Garrett inhaled very slowly and then nodded, knowing full well that John Wainwright II was not the best role model for a duke.
But then, he wouldn’t have thought of Joshua as one, either. Not until recently.
“I do hope your opinion of Joshua is more generous. His character is a good deal better than his brother’s, I assure you,” Garrett said in his friend’s defense. “And his work ethic is quite … exhausting.”
Grandby licked his lower lip as he considered Garrett’s words. “Having unsightly scars over a good deal of one’s body tends to help one to realize what’s important in life, don’t you suppose?” he asked rhetorically. “Well, I don’t give a damn how horrific he looks, or if he never loves Lady Charlotte, but he had better never hurt her or bankrupt his dukedom, or I shall see to it he loses everything,” the man said with so much vehemence, Garrett thought for a moment Grandby might have arranged the fire that killed John Wainwright II.
Or perhaps the fall that injured Edward Bingham, Earl of Ellsworth.
Garrett regarded the earl for several seconds, knowing he had to tread carefully or invoke a good deal of rancor. “May I ask why you care so much about Lady Charlotte and the duchy?”
The Earl of Torrington leaned back in his wing chair and took a deep breath, his anger dissipating just as quickly as it had appeared. “She’s my favorite goddaughter,” he said softly. “And it’s all my fault she was betrothed to the heir of the Duke of Chichester in the first place. I was the bastard who suggested the pairing!”
Garrett had to school his features so as not to show too much shock at the earl’s confession. “I assure you, my lord, if it can be shown that there is an unfettered betrothal in place, Joshua Wainwright will marry Lady Charlotte and make a duchess of her. And, if I may say so, I believe Lady Charlotte to be a most willing bride,” he added before finishing off his whiskey. “I do believe she’s in love with him. And likewise,” he added, figuring it couldn’t hurt to let the old man think Joshua was in love with Charlotte.
The earl nodded, a mischievous smile forming on his features. “If I remember who it was that Bingham was negotiating with, I shall send a courier ’round at once,” he vowed. He seemed to be ready to leave, but he noted Garrett’s look of uncertainty and settled back into his chair. “What else?” he asked with a sigh, his eyes nearly rolling in their sockets.
Taking a deep breath, Garrett leaned forward. “We have reason to believe the original fire at Wisborough Oaks was due to arson. There was an attempt made again last night. With dynamite.”
The Earl of Torrington paled instantly, his bushy eyebrows drawn together so that they became one long brow. He stared at Garrett until the younger man was forced to look away. “Good God! And you think I might know something about it?” Grandby asked rhetorically, a hint of anger in his voice. But the anger was quickly replaced with genuine concern. “The devil! Is everyone alive? Is Lady Charlotte …?”
“No one was hurt. Wisborough Oaks didn’t suffer. Well, except for the old oak tree on the east side of the house and one of the windows in Lady Charlotte’s suite. The explosion happened just as it started to storm, and most of the household attributed the sound of the explosion to thunder,” Garrett explained quickly. “Most of the dynamite was rotten, but it was a deliberate attempt to burn the house, there’s no doubt about it.” He glanced up to see Grandby staring at him. “Do you have any idea who would want the entire Wainwright family dead?” he whispered, his eyes darting about to be sure no one was eavesdropping.
The earl was shaking his head and cursing under his breath. “With no heirs, Chichester goes back to the Crown,” Grandby murmured. “But it’s not a particularly lucrative duchy,” he considered. “It’s not like there’s wannabe dukes lining up to take it over,” he murmured, his slight Scottish burr making itself more apparent. “Even when the fire happened, I don’t recall a single person asking who would inherit until long after Wainwright was out of hospital and recovering at his townhouse in London.”
Garrett caught the hint that someone had asked. “And who was it that asked?”
Grandby gave Garrett a sidelong glance. “Ellsworth.” He thought for a moment, remembering the earl’s line of questions. “He seemed quite concerned about heirs, in fact. He doesn’t have a son, you know.”
