A Mystery at Carlton House: Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries, Book 12

by Ashley Gardner

  “Well, we will think about that,” Donata finished, her brisk self once more. “Now we must go to Dunmarron and rescue Marianne.”

  “Have you told Grenville where he is keeping her?” I asked.

  “No, indeed. I’ve not had the chance, and also I am not certain what Grenville would do with the information. Let us spare him his dignity, fetch her home, and send Dunmarron scuttling back to his country estate to rusticate.”

  “He is a duke,” I pointed out. “At the top of society. He will do as he pleases.”

  My wife gave me a pitying look. “You underestimate the power of disapproval. Gentlemen exchange mistresses all the time, but abducting a mistress to humiliate a man is not done. Not at all. Especially in so blatant a fashion that everyone is talking. Dunmarron might have his estate and his lofty title, but no one will stick him. He’s an upstart.”

  I leaned back on the divan, where earlier I’d waited in dishabille for her fresh clothes to arrive. “You are a snob, Donata. You married me for my name, I see. What if I’d been lower than your lowest footman, raised from the gutter through the ranks, promoted in the field to captain? That last bit is true, in fact. Would you have married me then?”

  “Of course not.” My wife sat down very close beside me, the silk still in her hands. “We would have had a clandestine and very delicious affair.”

  I might have preferred that. It was difficult to grow used to the servants in this house following me about and people expecting me in and out at certain hours.

  “Very delicious,” I agreed.

  Donata began to lean to me, but she straightened up with a decided nod. “None of that. We must find Marianne and retrieve her from the clutches of the Dunce.”

  “I must,” I said. “I don’t want you near the man.”

  Donata gave me one of her looks that said I was too slow for words. “Don’t be silly. You cannot dash up to Dunmarron’s door and demand admittance. You’ve not been introduced.”

  Chapter 16

  The house in which the Duke of Dunmarron had sequestered Marianne was in Portland Place, part of what was to be the grand sweep of road that would lead from a new royal park south, all the way to Carlton House. Swallow Street was in the process of being redone into an elegant crescent of tall houses and shops, the entire plan designed by John Nash. Several of the buildings on the new street were finished, the shops drawing a wealthy clientele.

  Portland Place was already full of fine houses. The tall one Hagen stopped us before had a black-painted door surrounded by white marble Ionic columns. The curtains were drawn over every window, all the way to the top of the structure.

  I had only agreed to let Donata come because she was correct that this was a matter of her world. I storming into a duke’s house, threatening all in my path, would only get me brought up before a magistrate, with Spendlove gloating behind me. I also believed that this situation was more sinister than it seemed, else I’d have let Grenville sort out his own troubles while I continued with mine.

  Bartholomew still had not returned from Carlton House, and so one of Donata’s footmen—a lad called Jeremy—had accompanied us to Dunmarron’s house. Jeremy now descended from the back of the carriage to rap on the front door on our behalf. We would wait in the coach until we were invited inside or bade to leave a card.

  Jeremy conferred with the servant in Dunmarron’s vestibule for a time and then returned to the coach.

  “His Grace ain’t home, my lady,” Jeremy said through the carriage door I’d opened for him. Cold wind blew in on us, accompanied by a splash of rain. “Footman was surprised I’d even think so. Cheeky about it, if you’ll pardon me, my lady. The young lady brought to live here ain’t in either. Footman says she’s run off, and His Grace is very angry. Boiling mad, apparently.”

  Jeremy looked delighted. I knew servants prided themselves on their places and looked down on one another if their masters weren’t quite up to snuff. I imagined those who worked for a man known as the Duke of Dunces were maligned by all.

  “Do you believe him?” I asked Jeremy. “I mean, footmen are trained to say someone is not at home when that is not strictly true.”

  Jeremy nodded. “I know the difference. This lad is rather disgusted by it all. Says the lady is only an actress. He can’t understand why His Grace is bothered and says good riddance to her.”

  “Does he have any idea where she’s gone?”

  “He don’t. I asked him. His Grace gave them all a flea in their ears when he found out she’d scarpered.”

  So Marianne had made her own way out of the situation. I could not be very astonished. Marianne was never one to be a helpless victim.

