, until her death just over a year past, the Duchess of Blackwater had sent the amount of 250 pounds to the same bank account. The account was listed as belonging to P.D. But, in just on
e entry, early in the book, that was expanded to Lady P. Danby.

  There was no detail to explain what the payments were for – just meticulous entries in old Jonas’ hand, on the first day of every month.

  Mr Bellditch had no idea who Lady P. Danby was, but he was certain that he needed to find out.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Trent Weatherton, Marquess of Canterford, spread the crumpled piece of paper out on his desk.

  “This is written in the same hand as the first note you told me about? You are sure?”

  “Yes, quite sure. Have you seen it before, perchance?”

  “Unfortunately, no – that would have helped, but no, I do not recognise it. But this Pawnbroker’s shop – that is at least a lead which I can set some men to investigate. We will get to the bottom of this, I promise you – and in the meantime, Lily and I will be glad to help you make the Falton sisters appear the darlings of society. You are, Camellia, as always, kind beyond any requirement. This year, with your older sisters married, it is your chance to shine, to be acclaimed as a diamond of the first water, and be the focus of every eye – and instead, you are doing your best to give others a chance to stand in that position.”

  Camellia felt herself blush, and looked down.

  “How could I do anything else? They have suffered so much in the past two years, and now this….”

  “It is most puzzling. But blackmail does not occur without reason, and just the acquisition of funds is rarely that. Usually, there is some driving force behind it, some belief on the part of the blackmailer that the blackmailed person or persons deserve it, or need to be punished, or owe them something. Which means that, generally, there has been some association between the blackmailed and the blackmailer, somewhere in their past, even if the person being blackmailed is not aware of it. In this case, that is what we must seek to discover, even as I investigate this pawnbroker’s, for if we can identify anyone with a possible motive, that will help immeasurably.”

  “I will think on it, but I admit – we have already thought, for the first question in all of our minds was ‘why?’. And there is no answer that we can think of. Perhaps it is something to do with Blackwater himself, or even his parents, things which happened before his father’s death, possibly?”

  “It certainly could be. Do let me know if you, or the sisters, think of anything, however small, which might be relevant.”

  “I will, and thank you again.”

  <<<>>>

  Damien watched the man opposite him, as he settled into the seat in the carriage, dropping his newly delivered sword cane onto the seat beside him. It was, as he had expected a work of art. Green eyes met his. Yet again, that odd frisson ran through him, at the sight of the face so similar to his own.

  One day, he supposed, he would get used to it.

  “I will admit, Your Grace, to being unaccountably nervous at this point.”

  Damien laughed.

  “Don’t be. Old Bellditch is a good sort, he’s been dealing with my family’s business for near thirty years, and I’ve never seen him anything but calm and steady. Although… I am rather hoping that the sight of your face might actually shake him.”

  Thomas smiled wryly, and gave a small seated bow.

  “Then I will aim to please, and ensure your entertainment.”

  Damien laughed again, surprised at how comfortable he felt in the presence of his half-brother. It was odd, coming to terms with the idea, and yet, on the whole, he found himself rather pleased. And deeply curious. Today, he would discover what was in that damned sealed bequest, which held his father’s final gift to the son he had ignored from birth. They settled into amicable silence as the carriage bore them across London to the offices of Bellditch and Harper, Thomas watching the city pass by outside the window. Damien wondered what it would be like, to be a man of twenty-two, yet not have ever ridden in a carriage of this quality, nor perhaps have ever been more than a mile or two from the Bentick and Black shop. It was almost inconceivable, and the gulf between his life and Thomas’ yawned wide in his mind in that moment.

  Eventually, they drew up before the solid and unassuming building. Once they stepped down, Damien led the way up the stairs, and rapped the door knocker. The door was opened by a clerk he had never seen before – a young man, who took his calling card, wide eyed, and showed them in deferentially.

  He supposed that meant that old Jonas had retired.

  They stepped into Mr Bellditch’s office, and the man came forward, smiling – then froze in place as Damien stepped a little to one side, allowing him to see Mr Thomas Black in full light. The expression was everything that Damien could have hoped for, and more. For a moment, he even worried that Bellditch would suffer some form of apoplexy from the shock, and collapse. But he did not. He swallowed, hard, and almost forcibly set his face back into his best business-like smile.

  Damien burst out laughing, and Bellditch looked at him, almost offended.

