Furrowing his brows, Garret regarded the duke for a moment. “I think the real question is, who wanted your entire family dead?” he asked then. “Because they’ve just about managed to wipe out the Wainwright line.”
Joshua leaned against the table, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “You think this is … related to the fire?” he wondered, his manner cautious. He had come to that conclusion, of course, but hearing someone else confirm his suspicions would ensure he was being objective.
All along, he had thought it was merely a tipped over candle that caused the deadly fire six months ago. He’d been so sure his brother John had started the fire. The flames seemed to erupt from the rake’s room. John hadn’t called out a warning or cried out that he was trapped, no doubt because he was in his usual drunken stupor at that time of night. His death was probably the only painless one of those that died, Joshua thought in disgust.
“Of course, it’s related,” Garret insisted, pushing his chair away from the table. He scrubbed his face with his hand again, sighing loudly. “Do you … trust Lady Charlotte?” he asked in a lowered voice, repeating the question more to see the duke’s reaction than from any real suspicion he might have of the woman. At Joshua surprised expression, he added, “Is there any chance she … wants you dead? Does she gain anything from your death? Does her father benefit, somehow? Besides from not having to pay out a dowry, I mean.”
His anger as his friend’s assertion had Joshua standing up straight with his fists in front of him. “She had nothing to do with this!” he replied a bit too quickly. He tried to calm himself, knowing his reaction made him look like a young pup in love. A defensive young pup.
Could Charlotte have arranged for his family’s demise? But, to what end? She stood to gain nothing if she wasn’t married to one of the Wainwright brothers. She seemed quite committed to the idea of her betrothal. Had she wanted him dead, she could have killed him while he lay unconscious in hospital. And there was the horrified look on her face when she found the dynamite earlier – she could barely touch the stuff. And the fright in her entire body when she’d visited his room the night before. “You forget, she was in the house last night. It was her window that broke. She would have been in just as much danger as any of us.” Joshua countered, trying to keep his voice even.
“Was she?” Garret questioned, his eyebrow suggesting otherwise.
Joshua sighed. “Yes, she was.” At Garret’s continued gaze, he added, “I know because … she was with me … in my bedchamber.”
Garret leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Was she, now?” he murmured, his mouth curled up on one side. Well, at least the betrothal is going well, he decided with a hint of amusement. Now if the two would just get married and have an heir and a spare in the course of the next week …
“She’s rather frightened of lightning,” Joshua responded in the lady’s defense, willing himself to remain impassive.
“There’s no need to make excuses, old man,” Garret replied lightly, silently glad that Joshua didn’t suspect Charlotte of any sabotage. The woman would be a perfect duchess for him. And she truly cared about him, Garrett knew. “I’m just trying to consider all the possibilities.” He was silent a moment. “Do any of the servants seem … dissatisfied?” he wondered then, his mind picturing them one by one. Devoted, he would say about each and every one of them. It helped that the seventh Duke of Chichester was beloved by the staff and the nearby villagers, his duchess even more so. The tenants were happy for the most part. He could attest to that, having made visits to all of them on a regular basis over the past six months. No, it didn’t seem possible that anyone local would want to see the duke dead.
“No,” Joshua said as he raked his fingers through his hair. “This has to go … higher. Someone has to benefit from my death. Who would that be?” he asked, turning his attention back to Garrett.
“Don’t look at me!” Garrett replied, taking offense at the implication that he would know of such a person, or worse, that it was him.
“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to imply it was you. I mean, who have I offended?”
Garrett sighed again, realizing Joshua had taken the situation too personally. “I don’t believe this is about you, per se,” he spoke quietly. At Joshua’s furrowed brows, he added, “This is probably about a ducal property or the entire dukedom. Who benefits if the Wainwright line is dead?” he clarified as he leaned forward to rest his arms on his elbows.
