Duchess 02 - Surprising Lord Jack (12 page)

“Most people are idiots.” She took another deep breath. “This situation can be resolved very easily if I just go to see Puddington in the morning. You do not have to involve your family. I’m sure they will not thank you.”

He took a generous helping of prawns. “Well, you’re wrong there. My mother likes nothing better than to meddle, especially if there’s any chance she can do a bit of matchmaking.”

“Matchmaking?”
Miss Hadley surged to her feet. “There will be no matchmaking.” She just about spat the last word.

“Miss Hadley, please sit down. You haven’t touched your food.”

And now he sounded like an old nursemaid, but at least the woman resumed her seat, though she didn’t pick up her fork. Instead she leaned toward him, her face red, her finger stabbing at him.

“I am not going to marry you or anyone else—ever. Can you get that through your thick skull?” She pressed her lips together and looked away for a moment, nostrils flaring.

She was most definitely a shrew. He could
not
marry her.

His stomach twisted and he put down his fork, laden with prawn. If they didn’t marry, she’d be a social outcast because of him, even though it wasn’t his bloody fault.

But then life didn’t care about such things, did it? Look at the baby they’d found in the alley. Poor little William Shakespeare. His mother and father had got off scot-free, while the baby had almost died through no bloody fault of his own.

“You’re just like everyone else,” Miss Hadley said, pressing the heel of her hand against her forehead as if she had the headache. “Of course you’re like everyone else. You’re a duke’s son.”

“Er, most people aren’t dukes’ sons.”

Her head snapped back up, and she glared at him.

Well, it was somewhat amusing to bait her. And perhaps she’d improve once she got over her pet at having her will thwarted. She’d been relatively congenial when she’d been masquerading as a boy.

And surely Mama would find a solution that didn’t involve matrimony. She was very clever that way.

He smiled and picked up his prawn-laden fork again. “Your dinner is getting cold.”

She ignored him. “You think all my problems will be solved if I can just get some
man
”—she might as well have said flesh-eating devil—“to marry me. Some bloody male who will get me with child and then leave me.”

Ah yes, the larger problem of Miss Hadley’s negative sentiments toward the male of the species. “Not some man. Me. And I would never leave you.”

“Oh.”

She flushed a startling shade of red, and he suddenly had a far too graphic image of being between her long legs—

Good God, he wasn’t blushing, too, was he?

“Miss Hadley—Frances—you don’t have to be concerned that my mother will force you to do anything you can’t like.” He smiled in a friendly, comfortable, careful way, the way he smiled at the poor girls or young children he found on the streets. “I often find Mama maddening, but she
is
rather wise. I wrote her because I know she’s the best person to find a way out of this mess that will cause the least damage to your reputation.”

“I don’t care about my reputation.”

“Truly?”

“Y-yes.” Her gaze wavered though. She looked down at her plate, picking up her fork to push some fricasseed turnips around.

“Frances, you saw only my foundling home today. My other house in Bromley is for girls who want to break free of the streets and learn a trade other than the one they’ve been forced to practice on their backs.”

Frances sucked in her breath. “Are you saying I’m a, a—” Her face lost all its color.

“No, of course I’m not saying that. What I am saying is that none of those women set out to be light-skirts. Many were born into good families. Some were in service, but a few were gentry. Some lost their virtue to villainous employers, and some gave it to a man they loved who might even have promised marriage, but in every case, once they lost their reputations, they lost everything. Their families turned them out, and their friends turned them away.”

“But I haven’t done anything. I’m still a vir—” She flushed.

“And how are you going to prove that? We’ve gone over this before. Pettigrew will tell everyone we spent the night in the same room. The Findleys, who will probably be shocked and angry at your deception, will confirm that to anyone who asks. And the fact is, we
did
spend the night together.”

She was even redder now. “Yes, but
nothing happened
.”

He leaned forward. It was important that she understand. “Frances, people will already be shocked that you dressed as a boy and traveled by yourself. Just having that come out will put paid to your reputation.”

He saw in her eyes that she knew he was correct.

But then her chin went up. “It’s not fair. Yes, I made a mistake—a few mistakes—but I didn’t do anything
that
dreadful.”

