Applause filled the tavern when Jenny finished her song. Then someone said, “I remember now—after he turned down Wicked Thomas, didn’t Hawke pull off that bloody caper involving the young ladies?”
“Yes, the story that gave him his nickname. It seems Hawke stopped a carriage that was coming to the City carrying two young noble girls, I think, from the North. He killed all the men—the driver, the footmen—made off with all the loot—there were jewels, silver, velvets, and all—but he let the two young ladies live out of the nobility of his heart.”
“Rupert Hawke, Gentleman Robber, steals your money but spares your daughter,” a woman repeated the doggerel, and everyone raised their tankards again.
“To Rupert Hawke, may his soul rest in peace!”
Kaab had never known Rupert Hawke, but it only seemed polite to join in. “Someone should write a ballad about Hawke,” Jenny said.
“And Ben! It could be about the two of them. Why didn’t Ben go into the family business?”
As the conversation continued, Kaab made her way toward the end of the bar, where she leaned against the scarred wood and sipped at her beer. Everyone in the Three Dogs seemed to know one another, and they had many stories to share about Ben Hawke and his father. Ben had also had a string of casual lovers, all men, who were mentioned in a series of ribald jokes that caused the crowd to snicker. No one mentioned the fact that Ben had been stabbed in the back, and Kaab wondered if they were refraining from talking about it out of respect for Tess, who joined in the storytelling only sporadically. It appeared that Ben had been her protector for several years now, and Tess thought of him as a brother. Every so often a story would cause her to break into tears, and someone would rub her back or squeeze her shoulder to comfort her. Kaab watched Tess go through a number of handkerchiefs, until her nose was almost as red as her hair.
By the time Kaab finished the tankard of beer she had been given, she had to admit the drink tasted a bit better than it had at the beginning. Perhaps the trick was to drink more than one. When Jenny approached and asked if she wanted another, Kaab agreed. She still wanted to talk to Tess, but it was clear she wouldn’t have a moment alone with her until Tess was ready to leave, and it would look odd if she stood there in the corner without even a drink in her hand.
It wasn’t until the light from the window darkened into dusk that the gathering began to break up. Tess was the last to leave, and Kaab overheard her talking with the tavern owner about arrangements for Ben’s body to be transported for burial to a cemetery outside the City. As Tess turned to depart, reaching for her cloak, Kaab was waiting to help her put it on.
Tess looked worn out but not surprised. “I saw you were still here. Was there something you wanted from me?” She sounded somewhat curious, but reserved, as if she didn’t know what to make of Kaab.
Kaab gestured toward the door. “May I walk you to your home? If Ben is no longer with you, you’ll need protection.”
“I’ll be fine on my own for a fortnight,” Tess said. “There’s two weeks to mourn someone, here in Riverside, before anyone would even think to bother you.” Then her curiosity seemed to win out over her reserve. “But sure, you can walk me home.”
William, Duke Tremontaine, was ensconced in his study, reading through a series of extremely tedious notes on the taxation of foreign imports. He was supposed to be preparing for an upcoming Council session that his wife had insisted he propose, but his attention kept wandering to a certain young scholar in whom he had developed a sudden and increasingly intense interest. The duke wished that they had parted that afternoon on a better note.
The door to the library opened to reveal Tilson, the footman. “My lord, a Master Rafe Fenton has arrived. Shall I send him up?”
It was as if the gods could hear his thoughts! “Yes, bring him up, please, Tilson.”
William hastily swept his papers into a ragged pile, then pushed the pile to one side. He adjusted the fall of his cravat and straightened his cuffs, feeling unusually nervous. Rafe would only come to him if his answer was yes, wouldn’t he? Thankfully, it was only a few moments before the door opened again and Rafe appeared, looking a bit agitated.
“Good evening,” William said formally, rising from his seat.
“My lord duke,” Rafe said. He waited until the butler left them alone before continuing, “I’ve come to a decision.”
“Have you?” The duke came around his desk but hesitated to approach the young scholar.