Joshua shook his head. “The Crown, I suppose,” he considered, knowing that the lands would revert to the king if there were no heirs to inherit. “Although I don’t particularly like him, I have no quarrel with Prinny. So … I have no idea. But you are going to find out,” he stated emphatically as he waved a finger at Garrett.
“Me?” Garret responded as he stood up, stunned.
“I’m sending you to London. In fact, if you could leave in the next hour, you could get there before dark.”
Furrowing his brows, Garrett regarded his friend. “You must know there is nothing I would rather do, Your Grace, than go to London,” he said warily, wondering exactly what Joshua had in mind. I can visit Jane. I can play faro. I can …“Why am I going, exactly?”
Joshua rolled his eyes and considered what he needed to know. “You must go to Lady Charlotte’s father. Find out the details of the betrothal, and be sure there really is an arrangement,” he said as he glanced over the papers on his desk. “It’s possible he’s made arrangements with another party, perhaps for financial reasons.”
His estate manager considered his words. “And if Ellsworth won’t see me?” Garrett wondered, thinking the earl wouldn’t have any reason to accept a caller he didn’t know personally or from a referral.
Pausing before he answered, Joshua considered who else Garrett could call on to get answers. “You know Grandby. The Earl of Torrington. He’s a friend of Ellsworth and was a friend of my father. You can find him at White’s just about every night before the social events begin. Oh,” he stabbed a finger into the air. “And ask Grandby if he knows of anyone that would benefit from the death of the Wainwright line. Besides the Crown, of course.” He frowned as he surveyed the desk and then looked about the room. “I would think a betrothal would necessitate some sort of written agreement, wouldn’t you?” Joshua asked then, his brows furrowing as his mind jumped among the topics that had him curious.
Garrett shrugged. “I should think so.” Although he had heard tell of many betrothals that were simply gentlemen’s agreements made over a baby’s crib.
“You haven’t found any such documents, have you?” Joshua wondered then, thinking that perhaps the contract would still be in the files that hadn’t burned in the fire.
Garrett shook his head. “I have not. But then, I was only looking for papers having to do with the operations of the estate. If they were in your father’s private desk, they would be lost,” he added, not needing to mention that the private desk was in the duke’s apartment and had been completely and utterly destroyed along with everything else in the west wing. “What else?” he asked then, realizing there would be more to Joshua’s request.
“Just a few minutes ago, Doctor Regan stitched up a rather nasty wound on Lady Charlotte’s back.”
Garrett sucked air through his teeth at the comment. “Did she have an accident during your ride today?” he wondered, his brows furrowing in concern.
Shaking his head, Joshua leaned over the desk and lowered his voice. “She said her father whipped her because she refused to consider backing out of this betrothal.” He watched as Garrett’s facial expression turned from concern to shock. “I want to know if the bastard really did it, and if, perhaps, he’s already made arrangements for her to marry someone else. Possibly an earl.” He couldn’t remember if Charlotte had mentioned a name, but certainly someone at one of the men’s clubs would know something.
Garrett’s scowl deepened. “Is that all?” he replied rhe
torically, wondering where he would begin.
Joshua cocked his right brow in response. “Start at White’s and work your way to Boodles if you must. And there should be a dowry entailed somewhere, probably at a bank. Find it. Send word as you can – just hire a courier …” He paused to open a drawer and reached for a purse that bulged with coins, “And I’ll look through what I can here,” he added, realizing he was expecting a great deal from his best friend. He handed over the purse and Garrett took it, hefting the fistful with a look of appreciation. “Use what you need to and keep the rest.”
Crossing his arms, Garrett considered the orders Joshua had given him as well as the generous payment. “Are you going to marry her?” he asked finally, keeping his face impassive. Say ‘yes.’ Then go get the special license and just do it.
Joshua stared back, annoyed by the blunt question. “I … that depends,” he replied, not wanting to admit how he felt about the Earl of Ellsworth’s daughter.
