The Duke of Debt

by Kate Pearce

  “I feel much better,” Phoebe admitted. “Dr. Nash says I’m a medical marvel. He says he wants to speak to you and Alistair tomorrow about an experiment he wishes to perform.” She set the book down. “How was the dinner party?”

  Margaret grimaced. “Everyone was very nice—except for one lady who said she’d heard gossip that I worked in a mill.”

  “Who would know you well enough to spread that kind of rumor?” Phoebe asked.

  “Guess,” Margaret invited her.

  “Not Frederica?” Phoebe curled her lip. “What am I saying? Of course she would do that. Did you tell Alistair?”

  For the first time Margaret hesitated. “No, I—”

  “I’m not surprised. He still thinks the world of her, doesn’t he? I cannot understand it at all.” Phoebe reached for Margaret’s hand. “He was so in love with Frederica that Father deciding to marry her instead of him changed him immeasurably.”

  As Margaret didn’t wish to know what Alistair was like when he was in love with another woman, she said nothing.

  “I never liked her,” Phoebe confided. “She doesn’t like other women. We are all competition for her. She manipulated my father, she rarely let me see Alistair when he returned home, and she refused to allow me to attend your wedding.”

  “Well, we have you with us now,” Margaret said and squeezed her hand. “And we will take care of you until you are better, and then launch you into society where you will meet your future husband, fall in love, and live happily ever after.”

  “Just like you and Alistair.” Phoebe smiled and then yawned. “Please excuse me, I still get very tired.”

  “Then I will leave you in peace.” Margaret rose from the bed and turned toward the door. “Goodnight, Phoebe, sleep well.”

  Margaret went out into the corridor, her steps slowing as she recalled Phoebe’s words. Alistair didn’t love her, he loved Frederica. It was blindingly obvious, and yet it still hurt. She stopped walking. But when had she decided that he should love her? That hadn’t been part of the bargain she’d proposed at all. She’d offered him her money, and he had accepted it—that was it.

  It was stupid of her to expect more. Just because her feelings toward him had deepened, didn’t mean that his had to do the same. He treated her with great respect, she was fairly certain that he genuinely liked her, and he was an excellent lover. It was more than she had ever expected, and far more than many women ever achieved within a marriage.

  Margaret straightened her shoulders and started walking again. Her brother Adam would be appalled at her weakness and critical of her decision to accept the wrong bargain and then want to change it. She was no beauty like Lottie or Frederica, she had done very well for herself, and she had to crush her foolish, silly yearnings underfoot and accept her lot.

  Apart from a single candle left by the door, her bedchamber was in darkness. She took the candle, walked through into the dressing room, and managed to remove her clothing without needing any assistance. She could hear Alistair’s slight snoring as she went back through to the large four-poster bed and climbed in.

  He turned to her, wrapping her in his arms, and gave a very contented sigh. She lay still, staring into the darkness, breathing him in. If everything went to plan, they would soon be rid of the obnoxious Mr. Pritchard, and Alistair would never know that he had been threatened at all.

  Chapter 17

  Despite his best efforts, it appeared as if Bottomly had been warned that Alistair was looking for him and had gone to ground. Alistair wouldn’t stop searching for him, but he had begun to doubt he would succeed. He glanced over at his wife, who was reading through her morning correspondence. She’d been quiet since the dinner party. Beset by his own problems, he was guiltily aware that he hadn’t really made much effort to find out why.

  Alistair finished his breakfast just as Nash arrived. Knowing his friend’s appetite, he asked the butler to bring him into the breakfast room. Nash appeared with an unknown man carrying a large leather bag alongside him.

  “Good morning, your grace, duchess.” Nash pointed at the other man. “This is Mr. James Marsh. He works as a chemist at the Royal Arsenal in Woolwich. I asked him to come and help me today.”

  “Why?” Alistair offered both men a seat. “Are you planning on blowing something up?”