  “Does the footman know where His Grace is?” I asked.

  “At his club, so he thinks.” Jeremy shook his head. “Lad rather gives himself airs, but I think he’s truthful.”

  “Good. Well done, Jeremy. Thank you.”

  Jeremy again looked pleased. “Yes, sir. Shall I give Hagen a direction, sir?”

  “Brooks’s club. I believe I’ll have a conversation with His Grace.”

  Jeremy gave me a nod. “Sir.” He slammed the door and shouted up to Hagen, waiting until the coach had lurched forward before leaping to his post on the back.

  Donata gave me a long look, her eyes appraising. “I believe I told you that you hadn’t been introduced.”

  “Then find someone to introduce me,” I growled. “I will end this nonsense for once and for all.”

  “Oh, dear, you are not going to call him out, are you? I might have lost you to that awful Stubby Stubbins—I certainly refuse to lose you to the Duke of Dunces.”

  “I was in no danger from Stubbins.” I took in the alarm Donata was trying to hide and relented. “I give you my word I will not call Dunmarron out. What he does, I cannot help.”

  We rode in silence down Portland Place, across Oxford Street, and through the arteries to the broad expanse of Piccadilly. From there, Hagen turned the coach down St. James’s Street and came to a halt in front of Brooks’s.

  When I went inside, Richards the doorman did confess, uncomfortably, that the duke was indeed present. Richards was in a quandary whether to admit me, but his dilemma was solved when Lord Lucas, Donata’s friend, entered through the front door behind me.

  “Captain Lacey?” Lucas asked, the wind he let in cutting off as a footman shut the door. “Good afternoon. I saw Donat—er, your wife—in her coach. She asked me to rush here and meet you. What is it all about?”

  I admired Donata’s percipience and her ability to grasp opportunities. “She wishes you to introduce me to His Grace of Dunmarron,” I said. “I believe you know why. I cannot compel you to.”

  Lucas, unlike his friend Rafe Godwin, seemed unhappy about the state of affairs. He gave me a nod. “Of course, Captain. I will have to warn you that if you’ve come on behalf of Grenville to call Dunmarron out, I will be one of his seconds. You can speak to me if you wish to take things that far.”

  “I promised my wife I’d do no such thing.” I shifted my weight to my good leg, impatient to get on with it. “I only wish to speak to him.”

  Lucas looked me up and down, sighed, shrugged, and thrust his hat and coat at the footman. He waved the footman away, however, as the young man approached me for the same purpose. “Captain Lacey will not be staying. Is His Grace in the dining room, Richards? Good. Follow me, Captain.”

  Lord Lucas led me up a flight of stairs to the main floor, where I’d been several times with Grenville. From the subscription room came the sound of voices—it was here that men gathered around gaming tables and won and lost fortunes. The noise was subdued now but would swell and grow as the night went on.

  The dining room was far more quiet. No gaming was allowed here, and members tucked in for a quick meal before returning to the excitement down the hall.

  His Grace of Dunmarron dined alone at a large square table, a footman just taking away the remains of soup and setting before him a plate ho
lding a slender fish.

  Lucas halted at the table so that he faced Dunmarron, and I took a stance by his side. Lucas cleared his throat apologetically.

  Dunmarron shoveled a large forkful of fish into his wide mouth and looked up at us as he chewed. “Lucas,” he said around white flakes of sole. “Captain Lacey. What’ye want?”

  I’d likened him to a country squire when I’d met him before. Donata had called him an upstart. The man reminded me of my father, if not in looks, then in manners.

  I spoke before Lucas could. Lord Lucas was supposed to have introduced us, but Dunmarron had already addressed me, so I didn’t bother with the formality. “I want to ask you, sir, rudely, what you meant by shutting Miss Simmons into your house.”

  “You may ask.” Dunmarron swallowed noisily and took another gulp of fish. “Sit down, for God’s sake. You make my neck ache.”

  I had no wish to sit with him, but I realized he wouldn’t talk to me if I did not. Lucas politely waited until I’d lowered myself to a chair before taking the one next to me. Lucas spoke before I could. “Yes, Dunmarron, what is this all about?”

