The Duke's Mysterious Lady

by Maggi Andersen

  Aunt Rebecca patted her shoulder; she seemed pleased that Rosie had tried. She rang a bell on the mahogany side table and sat back.

  “Now. Let’s have a good look at you. You don’t present well at present, but I shall ignore that. Apart from your coloring you are not at all like the Merryville’s.” She motioned to a chair opposite. “Sit down. You have gained your memory. Now we shall hear all about it. I love a mystery.”

  Rosie’s mouth opened. It was her turn to be surprised.

  “How did you learn about that, aunt? Was it Rupert?

  “Rupert? No indeed.” Aunt Rebecca smiled. “I had a visit from a handsome young man, the Duke of Vale, no less.” She described how Hugh had come to her after learning of Rosie’s family. “He showed a good deal of interest in your past.” She said with a tilt of her head. “Why do you think that was?”

  “He was a good friend to me.” It thrilled her to learn Hugh had come here directly from Bow Street. That he now knew who she was.

  “A friend?” Aunt Rebecca’s brows rose. “I told him I expected you to have returned to Yorkshire,” her aunt said.

  “And I gave him your address.”

  “I doubt he’ll come there.” Rosie’s excitement faded. She would most likely never see him again, and what good would it be if she did?

  Even if she and Rupert weren’t legally married, Rupert remained a danger, and she refused to draw Hugh into the squalid mess. “The duke is about to marry.”

  “Oh, how very disappointing. I had hoped…” Her aunt fiddled with her pearls. “I told Vale I wanted to introduce you to Society, Rosalind. I must say, it’s a relief to see you have your mother’s looks. The Merryville’s are a long faced lot.” Aunt Rebecca’s blue eyes twinkled. “Although I was told I had prodigious charm and wit when I was young.”

  “I see you still have it, Aunt.”

  Aunt Rebecca smiled. “You’ll do nicely, Rosalind.”

  A maid entered the room. “Bring my niece a cup of tea and something to eat.” Her aunt gathered up her things. “I apologize for leaving you, Rosalind. I must take my nap.” The ginger cat leapt from her lap as she rose.

  “Are you unwell, Aunt?”

  “A slight heart complaint. Nothing of great concern. After your tea, Emma will take you to your chamber. You can rest and freshen up. Did you bring luggage? No? My goodness, there’s a story in that too, I’ll wager. I’ll find something for you to wear and shall see you again at dinner.”

  ”You are very kind, Aunt, but I prefer not to enter society at this point in time.”

  She stopped at the door. “And why not?”

  Rosie walked over to her. Her aunt did look pale. “I am two-and-twenty—hardly just out of the schoolroom.” She could not tell her aunt the whole awful truth, when she was unwell. The shock could be dangerous.

  Perhaps, when she learnt more from the solicitor this story might have a satisfactory ending.

  “I hardly see that it matters. Of course you shall have a Season.” Aunt Rebecca patted Rosie’s cheek. “A pretty gel like you will take London by its bootstraps, I promise you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Hugh tried to bury himself in the demands of his estates and investments. He and Croft, his secretary, worked for some hours on paperwork that had piled up and discussed a plan to rebuild the tenant farmers houses. It was annoyingly difficult to concentrate, and Croft glanced at him more than once, with a query in his eyes.

  Hugh was still distracted later when he stamped out of the house to the stables. Hugh rode over his acres, returning to issue sharp orders to his ground staff. Fences were in need of repair and the aged oak in the south paddock had fallen. Did he have to point out every little thing?

  He discussed with his gamekeeper the restocking of the river with trout, then strode through the gardens.

  News spread quickly apparently, for the head gardener blanched when he saw him coming. The only member of the household to welcome his attention was Mrs. Moodie who understood the need for diligence with underlings.

  No matter how busy he kept himself, Hugh failed to banish Viola from his thoughts. He could not accept that she had deceived him.

  After spending months in her company, he believed he knew her. He had witnessed her distress. She could not have been lying. He had gone over their entire conversation that night in the wood searching for a clue. But there was nothing.

  Had she regained her memory and not told him? Was that why she had tried to leave? He found himself making excuses for the secrets she had apparently kept from him.