  “On the contrary.” Nash grinned as he helped himself to coffee and offered it to his companion. “Mr. Marsh has developed a very interesting testing procedure that I think might help produce evidence for your particular needs.”

  Alistair raised an eyebrow and turned to the chemist. “Please, do explain. I am all ears.”

  Mr. Marsh cleared his throat and sat up straight. “I have developed a test to detect arsenic poisoning, your grace.”

  “Indeed.” Alistair studied the man’s earnest face. “Does it work?”

  “Yes, although I have yet to use it as evidence in an actual court case, your grace, but I am certain it would pass muster.”

  “How is such a test administered?” Margaret asked.

  “I simply need a specimen of tissue or body fluid from the victim.”

  “That’s where I come in,” Nash intervened. “Mr. Marsh can set up his experiment in a safe part of the house. He doesn’t need to see or identify our patient.”

  Alistair transferred his attention to Nash. “Do you think it is worth doing?”

  “It can’t hurt.” Nash shrugged. “But of course, I would need your and your duchess’s permission before I can proceed.”

  “What about the patient?”

  “We have already discussed it.” Nash smiled. “The patient is very happy to be part of the proceedings.”

  Margaret looked over at Alistair. “I see no harm in this, do you?”

  “None at all.” He nodded at Mr. Marsh. “Please proceed.”

  “I’d best set up somewhere near your kitchen, your grace,” Mr. Marsh said. “A scullery with a large wooden table would be best.”

  “We have just the thing,” Margaret said. “We will take you there as soon as you have finished your breakfast.”

  Mr. Marsh looked longingly at the sideboard full of dishes. “But I haven’t—”

  Nash nudged his friend in the ribs. “What her grace is trying to say, old man, is that you and I should start eating.”

  While Margaret went up with Nash to speak to Phoebe, Alistair followed Mr. Marsh down to the scullery and watched in fascination as the man carefully unwrapped a simple glass apparatus.

  “What are you going to put in there?” Alistair asked curiously, pointing at a rounded bottle.

  “Zinc, sulphuric acid, and the potential victim’s body fluid or tissue.”

  “Then what happens?”

  “If arsenic is present, then arsine gas will be produced along with hydrogen. Igniting this mixture will oxidize the arsine into arsenic and water vapor.” Mr. Marsh produced some more items from his bag and assembled a line of three connected glass contraptions that were all slightly different. “If we hold a cold ceramic bowl in the jet of a flame of the final solution, it will become stained with a silvery black deposit of arsenic, proving the person has been poisoned.”

  “Ah, I see.” Alistair wasn’t sure he understood any of it, but he trusted that Mr. Marsh knew what he was doing.

  “I can explain in more depth if you wish, your grace?” Mr. Marsh looked up inquiringly from arranging his glass vials.

  “No, I think I grasp the principle,” Alistair said hastily. “I look forward to seeing how it works.”

  Later that day, after Mr. Marsh had completed his experiment and left to write up an official report of his findings, Margaret, Alistair, and Dr. Nash met in the drawing room.

  “So now we know that Phoebe was definitely being poisoned, what are we going to do about it?” Dr. Nash was the first to speak, his expression grim.

  “Does Phoebe know?” Margaret asked.

  “I haven’t told her,” Dr. Nash said. “I thought that was up to y
ou.”

  “Then we should tell her immediately,” Margaret said. “If she wishes us to prosecute Lady Hellion, then—”

  Alistair cut across her. “We still have no proof that it was her, my dear.”

  Margaret blinked at him. “What are you saying? It must—”

  For the second time, he interrupted her. “Perhaps we should wait to have this discussion in private? No offense, Nash.”

  “None taken.” Dr. Nash got to his feet. “I’ll take myself off. I’m due at the hospital. Let me know what you decide and how you wish to proceed.”

  “Thank you.” Alistair shook his hand. “If it hadn’t have been for you, we might never have discovered what was going on.”

  “If you hadn’t have suspected foul play in the first place, I wouldn’t have been able to help, would I?” Dr. Nash turned to Margaret. “Duchess, a pleasure.”

