A Duke, the Lady, and a Baby

by Vanessa Riley

  Another glance at the empty balcony heated his gut. “You’re missing the point. The nanny has lied to me twice. Would anyone respect me if I overlooked this?”

  Gantry put a hand on Busick’s shoulder. “You’ve earned your respect on the field and off by how you treat your men and your friends. You’re your worst critic pushing yourself when you don’t have to.”

  “That’s the man I am. That’s not changing.”

  “No one wants you to change, but I for one would like you happy. You’re filling your world with the things you’re used to—soldiers and drilling. What about things you’ve never had, like a woman who truly loves you?”

  “Don’t they all claim love until something doesn’t go as it should? What type of fool will I be if there’s another deception she’s hiding?”

  “I’ll do some inquiries for you. See what can be determined about Mrs. Jordan. Wouldn’t your mother be able to identify your cousin’s widow?”

  “Perhaps, but then I’d have to see Lady Bodonel.” Busick wanted none of her meddling or treating him as his invalid father. He pulled out his watch. “I’ll invite my mother here along with your father. Won’t we be an unhappy quartet?”

  Gantry looked as if he’d bit into a sour lemon. “Your mother is nothing like my father. She’s actually proud of you.”

  “When she has time or wants to impress a new friend. No, Gantry, you have an unwanted gift, a healthy father invested in your life. I want to be that for Lionel without all the manipulation. I will be a source of stability regardless of his mother.”

  “Well, your nanny has showed on the balcony. Go make nice. We want bread tomorrow.”

  Busick turned and spied Patience Maybe-Jordan carrying Lionel, cooing at him, like nothing had happened.

  She and Mrs. St. Maur spread a blanket between the chairs, just like normal.

  Gantry straightened Busick’s jacket. “Well, Commander, go forth and conquer.”

  Busick picked up his pace, climbed the stone stairs, and gazed at the nanny. A gown of the deepest black swallowed her whole, hiding the figure that had been in his arms last night.

  He started to pull out his watch but stopped. La . . . Jordan . . . Patience was on time. He moved to his chair, but the stare between them remained unbroken.

  “I’m going to leave. Time to dust,” Mrs. St. Maur said, then scurried back into the house.

  Patience sank onto the blanket six feet away. She whispered something, then put the baby on the fuzzy wool.

  Her mouth opened, but her typical complaint about Lionel being too young to crawl never came. She looked at Busick coolly. “Go, Lionel. Go to the commander.”

  The boy lifted his head, big and wobbly and burped. Wait. Was that a smile for Busick?

  He slapped his thigh. “Come to me, son. You can do it. I believe in you. You’re capable.”

  The baby tipped over onto his back, then rolled onto his stomach.

  That was new.

  Patience offered a bit of a smile, her eyes getting big. Pride in her son? Maybe a little approval for the duke as well. His trials were working.

  “Your Grace, Mrs. St. Maur, and I will be heading out this evening.”

  What?

  And that didn’t sound like a request.

  Dragging his chair onto the blanket until he was next to Lionel, he scooped the boy up. “I said you didn’t have to leave. Lionel is not going anywhere.”

  Her lids closed. “I hadn’t intended to take him with me. This time.”

  “When and for how long?”

  “It should take no longer than a day.”

  “You will be coming home as soon as this errand is done?”

  Her lips trembled. “I’ll return to Hamlin, but home for me is Demerara. If you don’t think you can handle taking care of Lionel for such a long time, I’ll . . . I’ll ask Lady Shrewsbury to send a new widow.”

  “No more women in this house. The current widows she’s sent have upended things. I can handle Lionel.”

  “I know you’re quite capable. I couldn’t do this, couldn’t be away if I didn’t know how you loved my son.”

  But she was still leaving. “May I ask where you’re off to?”

  “You may, but nothing requires me to answer. I’m just informing you of my decision.”

  “I don’t like not having a say.”

  “Duke, you’re not my father or my husband or my employer. So, no say.”

  “I liked you better as LaCroy, at least you listened to me.”

  “As LaCroy I’d have to sneak out. I don’t want to do that. From now on, when I say something to you it has to be the truth.”