Rafe began to pace back and forth, his black robe fluttering behind him. “Yes. I realized that what you have offered me is quite significant. I—I am ashamed I did not understand this earlier today. I chalk it up to hunger.” Rafe made a self-deprecating grimace. “I was too set on my scholarly ambitions without realizing I can achieve them in more than one way. I have thought about it, and if—if you’ll have me, I’d be very honored to be your junior secretary.” Rafe took a shallow breath, took several swift steps across the intricately woven (and clearly imported, Rafe judged) rug, and took the liberty of grasping the duke’s right hand. “Will,” he said, loving the feel of the intimate name on his tongue. “Does your offer still stand?”
The duke gazed at the passionate young man before him, intoxicated by the gleaming dark pools of his eyes. He answered by pulling Rafe close and kissing him on the mouth.
Rafe returned the kiss hungrily, and he realized that though becoming the Duke Tremontaine’s secretary had never been something he aspired to, it did come with some unmistakable benefits.
“My lady, would you like the peacock pin tonight or the pearl comb?”
Diane, Duchess Tremontaine, examined her reflection in her dressing room mirror while her lady’s maid, Lucinda, waited by the jewel box. “The comb,” Diane replied. “It’s enough for a quiet supper at home, and I’ll wear the peacock tomorrow when I call on Lady Godwin.” Lucinda approached with the pearl-studded comb and began to place it expertly into Diane’s blond hair. “I don’t wear the peacock at home, unless there’s a very special occasion,” Diane said.
“I’ll remember that, my lady.”
As Lucinda put the finishing touches on her creation, Diane heard the door to her husband’s study click shut. A low murmur of voices followed. The duchess’s dressing room adjoined the duke’s little upstairs study, and a rarely used door connected the two rooms. It was an odd arrangement for a couple with a townhouse as large as theirs, but Diane herself had suggested it, saying the light was better. It gave her an opportunity to keep an ear trained on her husband’s business dealings, and bless his good-willed heart, he never seemed to have caught on to the fact that she might, at times, listen in.
The sound of voices next door briefly increased in volume, and Diane heard someone say “Will” in an unusually intense tone of voice. Will? Who called the duke by that name? Not even Diane. She found it extremely intriguing and not a little disturbing.
“That will be all for now, Lucinda.”
The maid curtsied and backed out of the room. Diane rose from her dressing table and walked silently across the plush rug to the connecting door. It had a small latch that Diane kept well oiled, but she didn’t need to open the door to hear. She simply pressed her ear to the crack and stood still.
She had done this before: not only here, but ages ago, as a girl. She remembered it suddenly with a sick lurch in her stomach. The whispers, the rustle of silk, the fear of being caught, all running in a hot, quick thrill through her veins.
She closed her eyes and took a shallow breath, her stays pressing into her sides as she locked those memories away once again. This was not the time nor the place for that. She was the Duchess Tremontaine, and some stranger was in the study with her husband.
She recognized the sounds she heard: the murmuring, the caught breath, the unmistakable smack of lips on skin, a low moan, a sharper one. A chill went through the duchess. She had heard them often, when the duke was with her. Judging by the answering sounds, the other was not a woman, but a man.
/> She had never known her husband to be unfaithful before. This was surprising, and Diane disliked surprises that she had not orchestrated herself.
She withdrew from the connecting door and took one last look at herself in the mirror. Her face was pale, powdered to perfection. Her lips were rouged into a bow, her hair swept up perfectly, the pearl comb gleaming in the candlelight. She heard a thump from her husband’s study as something fell to the floor, followed by a brief laugh that was quickly silenced.
The chill that had gripped her seemed to harden and burn, as if frost had crackled across her skin. In the hallway, the clock struck the hour. It was time for supper.
Diane turned away from the mirror and proceeded downstairs to the dining room, her silk skirts swirling around her elegantly slippered feet.
Outside the Three Dogs, it had stopped raining at last, leaving a fresh, cool scent in the Riverside air. Houses spilled cheerful light from their windows, turning streets that had been gloomy tunnels during the day into cozy warrens filled with the scent of suppers cooking over hearth fires. Kaab said to Tess, “I am sorry about Ben.”
