One Fine Duke

by Lenora Bell

  “Nothing, nothing at all.”

  “If you’re implying that I fancy Miss Penny you couldn’t be more wrong.”

  “My mistake. It’s just that everyone else fancies her. Marmont was blathering on about how he danced with her twice and she’d soon be his bride.”

  Drew nearly spit his coffee onto the table. “That bloodless complainer? There’s no way Miss Penny would marry him.”

  “He’s even wealthier than you, you know.”

  “I don’t think she’s after a fortune. Wasn’t very polite to me while we waltzed.” Enough talk about Miss Penny. He couldn’t seem to escape the topic . . . or his thoughts about her. About their kiss. “Has Rafe mentioned any mistresses whose names begin with the letter F?

  “That would be Frances Flynn, but that ended months ago. Wish I could afford to be her new protector.”

  “Can you tell me where she lives?”

  “Didn’t think you’d be interested in your brother’s former mistress.”

  “I’m searching for Rafe and she might know where he’s gone. He appeared at the house last night, drunk as a lord, hit me over the head with a candlestick and fled into the night.”

  “Sounds like Rafe.” Westbury chuckled.

  “If you see him, or hear anything about him, contact me immediately. I’ll pay the cost of the messenger.” He reached into his pocket and handed the duke a banknote.

  Westbury’s eyes gleamed as he accepted the note. “Much obliged.”

  “Spend the difference on your sisters.”

  He wouldn’t. He’d waste it all chasing the dice.

  “Are you certain that you won’t consider marrying one of them?” Westbury asked. “I have several sisters to choose from.”

  Drew finished his coffee. Westbury’s sisters were perfectly nice girls. Cultured, comely, and obliging, but they lacked . . . fire. They wouldn’t contradict his every word. Or hold him at pistol point.

  “I have to go,” he said abruptly. “Remember to contact me if you hear anything about Rafe.”

  “I will,” said Westbury.

  He wouldn’t. He’d forget all about this conversation after five more glasses. It was useless to enlist the help of drunkards. Perhaps former mistresses would prove more helpful.

  Frances Flynn could know something.

  Miss Penny would be at his house right now, visiting with Beatrice and then contriving a way to interview the servants. He hoped she’d have better luck than he’d had this morning. None of the servants had known anything about Rafe’s troubles except in the general sense that he lost large sums of money gambling and lived an extravagant life.

  If anyone could cajole them into unguarded speech, it was Miss Penny, with the one-two punch of her sunny smile and sharp wit.

  Mina and Lady Beatrice were seated on a wide wooden swing in the gardens that separated the two Thorndon town houses, having left Grizzy with Lady Beatrice’s mother. The two older ladies had settled in for a cup of tea and a nice long gossip, so Mina and Lady Beatrice had decided to move outdoors, since it was such a fine day.

  The air was fragrant with the sweet scent of roses and peonies. To the left was the bedchamber window where Mina had observed Thorndon doing . . . what he’d been doing. A thrill rippled through her body as she remembered the unforgettable sight. His muscles straining, body taut with tension and desire. Had he been thinking about her as he touched himself? It wasn’t unimaginable. He’d observed her revealing dance as she attempted to fasten her scarlet gown in the garden shed. She could have given him inspiration.

  Or it could have been the seductive gown. After she’d changed back into her demure white dress, she’d left the red silk gown in the storage bench, having nowhere else to stash it without attracting Grizzy’s attention. Perhaps Mina would find a way to retrieve it soon.

  “Are you a person with a happy temperament and a bright outlook on life, Miss Penny?” asked Lady Beatrice. She wore a simple gown in a lavender hue that contrasted pleasingly with her copper hair.

  “I suppose so,” replied Mina. “I haven’t thought much about it.”

  “You appear that way to me but appearances can be deceiving.”

  “I’d say that I’m a person who believes in action. If I’m moving forward, learning new skills, challenging myself, then I’ve no time to mope.”