  He left, leaving an uneasy silence behind him. Margaret folded her hands in her lap and kept her mouth shut as Alistair paced the room. He finally took the chair opposite her.

  “We don’t know if it was Lady Hellion.”

  Margaret kept her gaze downward.

  “It could’ve been Dr. McNeil,” Alistair continued.

  There was so much that she wanted to say to him, but she was afraid that once she started speaking, she might never be able to stop.

  “I just don’t want us to rush to conclusions.”

  “As you wish.” Margaret managed to force the words out of her stiff lips.

  “You are determined to make this difficult, aren’t you?” He sat back, one arm resting on the back of his chair.

  “I merely agreed that it was up to you to decide how you wished to proceed. Phoebe is your sister, not mine.”

  “I want to proceed with caution, what’s wrong with that?” His fingers tapped on the armrest in a restless tattoo.

  “Nothing at all.”

  “The repercussions of accusing a peer’s wife of murder would be severe and affect the security and reputation of our family name.”

  “As I know little about such matters, I defer to your judgment.”

  He continued to frown at her. “I think I prefer it when you shout at me.”

  “But you don’t like arguing.” She opened her eyes wide. “I am merely acquiescing to your wishes.”

  “I’m going to speak to Phoebe.” He rose to his feet. “There is absolutely no point in talking to you when you are being so annoying.”

  She smiled up at him. “Please let me know when you have reached a decision on this matter.”

  He turned on his heel and marched out, slamming the door behind him. Margaret allowed herself a small self-congratulatory smile. Let him stew; let him feel the frustration she experienced when he refused to engage with her.

  Her smile died. Yet again, he was more concerned with protecting Frederica Hellion from the consequences of her behavior than doing the right thing. In Margaret’s view it was impossible that Dr. McNeil had acted without his employer’s knowledge. Surely, any person seeing their charge grow sicker in the care of one doctor would have brought his patient to London?

  But did Alistair have a point about the scandal such an accusation would bring? She didn’t care about her own position in society, but she did care about Phoebe’s, and her husband insisted she should also care about their future children. Suddenly, she wished she were back in the millhouse with just Adam and Lottie to take care of and no other worries than whether she could make his wages stretch for the week.

  There was a knock on the door, and the butler came in.

  “Your grace, a carriage has just arrived from Millcastle.”

  Margaret had barely entered the front hall before Captain Grayson came through the door. He bowed low and doffed his hat.

  “Good afternoon, your grace. I have brought you a surprise.” He stepped aside to reveal her sister.

  Margaret took an unsteady breath and almost burst into tears. “Oh, Lottie.” she ran toward her sister and embraced her. “I am so very glad to see you.”

  “After Adam received your letter about the money, he insisted that I bring it with me rather than him sending it with a messenger.” Lottie was curled up on the sofa next to Margaret in her bedchamber. They’d eaten their dinner upstairs together while Alistair took Captain Grayson out to their club. “I was quite happy to oblige him, as I’ve only been to London once before.”

  “I did ask him for rather a lot,” Margaret confessed, “And, due to the specific nature of my request, I’m glad he didn’t risk sending it. Goodness knows what might have happened if it had fallen into the wrong hands.”

  Lottie finished her tea and sat back to study her sister. “You look very well, Margaret. Marriage obviously suits you.”

  “I am… quite content.”

  “Content? You are a duchess, you are married to a very handsome and charming man, and you get to take part in London society. What more is there to life?”

  “Nothing more.” Margaret smiled. “I am very lucky.”

  “Has something happened?” Lottie sat up straight again, her smile fading. “Is Alistair unkind to you?”

  “Not at all, it’s just that—” She paused and then remembered that Lottie was the only person in the world apart from Adam who really understood her. “I think I care about him too much, and that wasn’t part of our bargain.”

  Lottie frowned. “Surely he would be pleased about that? He is a man, after all.”