The brow over Garrett’s right eye cocked up. “Indeed. So who inherits his title when he dies?”
“The nearest male relative,” Grandby answered with a shrug. “Charlotte’s elder cousin, Nicholas Bingham. A ne’er do well, if you ask me. He and the older Wainwright boy kept many a brothel open in this town,” he complained with a shake of head. “But I haven’t seen him …” He thought for a moment. “Not for over a year, I suppose,” he said, his head still shaking from side to side. “Lady Charlotte probably knows where he is,” he added, thinking Garrett would want to speak with him.
“Thank you, my lord. I do appreciate your time,” Garrett replied, realizing the gentleman wanted to leave. He reached into his coat pocket and fished out the purse that Joshua had given him. “Drinks are on me.”
Grandby grinned. “You must be doing quite well as an estate manager, eh?” he teased.
Garrett nodded. “I have been, actually,” he acknowledged, a grin finally replacing his sour look. So the Chichester duchy wasn’t considered lucrative.
Humph.
“In the meantime, thank you for the drinks. I really must be getting back to my sweeting,” Grandby said as he stood, gave a nod and took his leave.
Garrett McElliott let out the breath he’d been holding, feeling more relieved than he expected at the earl’s departure. His head was spinning with what he’d just heard. There were essentially no leads on whomever wanted the Wainwrights dead, although Ellsworth was a possible long shot. The man would have been in a coma when the dynamite was set, but that didn’t mean he didn’t arrange for someone to do it in advance. And he wouldn’t have known his daughter would be in residence when the explosion occurred. There really was a betrothal in place, at least at one point, but then Bingham had tried to find another son-in-law and was now in a coma.
Garrett now had to find some evidence of a betrothal, whether it be to some earl or to the Duke of Chichester. What should my next step be? he wondered.
Follow the money, he thought, leaving a pound note on the table before making his way to the doors.
Chapter 13
Lady Charlotte, Decorator to the Duke of Chichester
Joshua had just completed another month’s worth of paying household bills and balancing the duchy’s books when the knock finally came at the door. He’d expected it for some time, and now he smiled as he wondered how Charlotte would be dressed for her meeting with the construction foreman. “Come!” he called out as he pushed back his chair and stood up.
Charlotte Bingham gingerly opened the door and peeked around the edge. “Pardon the interruption, Your Grace,” she said as she entered and then performed a perfect curtsy.
Stunned she could look so beautiful despite what had been done to her over the past two hours, Joshua struggled to school his features. “Lady Charlotte,” he said in greeting as he bowed. Wearing a sprigged muslin gown, she appeared as fresh and happy as she had when they met to ride that morning. Her hair had been redone, the mass of blonde curls caught up in a bun atop her head while spiral tendrils hung from her temples. And, trying hard not to think about her lack of a corset, Joshua was only more aware of her feminine curves as her bosom filled the bodice of her gown quite nicely.
“I am ready to see the foreman about the parlor now,” she said with nod. If she was struggling to suppress any outward sign of embarrassment at her earlier nudity, it wasn’t apparent on her features. Not even her pretty pink blush colored her face at the moment, much to his disappointment.
A pang of jealousy shot through Joshua as he realized the construction foreman would have her attention for the rest of the day. “I’ll take you to Mr. Thatcher stra
ight away,” he said as he made his way to Charlotte, offering her his arm as she turned to join him. They made their way down the main hallway to the front of the house and then to the other wing, Parma following them at a respectful distance. In the west wing, workman scurried about with lengths of lumber, boxes of tools and ladders. “How many?” Joshua asked suddenly, his attention on her as they made their way to the new parlor.
“How many?” Charlotte repeated, not understanding his question.
“Stitches?” he said quietly, leaning in so that his lips were close to her ear. He sniffed as quietly as possible, closing his eyes as he took in the fresh scent of her, the light citrus from the bath soap mingling with the scent of jasmine wafting around her hair.
