Chapter Two
One month later, London
“For the last time, I am not marrying the girl.” Michael Ashton, the Duke of Ravensdale, slammed a glass half full of whiskey down on his desk.
The man across from him leaned forward. “My daughter has been linked with your name in scandal. She has no future otherwise.”
“This is not my problem.” Michael shook the drops of whiskey from his hand before turning back to sift through the invitations he’d received.
“You have ruined her!”
“I don’t even know her.” Some debutante had been stupid enough to spread some flummery about an affair, when Michael had never glanced twice at her. She could bloody well pay the consequences herself.
“I’m prepared to offer you anything.” Viscount Darlington’s words reeked of desperation.
“I don’t want a wife, Darlington, and I believe that’s all you have to offer.” He opened an invitation, gave it a cursory review and added it to the small stack of ones he wished to accept.
“I’m not leaving until you agree to make this right. I will destroy your name right along with hers. Your parents’ reputation will be nothing compared to yours when this is over.”
Michael raised his head. “I do not like your insinuation.”
“I’ve gambled away everything we had. She was to marry Lord Alteroy’s boy, and he won’t have her now that the entire ton knows you ruined her. She told me you encouraged her, you convinced her you loved her and seduced her.”
The tenuous hold Michael had on his temper snapped. “You dare come into my home and threaten me?”
“I have nothing to lose!”
“You have far more to lose than you imagine if you threaten me or my family name.” Michael turned away before he followed the urge to jump over the desk and pummel the man into the floor. “Get out.”
“But-”
“Out!” Michael roared.
The Viscount sprinted from the room, not bothering to close the door behind him.
Michael’s temples pounded as blood raced through his veins, and he reached up to massage them. What a bloody aggravating way to start the day.
He had no intention of giving sway to blackmail and threats, nor would he allow a conniving debutante to ruin his name.
Not when he’d worked so hard to restore it.
“I suppose I should congratulate you on your upcoming nuptials, old boy.”
At the amused comment, Michael lifted his head. His closest friend lounged in the doorway. “I’m not marrying that girl, Keenan, and you know it. Furthermore, all of bloody London should know it.” Not that anyone cared. The entirety of the ton waited with baited breath to see him fall from grace.
“I didn’t think you cared for the chits right out of the schoolroom.” Captain William Keenan strode around Michael’s desk and sat in his chair. Propping his feet up on the desk, he continued to grin as he pushed a lock of dark hair from his forehead.
Michael reached over and shoved the man’s feet from the desk. “I’m glad you find this all so amusing.”
“What’s not amusing about it?” Keenan leaned back. “I must say, you have the most extraordinary luck with women.”
“She wants the title. It has nothing to do with me.” Michael had lost count of the near misses he’d avoided in the years since Victoria died.
Hell, even during his marriage, women of all ages and marital status had been determined to see if he was as scandal-worthy as his parents had been.
But this one had caused her own downfall, and he saw no reason to come to her rescue.
“What do you intend to do?”
Michael motioned Keenan out of the chair. “Ignore it.”
His friend raised an eyebrow as he moved. “Darlington will never allow it to rest, especially if he believes his daughter’s claim to be true. The gossips will have a field day. Michael, you know what they’ll say.”
Yes, he knew what they’d say. That he was like his father. Or, God forbid, like his mother.
Neither would be a compliment.
And damn the girl for her timing. He couldn’t afford to focus on her. He had bigger issues to deal with. “Get to the matter at hand. Your report.”
Keenan grinned. “One might never guess I was a ranking officer in the Navy by the way you order me about. I fought at Trafalgar, you know. At Nelson’s side.”
“Your report, Captain,” Michael mocked, a small smile curving his lips.
“Thomas is alive. Or at least he was as of one month ago. We have traced him to Warwickshire. A small village called Andover, to be specific.”
“Warwickshire?” Michael echoed. “You’d think a man who wanted to be dead might hide a little farther than a couple counties from London.”
“He’s even less brilliant than that.” Keenan helped himself to a glass of brandy. “He was traveling with a wife.”
“Thomas married?”
Keenan pulled a thick envelope from his coat and tossed it onto Michael’s desk, then took a sip of his drink. “The marriage certificate is in there. He married the sister of the Earl of Merewood, a year ago.”
“Merewood…I don’t recall him.”
“He’s rarely in London, so you’d likely not have met. My contacts said the woman Thomas traveled with was quite the beauty, so I imagine I’d have remembered her if we’d met.” He grinned.
Michael pulled out the papers in the envelope and perused them. “And there’s been no sign of her in the last month, either?”
“That’s the odd part. She’s living at an estate in Gloucestershire.”
“Alone?”
Keenan nodded. “For some time now. Something doesn’t add up. The rumor about her estate is that he left her for another woman. And now he’s presumably dead.”
“Thomas gets around.” Michael flipped through the remaining papers, reading Keenan’s scrawled handwriting detailing the trail he’d been following for a month. “The wife knows where Thomas is, I would bet my best stallion on it.”
Keenan perked up. “Truly? I’d take that bet. I’ve had my eye on that horse for years.”