  Mina was enjoying their conversation, though she knew she must find a way to steal over to Lord Rafe’s town house to interview the servants and continue her search for clues.

  The glass of Lady Beatrice’s spectacles sparkled in the sunlight as she shifted closer to Mina on the swinging bench. “And do you take a charitable interest in those less fortunate than yourself?”

  “I’ve lived at my uncle’s estate for the last ten years and the tenants and surrounding villagers are quite prosperous. I have to admit I’ve never engaged in charitable works.”

  “An honest answer. But you would, if given the opportunity.”

  “Certainly. When we traveled to Town, our carriage passed by groups of people living in terrible poverty and it saddened me. It doesn’t seem right that there is such a tremendous gulf between the lives of those born into humble origins and those born with a silver spoon in their mouths.”

  “Well said.” Lady Beatrice nodded. “And what are your views on childbearing?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Do you want to have children, Miss Penny? Not all women do. I probably never will as childbearing generally means taking a husband.”

  “Well,” began Mina, not quite certain how to answer the question. She decided on telling the truth. She liked Lady Beatrice and wanted to be honest with her. “I do want to have a child but not just yet. I’m of the mind that a young lady’s purpose in life is not solely to produce heirs or create harmonious households. I believe women can achieve other goals.”

  “Quite so. What of your parents—they died when you were young?”

  “When I was ten, though we were never close. They were always traveling. I made a vow that if I have a daughter someday, I’ll spend more time with her. I won’t withhold my time or my affections.”

  “The death of both of your parents could have made you bitter, but instead you made a resolution to be more affectionate and loving.” Lady Beatrice lifted a finger. “See? A bright outlook on life.”

  Mina smiled at her. “Why do I feel as though I’m being interviewed?”

  Lady Beatrice chuckled appreciatively. “Because you are being interviewed. I consider you to be the leading candidate for the position of Duchess of Thorndon, and my future sister-in-law. Drew told me that he hopes to choose a bride quickly in order to return home for the harvest, and so I offered to assist him in his endeavor.”

  “Ah. I hate to disappoint you but Thorndon and I are opposed in both temperament and prospects. He’s brooding where I’m boisterous. He prefers the countryside of Cornwall, while I belong in the beating heart of London. He is—”

  “I know, you already told me, it was loathing at first sight for both of you. But it does seem, at least in the novels I read, that sometimes the people one loathes at first can become the most attractive after further acquaintance.”

  “You’ve been reading Miss Austen.”

  “I adore her books. After I complete my etymological dictionary, I plan to write a study of female authors. I shall have a whole chapter dedicated to her works. It’s so sad that she died so young. I often wonder what fantastic heights her career could have risen to if she’d only been allowed more time on this earth.”

  “Have you thought about writing novels yourself?” asked Mina.

  “Never. Mine is a didactic mind, one that parses and interprets and never delves into the realm of the heart.”

  “You’re proving my point about the goals of young ladies, Lady Beatrice.”

  “Please call me Beatrice, won’t you? I’m only a few years younger than you, I believe, and I hope we may become best friends.”

  “I’d like tha
t very much. And please call me Mina.”

  They smiled at each other. Mina did hope that they could become friends. She’d never had a best friend before.

  “There’s something very fearless about you, Mina. When you walk into a room it’s as though a breeze comes in with you lifting everyone’s spirits and making things seem a little more alive.”

  “Thank you. You make me want to read more books and expand my vocabulary.”

  “People are so incurious. They don’t want to know where the words they use come from, they just learn a limited number and use them over and over. I want to expand and waken people’s minds.”

  “What does Lord Rafe think about your literary scholarship?” Mina asked.

  “He doesn’t even know about it. My brother’s too inebriated half the time to remember his own name.”

  “Has Lord Rafe appeared different to you of late?”

  “Different, how so?”

  “Has he spoken about taking a journey?”

  “He never confides in me. We barely speak to each other. He’s just coming home from his nights of vice and debauchery as I’m rising for the day.”

