by Cheryl Bolen
She had to admit the same physical qualities—indeed, handsomeness—that had attracted her to Freddie were present in this rakish brother.
There was something else about him, something she could not put a name to, but it was not difficult to see why females had always thrown themselves at him—so she had been told—even when he had neither rank nor fortune.
“I beg you not discuss Whig politics,” she said. “You well know the sympathies of my family—as well as of the man to whom I was betrothed.” Her voice cracked on the word betrothed.
“We shall make it our mission to convert you, my lady,” Lord Slade said, grinning.
The duke directed his attention to her. “How is it you knew that Sin- - , er, Lord Slade was known as the great compromiser if you do not keep up with politics?”
“As you say, your grace, I am well informed . . . for a woman.” She could not suppress a smile.
“I mean no disrespect to your gender, but I know of no other woman who follows the goings-on in government,” the duke said, then turning to Lord Slade, added, “except for your wife and Wycliff’s wife.”
She eyed Lord Slade. “I remember reading that you recently married the daughter of Harold Featherstone. Had you met her through her influential father?”
“I had—when her father and I were fellow members of the House of Commons. She was only a girl then, but I was impressed over her knowledge of political philosophy.”
“It was much later before he had the good sense to realize Miss Featherstone was his perfect mate,” the duke said. “They’re both reform mad.”
“Then my brother must be your enemy,” she said to Lord Slade.
He shrugged. He was far too kindly to disparage her brother.
“How long have you been married?” she asked.
“Ten weeks.”
Her mouth opened in surprise. “Oh, then you’re a newlywed. You must miss her dreadfully.”
“You don’t know how much,” he said longingly.
“We fellows—Lord Slade, Lord Wycliff and I—have shared everything, including political philosophy, since we were lads. In fact, we made a pact long ago to be there whenever one of the three of us needed anything.” the duke said.
“It’s a good thing we did. Otherwise Wycliff—and his beautiful wife—would now be dead.”
“Whatever can you be speaking of?” asked Georgiana, her mouth gaping open.
“You remember that business when Lord Tremaine was to be tried in the House of Lords?” Fordham asked.
“I am, after all, well informed.” She could not suppress a smile.
“He meant to kill our good friend Lord Wycliff.”
“And I take it, you and Lord Slade stopped him?”
He nodded.
The man certainly wasn’t one to elaborate upon his accomplishments or his bravery. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, but she did not believe he would want to answer.
It was apparently a subject neither man wished to broach. Lord Slade peered from his window. “The snow’s melting when it hits the ground.”
By the time they reached Barnet, the roads were free of snow, though the chill still clung to them. The weather did not vary between then and when they reached the Mayfair section of London shortly after nightfall.
First they let off Lord Slade at a slender town house on Halfmoon Street.
Not far away, the coach pulled up to the Fordham mansion on Berkeley Square. As she gazed from the window to see if the upstairs chambers were lighted, she gasped.
His brows dipped. “What’s the matter?”
“There are hatchments on your house.”
“They already know about Freddie.”
Chapter 5
When Alex entered Fordham House, his sister Margaret, her black dress in stark contrast to her pale white skin, was scurrying down the wide staircase beneath a crystal chandelier. She rushed into his arms. He held her close and gently stroked her back as she sobbed into his chest. “I know it’s wretched,” he murmured.
“How can it be?” she asked in a quivering voice.
He shrugged. He hated not to be completely honest with her, but if he hoped to find Freddie’s killer, he couldn’t let it be known that he suspected the death was not natural. The murderer must be made to feel he would never be detected. Perhaps that way, the vile man would let something incriminating slip. “Our poor brother died peacefully in his sleep.” The statement was substantially true.
Lady Georgiana moved to them and patted her friend’s arm. “It could have been that Freddie was born with a defective heart or some such thing.” Not an outright lie.
Tears streaking her face, Margaret looked up at Freddie’s intended, then moved to embrace her. “Oh, Lady Georgiana, I am so very sorry for you.”
“And I’m so very sorry for you,” Lady Georgiana said, giving her friend a firm hug, then drawing away. “Are your sisters utterly inconsolable?”
“They are, quite naturally, upset.” Margaret swiped away a tear. “And Amelia fancies there’s a curse on our family.”
“I wondered the same thing,” he said. “Where are Fanny and Amelia?”
“They’ve gone to bed. I do believe Fanny’s more upset about having to go into mourning than she is over our brother’s death. She was so looking forward to being presented.”
“She will be. You ladies can be out of mourning in June. The Season will just be in full swing.”
A feeble smile on her face, Margaret nodded. “Thank you, Fordham. I was afraid you’d make us observe the full six months. Then poor Amelia would have to wait another year.”
“Three months is a perfectly acceptable period of mourning for a sibling,” Lady Georgiana said.
Margaret sighed. “I’m so glad you’ve come, my lady. You’ve been constantly in my thoughts.” Margaret looked from Lady Georgiana to Alex. “So you two have finally met?”
“I’m afraid I’ve rather forced my presence upon your brother.”