Many people would think what she’d done to be exactly that dreadful, but it was time to give her some hope. “I’m sure my mother will be here in the morning. If anyone can get you—can get
both
of us—out of this social quagmire, she can. So may I suggest you eat something to conserve your strength?”

She took a grudging bite of beef. “You’re not in any sort of mess. No one expects men to keep their virtue.”

Well, yes, men weren’t expected to be virgins, but there were other sorts of virtue. “We are expected to maintain our honor, however.”

She snorted. “You’re more likely to be ostracized for cheating at cards than taking advantage of some foolish girl from the country.”

Unfortunately, there was much truth to what she said. “Perhaps, but I would consider myself dishonorable—as would my family and friends—if I ignored your plight.”

“I don’t know why,” she said bitterly. “It’s a plight of my own making.”

Best not agree with that. “Let’s not worry about it now. As I say, my mother is very capable; I’m willing to wager a good sum that she’ll be able to find an answer to this problem. In the meantime, it might help if you tell me a little about your family.” Might as well take on the major problem. “Where is your father?”

Oddly enough, she blushed—and then speared a turnip more forcefully than necessary. “I believe he’s in the South Seas. He’s a naturalist, studying the flora and, er, f-fauna.” Her blush deepened, and she shoved the turnip in her mouth. Then she attacked her poor, defenseless beef. At least she was eating.

“Have you heard from him recently?”

Her knife screeched across her plate. “No.”

“Oh.” Communicating with someone so far away would be difficult in the best of circumstances—there weren’t any mail packets going to and from that area—but this was clearly not the best of circumstances. “When did he leave?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” She stabbed at him with her fork to emphasize her point. “He left my mother when she was increasing with me and my brother. Apparently she wasn’t very attractive with the huge belly he’d given her. And then he forgot about us.”

He heard the familiar pain of an abandoned child under her anger. “That’s despicable.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it? And my mother never said a word against him. Can you believe it? She always told us he was a brilliant botanist, traveling all over the world, and that’s why he was never home, but I saw how she cried when she read the newspapers. So once, when I was about six, I picked the paper up after she’d fled to her room in tears.”

She put her knife and fork down too carefully. “Even then I was a good reader. And I was smart. When I read that scandal column, I finally understood. My father wasn’t traveling the world; he was traveling London brothels, from one whore to another with an occasional detour to an accommodating widow.”

Bloody hell!
If Hadley senior were present, he’d gladly rearrange his face for him. Far too often he’d seen the same look of defiance and carefully cultivated indifference that was in Frances’s eyes in the eyes of the children he collected from the stews.

Frances shrugged. “He must correspond with Puddington in some fashion, because the man keeps assuring me he’s not yet dead. Not that it makes a great deal of difference to me. My brother will inherit the estate, even though I’ve been the one running it all these years.” Her mouth tightened.

She’d mentioned that before. “How many years have you had charge of the place?” Frances was only twenty-four, after all.

“Ten. Warwick, the old estate manager, dropped dead in his office when I was fourteen, but he’d already shown me everything I needed to know. I’d always been interested in what he did—unlike my brother. Frederick was too busy studying the weeds in the fields to think about planting any crops.”

“Good God, Puddington let you act as the estate manager when you were only fourteen?” The man was either shockingly lazy or completely incompetent. No one would allow a child to run a property. “I would have thought he’d insist on hiring a new manager.”

Pride flashed in her eyes. “Oh, he did, but within hours of arriving, the man managed to offend my aunt, and she sent him packing. When Puddington got wind of it—I assume the fellow came whining to him—he rode down and realized I was quite capable of handling things, though I’ll admit in the beginning he thought it was Aunt Viola who was in charge.”

“That’s very impressive,” Jack said—and saw Frances’s first genuine smile. It lit her face and made her look almost pretty.

He leaned back, done with his meal. “But you’ve only told me about your father’s family. What of your mother’s relatives?”

Frances’s expression tensed. “What of them?”

“I would have thought they’d have taken more of an interest in you and your brother.”

“Oh no. They cut the connection when my parents married. They did not approve of my father.”

He could well believe that. He didn’t approve of her father. “So they never visited?” Poor Frances. He couldn’t imagine living a life so devoid of family.

“Not that I remember.”

“And you’ve made no attempt, now that you are grown, to contact them?”

“No. If they had no use for us, I have no use for them.”

