“Last night, after you dressed for dinner, I borrowed the shirt you’d worn and measured it against several jackets. It would seem there’s enough material to refit a coat for you. With your permission, I would like to take everything to the tailor, explain what’s needed, and I feel confident he can make the necessary adjustments. As for your trousers, the buttons only need to be moved a little bit. Thusly by tonight you’ll be properly attired to dine.”
“Then do it, and you’re forgiven for skulking around outside my suite. I’ll have Winston instruct Richmond to have a cart and groom ready to take you into town. Also, inform the tailor I’ll be along later this afternoon for several more jackets and trousers.”
“I will, Your Grace.”
Dressed, Simon made his way down to the family dining room. As he got closer he heard voices and recognized them—Emma and his mother.
What on earth are they doing here? I would have thought they would have breakfast in their suites.
Now with them already up and ready to start the day, he began to worry they might interfere with his hunt for the letters.
“Your Grace, standing in the hall is no place for a duke who wishes to break his fast,” his mother called out.
Caught, and with no idea how she knew he was there, Simon marched forward and stood in the doorway. Set at the head of the table, on either side of the ducal throne, the ladies graced him with pleasing but disarming smiles. Now he was very worried, not just about the letters but everything. He could swear that if he didn’t know any better they were plotting against him, which made him nervous.
“Your Grace, I believe you will find Cook has laid out a meal fit for a duke,” Emma teased.
Simon turned to her, intrigued by the day gown she was wearing—a simple light brown dress with a modest neckline, sleeves ending at her elbows. Around the collar were little, colorful flowers, but from where he stood he couldn’t tell what kind. He wanted to know—and wanted another opportunity to set his gaze on the tops of her heavenly porcelain white breasts. The thought spurred him into action.
Seeing Winston at the door leading to the kitchen, he told the man, “I’ll have coffee.”
“A pot is already at your place.”
“Then I have another errand for you. Edmond needs to go into town. Ask Richmond to have a cart at his disposal along with a groom to handle the reins.”
“Certainly, Your Grace. I’ll take care of it at once.”
Simon marched over to the sidetable, glancing at the food Cook had prepared. Picking up the heavy china plate, he then walked over to his chair.
After greeting the ladies with a quick nod, he set his plate down and took his seat. Lifting his head, he took a sip of coffee while studying his mother over the rim of the cup.
Since there were footmen and maids walking past the dining room door, Simon knew they would need to maintain proper addressing of each other.
“Your Grace, do you have any plans for the morning?” He’d decided to use this tact to see how his mother replied.
“Yes. I know it’s been a while since you’ve been under this roof, but I need to have my weekly meeting with Mrs. Lee about the staff duties. Some of the items are ordered from London while other supplies may be purchased in town. With you now in residence, we will have to make some changes to the menu and be sure we have enough food.”
“Your Grace, I’ve always been an early riser. Never having experienced the activities of the ton, which I’m glad, I tend to keep country hours. Might I inquire why you’re up at this hour or is it from being in the Guards?” Emma asked.
For the most part Simon wasn’t sure he should believe their reasons. From years of experience interrogating prisoners, primarily officers, their answers came too quickly and sounded rehearsed. Stalling from answering Emma’s question, he sliced off a piece of beef, dipped it in egg yolk and popped it into his mouth.
When Emma’s glare turned to one of annoyance, he knew he had to answer.
“Yes, m’ lady, having been in the army I got used to rising early. As for my morning, I’ll be reviewing the different estate journals, which I didn’t get a chance to start yesterday.”
“Then Lady Emma would be the perfect assistant since she handled them once the late duke took to his sick bed,” his mother stated.
“I appreciate the offer but wish to look them over myself.”
“If I’m not mistaken you’ve never had direct hands-on experience with them. As such if you’re not careful everything will be confusing,” Emma stated.
Now he knew they were planning something that directly involved him and possibly the murder of his father. It took all of his willpower to maintain control over his anger. He needed to do something but what, he wasn’t sure. Did he really want his mother and Emma searching through letters hoping to find a hint his father, before marrying his mother, compromised a young lady? In the process getting her with child? How would the duchess react if the answer was yes?
Simon turned his attention back to his breakfast and smiled to himself on seeing the ladies had also. Once finished, he assisted them from the table and followed them up the stairs to the first floor. He stopped at the door to his office and watched them continue onto the duchess’ parlor. When he saw them step in, he entered his office and closed the door. He rested his hand on the key, wondering if he should lock it, but decided against it. He hoped not doing it wouldn’t be a mistake.
Strolling across the massive room, he started for the cabinet that contained the boxes of correspondence. As he stood in front of it he wondered what secrets they held. Reaching for the handle, he noticed a slight shaking in his hand. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly, easing the tension in his shoulders. He opened the doors and stepped back as folders cascaded out onto the floor.
He went down on one knee and started to pick them up when he heard the office door open. Now he wished he’d locked it, but it was too late when two sets of footfalls came toward him. He knew who they belonged to.