  “Well, that is a good development between us, you not deceiving me.”

  “No, I’ll save that for others.”

  She smoothed her sleeves. A nervous response?

  “I only did what I thought I had to, Repington. Know that keeping my identity hidden was one of the hardest things I’ve done.”

  “You have to go, today?”

  “The thought of leaving Lionel for a moment breaks me up inside. But you are a capable guardian. He’s safe in your hands. You must keep him safe.”

  “I have guards again on the catacombs, if that will make you feel better.” He adjusted Lionel’s clean pinafore. “You will be back?”

  “Of course.”

  She smiled at him, definitely at Busick. The first since their argument.

  He rather liked her smiling at him. “I must insist that you tell me where you are going. What if something goes wrong for you? How will I come for you?”

  She stood up with a palm shadowing her face. “There’s too much light. The way the sun reflects off the snow hurts my eyes. May I be excused?”

  The woman did look uncomfortable.

  Busick handed her the wiggling boy. “Let’s return to the house.”

  He stood and held his free arm out to her.

  She didn’t take it, but neither did she retreat.

  They were in the house where less than a day ago everything turned topsy-turvy. “It’s safe here. Stay. Don’t leave Hamlin.”

  She adjusted a blanket about Lionel. The boy looked so content in her arms. The flare of his nostrils—was that Patience’s nose?

  “I wouldn’t leave Lionel if this was not important.”

  “I’ll not stop you, but you should tell me what you are doing, Cousin.”

  “You believe me?”

  “Mostly. And mostly, I want you safe. Here under my protective arms.”

  Another brief smile set on her lips. The lines of her neck tensed less. “You don’t have to be concerned. Lady Shrewsbury’s nephew, the man from last night, he will be going with me and Mrs. St. Maur. He’ll make sure we have safe travels. Your arms will have to find another occupation.”

  “You trust a man you met last night?”

  “He’s the barrister who rescued me from Bedlam and led me to Lady Shrewsbury. Yes, I trust him.”

  “He’s sort of your hero. Any chances of you being taken in by that hero business?”

  “No more than you. If you will excuse me.”

  She took Lionel up the stairs and he watched her form glide up, tread by tread, step by step.

  The thought of Patience being out of arms’ reach and leaving Hamlin wasn’t good.

  Busick wasn’t about to allow Patience to be in danger.

  A practiced strategist would cede a battle but not the war. He’d agree to allow her to leave, but she wasn’t the only one who could employ secretive tactics.

  CHAPTER 22

  WATCHING AND WAITING

  I sat next to Jemina in Daniel Thackery’s carriage, an elegant conveyance of polished ebony exterior with brass side lanterns and four riders atop. I’d ridden in it before, wearing rags, with Jemina glued to my side, like now.

  Today, at least, she looked good, a nice clean dress of light gray. She held my gloved hands. “It will be well.”

  Thackery shook his head, maybe even rolled his
eyes.

  Lady Shrewsbury’s nephew was a nice-looking man bearing the tanned skin of a Corinthian. He’d freed us from Bedlam, and I was grateful for his efforts shepherding us to Town, so I’d forgive his staring at Jemina and me as if we were witless.

  I released my friend’s hands and clutched my knees. “Out with it, sir.”

  Thumbing his waistcoat buttons, he slouched on the seat, his coal-black eyes lifting. “I do many things for my aunt. She’s the dearest—but traipsing about London with a woman dressed as a man is lunacy. We should turn back.”

  Jemina waggled her finger at him. “It will work. Mrs. Jordan has been playing a man for a month. She does it quite well.”

  He leaned forward, caught her finger, and lowered it. “Spirited little creature, aren’t you? Don’t take this the wrong way, but didn’t I collect you two from Bedlam? All three of us should be headed there now.”

  I glared at him as if I were the duke, tough and assured. “I can do this. And this is your fault.”

  “Mine? Hardly, madam . . . sir . . . Hmmm.”