  Viola had been gone for several weeks when two things happened to alter his view of her departure.

  Firstly, a neighbor brought Viola’s horse, Molly, back, having found her roaming his property. Secondly, on a visit to the village, the innkeeper engaged Hugh in conversation, complaining about the stable boy who’d stolen from him and run off.

  “Henry turned up like magic, right when I needed him, Your Grace. My young stable hand, Joe had been knocked down in the street by some reckless carriage driver. Broke his leg. The carriage passed on through the village not stopping to help poor Joe.”

  “Go on, man,” Hugh urged.

  “Before Henry scarpered, one of my hands heard him talking with a fellow while he waited for his horse to be shod. Henry told him later that this man’s master was here for the young lady staying at your estate.”

  “Did you see this man or his master?” Hugh asked, tapping his crop against his thigh.

  The innkeeper shook his head. “We were busy at the time. But he couldn’t lie straight in his bed, could that Henry. Wouldn’t be surprised if he cut a wheedle, went off with some of my best tackle. He received blunt for some deed, though, from a man who’d been drinking with one of your grooms.”

  “I’ve questioned my groom. He’d been called to the inn on what now appears to have been a ruse. Was this man seen in the village about the time the young lady disappeared?”

  “Can’t say I saw him.” The innkeeper scratched his head. “Saw a coach and four pass through. Traveling uncommon fast it was. Northward bound. Thought it odd at the time that the windows were covered. Can’t have been pleasant on a warm day like that.”

  “Describe it!”

  “Black. An old ‘un, Your Grace.”

  “Anything else?”

  “A crest on the door panel. An aristo’s right enough, begging your pardon, Your Grace. I’ve not seen it in these parts afore.”

  Hugh showed him his sketch of the crest on the locket.

  “Like this?”

  The man gave a vigorous nod. “If my memory serves me right that is it.”

  Cursing his gullibility, a trait he hadn’t thus far realized he possessed, Hugh rode back to Vale Park. He sent his groom, Fuller, to question farmers along the North Road. Fuller had the advantage of being on good terms with those in the district, having been at Vale Park for many years.

  Fuller learned of a farmer’s sighting of the speeding coach.

  “As they passed, a man opened the curtain and the farmer spied a fair-haired woman inside,” he said.

  It confirmed what Hugh had thought. Someone had taken Viola home to York. Had she gone willingly? Lady Redcliffe had painted a fond picture of Merryville, but perhaps the passing years had eradicated his true character from her memory.

  What if Viola’s father was a tyrant who had removed her by force? It seemed unlikely that the earl would behave in such a manner, tyrant or not. Surely, he would come to the house and introduce himself, not employ such underhanded means. Unless he had something to hide.

  Anger tightened Hugh’s chest. This person, whoever he was, lay behind Viola’s desperate escape and if so, she was unlikely to go willingly back home with him.

  His mind returned to the hold-up in Bath, could it be connected? What if that had not been a robbery but an attempted abduction?

  He sought out Nanny. “When the highwaymen stopped the carriage in Bath, what happened? I kn
ow we’ve been over it, but I want to know the sequence of events exactly. Don’t leave anything out.”

  Attempting to gather her scattered wits, Nanny described how the highwaymen had stopped the carriage. “They demanded Viola step down,” she said.

  He frowned. “Viola alone?”

  “Well, yes. Although Mr. Forester then fired his gun—”

  Hugh groaned. “Why didn’t you or Viola feel it necessary to tell me this?”

  Nanny placed her hands to her cheeks. “It didn’t occur to either of us that it was anything more than a robbery. They picked Viola because she was the better dressed and wore jewels.” She looked stricken. “Oh, Hugh! What have I done?”

  Hugh sought to comfort her, but came away even more convinced Viola had been taken home to York. A willing participant or a captive? He could no longer leave this question unanswered. He would leave for York immediately. He’d been pig-headed the past weeks, wallowing in his own damnable pride and wounded ego. Viola’s safety could very well be in jeopardy and he had wasted far too much time already.