“Ladies, is there something I can help you with?” he demanded, then stood, facing them.
“Yes, we came to assist you with searching out any letters which might point to someone who wished the duke dead,” his mother stated.
And possibly you also, Simon,” Emma added.
He didn’t believe he was in danger. For all he knew, until the surgeon confirmed what they suspected, his father’s injury could have been random and not directed to him or the dukedom.
“Mother, are you sure you wish to do this, look through father’s notes and letters?”
“I do, Simon, for as Emma said, at some point you could be in danger. However, if it will make you feel more comfortable, I’ll leave the task to you and her. I can use the time to speak with some of the staff to see if any of them might have also worked in the London palace. This way we may have an idea of if and when this possible tryst occurred.”
He waited until his mother left before turning to Emma, feeling his breath ripped from his chest. The way the sun filtered in cast a golden glow on her alabaster skin. It wasn’t just that, but the light glinted off her hair turning it from light brown to cinnamon. If he looked hard enough, which he did, Simon was able to detect the outline of her legs through the delicate gown she wore. All of this individually and together made him want her more than before. Never in his life had he observed such an intriguingly beautiful lady. To make matters worse, his palms started to sweat making him even more desirous to hold her, naked, against his body.
If she couldn’t share his bed, at this present time, he would at least let her know how he, or more precisely, his body felt about her. A particular part of him stiffened, and he started to step forward, only to stop at the last moment. He retreated.
“Are you feeling all right, Simon? You seem to have suddenly paled,” Emma asked.
“I’m sorry, yes. It’s just the thought of seemingly invading my father’s personal life. Shall we start?” he said.
“I see the
re must be at least a hundred folders. Do you have any idea where to start searching? Or are you going to be the typical, pig-headed man and randomly look through them.”
Simon forced a growl back down his throat. The woman drove him insane not only with her beauty but her sharp tongue, which he was beginning to appreciate as it could keep him in line. Emma did have a point though. He had no idea how or where to start, that was until he noticed the folders had years penned onto them.
“We should start by sorting them by date. Anything after seventeen-eighty-two we can put aside because they’ll be of no use.”
“If I may ask, why that year?”
“That’s when I was born.”
“I’m sorry, Simon, but I don’t understand? Can you explain it to me?” Emma said.
“Simply put, whatever my father was involved in, legal or not, would have occurred before he and my mother married. As for compromising a young lady it would also have happened before then. If I was to hazard a guess sometime in the early seventeen-seventies forward.”
From the expression of understanding and wonderment in Emma’s eyes, Simon knew she comprehended why the year was so important. Looking down at the pile at his feet then in the cabinet, he knew they’d need a large table for the job. He glanced around the office.
“Let’s work over there. We’ll have plenty of natural light and space to spread out the folders,” Simon told her, pointing to the mahogany table overlooking the forecourt.
Simon watched several expressions flit across her features.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll do my work from here, on this settee.”
Simon didn’t argue. He brought the folders to her, and after the second bundle was delivered, he noticed her brow furrow.
“What is it?”
“I realized we can narrow down the search even more. Granted, at my father’s birth he received the courtesy title of marquis, but between schooling and university he wouldn’t have spent any time within the ton until around seventeen-seventy-three,” Simon explained.
“So we should focus our efforts between then and when you were born,” Emma recommended.
Simon glanced down at the pile of folders Emma had already placed to the side. He suspected hunting down a particular set of letters would be a daunting task but one which needed to be done.
“This is the last of them so I suggest we sort them by month and year then work backwards,” Simon said.
He took a seat at the table when his mother stepped into the room. Glancing to her, he noticed she wasn’t smiling nor frowning but wore a neutral expression.
“In April seventeen-eighty, Winston’s father was working as a senior footman in London. He’d told Winston of a rumour about a young lady who, in the middle of the season was spirited from town, never to return. Unfortunately, the butler couldn’t remember the reason for the hasty departure,” Laura announced from the doorway then swept in and took a seat beside Emma.
Setting down the letter he had been reading, this one about having a new traveling carriage built, Simon rang for the butler.
“As I said a short while ago, I’ve no hint as to who this lady might be. All I can recall is my father said the duke at the time was furious and came close to cutting off all the marquis’ funds if he didn’t marry the girl. By the time the late duke arrived at their household they’d fled the city and were never heard from again. I’m sorry, but that’s all I remember.”
“Winston, did your father ever tell you the name of the lady my father compromised?
“No, Your Grace. I’m sorry, he didn’t.”
“Thank you, now you may return to your duties,” Simon directed.
“I do hope and pray you’re able to find what you’re looking for.”
Simon nodded farewell to Winston and watched him shuffle from the room. Turning back to the ladies, Simon felt the strain of keeping the secret of what his father had done and finally letting it all out seemed to have finally caught up with the man. If Simon wasn’t mistaken Winston had to be close to seventy and should think of retiring. That he would have to talk to his mother about, once this mystery was resolved.