“I will find Thomas and see that he makes good on his debts. I’ve managed to keep Brummell, Alvanley and the others quiet with the assurance that I will take care of this matter.”
“Brummell seemed in quite the pickle last I saw him. He probably gambled away the money he expected to receive.”
“I imagine you are correct.” What a bloody mess. Michael could throttle his cousin for placing him in the middle of this debacle. Brummell was only one of a number of influential lords and less reputable visitors Michael had received in recent days, all demanding information and payment on the investment they had entrusted to Michael’s cousin before his “death.”
The problem was Michael couldn’t find a sign of this investment opportunity.
And given the scandal brewing with Darlington’s daughter, he could ill afford a second one. He had fought hard to restore his family’s name. He would not see it destroyed again.
“Your Grace?”
As Michael looked up, the large figure of his daughter’s latest governess filled the doorway. Frizzy strands of gray-peppered hair shot out from the severe bun on top her head.
“Mrs. Coddle.”
“Your daughter is missing again.” Her wide-set eyes spoke volumes of exhaustion. “She’s not in the nursery, Your Grace. I’ve searched all over the house. I am afraid she’s gone.”
“You know, you could solve two of your problems at once.” William brought a hand to his chin. “Marry the Darlington girl and give Bethie a mother.”
Ignoring the comment, Michael turned his attention back to the governess. “I gave you a list of her usual hiding spots. Search every one, twice if you must.”
Mrs. Coddle nodded before making her way out the door.
William watched her leave with an afflicted expression. “I must say, Michael, doesn’t being a duke entitle you to a beauteous
, young governess?”
“The last two fancied themselves in love with me, and I had to let them go. I’m tired of interviewing new ones.”
“Did you have to find such a masculine replacement, though? She frightens me.”
“The others Elisabeth took a disliking to.” Michael frowned as he recalled the extremes she had taken to express that unhappiness.
“So what is your next move?” his friend asked.
“I believe it’s time to pay my respects to my dear cousin’s widow.” Michael reached up to rub his temple. “It won’t cost me any sleep to leave London right now.”
A small sniffle sounded from the direction of the large bay windows and Michael watched as the midnight blue velvet curtains began to flutter.
“And what will you do about Bethie?” Keenan asked.
“Well, since she’s gone and no one can find her, I suppose I’ll simply have to leave without seeing her.”
An outraged gasp confirmed his suspicions. He needed to add a new room to the list of Elisabeth’s hiding places.
Keenan’s gaze veered to the curtain and a grin curved his lips. “She may never be found.”
Michael nodded his agreement. “I certainly can’t wait until never.”
“Papa, I’m here!”
Michael pretended shock as his daughter emerged from the curtain with her arms open wide. “Well, my goodness, little one.”
The ribbon he’d seen in her hair that morning had somehow disappeared, leaving her dark unruly curls falling around cheeks rosy from excitement.
She took a running leap and catapulted into his arms. He wrapped one hand around her tiny waist and used the other to lift her chin. “How did you get into my office?”
He steeled himself against the pull of her large, blue eyes. He knew that any moment they would soften in an attempt to convince him of whatever she desired that day.
“I’ve been hiding in here forever. They never look in here.”
Michael made a mental note to check behind his curtains every time he entered his study.
“Papa, are you going to leave me?” Her lower lip turned into a pout that put the wiles of any woman to shame.
“Sweet, it’s a business trip. It shouldn’t take long.” He brushed a hand over her dark curls and let her back down.
“Please don’t leave me here with her!”
“She’s got you wrapped around her finger,” Keenan commented in a singsong voice.
“Have one yourself, then mock me.”
“Good lord, you mean get a bride and all? Why leg-shackle myself while I’m in my prime?”
“Heaven forbid.”
Keenan pinched Elisabeth’s cheek as she leapt onto his lap. “Hullo, moppet.”
“Elisabeth.”
Bethie turned at the stern sound of her father’s voice. “Yes, Papa?”
“Why don’t you want to remain with Mrs. Coddle?”
“I don’t like her.”
“Why not?” Michael prodded, watching as she chewed on a fingernail.
“She’s mean to me!”
“Why don’t I bring her in here and we can discuss this?” He started to reach for the bell pull and then decided to find the governess himself. He had to be certain Elisabeth would be safe and cared for before he left. Hell, he had to be certain she wouldn’t set the house on fire.
It took him less than five minutes to find Mrs. Coddle packing her belongings.
Unable to convince her to stay, he retreated to the study, his headache pounding like a beating drum on both sides of his head. How could one small child chase away five governesses?
It had to be his fault. He was too lax. But he refused to raise her as he had been raised.
“Are you going to tell him not to leave without me?” Michael heard her ask Keenan as he neared the door.
Keenan burst out laughing. “You can work your father all on your own. You don’t need my help.”
When Michael entered, their collective gazes raised as one.
“Women aren’t supposed to be this much work, even in child form,” Keenan drawled.
“Papa, I want to go with you! Please don’t leave me.”
Michael considered the ramifications of bringing her along. It meant adding at least a week to his travels, since taking Elisabeth and a suitable companion required the carriage, luggage, frequent stops, and decent inns in which to stay.