Spoken by someone with a surfeit of pride.

“May I ask who your maternal relatives are?”

She hesitated and looked down at her wineglass as if it was suddenly very interesting. “Their family name is Sanderson.”

“Sanderson?” Good God, it couldn’t be . . . but of course it was. It made perfect sense. “You’re Rothmarsh’s granddaughter, aren’t you?”

She tilted her chin. “Yes, I am. So you can see the problem. The marquis was not happy his daughter married a mere mister.”

She had
far
too much pride, just like her mother, if his friend Trent was to be believed.

“Do you really think his reservations had anything to do with your father’s lack of title?”

She glared at him and shrugged. “Isn’t that the way of it?”

“No, it’s not.” He struggled to keep the frustrated anger out of his voice. “The marquis and marchioness and their family wanted you in their lives very much.”

She almost sneered at him. “Come, Lord Jack, how can you possibly know that?”

“Because your cousin Robert, Viscount Trent, has told me so many times.”

Frances choked down another bite of toast. She wasn’t hungry, but she had to eat, just as she had to wear the same hideous dress she’d worn last night along with Frederick’s old boots.

She closed her eyes, a leaden feeling settling in her stomach. She’d look like a clown. What would the duke and duchess think of her?

They were here. She’d heard a commotion half an hour ago and glanced down from her window to see an elegant traveling coach pulling up. Two couples got out, one older and one younger—Lord Jack’s brother and his brother’s betrothed must have come as well. She’d watched them walk inside, talking and laughing.

They’d looked happy. They’d come to save Jack from a colossal mess, and they were laughing.

They wouldn’t be laughing when they met her, unless it was at her outlandish appearance.

She pushed aside her breakfast and grabbed her borrowed stays.

Why the blazes did she care what the duke and duchess, or Jack’s brother and soon-to-be sister-in-law, thought? She’d never before been concerned with people’s opinions, especially opinions of how she looked. Fashion plates and the ladies’ magazines were for silly girls whose only goal in life was to catch a husband.

The stays had been made for someone twice her size. She tried to tighten them, but it was hopeless. She should just take them off, but then she’d feel naked, and they did take up some space in the voluminous dress. The garment hung like a sack on her—a short sack, saved from immodesty by the ruffle the housekeeper had made from an old curtain last night, which also served to hide Frederick’s boots . . . somewhat.

She stood and forced herself to look in the mirror. Oh, hell. All she needed was a jester’s hat and the ridiculous picture would be complete. Well, perhaps her frightful appearance would convince the Duchess of Love that she was a wildly unsuitable match for her son.

She grimaced at her repulsive reflection. Even if Jack’s mother thought she was perfect for Lord Jack—which of course the duchess wouldn’t—she was
not
going to marry the man. He might be handsome and charming and even kind occasionally, but he was still a rake. She refused to repeat her mother’s mistakes.

Oh God, no. There was no need to borrow her mother’s errors; she’d made more than enough of her own. She pressed her fingers into her forehead. What the bloody hell was she going to do? If only she could turn back the clock—

But she couldn’t. She dropped her hands and reached for the comb, dragging it through her poor, shorn locks. Perhaps Jack’s mother
could
find a way out of this mess; it just had better not involve marriage. She would rather live a pariah, shunned by even the little children, than give her life over into some bloody man’s keeping.

She slammed down the comb. It was hopeless. Nothing could be done to make her the least bit presentable. She turned quickly and hit her shin on the bedpost. Damn! It didn’t hurt so very much, but it still caused her eyes to water.

Clearly she needed to gather her composure before she went downstairs. She’d just sit on the window seat for a few moments and take in the view before descending to her doom.

The park in the center of the square looked so peaceful. The snow in the road was rutted and dirty, but in the park it was still pristine. A couple with a dog—ah, that was Shakespeare, so the man and woman must be Jack’s brother and future sister-in-law—were making their way over the slush to the park gate. If only she could be out there instead of in here.

She rested her head against the cool glass. It wasn’t her dress that bothered her so very much—though it did bother her—it was what Jack had told her last night.

