The Way to a Duke's Heart: The Truth About the Duke

by Caroline Linden

  A smile touched his lips, picturing her defiant expression when she realized he’d heard her disdainful remark. She was sorry he’d overheard, but not sorry at all for saying it. What a prudish bit of skirt. No doubt she had a collection of prayer books and doted on her brood of small dogs. Charlie was accustomed to people making up their minds about him before they ever met him, but for some reason she amused him. It was always so unfortunate when a woman with a mouth like hers turned out to be a judgmental harridan. In fact, if she looked less cross, he might have said she was attractive, but it was hard to call any woman a beauty when she was looking down her nose at him. He wondered if she’d formed her opinion of him from the London gossip sheets or if his infamy had preceded him to Bath.

  He raised his glass in silent toast to her. For tonight at least he would be utterly, happily indolent. And he hoped the thought rankled her deeply.

  Chapter 2

  Tessa’s luck held for the first couple of days. Only twice did she hear Lord Gresham’s name, and both times she was able to turn aside or slip away without seeing the man himself. From one exchange overheard in the corridor, she gathered he had left town, and although he kept his room at the York, the staff wasn’t sure he would return. She breathed a sigh of relief at the news. It had been a near miss, but now that worry was over and she could carry on with her business.

  Eugenie slowly recovered from her paralyzing fear that Tessa would humiliate them all and became her old self—which is to say she was a bit silly and inclined to fancy herself on the verge of illness, but sweet-tempered and anxious not to hinder Tessa. A visit to Molland’s sweet shop did a great deal to restore Eugenie’s humor, and an expedition to the Pump Room set her thoroughly to rights.

  “Such healing waters,” she exclaimed, even though she grimaced as she sipped them. “Tessa dear, you really should take a glass. One never knows what terrible maladies might await you in the countryside.”

  “I shall endure as best I can, without benefit of the waters.” Tessa had tasted the Bath waters before, and had no desire to repeat the experience. Eugenie, on the other hand, would try any remedy suggested to her. “I vow, that lady’s pelisse is a full six inches longer than last season. Do you think my sister would like it?” And the mineral waters were forgotten, as her companion was successfully diverted into a close study of every fashion in the room.

  After two days of shopping Tessa went down to the tearoom at the hotel. This was the real reason she had come to Bath; a canal was to be built some fifteen miles to the south, conveying coal from the mines between Mells and Coleford to Bath and then onward to London and other markets. There was already a prosperous canal in place, which would serve as a starting point for this new branch. The path was surveyed, the plans were drawn, and Tessa—or rather, her brother, Viscount Marchmont—had been invited to purchase shares in the new branch. William, as usual, was unsure. He was capable of seeing every side of every issue, and would never decide on anything if left to his own devices. Everyone agreed it was better to send Tessa to meet Hiram Scott, who was part owner of an ironworks near the proposed path of the canal and was heavily recruiting new investors. Tessa was never swayed by the exquisite cut of someone’s waistcoat, or even by a convincing prospectus; she had the practical—almost ruthless, her sister called it—turn of mind necessary to make wise investments, and the forthright demeanor vital to getting the truth.

  “Mrs. Neville.” Mr. Scott was waiting for her with a smile. They had met before, at her brother’s home, and Mr. Scott had displayed no reluctance to deal with a woman at that time. Of course, a very large investment hung on her decision, and he was under no illusions about that.

  “Mr. Scott.” She bobbed a brief curtsy in response to his bow, then took the seat he pulled out for her. “It is very good of you to meet me in Bath.”

  “I hope I might answer all your questions, ma’am, and spare you the trip south.” He seated himself opposite Tessa and laid a portfolio of plans in front of her. “The canal works are truly no place for a lady.”

  Tessa paused, glancing up at him through her eyelashes. “Do you object to a lady visiting, then?” William had been quite explicit that he was relying solely on her report to decide whether to purchase shares. If Mr. Scott had any qualms about opening his books to a woman, he might as well let her know now and spare them both the aggravation.