  With little preparation for such a trip, when it grew dark, Hugh had no recourse but to stop at an inn. His manservant, Peter, expressed his disapproval, believing the establishment to be far below the standard deserving of his master’s status.

  “Don’t fret.” Hugh handed him his traveling coat. “It’s clean and I’ll bet the food is good, if that delicious aroma is any judge. Let us find our parlor.”

  They paused to allow a servant carrying a loaded tray to enter a room where a despondent looking couple sat, their soup untouched on the table before them.

  “What the deuce!” Hugh turned on his heel, bumping into Peter. He pushed the door open and stormed inside.

  The man leapt to his feet. “I say, sir! This is a private parlor.”

  “This is doing it much too brown,” Hugh said to the young woman seated at the table.

  Felicity shrieked, either from horror or from relief, and Hugh crossed his arms to discover the answer.

  “It’s Hugh,” Felicity explained, in a strangled voice.

  “Really, Felicity, your manners!” said Hugh. “Vale, how do you do.”

  The young man groaned. “The Duke of Vale?”

  “I believe everyone here is now aware of that fact. But who are you?”

  “Oh, this is Phillip, of course,” said Felicity, as if it was an everyday occurrence to find her in some shabby inn alone with a strange man.

  “Phillip Carstairs.” Recovering himself, he gave a bow.

  Hugh drew up a chair and sat down. “It appears you are eloping.”

  “We are,” Felicity said, with a toss of her head.

  “We depart for Gretna Green in the morning,” Phillip said with a shrug his face reddening. “But I want you to know Your Grace, that until we marry, we shall sleep in separate chambers.”

  Hugh looked him over. Phillip was a younger version of his brother, Harry, with the same springy curls and lanky, spare build.

  However, he remembered Harry’s eyes to be a calm, sedate grey, while this young man’s eyes were a lively hazel, and at this moment held a challenging light.

  You’ll do, Hugh thought with relief. He was not about to relinquish Felicity to a cad or a fortune hunter. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see the necessity for such a rash action,” he said, his calm tone designed to defuse any high spirits. “Felicity, your father has agreed to this match. I was present when he did so, do you recall? It is hardly necessary to present him with a fait accompli.”

  “But Father won’t agree until Phillip has completed his studies and entered the Diplomatic Service. That’s more than two years away! It is far too long to wait.”

  “I understand completely. Why, you’ll be in your dotage by then,” Hugh said, smiling.

  “Oh, pooh,” she said, but her shoulders slumped.

  “I think this is a rather shabby thing to do to your parents. They did go along with your wishes. Couldn’t you have met them half way?”

  “If you please, Your Grace,” Phillip said, his ears turning red, “Felicity would never act shabbily.”

  The last shreds of Felicity’s bravado slipped away. Her big brown eyes brimmed with tears and she wrung her hands. “Yes, it is shabby. I wanted to shock them into relenting, but I’ve been regretting it from the moment I left home.”

  Phillip’s face grew even redder. “I say, Felicity! Why didn’t you tell me how you felt? I wasn’t sure it was the best thing to do either!”

  Felicity’s brown eyes snapped at him. “Then why didn’t you say so?”

  “I…I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

  “For goodness sake! I would never have gone ahead with this plan had I known how little you wished to marry me! I don’t think I want such a half-baked husband. I think I will marry Hugh after all!”

  Phillip scowled and thrust out his chin. “By heaven, then perhaps you should.”

  “Calm down, both of you,” Hugh said. The two glared at one another and their loud voices would soon attract unwanted attention. “We need to restore you to your family, Felicity, before your good name and that of your parent’s is dragged in the mud. They must be frantic for your safety at this very moment.”

  “They’re away from home,” she said, her face paling rapidly. “They’re visiting my aunt again, and are not due back ’til tomorrow.”

  At this moment, a hesitant knock sounded on the door. It opened at Hugh’s command.

  “Your dinner is ready to be served, Your Grace.” Peter peeked in, curiosity writ large on his face.

  “I know you don’t like me to miss my dinner, Peter,” Hugh said, “but—”

  Noise erupted from below and grew louder. A sturdy woman of middle years with a flushed face appeared at their open door, her breast heaving. The large, upright feather in her bonnet waved about like a startled bird.