He certainly felt some sort of affection for the girl. He recalled how jealous he had been of his brother when he’d finally had the chance to meet Charlotte the year she turned sixteen. She was beautiful, poised, pleasant to be around, and not the least bit proud of her station in life. But Joshua had known she was his brother’s to marry. And despite John Wainwright’s insistence that he would not give up his trysts with whores and courtesans, even after his marriage, the man at least knew that Charlotte Bingham would make a perfect duchess and a suitable mother for his heirs.
Now Joshua understood why his brother felt that way.
“She may not be mine to marry,” Joshua finally replied with a sigh. The sting he felt at saying the words aloud surprised him.
“Do you … could you see yourself married to her?” Garrett asked then, straightening so that his entire six-foot-two-inch frame towered over the desk. “Because, if you can’t, I think I’d like to throw my hat in for consideration …” Joshua’s lethal stare stopped Garrett’s teasing comment. “For her sister’s hand,” he finished quickly, Joshua’s reaction confirming for him that the duke probably liked the chit a bit more than he was willing to admit.
“She doesn’t have one,” Joshua replied, about to ask if Jane was no longer of interest to Garrett. He inhaled quickly, suddenly wondering how he knew Charlotte didn’t have a sister. Who told me she didn’t have a sister? he asked himself. Someone spoke those words to him, not so very long ago. I haven’t any brothers or sisters, he recalled as if he’d heard it just yesterday.
Charlotte had!
He remembered her soft voice, coming from somewhere nearby, while his eyes were closed, and he gripped her small hand in his.
In hospital?
It must have been. How long had she been at his bedside? How many days did she sit with him? No wonder she didn’t seem frightened when I was without the mask earlier. She had seen the wounds on his face. Had seen them when they were at their worst. But had she seen the others on his shoulder? On the side of this chest and down to his hip? They were far worse, he thought. Perhaps she’d caught a glimpse during the storm the night before, when the flash of lighting lit up the room before he’d pulled her against his body in an effort to hide his nudity and his scars. Those scars were truly hideous, he thought. Bad enough that he felt he could not agree to a marriage when Lady Charlotte was merely out to fulfill an obligation.
Could a disfigured man ever expect some degree of affection from his wife? he wondered then. Would Charlotte Bingham ever feel affection for him?
Shaking himself out of the reverie, he considered the implications of her statement. I haven’t any brothers or sisters. She didn’t have any brothers. If the Earl of Ellsworth had no direct heirs, then who would inherit his title? His lands? Was there a nephew or a cousin, perhaps?
“I’ll pack a bag right away,” Garrett spoke, realizing the time for humor was past.
“Take my coach. I want you to look like you’re on official business, at least,” Joshua ordered then. “You can change horses in Guildford and be there tonight. Use the terrace in Grosvenor Square.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Garrett replied, suddenly all business again. He rolled up the floor plans for the dower house and pulled together several piles of papers, deciding he could use the three hours in the coach to get some work done before the sun set. “I’ll be back when I have the answers.” Which might be several days, he figured, given all the information he needed to find. Time for a bit of faro and a tumble or two with Jane.
That last thought made him pause. How could he think something so crass about Jane? He felt affection for the woman, and he knew the feeling was mutual. Their two nights together had been important, to both of them. She’d been forthright with her feelings about him when he’d finally gotten her alone in her rooms on the second floor of The Jack of Spades. Although she claimed not to expect anything of him in terms of a marriage proposal, he made it clear he had no intention of ever bedding any other woman but her. And despite the two months since he’d last seen her, he hadn’t bedded another, instead spending a few minutes each week to write her a short note reminding her that he thought of her often, and he would see her again when he was next in London.
“Send a courier even if you don’t find anything,” Joshua ordered, his comment indicating his impatience.