  “Not at all,” replied the man promptly—smoothly. “I wish only to spare my investors any inconvenience. It’s also my job to give a fair and accurate report of the works. I hope to do it well enough that not everyone feels the need to visit personally.” He lifted one shoulder, still smiling. “I daresay your visit would be far pleasanter for us, who are used to the rough conditions and bemoan the lack of fair company.”

  She allowed a small smile. “You flatter me, sir. I am only trying to give my brother a full view of the project before he commits so much money to it.”

  They were both lying to each other, she knew, but at least Mr. Scott was willing to engage in the pretense. Many men treated her as if she hadn’t a thought in her brain. She had learned long ago to arm herself with strongly worded letters from her brother, emphatically stating that he would give great weight to her recommendation. It tended to adjust men’s view of her, she had found, if they knew she could turn aside their requests with one word. In this case, William was contemplating a rather large investment, six thousand pounds, and he was very anxious over it. Investors in the Somerset Coal Canal had reaped healthy returns on their investments, which argued in favor of it. But it was a great deal of money—nearly a year’s income—and William’s overriding fear in life was of losing his income. Like his father before him, he had been born without an ounce of business sense. Fortunately for him, Tessa, like her mother before her, had been born with enough of that for three people. Fortunately for everyone, her brother did have enough sense to realize this and to make her a part of everything he did.

  Mr. Scott further endeared himself to her when he ordered a tea tray, then sat back and let her read in peace when the refreshments arrived. Tessa skimmed through the surveyor’s reports and studied the maps and plots of the countryside, speckled with coal mines marked in red. She flipped through the documents outlining the construction, including the estimated costs. She looked at the list of subscribers, because there was no point investing William’s money if the whole enterprise was doomed to fail. She asked a few questions for clarity, and Mr. Scott gave reasonable answers. Finally she closed the portfolio and slid it back across the table to him.

  “It looks to be in order, sir. Since I must be my brother’s eyes and ears in this, I still would like to see the works myself.”

  He accepted it with good grace, assuring her he would be prepared to give her a thorough viewing of the site. “I beg pardon I cannot escort you there myself,” he added, “but I must return on the morrow. I’ve been away over a month now.”

  Tessa waved aside his apology. “I quite understand. My companion and I shall follow by the end of the week.”

  “Might I take the liberty of arranging lodging for you? Frome isn’t nearly as elegant as Bath, but I shall find something suitable, if you wish. I will send word as soon as I secure rooms in your name.”

  “That would be very good of you, sir.”

  He shook her hand, another point in his favor, and departed. Tessa went upstairs to find Eugenie, who was reading a novel from the lending library. It must have been a Gothic one, from the way she had a handkerchief pressed to her lips as she read and the start she gave when Tessa came into the room. “Goodness!”

  “It must be a good book.” She smiled as she took the chair across from Eugenie. “You’re flushed.”

  “Heavens, yes!” Eugenie fanned her pink face with her handkerchief as she set the book aside. “It’s ever so dramatic—a young girl thrust upon a family of strangers in the dark of night, a perilous journal through a my
sterious forest . . . I expect brigands and murderers are waiting around every corner.”

  “No doubt. But I expect Mrs. Radcliff will bring it all out well in the end.”

  “Of course she will.” Eugenie gave a stout nod. “She’s one of my favorites. I would never read her again if she didn’t make it all come right in the end.”

  Tessa laughed. It never failed to amuse her that Eugenie, who fretted over the slightest breeze or cough, loved Gothic novels where the heroine endured a hundred dire dangers.

  “How did you find Mr. Scott, dear?”

  “Very well. Informative and polite.”

  “I think he fancies you.” Eugenie turned to the tea tray beside her and touched the side of the pot. “Would you like some tea?”

  “Fancies me?” Tessa raised her eyebrows, trying not to laugh again. Eugenie was an incurable romantic. “You flatter me, Eugenie.”

