The Duke of Debt

by Kate Pearce

  Would Alistair appear, full of contrition after reading her letter to Mr. Pritchard and beg her forgiveness? She held herself stiff and still, listening to the business of the house murmuring around her. She wasn’t sure she was capable of looking at him, let alone forgiving him for anything yet, but still...

  The front door banged twice and she risked a glance out of the window. Her husband and Francis Grafton were leaving in a hackney cab together. Her faint hope died, and she clenched her jaw hard against the sudden pain in her heart.

  For some reason there seemed to be little else she was capable of doing except sitting in her chair. She couldn’t even cry; she didn’t have the right to. It reminded her of when her father had died, her mother’s hysterical weeping, Adam’s terrifyingly blank face, and Lottie’s bewilderment. She’d been the one to look after everyone then, but who would look after her?

  I don’t love anyone, and I never will.

  Her husband’s voice rang in her head. It was stupid to compare her current situation with her father’s suicide. She would survive the notion that her husband didn’t love her far better than the fact that her father had deliberately killed himself. Alistair was still alive, still her husband, and she owed him her loyalty. That was the bargain she had made, and that was all there was to it.

  Margaret took an unsteady breath. Now, if she could only convince her heart that the matter was settled and that nothing had really changed at all. She’d been stupid to hope for more. Alistair hadn’t lied to her. She was the one who had changed, and that was her problem and hers alone.

  A tear threaded its way down her cheek and fell onto the pale green cotton of her gown. It was soon followed by another one until Margaret had no other option than to find her handkerchief and let the tears fall. Her first fiancé had treated her with obvious contempt. Alistair would never do that. He was a gentleman, and she wasn’t the sort of woman to inspire love and devotion from any man. She was too plain, too practical, and too managing. Both her father and Matthew had told her that. Perhaps Alistair was just too polite to say it to her face.

  She blew her nose and sat up straight. One good thing was that her husband wouldn’t mention their disagreement unless she pushed him into an argument. As she had no intention of ever doing that again, the discord between them would swiftly pass, and they would move forward together in friendship and harmony.

  Margaret repeated the words to herself, but still had no inclination to leave her seat. At four o’clock, she was due to visit an educational institution with Mrs. Godson. She would attend that meeting and direct her thoughts and energies into the considerable influence she held as a duchess. Perhaps hard work and surviving the bad times was amusing to women like Lady Tillington, but Margaret had always found that such matters prevented her from thinking too hard about the stupid things she could not control.

  She blew her nose again and remained sitting in the chair, carefully gathering her common sense, practicality, and hard-won confidence around her. When she emerged from her chamber, no one would ever know that she had any weaknesses at all.

  Except her husband, but as she intended to avoid him as much as possible, and he would be very grateful if she never referred to love again, there was nothing to worry her at all, was there?

  Chapter 19

  “Bottomly.” Alistair looked down at the sprawled form on the couch at Whites. “Just the man I wanted to talk to.”

  Bottomly opened and closed his mouth like a fish gasping for air as Francis grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to his feet.

  “Come and sit with us.”

  “I’d rather not,” Bottomly hiccupped gently. “Pritch wouldn’t like it.”

  “As he is not here, and neither his grace or I will ever mention that we saw you, let alone spoke to you, I think you are quite safe.”

  Alistair took hold of the other side of Bottomly’s sagging form, and he and Francis manhandled him out of the main areas and into a quiet, deserted office toward the rear of the property.

  “What do you want?” Bottomly asked nervously.

  Alistair sat opposite him while Francis watched the door. “Why did you write to my stepmother, Lady Hellion?”

  “She told you?” Bottomly boggled at him. “But Pritch said you were mortal enemies.”

  “Oh, we are, but it is far more complicated than that,” Alistair said smoothly. “Why were you so interested in whether I was at my father’s deathbed?”

  “Because—” Bottomly looked surreptitiously over at the door Francis was leaning against. “Pritch asked me to ask her.”