“Not at all,” Alex said. He was still stunned that, even her grief, Margaret had so smoothly addressed him by his new ducal title.
Margaret moved to him again and rested her curved fingers upon his sleeve. “You’ve buried our brother?”
He nodded solemnly.
“Next to Richard?”
“I thought that’s where he’d want to be.”
“Yes, I think he would.” Margaret turned to Lady Georgiana. “This is so dreadful for you—just as you had finally settled on a wedding date.”
Lady Georgiana nodded solemnly. “I feel beastly I couldn’t have wed him last year. He was such a domestic creature. Two weeks and we would have been man and wife.”
Alex remembered the solicitor saying he’d been drawing up Freddie’s marriage contracts, but Alex wasn’t aware the wedding would have taken place at so soon a date.
“Yes, Freddie was far more suited to be a farmer than a duke,” Margaret said with a fragile laugh. “And once he found his perfect mate, all he wanted was to settle down with you.” Margaret’s voice cracked.
“I beg that you not dwell on the sadness,” Lady Georgiana said. “Freddie wouldn’t have wanted it. What’s done cannot be undone.”
Once again, his brother’s intended appeared unaffected by the death of her betrothed. The woman was a paradox.
Margaret took the lady’s hand. “You are a comfort. Will you stay with us? Please? No need to open up Hartworth House.”
Lady Georgiana patted his sister’s hand. “I will tonight. We are very weary. But tomorrow I must go to our house. My mother’s coming, so I must see that the house will be ready for her. As she’s not quite up to managing stairs, I’m going to have the servants move her furnishings into the morning room on the ground floor.” She sighed. “I ought to force her to climb stairs. Even though she doesn’t believe so, I know she’s capable.”
The paradox again. Soft and hard, like stone and sable. Still, he was indebted to her. She had raced off to London with hi
m, with no regard for her feminine needs. And her presence had been comforting to Margaret. He suspected his other sisters, too, would be cheered by her. She did have a way of pushing aside her own grief in the most pragmatic manner.
* * *
They all met for breakfast in the dinner room, where the sideboard had been laid with breakfast offerings. Georgiana had listened for footsteps in the corridor before making her way downstairs. She was the last to arrive in the sunny saffron-coloured chamber.
Amelia’s face brightened. “I did not know you were here, Lady Georgiana! What a pleasant surprise.” She rose to come embrace her.
“Why are you not wearing black?” asked Fanny, who stayed seated and glared from beneath lowered brows at her dead brother’s fiancée.
Georgiana squeezed Amelia then came to drop a kiss on Fanny’s head. “I have not been home since . . . I rushed to see Freddie before he was buried.” She poured herself a cup of coffee and placed a piece of toast on a small porcelain plate that bore the Duke of Fordham’s crest of a three-tailed lion.
The duke indicated for Georgiana to take a seat between him and Margaret. The five of them gathered around at one end of the long mahogany table. “Lady Georgiana had not a care for her own possessions. She fled with me to London in order to offer you comfort when I broke the sad news to you. We didn’t know you’d already heard of Freddie’s death.”
Georgiana’s brows lowered. “How did the sorrowful news reach you so quickly?”
“I bumped into our solicitor’s clerk on The Strand, and—not knowing we hadn’t heard the horrifying news—he offered condolences.”
Georgiana’s hopes that the murderer had tipped his hand were dashed.
Margaret set down her cup of tea and smiled at Georgiana. “It was very kind of you to come to us.”
“Little did I know when Lady Roxbury became my dearest friend the year we came out that her sisters would become as dear to me as she is,” Georgiana said.
“We’re all so fortunate to have you for our friend, my lady.” Amelia said.
Fanny’s mouth gaped open. “Did you really come all the way to London without a single portmanteau?”
“A very small valise for the night at Gosingham,” Georgiana said. “That should explain why I look so appalling.”
“You could never look appalling.” Amelia then flicked her gaze to her brother. “Do you not agree, Fordham?”
His brooding gaze moved to Georgiana and studied her for a moment. Her cheeks heated, her heartbeat roared. How embarrassed she was to have merited such perusal when she could not have looked worse. She unconsciously started combing her fingers through her disheveled hair, wishing like the devil Angelique had come, wishing she had worn a pretty, freshly ironed dress instead of the faded sprigged muslin she’d worn every other day that week.
“You do not look appalling,” said he.
Which made her feel even worse. Any other gentleman would have told her she was pretty—even if it were a lie. Through narrowed eyes she watched as he proceeded to eat the first of two eggs.
Fanny tried to smooth over the awkwardness. “It was very kind of you to come, my lady.” We’ve had a bit of time to let Freddie’s death sink in, so we’re not the watering pots we were when we heard two days ago.”
“For which I am most thankful,” the duke said.
Margaret eyed her brother. “I mean no disrespect to Freddie or his memory, but I’ve always believed you were the brother who would make the best duke.” Her eyes moistened.
Georgiana wasn’t sure, but she thought the duke also blinked away tears. How sad that of the three brothers, there was only one left.
“You say that because you and I are closest in age, and I’ve always been your favorite brother.”