  “You saunter into Hamlin and tell us that A. Sullivan, the man who canceled over two thousand pounds of my husband’s debt, could be the name of an inspector working at a gaming hell. Today, you say it could be a reverend who gambled with Jordan.”

  “My apologies. I don’t saunter. My stride has been said to be confident. I don’t spend time gambling, so I have no way of knowing who A. Sullivan is.”

  “I do. That’s why I’m in this getup.” I tugged on my jet waistcoat with silver stripes. “If the man I saw arguing with my late husband is the Sullivan the inspector and not the fallen priest—”

  “Minister, ma’am. Though gambling during the week and proffering Communion on Sunday isn’t quite a paragon of virtue.”

  “Well, if it’s the inspector, then we know this diary holds entries of a conspiracy. We know that Markham wants this back. This is why he wants me gone. I can identify Sullivan. I’m a witness to the conspiracy.”

  The barrister’s expression sharpened. “If this Sullivan is the inspector, the man responsible for collecting and settling credit at Piccadilly’s gaming hell, this book denotes a treacherous conspiracy. It still doesn’t prove the other two things.”

  “It’s a start to answering questions.”

  He folded his arms and leaned his head back. “I’m hoping for the gospel of the dice. Then there will be no encumbrances on Hamlin, and your son’s legacy will be clear.”

  That was a good possibility, but not the reason I donned menswear. I was desperate. This Sullivan caused my husband’s suicide. Not my note to Collin, not my failure at being an understanding wife or turning the other cheek.

  I tugged on my crisp white cravat, then slipped my perspiring hands again to my pantaloons. “If he’d borrowed money or won from this minister, wouldn’t that be in the diary, too? Like my dear friend, my husband was precise about numbers.”

  “His records are detailed, but are they complete? Is anything missing?”

  My letter was missing. I’d stashed it in a drawer in my room. I should’ve burned it. Set it to flames.

  That would take away my frustrated words but not my pain.

  “Mrs. Jordan, do you truly understand what this means if Sullivan is an inspector?”

  Jemina flipped through the diary again. “Extortion. No one would cancel IOUs because of choice words.”

  “Does that matter, Mr. Thackery?”

  “It could mean your husband’s death was no suicide.”

  Jemina looked at me and I at her. I hoped she couldn’t read my thoughts. It couldn’t be murder. I saw the note he’d left, accusing me of making him so depressed that he wanted to die. Colin was steeped in anguish. His careful script was broken, even sloppy, so not like him. I burned his note. I had to.

  “Ladies, well, Lady and LaCroy. You have to ask yourself, why would a man with canceled debts kill himself? One who would be getting a small fortune of a marriage settlement in a couple of months? You had written him again that you’d borne a son?”

  “Yes. I kept writing him. Then I wanted him to come see our son, right away. The next I know Markham appears telling me Colin’s dead.” That suicide note and Markham’s hideous smile as I sobbed—I’ll never forget either. Never.

  Thackery rubbed his hands together. “Delightful. My apologies, but I haven’t tried a capital case in a year. I’ll have to convince the Lord Mayor for the assignment.”

  The smart barrister looked gleeful, and my innards twisted. “My husband was depressed. He suffered moods.”

  “True. When a person decides he’s done, it’s hard to stop him, but I’m inclined to think that whatever caused an inspector to cheat his gaming hell might lead him to rid himself of the problem, permanently.”

  I rubbed at the pain in my neck. My headache returned. “Now you have me rooting for the minister.”

  Jemina nudged my shoulder, then settled in with her embroidery. “Don’t let Mr. Thackery’s bluster make you lose heart. You identify Sullivan, and we’ll be off to Hamlin and Lionel to determine the next steps.”

  My babe.

  I missed Lionel, but my boy needed the truth, and I hoped the truth was that Markham was at fault. If it was mine, then I’d own it and work every day to make it up to my son.

  But I had to know.

  I took comfort that my boy was with Repington. I knew he’d be safe. Repington would never let anything happen to Lionel, even if his mother courted danger.

  Thackery adjusted his brass spectacles, then set down the diary, stashing it on his seat. “Mrs. St. Maur? You don’t seem very quiet, very different from when we first met.”