  “You must take me directly to the young lady I seek,” she said to the flustered servant barring her way.

  “Why, it’s Mrs. Pike!” cried Felicity, with a joy Hugh was sure she’d never expressed in the past.

  Mrs. Pike’s face expressed delight, relief, and stern disapproval in quick succession.

  “Come inside, Mrs. Pike.” Hugh took the lady’s arm and assisted her to a chair. “We shall dine here, Peter. Please instruct the innkeeper we are four for dinner, then take yourself off and have your own.”

  Hours later, after an unexpectedly tasty repast, the small group retired to their bedchambers with a plan. A note was sent to Hallidon House to await the return of Felicity’s parents, explaining how Felicity had decided to accompany Hugh on a jaunt to York. Mrs. Pike was to act as chaperone.

  They would leave for York first thing in the morning.

  Despite the fact that Felicity and Phillip were no longer on speaking terms, it proved a fortuitous way to deal with their misadventure. However, Hugh’s search for Viola became more difficult.

  ****

  Hugh and his entourage arrived in York the next afternoon.

  They’d made excellent time, but arrived tired and hungry, their spirits dampened by the consistent rain drumming on the carriage roof.

  “How horrid,” Felicity moaned, faced with an overflowing gutter, which threatened her dainty half-boots. Phillip rushed to her aid, only to be rebuffed as she raised her arms to Hugh. She had complained about the trip from beginning to end, but brightened when they found the King’s Arms Hotel to be an elegant establishment, situated in the liveliest part of town.

  “You and Mrs. Pike must make the best of this opportunity, Felicity,” Hugh said. “There are many interesting places to visit. I suggest the three of you view the cathedral and the Roman wall when the rain clears. Unfortunately, I have business to attend to.”

  “That’s an excellent idea, Your Grace,” Mrs. Pike said joyfully.

  Hugh was glad that someone amongst them was having a good time. Determined to give the group the slip and head off to Merryville House, he left F
elicity arguing with Mrs. Pike, who considered it her duty to expose her charge to York’s history, rather than the shops as Felicity wished.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The rain had ceased and the clouds banished by an icy wind off the Pennine Mountains as Hugh rode a hired hack through the Yorkshire countryside, finding it different to the softer landscape of the Midlands.

  Soaring, rocky hillocks covered in gorse and heath, and a brooding atmosphere dampened his spirits, although he accepted this was his constant state since Viola’s disappearance.

  The road wound down into a sheltered valley. Hugh rode up to a deserted gatehouse designed in the fanciful, Tudor style. The broad, flat entry arch above the gates was flanked by octagonal towers and decorated with ornate, false battlements. Atop the arch sat the Coat of Arms that had taken the Bow Street Runners so long to trace.

  It was Merryville House right enough. The unattended gates stood open. Riding through, Hugh found himself on prime land, pasture and paddocks where horses galloped, the road winding away into woodland. On the final curve in the road, the house came into view. He rode toward it through wild, untended gardens.

  The pretty herringbone-brick residence with cantilevered windows also had a neglected air. Someone was at home, however, for smoke emerged from the twisted, checkerboard-patterned chimneys. Hugh caught his breath. Was he close to finding Viola?

  As he alighted, the door opened and a man came down the steps towards him. Hugh detected a brief likeness to Viola, but it vanished as he came closer. His face bore an aloof and arrogant expression and his mouth a thin-lipped cruelty, which was nothing like Viola.

  The man tucked his riding crop under one arm as he drew on riding gloves.

  “May I help you, sir?”

  “Duke of Vale.” Hugh bowed. “Perhaps you can. A lady recently spent some time at my estate. I believe her to be the daughter of the Earl of Merryville. This is Merryville House is it not?”

  “It is. I am the Earl of Merryville.” The man gave a brief bow. “So, the Duke of Vale. We finally meet. You are speaking of my wife, Rosalind, Your Grace. We are greatly in your debt. Rosalind has told me all about how you found her, and gave her aid. I’m most grateful to you for it. Unfortunately, you’ve come a long way for naught. She is away from home.”