  “I am sorry, Bellditch, I know it’s quite a shock the first time. May I introduce my illegitimate half-brother, Mr Thomas Black? Here is the man who has caused us all such a puzzle, for this last eighteen months. Thomas, this is Mr Bellditch – a more talented man-of-business you will not find anywhere.”

  “Aah… yes, Your Grace. Mr Black, I am delighted that we have finally found you, and I can at last discharge my duty to the old Duke, by delivering his bequest to you. And it certainly was a shock to see your face, but it leaves me with no doubt that you are the old Duke’s son, none whatsoever. Why there is a portrait of him – at Blackwater Chase, I believe – which could as easily have been painted of you. And your eyes… there is no doubt. But I am remiss, please be seated, I have sent for some tea.”

  “Thank you, Mr Bellditch. His Grace warned me that you might react that way to my appearance. And can I say that, now that I am here, curiosity eats at me, to discover what my father may have bequeathed to me, when he had chosen not to be any part of my life. That he left me anything at all seems improbable.”

  The clerk arrived with the tea, and for a few moments, they were silent, as the tea was served. Then, setting down his cup, Mr Bellditch went to the cupboard behind his desk, and opened it to reveal a safe. He opened it, and withdrew a large flat object – paper, folded to wrap other papers, and sealed.

  The paper was yellowed, and the seal was undoubtedly his father’s – Damien recognised the black wax, and the imprint of the signet ring which now graced his own finger.

  Ceremoniously, Mr Bellditch broke the seal, allowing the crumbling wax to fall unregarded onto his desk. He unfolded the outer wrapping sheet, and lifted forth two closely written pages – which appeared, from what Damien could see, to be written in his father’s hand. He held them up before him, adjusted the brass pince-nez on his nose, and began to read.

  “I, George Falton, Duke of Blackwater, upon the occasion of my death, bequeath the following items to the illegitimate child of my body, known as Thomas Black, born of my liaison with Lady Augusta Danby.

  An amount of ten thousand pounds per year, from the account held at the Charter Bank in his name, which has been established with my instructions on its management.

  The house at 11 Swallow Street, near Piccadilly, and all of its contents.

  The cottage and land at Highden Wood Old Abbey, near Guildford, its contents, the income from the two tenant farmers, and the livestock and carriages etc kept there.

  Beyond that, all I can bequeath to you, my son, is my apology for my absence from your life.

  I did what my wife asked, not what I wanted, and I have regretted that, at least in part, every day since.

  May you forgive me.”

  There was stark silence in the room.

  Neither of those properties were ones that Damien had ever heard of – he had not known that his father owned them.

  Thomas looked completely stunned. He lifted his tea cup, almost absently, and sipped, as if needing to do something to steady himself.
/>   “I… I never expected… so much…”

  “I never knew that our father owned any of that. Did you know of them, Bellditch?”

  “I… am not sure. It is possible that the deeds for the properties are simply tucked away with all of the other deeds for your estates, and that I have assumed that they were also listed in the register of your assets which we hold. I will need to investigate. Your father was, on the whole, very organised about such things.”

  “I will agree with that.”

  “The details of the bank account, from which you will be paid the annuity, Mr Black, are on the second sheet contained here. I am happy to assist you in dealing with the bank, to set things in motion for them to release funds to you. Likely two years funds, given the time since your father’s death.”

  “Mr Bellditch, are you suggesting that I will have funds to the extent of twenty thousand pounds available to me, immediately? That is a sum beyond my imaginings. I… don’t know quite what to say.”

  Damien looked at his half-brother, thinking, the words of his father’s bequest rolling through his mind. He heard them in his father’s voice, as if the man stood before him, alive again.

  It was, he realised, the first thing, of all that his father had done, had set in motion, throughout the tangle which had led them here, which was all for the good, rather than a betrayal.

  Within him, at that thought, something cold and hard, which had filled that space since the day of the Will reading, warmed a little, and eased the sharp bitter ache which had rested there so long.

  “Thomas, there will be time for words later – but know that I am glad that my father did this. I have enough, and more than enough – rest assured that I do not begrudge you this – just in case that thought had worried you.”

  Two pairs of bright green eyes met, and something passed between them, some bond was forged, which Damien did not understand, but welcomed nonetheless.

  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  “Oh, do stop that. As my brother, when we are private, please call me Damien, or Blackwater, if that is too far a stretch for now. Mr Bellditch, might I suggest that we allow Mr Black to return to his shop and home now, to adjust to the news, and that he returns to see you, two days hence, by which time, hopefully, you will have located the deeds to the properties, and can proceed to assist him with the process of taking possession of them?”