Charlotte sighed, her upright bearing sagging just a bit. “Thirty-three,” she murmured. “I’m afraid I shall have a rather unsightly scar.” For the rest of my life, she nearly added, but realized the comment might be misconstrued by the duke. He would have far worse scars for the rest of his life.
Joshua couldn’t help but hiss at the news. She seems so calm, he thought as he regarded her. “It will heal,” he managed to get out, his voice sounding as reassuring as he could make it. “At least, that’s what they keep telling me about mine,” he added sotto voce.
“Your Grace,” a man called out from the other side of the parlor. The construction foreman, Alan Thatcher, bowed.
The duke and Lady Charlotte returned the courtesy before Joshua made the introductions. “Lady Charlotte will be making the choices regarding all the interiors,” he explained quickly, not wanting to get caught up in any discussions with the foreman. “I will take my leave of the two of you and be back at precisely …” He paused as he took his chronometer out of his pocket. “Seems it’s much later than I thought. I tend to lose track of time when I’m not wearing my Breguet,” he said as an afterthought, referring to his timepiece. “I shall return at seven o’clock to take Lady Charlotte to supper,” he said before giving a perfunctory bow and exiting the room.
Charlotte watched him leave and then turned to the tall, balding man. “It’s very good to meet you, Mr. Thatcher. I understand you are in need of some decisions regarding paint colors for this room?” she half-asked, hoping she could get right to looking at paint swatches.
Alan Thatcher’s eyebrows danced. “Yes, my lady. And carpets and furnishings and draperies, too, if you must know.” He moved to a relatively clear area where a crate was topped with several books. “I plan to send one of my men to Dan McMillan’s tomorrow.” At Charlotte’s expectant expression, he added, “He’s the oil and colorman in Leadenhall.”
Charlotte caught her lower lip with a tooth. “A paint maker?” she ventured, not having been involved in the process of renovating a house before.
Thatcher nodded. “And if you pick out some pretty fabrics, I can have Crompton get started on the upholstery,” he added, his manner suggesting he didn’t expect her to even get the paint colors chosen that day.
“Very good. Let me get to work, then,” she offered, ignoring the foreman’s apparent lack of faith. Within moments, she and Parma were seated in front of a makeshift desk with a pile of samples and swatches and a long list of rooms for which to make choices.
What had seemed would be an easy endeavor was suddenly a daunting task. So many colors! So many fabric choices! No wonder Thatcher hadn’t thought she could make all the decisions that day.
Starting with the parlor, she worked her way through the swatches and began a strategy of choosing an overall color scheme for each room and then making the paint and fabric choices based on the color. Knowing the foreman needed the parlor choices first, she worked through a scheme for the entire room and then selected two wall colors. When she noticed Parma’s boredom, she sent her away to pull out gowns that had backs high enough to cover her bandages. She hoped there would be enough to afford her a different dress each day of the week. If not, she would have to wear a modified fichu or shawls until all her gowns could be remade.
Charlotte was in the middle of choosing the fabrics for a settee and three chairs when Joshua appeared at her side, his attention on the piles of swatches she had set aside for each room.
“Red?” he half-questioned as he looked down at the brocades she held next to the paint swatches. If there was a hint of disapproval in the color choice, Charlotte didn’t hear it in his voice. She moved to stand up, but he lightly placed a hand on her shoulder. “Please, stay seated,” he murmured, joining her at the makeshift table on which she had spread out her choices.
“More of a scarlet, really,” she replied brightly, “And a bit of sea foam green and dark green to keep it from looking like a boudoir,” she added, reaching for a stack of green fabrics. She hissed suddenly and slowly pulled her arm back to her body, letting the air out of her lungs as she did so.
“You must be more careful,” Joshua whispered as he placed a hand against her back, just below her wound. The warmth seeped into her through the thin muslin and she sat up straighter, remembering she wasn’t wearing a corset.
“It is easy to forget,” she replied, turning to gaze at him. With him sitting so close and his face in profile, there was no evidence of his facial burns. “Do you? Forget, I mean?” she wondered, her voice so quiet he could barely hear her above the din of activity in the rest of the room. Despite the early evening hour, there were still several carpenters sawing and nailing moldings.