  “Have his servants expressed any concerns about any mishaps or troubles he may have?”

  “Drew told me about the note, Mina.”

  “He did?” He hadn’t mentioned that last night, but she was glad that he’d taken his sister into his confidence.

  “I’m aware that Rafe might be in some predicament,” Beatrice continued. “I even talked to the servants and no one had anything of import to confess.”

  “Does the threat of kidnapping frighten you? My uncle told me that your brother was kidnapped as a boy.”

  “It’s because of his past that Drew is taking this business so personally. He’s vowed to protect me. Which is more than I can say of Rafe.” Beatrice clicked her tongue. “I do sincerely hope that you’re not still thinking about attempting to reform him. That’s where optimism would become sheer folly.”

  “I’m not,” Mina hastened to assure her. “Don’t you believe rakes can be reformed? I heard that Thorndon used to be a rogue.”

  “Yes, but it wasn’t a woman that reformed him, it was Thornhill House. Working on improving the estate and the sorry plight of his tenant farmers gave him a new purpose. My fondest wish is to finally be declared a spinster so that I may go and live with him at Thornhill and plunder his vast library.”

  “Isn’t Thornhill House rather decrepit and run-down?”

  “And haunted by shades,” said Beatrice.

  “That’s appealing to you?”

  “I have a dark turn of mind. I’ve always loved gothic tales and ghost stories. I hear that Thornhill House crouches on a tall hill overlooking a bay. Black stone shards pierce the sky on either side of the massive front doors.”

  “Sounds inviting,” said Mina with a short laugh.

  “Some ancient lord—not an ancestor of ours, because Thornhill was acquired by Papa as payment for a debt—added pinnacles and crenellations wherever his whims suited him, attempting to create the impression of a medieval cathedral.” Lady Beatrice’s eyes shone behind her spectacles. “I’ll wager that it’s altogether glorious.”

  “Wasn’t there some great tragedy that occurred? A great number of people crushed to death, I believe.” The Duke Dossier had mentioned a brief history of the estate.

  “One of the owners in the seventeen hundreds undertook extensive renovations and he wanted to complete a new family chapel before his bride arrived. He pushed the workmen; he wouldn’t let them sleep or eat. The last stone was finally set in place in the family chapel. His bride arrived and they moved the wedding to an earlier date. But the workers had hastened too much. The chapel ceiling collapsed and killed him, his bride, the clergymen, and most of the assembled guests. His brother inherited the estate and sealed up the house. It sat vacant for decades, until my father acquired it.”

  Mina shuddered. “A chilling tale.”

  “They say a ghostly bride wanders the halls at night, wailing for her lost wedding night. I’d like to go and meet her.”

  “Surely you don’t believe in shades.”

  “I believe that stories don’t spring from nothing. Someone saw something.”

  “It sounds quite lonely to me.”

  “I think Drew is lonely there. It’s as though he used his new life as an excuse to disengage from the old—he’s cut us out of his life. It hurt me so much when he never returned my letters or came to visit.”

  “It must have been so difficult.”

  “But he’s here now and this is my chance to reconnect with him. All Thornhill requires to make it a home is me . . . and you, Mina. Your brightness—your passionate nature. I sense a coldness in him, a perpetual state of frostbite, as though he’s lost feeling not in his toes but in his heart. The house gave him purpose . . . but you could teach him how to love.”

  The warming of Thorndon’s cold heart was not her goal and never would be, therefore it was best to simply move on to another, less perilous, subject. “Have you told the duke that you wish to live with him at Thornhill?”

  “Many times but he won’t listen. He thinks it would be too limiting and that I wouldn’t have recourse to stimulating society or suitors. He thinks that if I don’t marry I’ll regret my choice later in life. But marriage wouldn’t make me any happier, especially if the gentleman wed me only for my fortune, as he must, because who would love this.” She waved a hand at the side of her face that sagged.

  “Don’t say that, Beatrice. You’re lovely.”