“Are there any letters dated on or around April seventeen-eighty in the folder you’re going through?” Simon asked.
“No, which is unusual since there are ones for all the other months. I’m wondering if Philip might have never received them or they were never sent. Or what if he didn’t put them in the folder?” Laura said.
“No wait, here’s one from March of that year. It says, and I am reading this from the letter directly.”
“Considering your reputation, Philip, Marquis of Sheffield, I won’t allow it. We are leaving the city and don’t wish to communicate with you ever again.’”
“I’m sorry, but that’s all it says. To make matters even more confusing, the signature is so badly smudged to where it’s illegible so we’ve no idea who sent it,” Emma pronounced.
“What do we do now?” Simon asked.
“Right now it’s very simple, we have luncheon, then you, along with Emma, go to the mill to see the changes we recommended. On returning through the village she stops at the dressmaker to fulfil your demand for two riding habits. While she’s doing that, you visit the tailor so you will be dressed properly as a duke not a farmhand,” the duchess ordered.
“And might I ask, dearest mother, what will you be doing while we are out?” Simon demanded.
“Considering how stubborn and overbearing you can be, I’ll continue to go through some of the letters looking for something. As of yet, I don’t know what, but I will when I see it.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand?” Simon said.
“Simon, I do. It’s not unusual for ladies of the ton to use certain wordings or phrases similar to how we talk with fans to communicate. Granted, as I mentioned I’ve never had a season but was still schooled in these subtle ways. Laura needs time and quiet to see if she can find something that will give us a clue to what we need to know,” Emma pronounced.
Suddenly, Simon wished he was back on the continent fighting the French. At least there the enemy was easily recognized not like here where the potential murderer might be wearing an evening gown or perfectly tailored jacket and trousers.
“Under one condition, as I know you like to keep things to yourself, when we return you tell us what if anything you might have learned,” Simon commanded.
“Agreed, even if it’s something none of us wish to hear,” Laura reassured them.
“Shall we have luncheon? I’m so looking forward to seeing the beautiful materials and patterns for this riding habit I’m being forced to get,” Emma taunted.
Chapter Five
Emma stepped out of the palace into the afternoon sun, wishing she could toss the bonnet and parasol aside. Her maid insisted she bring both to protect her complexion. Emma had use for neither.
Then she saw Simon.
His mother had warned Emma about his temper, and by his sour expression she was about to witness a sliver of it now. “All bluster and no bite” was how Laura had described it to her.
She watched him drove up to the steps and stop the small wagon. She was about to climb in when he held his hand out.
“Let me help you, as it’s unladylike for you to do so unassisted.”
Emma waited while he climbed down and came around to where she stood. She wanted to deny his offering. After all, she’d done well helping herself over the last few months in her trips to town. On the other hand, she appreciated a man who understood how to be a gentleman. A lady knew when she should accept help and when to demand she do it herself. Being allowed to go alone was one of the very few concessions Laura had made, but Emma suspected that would end now with Simon in residence.
He wrapped his hands around her waist and easily lifted her into the cart. Her lungs seemed to deflate as every nerve on her body tingled from his touch.
All of this, the emotions, the flushing, was new to her. She’d read
many romance novels, each describing how the body reacted to a man’s touch and until now, she had no clue just how real the sensations were. Part of her enjoyed these emotions, but another part, a much bigger one, feared where they would lead. She then thought back to last eve and Laura’s words about keeping her wits.
Once he was on the seat beside her, she grabbed up the reins and with a flick of her wrist, tapped the pony on its rump, sending the cart forward. Simon attempted to take them, but her glare stopped him.
“Daisy responds better to the gentle touch of a lady and not being manhandled. I saw how you treated this sweet, little girl, and you’re lucky she saw me, otherwise you would have been in trouble.”
“That explains Daisy’s attitude when I tried to get her to move.”
“It certainly does. From what Laura and Richmond said, she was trained with the duchess in mind. When I took over doing the calls she was the most logical choice, and I haven't regretted my decision one bit.”
“Very well, and since you know where we’re going I’ll relax and enjoy the ride,” Simon said.
“Yes, that will suit me perfectly as I do prefer silence,” she teased, then glanced at him.
As they made their way to town, Emma glanced several times over to Simon and smiled to herself. She saw he was studying some of the buildings seen from the road and nodded his approval. When they entered the village, Emma wasn’t surprised at the friendly waves she, and Simon, were getting.
Eyes ahead, Emma steered the pony to the side of the main road, and with a tiny curling of her wrist, brought Daisy to a halt.
“Might I ask why we’re stopping here?”
“Certainly. Right there is Her Grace’s dressmaker.” Emma pointed to a neatly maintained building. “As you seemed so insistent on teaching me to ride, I’m hoping she will have one finished by tomorrow. As it will take us more than two hours before we return to her shop, it will be closing. Also, this will give you time for a visit with the tailor as your mother ordered.”
The Duke's Bride (The Radcliffe Family Book 1) Page 4