“Thank you,” Tess said quietly. “I am too.”
“He had many friends,” Kaab noted.
“Yes.”
“That’s the mark of a good man.”
Tess snorted indelicately. “Well, he was too brash for his own good and yet not devious enough by half. But he was a good friend to me. I will miss him horribly, even his stupid little tricks.” She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve.
Kaab found Tess’s lack of self-consciousness distinctly charming. The girls back home were much less direct. Kaab had developed a knack for peeling back their layers of polite reserve, but she enjoyed the fact that the girls of Riverside were as forthright as she herself was.
“You haven’t told me what brought you to the Three Dogs,” Tess said. “It couldn’t have been Ben—you hardly knew him.”
“Few men have bested me in . . . well, in anything. I respect anyone who has.” That won her a sly smile from Tess, and Kaab felt a flush of victory.
“What’s your name?” Tess asked. “It was something unusual, wasn’t it?”
“It’s Ixkaab,” she said, placing a hand over her heart and giving Tess a small bow. “You may call me Kaab.”
“And where are you from, Kaab? What brings you to Riverside?”
“I am from Binkiinha, the greatest city in the land of the gods. My family is in the chocolate trade.” She thought of the boy Tess paid to take messages and asked, “Do you know chocolate?”
“It’s that fancy drink they love uptown, isn’t it? I haven’t had it.”
“You’ve never had it!” Kaab exclaimed. She considered offering Tess the chocolate she carried with her for bartering, but she didn’t want to give Tess something of such poor quality. She wanted, she realized, to impress this woman.
Tess shrugged. “I’ve had some pretty good wine, though.”
“Wine is nothing compared with fine chocolate, expertly prepared. It is the drink of the gods.”
“Well if you say it like that . . .” Tess teased.
Kaab grinned. “I will bring you some. I promise you will enjoy it.”
“I’m sure I will,” Tess said, sounding amused. She glanced sidelong at Kaab. “But you haven’t told me what brings you to Riverside.”
“I have heard of your many talents, and I wish to avail myself of your skill.”
Tess seemed to enjoy the flattery. “Is that so?”
They had reached Bridgewater Street, and they turned down the lane that would bring them to Tess’s home. The streets of Riverside were certainly livelier in the evening. Tess seemed to be known by many people who called to her as they passed. At that moment, a small, ragged boy approached them and tugged on her cloak. “Mistress Tess, Mistress Tess, spare a coin for my supper?”
Tess looked down at the boy’s dirty face and said, “Oh, Tommykins, I don’t have any money on me. Come by my house later?”
Kaab reached into her pocket and removed a few minnows. “Here you go,” she said, pressing the coins into the boy’s hand.
His eyes widened, and he bowed to her as if she were royalty. “Thank you, sir—ma’am—thank you!”
As the boy scampered off, Tess said, “That was kind of you.”
“Those of us who are fortunate should help those who are not,” Kaab said.
“Clearly you weren’t raised on the Hill,” Tess said dryly. “They chase beggars away there. Now tell me: What business do you have for me?”
Kaab said, “I would prefer to tell you in private. Will you allow me to come up to your office?”
Tess gave her a straightforward once-over, taking in Kaab’s sword and clothing, and Kaab felt herself blushing. Tess seemed to like that, because she said, “I suppose your business is of a delicate nature?”
“It is,” Kaab said.
“All right then, you can come up,” Tess said. They had arrived at Tess’s house now, and the boy Jamie, the one she paid to take messages for her, had fallen asleep with his head against the doorjamb. Tess put a hand on his shoulder, and he woke with a start. Tess asked, “Any messages, Jamie?”
Jamie yawned and said sleepily, “Nothing all day, except some odd foreign woman came by.” He hadn’t spotted Kaab, who was standing a few paces behind Tess. “Not even Ben’s been here. Where is Ben, anyway?”
Tess said gently, “Ben is dead.”
At that, the boy’s eyes snapped wide open. “Ben’s dead? What did he do?” he asked loudly.