  Alistair held onto his temper. “Why did Pritchard want that information?”

  “I’m not sure.” Bottomly frowned. “Something to do with gathering information against you, but for what I’m not quite clear.”

  “Are you trying to tell me you didn’t know that Pritchard was planning on accusing me of murdering my cousin Farrell?”

  “Good Lord, no! Was he?” Bottomly’s horrified expression was so ludicrous that Alistair almost wanted to laugh.

  “Because if you did know, I will be mentioning your name to my lawyer when I sue Pritchard in court.”

  “You don’t understand.” Bottomly poked himself in the head with his index finger. “Pritch doesn’t tell me everything because he knows I’ll get confused and let the cat out of the bag.”

  Alistair’s lips twitched at Bottomly’s earnest tone.

  “Were you aware that Pritchard has also contacted my wife?”

  Bottomly considered that as he chewed his fingernails. “He did say something along those lines. He thought the best way to get back at you was through your womenfolk because they would be easier to deal with, and more likely to give him money.”

  “Do you have his address?” Alistair asked.

  Bottomly sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not telling you that. He’s my best friend.”

  “Then will you give him a message from me?” Alistair raised an eyebrow. “Ask him to call at my house in the next two days. Tell him that if I don’t hear from him, I will be pressing charges against him for attempted blackmail.”

  “Oh, I say, your grace, that’s rather harsh,” Bottomly protested. “The man’s only trying to make a living now that his pater has cut him off.”

  “Well, he’s not making a living off me.” Alistair stood and flicked his gaze over to Francis, who stepped away from the door. “I suggest you sober up and go and find him. The longer you take to deliver my message, the less time Pritchard has to decide what to do about it.”

  Bottomly rose shakily to his feet and hung onto the back of his chair. “I’ll find him, don’t you worry about that.”

  “Good. See that you do.” Alistair nodded and followed Francis out of the room.

  “What a complete and utter buffoon,” Francis commented as they descended the stairs to the street level.

  “Indeed,” Alistair agreed and despite everything that was wrong he couldn’t help chuckling. “That went a lot more easily than I anticipated.”

  “Blessed are the drunk and lacking in brains,” Francis said. “What a fool. Do you think Pritchard will dare show his face to you?”

  “I don’t know. I’d rather he left town, but I suspect he’ll still be after that money he thinks he can collect from my wife or my stepmother.”

  “Why would Lady Hellion give him money?” Francis hailed a hackney cab.

  “Because she would appreciate having something to hold over my head again now that I have extracted Phoebe from her clutches.”

  “But wasn’t she the one who told you about the note?” Francis asked when they were settled. Alistair had spent most of the carriage ride to Whites filling Francis in on the current state of his affairs.

  “She did tell me, but only to judge my reaction to the news with her own eyes. It wouldn’t surprise me if she was in league with Pritchard.”

  “Which probably explains why she told you she saw your duchess with
Pritchard as well.”

  “How so?” Alistair asked.

  “She’s jealous.” Francis shrugged. “It’s obvious that you care for your wife. From what I’ve seen of Lady Hellion, she would hate to think that she was no longer the most important person in your life, and she would be very willing to help destroy that relationship.”

  “She told me because she was worried about Margaret,” Alistair insisted.

  Francis made a disgusted sound. “Come on, Alistair, don’t be a complete fool. She wishes nothing but ill on your wife. I’m surprised you even listened to her.”

  “Well, it’s a good job I did, because I stopped my duchess getting involved in a blackmailing scheme,” Alistair countered.

  “I doubt your wife is that much of a fool.” Alistair glared at his friend, who refused to look away. “I’m fairly certain she took Pritchard’s measure and was planning to deceive him in some way.”