  “Oh, no, I don’t think so. He’s not a gentleman, of course, but he’s a prosperous man, and he understands you.” The old lady gave her an almost sly smile. “And he’s not blind, dear.”

  “Nor is he a fool,” Tessa retorted. “I’ve given him no encouragement of that sort.”

  “Nor should you. Your brother would not approve, I’m sure, although it would lift dear Lady Woodall’s spirits if she thought you were finally taking an interest—”

  “I’m not.” Tessa got to her feet. Heaven save her from Louise’s raptures if she ever gave any sign of wanting to marry anyone. She had made that mistake once, and had her heart not just broken but crushed beyond repair. “I am decidedly not interested in Mr. Scott, and if you tell my sister so—”

  “Oh, never! I never would!” cried Eugenie, blushing again. “I merely remarked how happy she would be if you did relent on your vow against men.”

  Tessa pressed her lips together. She hadn’t made any vow against men, just a vow never to be misled by a man’s flattery and attention again. Once was bad enough. Trust Eugenie to cast her self-preserving instincts in such a melodramatic light. “I am only interested in the shares Mr. Scott has offered William,” she said evenly. “You’ll see soon enough.”

  “Oh.” Eugenie visibly deflated. “We’re going to Frome, then?”

  Tessa had said from the beginning she intended to visit the canal works between Frome and Mells. It defied her comprehension how everyone around her constantly doubted her words. “Yes, we leave the day after tomorrow. I have a few more commissions before we go. You might wish to procure some more novels, as I understand the countryside is a good deal less refined than Bath.”

  Her companion sighed. “Yes, dear.”

  Tessa spent the next day making arrangements and preparations to spend as long as a fortnight in Frome. Louise had asked her to purchase several things, and although she tried to get her companion to tend to her sister’s fashion needs, Eugenie would have needed a month to make the decisions required of her. Tessa, on the other hand, was able to place the orders in a single day and arrange for it all to be shipped to her sister. Her own purchases took a bit longer, but by tea time she returned to the hotel, a little footsore but pleased with her day’s work. Eugenie had flagged by midday, so she had returned to the York earlier. Tessa walked through the lounge and untied her bonnet as she peered into the tearoom in search of her companion.

  She had completely forgotten about the Earl of Gresham and her bad-tempered assessment of him. She hadn’t seen him or his servants about the hotel in three days or more, nor heard his name. It was a rude shock, therefore, to come around the corner and see him sitting at a table in the center of the room, his long legs crossed before him in a pose of elegant ease.

  It was an even greater shock to see Eugenie sitting on the other side of the table, smiling brightly at him.

  Chapter 3

  Charlie was beginning to think he had used up his store of luck in life. He’d had a rather good streak of it over the last thirty-odd years, but now it all appeared to be coming to a crashing end.

  He arrived in Bath only to find his brother had left. More than a little put out, he had to cool his heels for the better part of two days, waiting. He had no idea what this meant for the trouble Gerard’s letter had mentioned, and even more curiously, there was no sign of the wife his youngest brother had mentioned. Gerard, married? He’d left London a contented bachelor, set on tracking a blackmailer. Now he had a wife? Following so soon after Edward’s whirlwind courtship and wedding, it felt almost like a desertion to Charlie. Obviously his brothers weren’t nearly as worried about losing Durham as they claimed to be, if they had time to fall in love and marry.

  When Gerard did return to Bath, he hardly cared at all for solving the Durham Dilemma. Some quarrel had sent his wife off, and Gerard could think of nothing but following her. Half amused, half concerned, Charlie went with him. By the time he met his newest sister-in-law, he knew Gerard would abandon him as Edward had done. Edward at least made a little speech pricking him with guilt, telling him the dukedom was his to pursue or lose; Gerard effectively said he cared more for his wife and it was Charlie’s duty to find the blackmailer. This was all well and good for Gerard, whose new bride had brought him a large fortune that would insulate him from the consequences of failure. Charlie, on the other hand, was astonished that both his brothers were turning everything over to him after they’d barely consulted him on what to do. Now they thought he was suited to handle the entire problem on his own?