Tess pulled some keys out from the interior pocket of her cloak and began to unlock her front door. “Hush, now,” she said. “Ben didn’t do anything. Don’t go spreading any rumors. Come inside and I’ll pay you.” She herded the boy inside, then gestured to Kaab to follow them up the dark stairs.
William was late for supper.
Diane ordered the servants to delay the food until the duke arrived. While she waited, she sat stiffly, her cool blue eyes moving over the polished silver, the delicate porcelain plates decorated with the Tremontaine swan. The household budget had been so tight lately that she had entertained the thought, however briefly, of selling the silver. The porcelain was out of the question—she would not sell anything with the Tremontaine crest on it—but the silver didn’t bear the ducal swan and coronet. If anyone learned that she had stooped to selling silver, though, Tremontaine would be a laughingstock, and she couldn’t have that. She had, instead, quietly parted with a landscape painting that had hung in the rose bedroom, and a marble statue of a nymph from the garden. In place of the statue, now, was an urn freshly planted with roses, and the painting had been replaced with a much less precious charcoal drawing that had been stored in the attic. The statue and painting had gone to a trader from Chartil, for whom they were exotic relics of a foreign land. For Diane, it meant that no one in the City would notice they were missing, and Tremontaine had enough funds for a little while, if she put off her creditors long enough for her plans with the Traders to come to fruition. She’d begin by redeeming the loan on the Highcombe estate—which made Diane’s head pound every time she thought of it. Last night she had awakened from a nightmare, breathless with panic that William had failed to push the tax abatement through the Council as she had directed. It had taken every ounce of control she had not to shake him awake as well and demand to know what was delaying the passage of the measure.
Well, now she knew what was occupying his attention: Tilson had confirmed for her that the duke’s guest was none other than that horribly rude young student who had nearly run her down on her own staircase the other day. She had considered telling the duke about the boy’s insolence but decided he wasn’t worth it. She was above being insulted by a University idiot, but apparently her husband wasn’t above sleeping with one.
Finally, the duchess heard footsteps approaching the dining room, and a footman opened the door to admit the duke. His cravat was crooked and his
waistcoat buttoned unevenly. Diane hid her rising irritation with a sweet smile. “My dear William, I hope you were not detained by bad news?”
His face was flushed, and he sat down hurriedly without kissing her. “I apologize. I had a last-minute visitor on business.”
“Oh?” Diane took a sip of her wine. She had already drunk most of her goblet while waiting for her husband, and a footman came quickly to refill it. “Any business I should be aware of?”
Bowls of consommé were set in front of them, lukewarm now due to the delay. The duke picked up his spoon and answered, “It was a University man named Rafe Fenton. I’ve decided to hire him on as a junior secretary. Old Tolliver just can’t keep up anymore.”
Diane had some trouble swallowing her consommé. “This soup won’t do,” she said curtly to the footman behind her. “Take it back and tell the cook there’s too much salt in it.”
“Of course, madam,” the servant murmured, and removed the soup bowl from her sight.
So William intended to lie to her about this Rafe. That was more upsetting than the affair itself. Men and women had needs, after all, and marriage was about more than physical desires. Did he not know she understood this? She wanted to demand that he tell her the truth, but he kept his gaze lowered to his bowl of soup and said nothing. He was a horrible liar.
She was not.
“My dear, of course the decision to hire a new secretary is yours to make, but are you intending to let Tolliver go?” she asked, barely a tremor in her voice. Given the loan against the country estate, not to mention the day-to-day demands of running the Tremontaine household in the manner it required, the expense of additional staff had to be carefully considered. Of course, her husband had no idea what dire straits they were in—and she intended to keep it that way.
“Certainly not,” William said. “Tolliver has been with us so long it would be too much of a blow. And Rafe will be able to learn from him.” Finally the duke met his wife’s cool gaze. “You know, I’ve been horrible at remembering my appointments lately. I dare say it’s partly because Tolliver can’t remember them either. Rafe will keep me on track.”
Tremontaine Season 1 Saga Omnibus Page 18