  As that sounded far too likely, Alistair abruptly ended the conversation by staring out the window. But Francis’s words kept revolving in his head. Had he misjudged his wife yet again? Had her scheme to defeat her blackmailer had merit after all? He hadn’t bothered to read her letter or investigate the parcel she had left with him. Perhaps it was time he did, but was he ready to have another conversation with Margaret?

  The hackney cab stopped and Francis paid off the driver. Alistair looked up at the windows above the front door where his bedchamber was. Was Margaret there? Maybe the question he should be asking himself was whether she would deign to speak to him.

  Margaret braced herself as she went into the drawing room where Lottie, Francis, and her husband were already assembled for dinner. She’d delayed her arrival for as long as possible, but she couldn’t put it off any longer. If she wanted to set the tone for how she wished things to go in her marriage, then there was no better time than now.

  “Oh, there you are, Margaret.” Lottie called out to her. “I was just telling Captain Grafton about our visit to the Bethnal Green school today.”

  “It was most interesting.” Margaret offered a bright smile that encompassed all three occupants of the room. “I intend to go back as soon as possible and decide exactly where to direct my efforts.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be delighted,” Francis commented. “Caroline is insisting that we involve ourselves in the movement to ensure that all children receive some basic form of education in our factories.”

  “That is an excellent project and one I am also interested in,” Margaret agreed. “I will write to Caroline when I return to Hellsdown Park.”

  Francis bowed. “She will be delighted to hear from you. I’ve already been given my orders as to what I should vote for if it comes up in the House.” He glanced over at Alistair. “I am fairly sure you will receive an equally attentive ear from the duke.”

  The butler appeared at the door and cleared his throat.

  “Dinner is served.”

  “Thank you.” Margaret placed her hand on Francis’s sleeve. “Shall we go in?”

  She suspected her voice was too light and her smile unnatural, but it was the best she could do until she reclaimed her old role of defensive, practical prickliness.

  As they walked through, Francis leaned in close. “I’m not sure what is going on between you and Alistair, and I’m also aware that it is none of my business, but don’t give up on him just yet.”

  “I will do my best,” she offered him a heartfelt smile.

  “Thank you. He might pretend not to care about anything, but that is far from the truth, and I believe he cares about you very deeply.”

  Margaret’s eyes filled with tears and she had to turn away. Unfortunately, that meant her gaze locked with her husband’s. He took a hasty step toward her before she abruptly fussed with her chair and sat down.

  It was a relief to let Lottie chat away about all the wonders of London that she had seen and all those she was still anticipating. Margaret simply had to add a word in here and there to keep the conversation moving. Alistair did the same with such charming ease that Margaret had to try even harder.

  When she and Lottie rose from the table, she addressed her first direct remark to her husband.

  “Lottie and I are going to a musical evening at Lady Thule’s, so do not worry about having to meet us in the drawing room after your port.”

  He looked up at her, his face unsmiling, his blond hair gleaming in the candlelight. “I am more than willing to accompany you.”

  “There is no need.” Margaret offered him a firm nod. “Her carriage is picking us up in less than an hour, and I know you do not enjoy such amateurish musical events.”

  His gaze turned cool. “As you wish.”

  She swept out of the room, Lottie at her side, and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

  “I assume you and Alistair are still fighting?” Lottie asked as they went up the stairs.

  “Not at all,” Margaret said. “We have both said our piece, and that’s the end of it.”

  Lottie snorted. “Yes, I can see that from the cordial way you spoke to each other all evening. I had to talk a lot!”

  Margaret squeezed her sister’s arm. “And I appreciated your efforts.” She stopped outside her door. “Will you be ready to leave in half an hour?”

  “Yes, I only have to change my dress and redo my hair.” Lottie smiled at her. “And then go to a musical evening at the house of a viscount.” She broadened her accent. “Who’d have ever thought that, Margaret, lass?”

  “Where you will outshine all the other ladies and be fighting off suitors,” Margaret reminded her.

  Lottie shrugged. “The men here don’t interest me that much. I prefer those back in Millcastle who make their own money and work with their hands.”