Garrett paused while gathering his papers and regarded his friend for a moment. There is something you should know about Lady Charlotte, he wanted to say. But he’d promised Lady Charlotte he would not tell Joshua of her involvement in arranging the transport and medical care of his friend following the fire. He didn’t know why it was she wanted her role in the duke’s recovery to remain a secret to Joshua, but she had insisted her part in it remain unknown, so Garrett had said nothing to Joshua. And Joshua didn’t seem the least bit surprised to find himself in a London hospital when he finally regained consciousness, so explanations did not have to be fabricated. “You must know she is quite … smitten with you,” Garrett said quietly, hoping he could at least hint at how he knew Lady Charlotte felt about the duke.
“Because she is obligated to be,” Joshua countered, and then suddenly wondered how it was that Garrett could think that Charlotte had feelings for him.
Sighing, Garrett considered telling Joshua all he knew of the woman who had invaded their household only the day before. What would the duke think if he knew she had risked so much to see to it he get the best care for his burns? That she had angered her father on so many occasions by insisting in public that she was to marry the Duke of Chichester when he was suitably recovered?
The news that Bingham had whipped his daughter was no surprise to the estate manager. Only the timing of the event seemed wrong, somehow. She was due to turn one-and-twenty very soon, he figured. The age at which she was to be claimed by a husband. Whoever that was. He only hoped he’d be able to find evidence that it was Joshua Wainwright, eighth Duke of Chichester, and not some grizzled old fart of an earl who lacked a suitable heir.
Within an hour, Garrett was on his way to London.
Chapter 10
Mr. McFarland Strikes Again
With a purse full of sovereigns and a belly full of ale from a nearby pub, Angus McFarland was ready to make his mark at The Jack of Spades. He knew he smelled of horse; he hadn’t bathed since his long ride from Kirdford, but he had managed to change into a clean pair of breeches and an embroidered green waistcoat that some might have considered foppish. His dark topcoat, older and smelling of tobacco, had at least been brushed, as had his boots. He felt he was as ready as he would ever be.
A quick glance at the tables and the growing crowds around them, and Angus knew in which direction to take his purse.
“Good evening, Miss Jane,” he said with a smile that showed two of his front teeth were missing, both knocked out in pub fights.
Jane Wethersby’s face didn’t change its expression of concentration as she nodded and replied, “Good evening, Mr. McFarland.”
But throughout the early evening and into the night, Jane kept her expression cool and businesslike, just as she did the other three nights a week that she dealt faro and vingt-et-un at The Jack of Spades.
When her employer, Frank O’Laughlin, came to her side to allow her some time for a break, she excused herself from the table with a nod to the players. She quickly made her way to a part of the gaming hell off-limits to its clients. The back stairs led to the apartments above, where she and several other dealers and some of the hell’s other employees made their homes. Even before she’d reached the stairs, though, she was aware of someone following her.
Turning, she found Angus McFarland hurrying to catch up. “Mr. McFarland, you cannot be back here,” she said in a firm voice. Although the man had several inches on her as well as a body that might best be described as a barrel, Jane wasn’t immediately concerned.
“Oh, but I think I can,” he replied with a nod, “Seeing as how I’m here to make you an offer you cannot refuse.”
Jane stared at the man in surprise and then looked beyond him, hoping one of the gaming hell’s bouncers would realize McFarland was no longer on the floor. The slight movement gave her a great pain; she was stiff from standing so long, and some nights she felt more tense than others simply because of the clientele.
This was one of those nights.
“Perhaps we can talk about this when I return from my break,” she countered, hoping McFarland would agree and leave her alone.
“Ah, come on, Miss Jane. I’ve got me coin,” he said as he held up his purse, as if it was somehow a pass to be in the area off-limits to patrons. “I did a job for Mr. Bingham, I did,” the alcohol making his tongue a bit loose. “Blew up a house so as to kill his cousin.” He staggered and then straightened, his eyes trying to focus on his prey. “So, you’d be wise to … ta give me what I deserve.”
The Grace of a Duke Page 10