  The sad truth was, he feared he wouldn’t be up to this challenge. His brothers had been unable to solve it. Gerard had uncovered the blackmailer’s name, Hiram Scott, but then passed up an opportunity to pursue him in favor of haring off to reconcile with his wife. Instead Gerard handed over the original blackmail letters and eight ancient notebooks from the Fleet minister who had married Durham to his first wife all those decades ago, and wished Charlie luck.

  The very thing he seemed to have run out of.

  Charlie had no experience in locating someone, especially someone who wished to remain unknown. Gerard at least had some military training, and Edward had the patience to plod through hundreds of possibilities, but Charlie had never had to exert himself; people came to him. He tried to make sense of the minister’s notebooks, but there were a dozen entries per page, all in faded, cramped handwriting. The thought of combing through all eight books made his eyes water, but he squared his shoulders and made himself open the first book.

  After an hour of frustration, Charlie set it aside. He wasn’t giving up, but this would require some fortification.

  Instead of having something sent up to his rooms, he went downstairs, away from the ledgers and documents and other proof of his present morass. He should have brought his chef with him, so he could have a proper pot of coffee instead of tea. He should probably send out inquiries about Hiram Scott; the man had been in Bath just a few days ago, according to the postal clerk who had recognized him and reported his presence to Gerard. In fact, he had just caught Mr. Lucas’s eye, intending to ask where he might hire a man to ask some discreet questions, when the very name he was seeking floated by his ear.

  “From Mr. Hiram Scott! You must take it right up for Mrs. Neville, Mary; she’ll be expecting this letter.” The speaker was a petite older lady swathed in a lavender shawl, her white curls clustered under a lace cap. She handed over a sealed letter to a younger woman, obviously a maid from the way she curtsied and hurried off with it, a number of parcels in her other arm. Charlie watched the letter go with hungry eyes. Then he turned toward the woman who had received it. Perhaps his luck hadn’t deserted him after all.

  “Are you well, madam?”

  At his query, she looked up from digging in her reticule. Her eyes traveled up his figure, growing wider and wider until she met his gaze. Her mouth dropped open and her cheeks flushed bright pink before she stammered, “Oh—Oh, indeed, sir!”

  “Forgive me,” he
said with a penitent, though charming, smile. “You looked a trifle unsteady. May I escort you to a chair?”

  “Oh—well—I’m sure I’m perfectly . . .” Her flustered protests died away as Charlie offered his arm. For a moment she simply looked at it, before a slow awe dawned across her face. “Now that you ask, perhaps I am just a shade unwell. It is too kind of you to trouble yourself.” Gingerly she placed her hand on his arm.

  “It is no trouble at all,” he replied. Charlie had spent ages sitting with his aunt, the Countess of Dowling, and her friends, and he knew just how to appeal to older ladies.

  “Is everything all right, my lord?” Mr. Lucas appeared beside him, his oily, fawning expression in place.

  “No, indeed not,” said Charlie as his unwitting captive started to nod her head. “This lady is feeling unwell. Allow me to escort you to a table in the tearoom, Mrs. . . . ?”

  “B-B-Bates,” she stammered. “Eugenie Bates, my lord.” She bobbed a sort of curtsy, looking every bit as unsteady as he had declared her to be. And no wonder; he wasn’t giving her a chance to demur, holding her hand lightly but firmly on his arm.

  “How delightful to make your acquaintance,” he replied. “I am Gresham. Bring tea at once, and something to eat,” he directed Mr. Lucas, urging Mrs. Bates toward the tearoom. “And some sherry, just in case.”

  “Oh,” squeaked the lady, pinker than ever. “My lord, you are too, too kind!”

  “Any gentleman would do the same for a lady,” he assured her. “But here—I am presuming! Do you require your maid? Shall I send someone after her, or escort you to your room to rest?”