The Clarendon Rose (35 page)

Squaring her shoulders, she drew in a deep breath and ascended the stairs.
 
The door opened for her.

“Mr. McPhee is waiting upon your convenience in the Egyptian Room, Your Grace,” the footman told her as she entered.
 
“There are also two letters awaiting your attention, one of which is from His Grace.”

“Thank you—I’ll have a look at them and then you may take me to see Mr. McPhee.”

In Clarendon’s study, she tore open his letter with impatient fingers, only to read its contents with a sinking feeling:
 
“Some urgent business matters have prevented me from attending you, but I have no doubt Mr. McPhee will be able to provide you with answers to any questions you may have regarding the disposition of estate funds.
 
Once you have spoken with him, you may feel free to return to the manor.”

Tina let out a deep sigh and closed her eyes a moment.
 
Then, she tucked his note, along with the other letter she had received, into her reticule.
 
So I’ll simply have to wait a little longer.
 
Suddenly weary, she wondered who this Mr. McPhee was supposed to be.
 

Regardless, he’s waiting, and apparently, Clarendon wants me to speak with him.
 
I may as well get it over with.
 

Mr. McPhee proved to be a tall, wiry man with brown hair and a wide grin.
 
He came forward as she entered the Egyptian Room, bowing over Tina’s hand.
 
Then, he gestured that she sit on one of the sofas.
 
He had covered the small table with a number of papers.

“As his man of business, it is my understanding that His Grace wanted me to explain his various investments in some detail,” he said, sounding apologetic.
 
Tina swallowed, the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach accompanying a rising suspicion that she might have been wrong about her husband.
 

“I see.”

“I understand that he wished me to account for all the different sums he has committed to various ventures, as well as for those he intends to commit in the next little while.
 
I have several documents here to help in the explanations, but if you have any questions, please feel free to ask them at any time.”
 
He gave her a dubious look.
 
“His Grace has given me to understand that you are exceptionally well-versed in matters of business, but I can certainly keep it simple if—“

She shook her head.
 
“No need.
 
Please, continue.”
 
She leaned forward, trying to keep herself from shaking with tension as she waited to hear how badly she had erred in her judgments—about the money, about the mistress, and, most damningly of all, about the man who was her husband.

McPhee nodded.
 
“All right then.
 
His Grace has decided to pursue three different categories of investment.
 
The first is overseas, the second is domestic and the third is what we should probably call philanthropic—various charitable foundations that he has taken steps to form, or has plans of forming over the coming years.
 
So, we’ll discuss the overseas investments first.
 
There are holdings in India and the West Indies, as well as interests in a number of trading companies.
 
With each of the latter, the Duke has stipulated that no human cargo shall be carried on any of the lines in which he holds an interest—“

“Human cargo?”

“Slaves,” McPhee clarified.
 
“If there are any reports of any ships in which His Grace holds an interest transporting slaves—from the Africas to the Americas, for instance—then he has stipulated that he will sever all business ties immediately and will expect full repayment of all capital.
 
Otherwise, the company will be regarded as being in default and…”

Tina listened with mortified fascination.
 
So she had not been just a little off in her conclusions—she had been completely wrong.
 
From what McPhee said, her husband had made a number of astute initial investments during those years which Clarendon had dismissed as being filled with debauchery and dissolution.
 
He had often made a practice of dividing the profits earned.
 
Part of the money was used as donations to various missions and foundations in the countries where the primary business was conducted, while the remainder was reinvested.

She listened while the man of business accounted for the disposition of the exact sum she had questioned Clarendon about the day before.
 
And then she heard about the methods Clarendon used to help him determine which investments would be likeliest to yield good results.

The evident respect and enthusiasm in McPhee’s manner as he spoke of Clarendon’s plans only added to Tina’s self-disgust.
 
Apparently, she had married a man of intelligence and integrity who held himself up to an exceedingly high standard.
 
When he failed to meet that, he condemned himself and saw only the failure—or had tended to do so.
 
Perhaps his desire to correct her mistaken impression of his activities was a good sign from that perspective, she reflected.
 
It might be that he was learning to value those things he did do well.
 

After McPhee took his leave, Tina slumped against the back of the sofa, thoroughly chagrined.
 
Clarendon really had come to the city about business matters.
 
And, he hadn’t taken a mistress.
 

Her heart swelled at the knowledge, but she wondered whether she had ruined everything with her idiotic judgments.
 
She didn’t blame him in the least for his anger—she would have been equally furious if he had displayed a similar lack of faith in her.

Now, if only Clarendon would return, so she could eat crow in front of him.
 
Perhaps, if he were feeling generous, he’d forgive her.
 
But regardless of his response, she wanted to clear the air.
 

She opened her reticule with the intention of going over his letter once more.
 
Perhaps, in her rush, she had missed some mention of when he could be expected to return to London?

Instead of extracting his note, she found herself holding other letter that had arrived for her.
 
The elegant handwriting was vaguely familiar.
 
She frowned.
 
Odd.
 
Who would know to send this to me here?

Then, with a shrug, she broke the seal to find it was from Mr. Fitzwilliam:
 

You may have been wondering about the history between your husband and myself.
 
I am eager to tell you my side of the story, if you will permit it.
 
It seems that he will not set aside some bad blood that passed between us years ago, but it has long been my wish to be reconciled with my old friend.