  “Chains at Bedlam will steal your tongue.”

  He tweaked his lenses. “Or perhaps it’s been liberated with all the sneaking and danger of the Widow’s Grace business. Do you approve of this adventure?”

  “I approve of Patience. If this is the lengths we must go to discover the missing parts of her husband’s life, then I’m for it. A woman needs to know what she needs to know.”

  “ ’Tis true. My compliments to your sewing. You butchered my waistcoat and breeches quite nicely for Jordan here. I know where to come if I’m ever in dire straits and my tailor is busy.”

  My friend raised her needle, then lowered it as if she thought better of the action. “Since waiting on your lawyering and the Widow’s Grace has proved slow, we are called to act.”

  Jemina’s tone sounded sharp, and I had the feeling that she’d tired of waiting, of hoping for someone to arrive with the information needed to save her.

  I clasped her pinkie in solidarity. I would help her even if it meant delaying our trip to Demerara.

  Staying wouldn’t be so bad, giving Lionel a little more time with the duke. It would be dreadful if my baby couldn’t have some part of the honorable man.

  The duke might be crazed with his drills, but I felt safe with him. He might not believe that someone could get in the house, but he added patrols to the catacombs. I saw them as we left.

  Was this an indication that we could work together for Lionel’s benefit?

  The lights of the near village dimmed. It would be an hour or more before we reached London. My palms were dripping wet.

  “Justice is slow sometimes, Mrs. St. Maur, but I don’t see you traipsing about in refined menswear. You don’t have the height for it?”

  “Silly goose.” She started her needlepoint again, long scarlet stitches. “Too many of us could raise suspicions.”

  The man chuckled. “Yes. I don’t want to raise suspicions, going to gaming hells with pretty men at my side.”

  “Men drinking or under the influence of the games won’t be looking for anything but luck. I won’t be discovered.”

  “You obviously haven’t been a man long enough.”

  I didn’t know what to do with Mr. Thackery. The only man I had to explain myself to was at Hamlin.

  Fixing my powder wig, I closed my eyes
and waited for the true games to begin. It wouldn’t be long before I knew if Jove or Agassou smiled on me at last.

  * * *

  In the drawing room, Busick sat at his desk with Lionel on his lap. This dance of getting the teary-eyed child to drink the pap milk was getting old. Patience should be here giving the boy what he wants.

  Trying again, he tipped the pap boat to the babe’s mouth.

  Lionel sucked down a little, then stuck his pink tongue out as if Busick had given him sour milk.

  He sniffed the beverage in the pap dish, a long-necked vessel stretched like a gravy boat. It didn’t smell bad, but when did floury cow’s milk have an inviting scent?

  “Come on, young man, you need to eat. Then you’ll grow up big and strong.”

  “Duke.” Gantry paced from the pianoforte to the mirror and back. “Didn’t you have a woman employed for this?”

  He did the trip again, back and forth, with a letter in his clenched fist. “I’m sure you had a woman for this.”

  “No need for jests. She had an errand.”

  “Both of them, Duke?”

  “Someone had to go with her. Mrs. LaCroy Jordan couldn’t leave Hamlin by herself.”

  “She’s a widow, not a single maiden. She can go places respectably by herself.”

  Busick hadn’t thought of that.

  The woman wasn’t forthcoming, and he didn’t want to show how concerned he was. Maybe he should’ve.

  The major he sent to scout the countess’s leased house knocked at the open door.

  With Lionel still sticking his tongue out, Busick didn’t stand and unsettle the boy more. “Come in.”

  “Mrs. LaCroy remains inside with Lady Shrewsbury. But Mrs. St. Maur, she left with the barrister and an unidentified man about a half an hour ago.”

  “Mrs. St. Maur? Do you have an idea where?”

  The fellow had a bubbly look on his face. “To a gaming hell, Your Grace.”

  “To gamble? I didn’t think that one had it in her. Good work, Major. Do you have someone watching the house?”

  “Yes, my replacement showed.” The man pumped his fingers as if his arm was bothering him.

  “You’ve done enough for today. You’re off duty.”