He wasn’t right about her mother’s parents, was he? He’d said her cousin had told him the marquis and marchioness had come to Landsford after she and Frederick were born, but that her mother and Aunt Viola had turned them away. That neither Viola nor Frances’s father had written to tell them when her mother died. Well, her father had been in South America then—or at least that’s what Viola had said—and hadn’t found out for months, not that he would have cared, but Viola should have sent a note to her mother’s family. They’d learned of it from Littleton’s father, of all people, long after her mother had been buried in the Landsford graveyard.

Jack assured her they all would be overjoyed to meet her.

She pressed her forehead harder against the glass.

They wouldn’t be, of course. If her cousin was correct in his story—and he very likely wasn’t—everything had changed. Now she was dragging her own scandal with her.

They’d likely think she was just like her father.

Shakespeare and his human companions had disappeared into the park, hidden by the pine trees. She should go downstairs. There was no point in delaying any longer.

She took a few deep breaths. Yes. She should go. She would go . . . in just a few more minutes.

 

 

Venus took a sip of tea and considered her youngest son. He was sitting in the chair across from her in the blue drawing room, leaning back, one leg crossed over the other, a smile on his lips—the picture of a relaxed, composed gentleman.

He was on edge. She could tell. He had shadows under his eyes, and he was clutching a very large mug of coffee.

She tightened her hold on her teacup. She would
not
let some conniving female ruin his life. If the woman thought Jack was a target because his mother was the Duchess of Love and so would promote marriage no matter what, she was in for a very rude surprise.

“Ned and Ellie took off in a flash, didn’t they?” Jack said, his foot jiggling. Another sign of nerves. “And they took my dog.” His lips turned up, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Shakespeare is a very fickle creature.”

Venus shrugged. “They are violently in love, and the dog needed a walk.”

To think she’d been in alt after the birthday ball and Ned’s betrothal—until the servant had arrived with Jack’s letter. Less than twenty-four hours to feel all was well with her world.

That wasn’t completely true. She’d been worrying about Ash, of course. Unfortunately that worry was as constant as breathing.

She reached for a slice of seedcake. One problem at a time. “When did you acquire this dog? I don’t remember you mentioning it when you were home.”

“Just yesterday, actually. He’s quite talented. Does all sorts of tricks.”

“I see.” Did the dog belong to the woman he’d acquired yesterday as well? Of course he didn’t say—he was too busy listing all the dog’s talents. Well, she’d long ago learned that silence was often the best approach when she wanted to discover something. Eventually, if one was patient, one’s sons would get around to the main point.

Patience was a very difficult virtue to master.

Drew, sitting in the wing chair by the fire, grunted and frowned at his newspaper. Oh dear. She’d considered hinting that he should leave her alone with Jack, but Drew didn’t always take hints, and she’d been afraid pushing him out of the room would have been a mite too obvious. Now he was clearly going to distract Jack from discussing why he’d sent for them.

“Another debutante was fished from the Thames last night,” Drew said. “Apparently one more victim of the Silent Slasher.”

Jack put down his mug and leaned forward. “Who was it?”

“Darton’s second daughter, Lady Barbara.”

“Ah. She’s been rumored to be having an affair with one of Darton’s footmen.”

“Yes, the footman’s mentioned here.”

“There you have it—that must be who the villain is.” Venus took a sip of tea. This was all quite horrible, but it wasn’t getting them any closer to discussing the more important matter—the villainess who was trying to trap poor Jack.

Drew shook his head. “No, it wasn’t the footman.”

“Why do you say that? He’s the obvious choice,” Venus said. If girls would just follow the rules—well, some of the rules . . . or at least only break them carefully, with men they knew to be honorable and whom they were going to marry—much trouble could be avoided.

“Because Darton had become suspicious and told the butler to keep the man busy. The butler swears the footman was polishing silver all night.”

“Well, thank God for that,” Jack said. “If he hadn’t had an alibi, the mobs might have hung him and then realized he wasn’t the Slasher when some other poor girl showed up dead. What else does the paper say?”

No one cares about the blasted murder!
That was what Venus wished to say—no, shout—but she merely reached for some more seedcake. She would put on another stone if they didn’t get to Jack’s problem soon.

“Let’s see.” Drew consulted the paper again. “The earl had stayed home while his wife and daughter went to the Duke of Chesterman’s ball. No surprise there. The man’s always been a bit of a hermit.”