  “I thought I would marry one of those men,” Margaret said slowly. “Instead, I married a duke.”

  Lottie’s expression softened. “He’s still a good man, Margaret, and he cares about you.”

  Margaret didn’t have an answer for that, so she went into her room, rang for Eileen, and let herself be immersed in the process of picking a suitable gown for her evening entertainment.

  Lady Thule paused by Margaret’s chair and leaned in to speak to her above the babble of conversation. It had been a surprisingly pleasant evening. Margaret had relaxed and simply enjoyed the music without worrying about her husband. Lottie had disappeared off to the supper room with a crowd of admirers after telling Margaret to stay put and not fret about her.

  “I’m surprised that Alistair didn’t come,” Lady Thule remarked.

  “He is entertaining his friend Captain Grayson and sends his apologies,” Margaret said. “It is a shame he has missed such a wonderful collection of talented performers.”

  Lady Thule looked smug. “I only allow the best to perform here, my dear.” She paused. “I hear very good reports of your conduct from my friend, Mrs. Godson. She speaks very highly of you.”

  Margaret smiled. “Mrs. Godson has been very kind to me.”

  “Perhaps involving yourself in good and pious works will mask your other more obvious deficiencies.”

  “Let’s hope so, shall we?” Margaret wasn’t in the mood for sparring with Lady Thule. “I would hate to embarrass you.”

  Lady Thule straightened and stared down at her. “I doubt you will do that. Have a pleasant evening, my dear.”

  Aware that she had possibly been paid a compliment, Margaret half-smiled as the dowager moved away from her. There was plenty of work for her to do here in London and back in Millcastle. If she occupied herself with that, she wouldn’t have time to worry about her relationship with her husband.

  “Margaret, my dear.”

  She turned to see that Frederica Hellion had taken the vacant seat beside her. She wore a pink gown with silver lace and her hair was a mass of ringlets. She looked more like a debutante than a dowager.

  “What do you want?”

  Frederica settled her silk
en skirts around herself. “I… just wanted to explain.”

  “What exactly?”

  “Why I told Alistair that you were seeing Mr. Pritchard.”

  “Oh, I think I understand your motives perfectly, ma’am. Did it not occur to you to come and tell me why my meeting with Mr. Pritchard was inappropriate?”

  “You don’t understand.” Frederica sat forward. “I promised Alistair that I wouldn’t say anything to you. He was most insistent.”

  The thought of her husband conversing with Frederica about anything still set Margaret’s teeth on edge.

  “I’m not sure I understand you. How did you even know about this whole scheme?”

  “Because Alistair told me. When he realized that Mr. Bottomly and Mr. Pritchard were asking questions about his cousin’s death, he asked me to write to Bottomly and see if I could coax any information out of him.” She patted her curls. “Bottomly has always been one of my court. When he replied and suggested that Mr. Pritchard was indeed up to no good, I told Alistair. That’s actually why I came up to London—to warn him.”

  Margaret just stared at her, her mind racing as she struggled to think how to respond.

  “I can see that you are still confused.” Frederica reached out and patted Margaret’s clenched fist. “Bottomly told me about your meeting with Mr. Pritchard in the park, and I made certain to be there just to make sure that he was telling the truth.” She opened her eyes wide. “I was surprised to see that you had been so easily duped and thought it my duty to tell Alistair what I had seen before any harm was done to you.”

  “Am I supposed to thank you?” Margaret raised her eyebrows.

  “I don’t see why not. Despite everything, we are still family.” Frederica’s smile was beguiling. “I told Alistair that you wouldn’t like me being involved in all this, but you know how he is.”

  “I do, and I find it difficult to believe that he involved you at all.”

  Frederica sighed. “I’m sorry that it hurts you that he still loves me. I’ve told him to stop, told him that he should be paying attention to you, and yet he persists. What am I supposed to do?”