Still, this would have been a matter for my own counsel, were it not for some new information that has come to light.
 
I have reason to believe that your husband might be in danger—and that his adversary has been using the old misunderstanding between the duke and myself to make it seem as if I am the instigator of this threat!
 
Your husband’s pride will not permit him to listen to me or heed any of my attempts to warn him and so I must turn to you.
 
If you wish to ensure your husband’s safety, then I ask that you call on me at your earliest convenience.
 
You need not send word ahead.
 
I am of a quiet and contemplative nature and am therefore rarely from home.

His city address, in Cheapside, followed.

Tina frowned as she examined the epistle.
 
Clarendon had warned her about Fitzwilliam—even going so far as to say he was a dangerous man.
 
Yet, if there had been some kind of misunderstanding, then that could well be what had given him such an impression.
 
Certainly, Mr. Fitzwilliam had seemed nice enough when she met him.
 

In addition, if this mysterious adversary were indeed trying to mislead Clarendon into thinking Fitzwilliam was the threat, then the duke might be in far more danger than he realized.
 
At the very least, it wasn’t a threat Tina felt she could justly ignore.

She sighed.
 
She had jumped to all the wrong conclusions about her husband because of her tendency to make snap judgments.
 
Perhaps it was time to learn from her mistakes, particularly if whatever information Fitzwilliam could provide might help ensure Clarendon’s safety.
 
In such an instance, it was no less than her responsibility to see past whatever prejudice her husband bore against Fitzwilliam—and who knew but Clarendon might be glad to have his old acquaintance exonerated of whatever crime he was supposed to have committed.

Certainly, in light of her recent actions, she was eager to make amends to her husband in whatever way possible.
 
She would, of course, be cautious—not only would Archer accompany her but she would also bring one of the burlier footmen along.
 
Having a second guard was surely an unnecessary precaution, but she felt it better to be safe than sorry, just in case Clarendon was correct in his mistrust of Fitzwilliam.

And so, with a final nod, Tina stood and left to have one of the carriages prepared.

Fitzwilliam smiled as he alighted from the coach and paused to survey the charming little house.
 
Rose Cottage.
 
How delightful.
 

A quick glance at the well-tended rose bushes in the small front area confirmed that Prunella Smythe-Perkins knew her flowers.
 
He hoped she would be willing to show him through her back gardens as well, for he had little doubt they would be even more enchanting.

Straightening his jacket, he marched up the front path and rapped on the door—only to have it swing open at his first knock.
 
He frowned.
 
Odd.

Fitzwilliam was about to step back and undertake a more thorough examination of the area when he spotted a yellow rose lying on a table just inside the front entryway of the house.
 
His curiosity getting the better of him, he slipped inside and picked up the flower, only then noticing that it had been resting on a small piece of paper.
 
He flicked a brief glance at it and had already turned his attention to the rose when the words on the paper penetrated.

He turned back to it, his eyes widening as he read:
 
“The Pepridge Rose?”

Dropping the blossom, he turned towards the door, only to have it slam shut.
 
Clarendon stood in front of it, grinning.

“It’s been a few years, Pepridge.”

Fitzwilliam couldn’t hold it in any longer.
 
He started laughing.
 
How utterly priceless!
 
Two other men emerged from their hiding places—one of whom he recognized as Lord Sebastian Tremain.

He was still chuckling as they finished trussing him up and tied him to a chair.
 
Finally, he spoke, “How perfectly delightful!
 
Well played indeed, my dear fellows!”
 
He grinned at them.
 
“But, the fact of the matter is, I still hold the trump card, so to speak.”

“Odd.
 
It certainly doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing, Pepridge,” Clarendon commented with a frosty smile.

“Ah, but that’s because you think your wife is safely tucked away at home, my dear fellow.”
 
Fitzwilliam chuckled once more as the smile dropped from Clarendon’s face.
 

“What the hell have you done with her?”

“Merely the small matter of an abduction, my dear duke.
 
But nothing has been done to her… thus far.
 
And no harm may yet befall her, if I am released in time.”

“Dammit Pepridge, this was between us.”

“Of all the men who spoke out against me, your testimony really was the most damning, you know.
 
So, all bets were off.
 
But as I say, there is still some hope.”

Clarendon seemed to be caught up with some inner struggle, and so it was Lord Sebastian who spoke.
 

“Out with it, Pepridge.”

“My men are awaiting instructions from me.
 
I told them I would be going away for a short spell.
 
But, you must have inferred—now that we’ve been working on opposite sides, so to speak, and you have undoubtedly been observing a few of my methods—that I tend to be a cautious sort.”
 
Fitzwilliam shrugged.
 
”I told my men that if I did not return within two days with further instructions, they were to kill her.”

“The devil you say!”

“You bloody bastard!”

Fitzwilliam chuckled at the simultaneous outbursts from the duke and Lord Sebastian.
 
“Nothing personal, you understand.
 
Though, in fact, it actually is, isn’t it?
 
Quite personal indeed.”

That night, Clarendon stood in the empty house in Cheapside, fists tight and body shaking with raging fury.
 
“Damn you, Pepridge!”

He and Bastian had left Pepridge with two of Lord Sebastian’s men and rushed back to London with the intention of finding Tina.
 
If neither of them could track her down within twenty-four hours, they’d have to authorize the release of Pepridge.
 
They couldn’t risk calling his bluff.