Joshua regarded her for a moment. “Sometimes,” he admitted with a nod. “But I am quickly reminded when I see the look on the face of a maid who happens on me when I have misplaced my mask,” he added, his visible eyebrow dancing. Although his comment could have been made with derision, there was amusement in his tone. They sat in silence for a moment. “It is time for supper, and I find I am quite famished. Would you care to join me? I told Gates to seat us at the table on the back terrace,” he suggested. He hoped they could eat without Parma having to be present.
Charlotte nodded, allowing a grin to replace her pensive expression. “That would be lovely,” she answered. She placed her hand on Joshua’s arm and they left the construction zone.
“Did Dr. Regan tell you ..?” Joshua paused a moment, not wanting to frighten Charlotte with the knowledge but thinking she deserved to know, “That your scar would be … visible for a very long time?” He almost said ‘forever’ but thought it best to leave her with some hope. The village doctor had told him it would be years before his face might return to some semblance of normalcy, but it would always have a ropy texture and appear a different color from the rest of this face. He would probably never have to shave on that side of his face, though.
Charlotte nodded as they made their way down the stairs. “He didn’t have to. I know I will carry it until the day I die,” she answered, trying to keep the quaver in her voice to a minimum. She’d cried over the wound the night it had happened and again the day she and Parma packed for the trip to Wisborough Oaks. At this point, she was just relieved the stitches had closed up the gash completely.
“You were very brave,” the duke stated. And vulnerable, he realized, something he would never had thought about her given her penchant for being strong-willed and confident and perhaps a bit formidable.
One of Charlotte’s eyebrows cocked into an elegant arch as she turned to regard him. “I certainly didn’t feel brave. In fact, I felt quite …” Her face colored up into that pink flush Joshua found quite fetching.
A slow smile crept over Joshua’s face. “Exposed?” he offered, immediately closing his eyes and bowing his head, as if he knew his comment was inappropriate.
“I was going to say ‘naked’, but I believe your word is more apropos,” Charlotte retorted with a self-effacing grin, a hand coming up to rest on her hot cheeks.
“I apologize. It was … quite out of character for me to enter your bedchamber, and then remain there even after it became evident you were not in a state to receive a caller.” He thinned his
lips, wondering if he could dare say what he was truly thinking. He wasn’t sorry in the least, figuring by seeing her wound and arranging for a doctor, Charlotte was saved from a more noticeable scar or, worse, a raging infection.
“I accept your apology, of course,” Charlotte said in a quiet voice, the hand on his arm giving him a gentle squeeze of assurance.
Joshua felt the warmth of her hand and the gentle pressure of her fingers through his shirt sleeve and wondered at how her simple gesture made him feel forgiven. He was thinking of that and the fact that she wasn’t wearing a corset as he escorted her out the back door and to a flagstone paved terrace. A small metal table, created from a series of intricate scrollwork welded together, was dressed with linens and set with that night’s supper. Two chairs, fashioned from the same scrollwork, featured brocade pillow seats. Gates was standing with his hands behind his back while one footman poured wine and another placed a covered dish in the center of the table.
“I take it Mr. McElliott won’t be joining us for dinner?” Charlotte asked as she took the chair a footman pulled out for her.
“Garrett is off to London. In fact,” Joshua paused to check his Breguet, “He should be at White’s right about now.”
Charlotte’s face showed her surprise. “Do you often send him there?” she wondered, leaning to one side as a footman poured another glass of wine. Yet another footman poured champagne while the first one who’d brought the food brought another tray, this one with cold meats and cheeses.
“No, but given what happened to the tree,” he said carefully, “I thought it best he do some research.” Joshua nodded in her direction, encouraging her to help herself to the food. He gave a quick wave to the footmen, and the servants made their way back to the house. “You’ll have to excuse the informality of tonight’s dinner. I … I neglected to give Cook a menu,” he said with a shrug.
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