  “I haven’t told him,” Margaret confessed.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it wasn’t part of our agreement. We are supposed to be good friends who trust each other.”

  Lottie gestured at the bed. “So you haven’t consummated your marriage?”

  “Of course we have, in fact—” Margaret became aware that she was blushing. “I have nothing to complain about in that particular area.”

  “Then you are already more than friends.” Lottie regarded her seriously. “It’s not like you to be scared of sharing your feelings, Margaret. Why are you hesitating now?”

  Margaret took a deep breath and told Lottie all about Frederica Hellion, which took quite some time as her sister asked lots of questions.

  “Well, I can see why his behavior might alarm you,” Lottie eventually said. “But you have to remember that he can’t marry her anyway.”

  “I know that.” Margaret glared at her eminently practical sister. “So how can I tell Alistair that I am jealous of his regard for her?”

  “Stop being jealous of nothing?” Lottie suggested.

  “I suppose you are right, but it is hard for me to hold my tongue when he constantly finds excuses for her behavior.” She hesitated. “And, because he knows that something is amiss, he deliberately avoids initiating those important conversations with me.”

  “Do you love him?”

  Margaret stared at her sister. “Yes, but as I said—”

  “Then that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

  “Not if he doesn’t love me back. He’s never suggested that such a thing is even possible,” Margaret objected. “The only woman he has ever loved is Frederica.”

  Lottie wrinkled her nose. “That was over ten years ago, and she is now his stepmother. Soon she will be gone from your life, Alistair will be free of her, and you can devote yourself to proving to him that you are his one and only love.”

  “You make it sound so easy,” Margaret grumbled.

  Lottie nudged her elbow. “It’s always easier when it’s someone else’s problem. Now, what did you want all that money for? Doesn’t Alistair pay you an allowance?”

  “I need the money to pay off a blackmailer,” Margaret said.

  Lottie’s mouth opened to form a perfect O. “Good gracious, sister, your life has certainly become far more exciting than mine will ever be!”

  “I’m glad that you are here, Francis.”

  Alistair passed his friend the bottle of brandy the waiter had left on the table between
them. They were seated in a quiet corner of White’s far away from the gambling and betting men where they stood less chance of being overheard.

  “I said I’d come down, and Caroline was quite happy to release me for a week or so.”

  “Is she well?”

  “Very well, and getting rounder by the minute.” Francis took a sip of his brandy. “It is most peculiar. I never expected to be a father.”

  “I suspect you will be very good at it and far more understanding than either of our fathers ever were.”

  “I’ll certainly try to be,” Francis agreed. “How is your duchess settling in? Caroline told me specifically to ask.”

  “She’s holding her own.” Alistair found himself smiling. “My great-aunt Lavinia has taken her under her wing, and that has definitely helped.”

  “Good Lord, that dragon?” Francis shuddered. “I suspect the Margaret Blackthorn I knew is perfectly capable of standing up for herself. Have you seen your sister?”

  “I brought her with me to London,” Alistair said. “I was not… happy at how she was being treated at my stepmother’s house.”

  Francis raised an eyebrow. “You’re still at odds with the beautiful Frederica?”

  “It’s hard not to be when she consistently invites my attention.” Alistair took a restorative sip of brandy. “She recently had a most peculiar letter from Bottomly.”

  “The fool that was with Farrell when he died?” Francis frowned. “What the devil did he want with her?”

  “He seemed to be implying that he knew something was off about my cousin’s death, and wondered if I might be implicated in my father’s death, too. I believe Frederica was at least able to reassure him that, thanks to her, I wasn’t even in the country when my father died.”

  “The last time I saw Bottomly that night he was passed out in a flowerbed,” Francis commented. “It is impossible that he saw anything that went on in the duke’s study.”

  “But Pritchard was there, wasn’t he?” Alistair reminded his friend. “When I left to rouse Dr. Nettles, I went past him at the door.”

  “So, if there is anything suspicious going on, then it is probably Pritchard who is behind it. Is he in town?”