“A deuced bother,” he mumbled. He didn’t know which would be worse—taking her with him or leaving her with the household staff, ill-prepared to control her.
Her presence would provide a better alibi for his reasons for visiting his cousin’s “grieving widow”, however. If he arrived with his daughter in tow, it would seem more like a family visit.
“Bethie, go on up to your rooms. We’ll discuss this later.”
Bethie leaned forward and smacked a kiss on his cheek. With a gleeful squeal, she charged out of the room, obviously assuming he’d relented.
And she was right.
Keenan watched as Michael turned back to his papers. “That will make for a peaceful trip.”
“I doubt it. The governess quit.”
“Who, pray tell, will accompany you on your adventure with a seven-year-old?”
Michael grabbed his discarded glass of whiskey and drained the last sip. “She can’t stay here. I’ll be gone for a couple of weeks. God only knows what trouble she might get into. Unless…” Looking to his friend, he paused, giving him the opportunity to offer help.
Keenan’s horrified expression squashed any hope of that. “You are out of your bloody mind. That age of woman is far beyond the realm I prefer to spend my time with. But…” His voice turned calculating. “You could take her to your mother’s.”
Michael slammed a partially open drawer. “Nothing could convince me to make that trip. One of the maids can come along.”
He had no other option. There wasn’t time to interview for a new governess. He needed to find Thomas.
And Thomas’s widow was the key.
Chapter Three
“The season has started and I am missing it all!” At the angry words, Blythe twisted away from the sideboard where she filled her breakfast plate and found her sister scowling at her.
“Good morning to you, too, Cordelia.” She slid into her chair.
“It would be a good morning if we were leaving.”
“Enough, Cordelia,” Adam said, focusing on his plate.
An awkward silence filled the room. Blythe bent over her plate, wishing she could enjoy one meal without the tension that had clouded the air every time she and her family were in the same room.
“I’m sorry you are missing the beginning of the season, Cordie,” Blythe said. “But how did this become my fault? I never agreed to leave.”
“It’s not fair that I am stuck here!”
“Your sister just needs time, Cordelia. Have a little patience.” Their mother’s voice held that ever-so-tolerant tone only mothers seemed to master. “Blythe has suffered a terrible loss.”
“What loss? She is better off without him, Mama, and you know it.”
“That’s enough.” Adam’s reply was flat and hard. “If you can’t do anything but complain, do it in your room.”
“Fine!” Cordelia threw her napkin on the table. “It doesn’t matter if my life is ruined.”
As Cordelia flounced out with an air of tragedy, Blythe dug for the daily dose of courage and patience needed to deal with the conversation that would follow. It had been the same every day since the London season had begun three weeks ago.
She peeked at Adam—there was the tightening of his lips, the furrow in his brow. Sure signs a glower was working its way to his face.
“Cordelia is right,” she said, preempting the lecture. “This isn’t fair to her.”
“We can be ready to leave by morning.” Adam replied, bringing his cup of tea to his lips.
Blythe dropped her fork with a clatter. “Since when has thi
s family hinged on whether I come or go? I have never stated a desire to live anywhere but here. London is fine to visit, but not to live.”
“Then consider it a lengthy visit. We aren’t leaving without you.”
“But why? This is absurd.” Exasperation slid into anger.
His hand was steady as he set his cup down. “We leave as a family, or we don’t leave.”
“Good Lord, I am not a child! I have the right to choose my own life.” She shifted toward her mother. “You understand, Mama.”
“Yes, I do. But your brother is right.”
Blythe threw her napkin on the table in a perfect echo of her sister’s dramatics. “I’ll be in the garden if anyone needs me.”
Her temper carried her on quick feet straight to the back door, which she shoved open. As she walked down the main path into the garden maze, the rain-scented air combined with the smell of fresh dirt and flowers to make a potpourri that calmed her frayed nerves.
Once Adam realized she meant to stay, he should have packed up for London. Instead, she had become the reason the family could not move on. Where was the fairness in that?
Blythe knew Adam’s tactic; he was forcing her hand. She wouldn’t allow her sister to miss the season altogether and she would give in. Adam counted on that.
And that infuriated Blythe even more.
She came to a stop at a freshly turned, empty flowerbed. Where were the flowers she had planted yesterday?
She tried to suppress the smile, but her lips twitched into a full grin. She was an awful gardener. She knew it, the plants knew it and Charles, her gardener, definitely knew it.
But he indulged her with never-ending patience, even though it meant digging up the plants she put in the wrong place and moving them. It was a silly game they played, but one she cherished. And since Adam’s horrible news, she’d needed something to escape to.
Try as she might to heal, the fact that she’d been duped taunted her. Her thoughts had even taken on Thomas’s smooth voice at some point. You were so easy to manipulate. You were so naïve, so stupid, Blythe.
She took a few slow steps up the walkway and caught sight of the missing geraniums. They had already begun to sprout pink flowers. And just past it, some plants with yellow flowers sat on the dirt, a small hand shovel next to them.
Willoughby 01 - Something About Her Page 2