  Dunmarron shot Lucas a look of annoyed rage. “Ask Grenville. He knows.”

  I reined in my temper with effort. It irritated me when people said in that dark tone—He knows—because very often the knowledge was only in the speaker’s imagination.

  “I assure you, Grenville is baffled,” I said. “If there is bad blood between you and Mr. Grenville, please confront him yourself and leave Miss Simmons out of it.”

  “Miss Simmons.” Dunmarron spat the name. “She is a termagant and a tart, and he’s welcome to her. What does he want with a bitch like that?”

  Marianne had put him in his place it seemed, but my ire rose. “I will remonstrate with you later for calling my friend such names, but at the moment, I only wish to know where she is. She’s no longer at your house, so where has she gone?”

  “Damned if I know.” Dunmarron shoveled in another mouthful of fish, splotches of it staining his lips. “She’s there one moment, gone the next. My bloody fool servants admit that a delivery boy they’d never seen before went in and out of the kitchen, but they didn’t try to stop him. Too snooty to talk to a street boy, the lot of them. The woman is an actress—she dressed up and slipped past them, the—” He now called Marianne a name far worse than the others, a single syllable that had my fist balling.

  “One more, Your Grace,” I said in a quiet voice. “And we meet.”

  Dunmarron snorted, unfortunately for us, since he was still chewing his fish. “I’ll not shoot a man over the likes of her. She was yours, I heard, before Grenville came along and pinched her. He does it to all of us. I thought you’d have some sympathy.”

  Lucas leaned to me and said in a quiet voice. “Grenville once poached a young woman Dunmarron was fond of, you see. This was before he became duke.”

  “Silly cow could have been a duke’s mistress.” Dunmarron destroyed the rest of his fish by raking it with his heavy fork. “I’m only getting back a bit of my own.”

  “It was twenty years ago,” Lucas said to him.

  “You may scoff.” Dunmarron dropped his fork on top of the ruined fish. “Grenville has walked straight through the rest of us to become the most intimate friend of the prince, and has the so-called polite world eating out of his hand. He’s nobody, the son of a whoremonger father who put by-blows in the nursery alongside his one and only true child. But who knows? Perhaps Grenville is one of those by-blows himself.”

  Lucas grew alarmed. “Now Dunmarron, you can’t slander a man, especially when he isn’t here to answer. He’ll have a lawsuit on you.”

  “I said perhaps,” Dunmarron said, unabashed. “You take things too seriously, Lucas, old friend.”

  Lucas looked a bit pained at being called old friend. I’d already had enough of him in ten minutes—I wondered how Lord Lucas and Rafe Godwin and others had put up with him for so long.

  I rose. “Thank you for speaking with me, Your Grace. I’ll give Miss Simmons your regards.”

  Whenever I found her. I decided, however, that I should leave now before I punched the man in the face and did end up in a duel, despite what I’d promised Donata.

  Dunmarron gave me a disparaging look. “Do not be too smug, Captain Lacey. You may have snared the beautiful Lady Breckenridge, but only for now. La Breckenridge craves novelty. I do say you are quite novel.” Another scornful once-over. “But she wants entertainment. Be careful or you’ll have plenty of cuckoos in your nest. Probably you already do.”

  “Dear God,” Lucas said, aghast. “Hold your tongue, Dunmarron, do. Lady Donata is a dear friend.”

  I said nothing. I thought of Donata facing me in the drawing room, her eyes filled with anguish when she admitted she knew she’d have no more children. My strong Donata, broken by what the surgeon had told her and having to face that heartbreak anew when I’d taxed her with it.

  Dunmarron’s pig-like mouth, stained with bits of fish and the sauce it was poached in, saying so much as Donata’s name was an insult. Talking about her bearing me bastard children was beyond the pale. Talking about it on top of what Donata and I had been through, unthinkable. Though Dunmarron had no idea of our private pain, he had no bloody business even speaking of her.

  “Name your seconds,” I told him. “Or, you can meet me alone, and I will explain to you why you should stay far from me, my wife, and my friends.”