“While I cannot deny that you always were my favorite, I firmly believe you’re possessed of greater leadership capabilities than either Freddie or Richard, and just look at your exemplary military career—and all you’ve accomplished in Parliament in so short a time.”
He smiled. “Lady Georgiana has commented that my role as an officer ordering around vast numbers of soldiers should prepare me for my ducal role of ordering around a vast number of servants.”
The all laughed. Which was very good.
“Seriously,” he said, gazing at Margaret, “being a duke is not a title I ever wanted. I was happy to be a duke’s third-born son.” His gaze swept over the gathering. “But I vow to do my best. I shall endeavor to be a capable steward of our ancient family and its properties.”
“And,” Fanny said, “don’t dwell on regrets that you and Freddie weren’t close. He knew you loved him, and in his own . . . cold way, he loved you. I remember how Mama used to despair when the two of you came to fisticuffs as young lads. She feared one of you would kill the other.”
Those words chilled Georgiana. One of you would kill the other.
“All brothers go through that phase,” Margaret countered, shooting a scolding look at her youngest sister.
This was the first Georgiana had heard of angry fights between the two brothers, and the first time she’d heard Freddie described as cold. He’d not been cold to her, but now that she considered it, iciness did describe his demeanor with others.
The door to the room opened, and in the doorway stood the butler, along with a handsome, dark-haired man who looked to be the same age as the duke. He was accompanied by a beautiful blonde woman who was likely the same age as Georgiana. Was this man Fordham’s other great friend, Lord Wycliff? Only very close friends could enter a chamber without having previously been announced.
Fordham stood and moved to the newcomers.
“I am so sorry about your brother,” the man said, coming to splay one hand on his friend’s back. “We both are.”
The blonde, beautifully dressed in a rose-coloured morning dress with matching pelisse and cap, joined them and in a soft voice offered her condolences.
When the man eyed Georgiana, the duke intervened. “Lord Wycliff, I should like to present Lady Georgiana Fenton.”
Lord Wycliff bowed. “Were you not the late duke’s intended?”
“Yes,” Georgiana said solemnly.
“Then I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“I should like to present my wife to you.”
Georgiana and Lady Wycliff offered each other a feeble smile and murmured greetings.
Lady Margaret addressed her brother. “Lord Wycliff called yesterday to console you.”
Lord Wycliff nodded. “Jane Slade told me you and Sinjin had gone to Gosingham before your brother’s death.”
The duke nodded. “Beastly of me to take him away from his bride, but we needed what I thought would be Gosingham’s solitude to work on the penal reform bill. We’d have asked you were you not already knee-deep drafting your speech on the matter.”
Lord Wycliff nodded. “Would that I were possessed of the talent for delivering unprepared eloquent speeches.”
“Ah, like the genius of Charles James Fox.”
“You are eloquent, my dearest,” his wife said. Then she directed her attention at the duke.
“I am only barely accustomed to calling my dear friend Jane Slade, instead of Jane Featherstone, and now I shall have to become accustomed to calling you Fordham.”
The lady must be trying to put a more cheerful bent to a sad occasion.
How convenient, thought Georgiana, that two such good friends, Lord Wycliff and Lord Slade, had married women who were already good friends.
The beautiful countess turned to Georgiana. “How long will you be in London, my lady?”
“I expect to be here for several weeks.”
“Jane Slade and I would be honored if you’d attend our Tuesday gatherings. My husband calls them bluestocking meetings,” Lady Wycliff said with a good-natured smile. “We’re all reform mad.”
“Then the meetings are political?” Georgiana asked.
“Oh, yes.”
“Then I must decline.”
The blonde’s face fell. “You’re sympathetic to the Tories?”
Georgiana nodded.
“I would wager my wife will do her best to convert you, Lady Georgiana.”
“I will be flattered if Lady Wycliff honors me with her attentions.”
Lord Wycliff’s attention returned to his friend. “Sorry to barge in on your breakfast, old fellow. We wanted to come before I have to go to Parliament.”
The duke gave a false chuckle. “Now all three of us will be in the House of Lords.”
“And after we worked so hard to win your seat in the House of Commons,” Lady Wycliff said.
“I hope to sponsor your brother-in-law in the by-election, my lady,” Fordham said.
Her face brightened. “Edward Coke?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, that would be wonderful! I must go tell Ellie.” She slipped her arm through her husband’s, and they bid farewell.
Even if the woman was a reform-mad Whig sympathizer, Georgiana took an instant liking to her. There was a sincere warmth about her.
The Duke of Fordham was another matter. Georgiana kept wavering on her opinion of him. She wanted to be unbiased in her judgment. It was true that not only did Lord Slade speak so glowingly of him, but so did the Haversham sisters, the former having known him since the age of seven, the latter all of their lives. Yet Freddie’s relationship with his only living brother had been strained. Freddie never spoke glowingly of him.
And the new duke was the only person to substantially profit from Freddie’s death.
She couldn’t dispel the words Fanny had said. The late duchess had feared her youngest son could kill Freddie. Or vice versa.