“As if you’re not.”
Why
wouldn’t Drew focus on Jack’s problem? He could ask the question bluntly; men were far more direct with each other than they were with women, particularly mothers.

Drew snorted. “I would prefer to avoid the
ton
, but I do attend the dratted events when I’m forced to, don’t I?”

“Yes, you do—and I very much appreciate it.” She would appreciate it more if he would get Jack to talk.

“As you should.”

“The article, Father?”

One would think Jack would
want
to discuss the reason why he’d sent for them with such urgency. The way this conversation was progressing—or not progressing—he might just have wished their opinion on a new waistcoat.

“Ah yes. So it says Darton thought Lady Barbara would be coming home with her mother, of course, but instead the girl told her mother she felt sick and would leave early with Mrs. Black—who knew nothing about the matter. Apparently Lady Barbara has been running this rig for a while—pretending to leave with someone and then meeting up with the footman. Unfortunately this time things went badly awry.”

Drew put the paper down. “The article ends with the author wondering if there is only one Slasher, since the society women end up in the Thames and the prostitutes are abandoned where they fall.”

“Good heavens!” Venus said. She had seen the previous accounts in the papers but hadn’t been overly alarmed. London was the city. One expected a certain amount of crime. But if things were truly out of hand . . . “Surely there aren’t men with knives and bloodthirsty motives hiding around every London corner?”

“I don’t think you need worry there are multiple Slashers, Mama. Where the fellow disposes of his victims varies, but the manner of the murders is identical. All the women had their throats cut in exactly the same way. And all had questionable reputations.”

“There’s nothing questionable about a prostitute’s reputation!” Venus said. “Everyone knows she doesn’t have one.”

Jack looked annoyed, but he only shrugged. “I’m almost certain it’s the same man. It’s just easier to abandon a body on the ground in the stews than outside a Mayfair mansion.”

Drew nodded. “So do you think it’s some religious fanatic?”

“I don’t know.”

This had gone on long enough. Venus wished to get to the reason for Jack’s letter before the reason appeared in the drawing room, which could happen at any moment. “If I might suggest a change of topic?”

Jack and Drew jerked their heads toward her as if they’d momentarily forgotten her presence.

“Yes, of course,” Drew said. “Not at all the sort of subject for female ears.”

She snorted. “My dear duke, I am not some delicate hothouse flower that needs to be shielded from the harsh world, as well you know. I am happy—well, happy isn’t quite the word. I am glad to be made aware of such a danger, but I’m far more interested at the moment in discovering why Jack requested our presence so precipitately.”

Sometimes patience had to be abandoned. She looked at Jack expectantly.

He looked as if he’d rather keep discussing corpses.

“Yes, Jack,” Drew said, “why did you have us dash up to Town? I was just enjoying having the last of the
ton
out from underfoot at the castle, and now here I am in the middle of the main infestation.”

Jack was a brave boy. He took a deep breath and smiled. “Yes, well, I do thank you for coming. The problem is—”

“Me.”

Venus turned to see a . . . person standing in the doorway.

No, on closer inspection it was definitely a female. Tall and thin with wild red hair that looked like it had been cut by a blind monkey and wearing the most hideous dress she’d ever seen. And, good heavens, were those
men’s boots
on her feet?

Jack had gone to stand by her in a rather protective manner. Interesting.

Venus forced herself to smile while her stomach sank. “Hallo, dear. I’m sure my son will manage the introductions in a moment.”

 

 

She should have stayed in her room.

Lord Jack introduced her to his parents, and she made her curtsies.

No, she couldn’t hide away like a scared little mouse.

“Please, come sit down, Miss Hadley,” the duchess said. She had a pleasant, almost reassuring voice, but her brown eyes, which were rather too much like Jack’s, were frosted with suspicion.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Frances perched on the edge of her chair. She refused to cower, but her knees were shaking badly. Fortunately, today she had a skirt to hide them.

“I’m sure you will think us very silly, Miss Hadley, but Jack has not yet got around to explaining why he wrote asking us to come to London.” The duchess looked from Jack to the duke. “Some people were too busy discussing current events.”

“Important events, Mama,” Jack said, seating himself next to Frances. “There’s been another woman murdered, Frances, a member of the
ton
. You and Mama and Ellie—all the ladies—must take extra care until the killer is caught and brought to justice.”