  Another snort. “I’ve already told you, I will not fight you. Not over ladies no better than they ought to be. I’m sorry, Lucas. Don’t give me your priggishness. Anyway, la Breckenridge is well known for her interests. Her name is in the betting book of this very club, with much speculation on how many affairs she’d have when you were off in the Orient.”

  I remembered how Donata and I had snipped at each other in the carriage on the way to the Haymarket, when she had told me gentlemen had wagered on her fidelity to me. I’d let her believe I’d dropped the matter, but I did plan to speak to those who’d had the audacity to make the wager.

  I turned to Lucas. “I would like to see the book.”

  Lucas flinched. “Now, Captain, do not. I understand why you want to box Dunmarron’s ears, but let us depart and say no more about it. Dunmarron is a boor and always will be.”

  Dunmarron nodded, happy to agree. He seemed to know about his own bad manners and delight in them. Perhaps that was how he survived life among the aristocracy.

  “The book,” I repeated.

  Lucas heaved a long sigh. He rose and rang a bell, and we waited in silence until a servant answered. Lucas spoke to the footman in a low voice and returned to us once he’d departed.

  Another footman set a plate of beef and potatoes in front of Dunmarron, and we were privileged to watch him noisily masticate them.

  Richards himself carried in the book, a ledger with a leather cover, a bit worn on the edges from years of use. Grenville, who’d been a member of Brooks’s since his majority, had told me amusing tales of wagers in the past, such as one gentleman wagering five hundred guineas that his friend would not fornicate with a woman in a balloon a thousand yards in the sky. The word they used was not fornicate, but a shorter and more direct one.

  Richards opened the book with as much reverence as he would a Bible. Dunmarron looked on while Lucas leafed through it. “Ah,” Lucas said.

  I looked to where his finger pointed. A pool has been collected to be paid out to the gentleman who guesses the closest number of affairs the lady of the deceased Ld Breckenridge enjoys while her captain is in the land of the pharaohs.

  The names of the gentlemen who’d wagered were laid out, along with the number they’d chosen. Dunmarron had put himself down for three. Rafe Godwin, five. Lucas, I was pleased to see, had not wagered at all.

  At the top of the list, however, one name blazed out. Lucius Grenville. At least, I saw through my haze, he’d been kind enough to enter for the number of affairs—none at all.

>   Dunmarron said with his mouth full, “You going to call all of us out, Lacey?”

  “Yes,” I said with conviction. “Please put it about that if anyone in this club so much as mentions my wife again, they will answer to me.”

  Dunmarron laughed. Red wine sauce stained his cravat. “Keep her home and tamed, and you won’t have to worry.”

  I could not stop myself. Lucas could not stop me either—he only folded his hands and looked distressed. But I think he understood.

  I walked around the table, took up Dunmarron’s plate of half finished beef and roasted potatoes, and dumped the whole of it in his lap.

  He jumped and swore, his chair skittering backward as the very wet sauce splashed all over his crotch. I followed the beef and potatoes with his full glass of hock, which had been moments ago topped off by the footman.

  The other gentlemen dining, about a dozen across the large chamber, all swiveled to watch. A few burst out laughing, others guffawed. I had the feeling I’d done what so many of them had longed to.

  “Damn you, you bloody …” Dunmarron trailed off as he scrubbed his trousers with a handkerchief. He turned his snarls to the two footmen who’d raced to help him, the two lads going red as they strove to hide their own laughter.

  Lucas had his hand on my arm. “Captain? I suggest we depart.”

  I did not argue. I walked stiffly at his side, the thump of my stick covered by the jeers of gentlemen who ran the British Empire. “Your mouth ran ahead of your brains again, did they, Dunmarron? Or are they in your lap?” “Watch that captain, Dunmarron. He’s quite a cut-up.”

  They whooped at their own wit, or lack thereof, and Lucas and I walked out. Richards followed us, holding the now-closed book and giving us raised brows as Lucas called for his wraps and we left the club for the winter evening. As Richards closed the door behind us, I reflected that I’d likely never be admitted to Brooks’s again.

  Lord Lucas tipped his hat to Donata where she waited in the carriage, accepting her regal nod for a good-bye. He took his leave from me and hurried up St. James’s toward Jermyn Street, putting distance between himself and us very quickly.