  “I’m not, you don’t have to lie just to make me feel better. All my childhood there were the doctors, the specialists, the treatments. Everyone watching me, observing me. Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I’d been born poor. No doctors or supposed cures: no hope, in other words. No false hope. I think it would have been simpler but we can’t change the past, can we?”

  “I wish I’d said good-bye to my parents before they left on their last journey and never came home. I wish that I’d been able to meet other girls my own age and to strike up friendships.”

  “It’s never too late to change, and we’re both young. Our whole lives ahead of us.” Beatrice plucked a velvety red rose from the trellised side of the swing and brushed the petals against her cheek. “What will you do with your life?”

  “I’ve always been on the periphery of things, always hidden away. I want in,” Mina said. “I want inside the beating heart of life. I want excitement. Intrigue.” She wanted to be worthy of the name Penny.

  “And you shall have it.”

  If Beatrice wanted to believe that Mina might fall in love with Drew, and that he might fall in love with her, then Mina would allow her to have her fantasy. It was the most expedient way of framing her request for time alone in Lord Rafe’s town house.

  “Beatrice, I wonder if you might . . . cover for me. I would like to visit the other town house.” She glanced at the window where she’d seen Thorndon.

  Beatrice’s eyes sparkled behind her spectacles. “You have a romantic tryst planned with Drew. He told me that he was visiting his club but he would be back in time to speak with you.”

  “I wouldn’t call it a romantic tryst, but I do have something to speak with him about.”

  “Say no more. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll tell Mama that I’ve taken you up to my room to show you my collection of female writers. She won’t disturb us. I’ll stay inside my room reading a book and give you time alone with Drew. Mama will be perfectly content to gossip with your great-aunt for hours.”

  “Great-Aunt Griselda does love to gossip.”

  “Are we to expect a proposal after your tryst?” asked Beatrice with a mischievous smile.

  “Certainly not. It’s not that I want time alone with him, it’s . . .” What explanation could she give? “Oh, never mind.”

  “You don’t need to justify it—I completely understand. It’s our secret.” Beat
rice hopped off of the swing. “I’m off to mislead Mama. I’ll be over to fetch you in a little less than an hour.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Here.” Beatrice tucked the red rose behind Mina’s ear. “For luck.”

  A red rose like the one Rafe had given her, the color of her silk gown. A symbol of her dreams and her destiny.

  Beatrice went back to her house and Mina slipped around the back of the other house. She’d like to interview Crankshaw—the man had to know something—and then she’d do another search of the premises.

  Crankshaw answered Mina’s knocking. “Madam,” he bowed.

  Mina entered the house. “Crankshaw, my name is Miss Wilhelmina Penny and I want to offer you some explanation for my presence here last evening.”

  “Were you here last evening? I didn’t see you here, madam.” He winked at her.

  “You can drop the act, Crankshaw.”

  “What act? I am the soul of discretion.”

  “Is there somewhere we can speak in private?” she asked.

  “Of course, Miss Penny. This way, please.” He led her into a small parlor.

  She closed the door. “Lord Rafe may be in some difficulties, Crankshaw. I’m a . . . friend and I hope to be able to aid him. His Grace and I will be searching these apartments for information today.”

  “How might I assist?”

  “Can you recall anything out of the ordinary happening in the past weeks? Any departure from routine or unexpected visitors?”

  “Madam, Lord Rafe has many unexpected, unannounced visitors of the female variety, and this house is filled with extraordinary objects, the sight of which would make any respectable person blush. For example, there is a lacquered cabinet filled with the strangest assortment of, er, implements, collected from around the globe. And there is the—”

  “I’m not interested in Lord Rafe’s customary oddities, Crankshaw.” She knew from previous experience that the servant would divulge every thought in his cluttered mind if left unchecked. “I’m asking you to recall anything different from the routine, from his habits.”

  Crankshaw stared at the ceiling for several moments. “No, Miss Penny. I can recall nothing except the habitual depravities. Which I never speak of for fear of offending the sensibilities of my audience.”