The Dream of a Duchess Page 6

  “Find me when it’s imperative that she leave. I’ll do what I can in the meantime to make arrangements for her travel. I have to let the butler at Huntinghurst know, of course. And she’ll need clothes...”

  “I’ve seen to a modiste,” David interrupted. “She’ll be here on the morrow.”

  This bit of information had Octavius wondering if David kept a modiste on retainer for the brothel. “Anything else?”

  David nodded. “She’ll want her horse with her.”

  Octavius frowned. “I suppose we can make arrangements to have it brought down once she’s settled.”

  “She won’t leave London without Hancock.”

  Rolling his eyes, Octavius was about to put voice to a curse, but realized he was of a similar mind about Poseidon. Even if he didn’t ride the beast at least part of the way down to Huntinghurst, he still saw to it the horse was tethered to his coach. “Fine. We’ll bring the horse,” he finally agreed.

  His hands rubbing the sides of his face, as if he were wiping away tears, David nodded his thanks. “In the meantime, I’ll find out what I can from Clare. See if her family has been notified of the death. If I so much as hear Craythorne is anywhere near London, he won’t be long for this earth.”

  Straightening at David’s vow, Octavius decided to take his leave of The Elegant Courtesan. Given the earl’s sour mood, the duke wondered if another murder was imminent.

  Chapter 8

  Talk of a New Life

  Later that day

  “Huntinghurst?” Lady Isabella repeated, doing her best to control her breathing lest she faint. Although she had eaten a bit of breakfast and napped for several hours in the bedchamber to which she had been taken that morning, her head still felt as if it were filled with cotton. If she didn’t hold them clasped together, her hands would tremble. “Where is that?”

  David Fitzwilliam regarded his daughter for a moment, a bit of pride filling his chest. Despite the horror of what she had endured just the day before, she was holding up far better than most men would in the same situation. “The Duke of Huntington’s country estate. It’s not quite as far as Chichester. Down in Sussex,” he explained. “You won’t know anyone, but then, the fewer that know you’re there, the safer you’ll be,” he added as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

  Isabella nodded, her long, dark hair falling forward over her shoulders, the ends curling in a haphazard fashion. Given the need for secrecy within the brothel, only a few servants knew of her presence. None of them were lady’s maids, though, and so she had only been able to comb out her hair after that morning’s bath. An ill-fitting gown had been loaned to her. The owner could obviously boast of a bust more generous than Isabella’s, for the bodice was far too large. “Has there been word yet from Craythorne Castle? Word of my mother’s death, my lord?” she wondered.

  Shaking his head, the earl said, “Not yet. It’s a bit soon, though. It’s not as if anyone else would make the trip to London like you did,” he murmured. “I assure you, there will be inquiries made to the coroner and to anyone else who handles the body.” Even if it looked as if Arabella’s death was by strangulation, it was doubtful the Earl of Craythorne would be brought up on charges. As an aristocrat, he was nearly beyond the reach of the law.

  “I understand,” Isabella replied with a nod. Earlier that day, any mention of her mother would have tears collecting in the corners of her eyes, but at the moment, she felt drained. “My brother? Has word been sent to him?”

  David winced, not sure what to admit. “He will be notified when word of your mother’s death reaches others in London,” he hedged, not about to tell her they had decided not to inform him directly. Should word come from him or from the duke, Craythorne would sort very quickly where his daughter had gone.

  “I have a bit of money. I need clothes. Would it be...?”

  “A modiste has been arranged to visit tomorrow morning at ten o’clock,” David interrupted. “She probably won’t have time to make anything for you, of course, but she’ll bring some ready-mades for you to try. And some underclothes, and a night rail and such,” he added, wondering why he felt a flush suddenly color his throat. He saw women in various states of undress all the time. He had seen nearly every inch of every courtesan in the building at least once. Why speaking of a woman’s underclothes would have him blushing just then, he didn’t know.

  She’s my daughter, he reminded himself. Even if she doesn’t yet know it.

  “You needn’t be concerned with the cost,” he stated suddenly. When her brows furrowed in question, the earl gave a shrug. “The Elegant Courtesan will see to the bill.”

  Her eyes darting to one side, Isabella seemed about to ask something else. When she finally did, her voice was nearly a whisper. “Do you really own this establishment, my lord?”

  The Earl of Norwick nodded. “Until such time as I am to marry your cousin, Clarinda, and then I shall either sell it or close it,” he replied. “I agreed to those terms as part of the betrothal.”

  “So... in a couple of months?” she clarified. “I suppose that’s not so very soon. It’s not as if Clare will be expected to wear mourning clothes for her aunt’s death.”

  Giving a start, David realized Isabella knew more than he had thought about his impending wedding.

  Probably more than he knew.

  “I wasn’t aware a date had been set,” he hedged. At Isabella’s widened eyes, he straightened in his chair. “Pray, tell me what you know from your cousin.”

  Isabella blinked before giving him a frown. “Clare sent word that you two were to marry in June,” she explained, wondering why her future cousin-by-marriage was staring at her as if he was about to faint. “Which was a bit of a surprise considering Parliament will still be in session.”

  I can imagine, David didn’t reply, realizing Daniel had suggested the month knowing that particular detail. He would have to either miss a month of Parliament or delay the wedding trip until late July. “The roses will be especially fine then,” he murmured, not sure what else he could say about the choice of wedding date.

  “Clare wondered if you owned a hothouse in addition to your other business concerns, seeing as how she keeps receiving roses.”

  David closed his eyes, realizing his twin brother, Daniel, had been courting Clarinda far more seriously than he had first thought. If he wasn’t careful, Daniel would be saying his ‘I will’s’, as well, and Clarinda would be lost to him.

  He wasn’t about to lose another Brotherton girl to another man, even if that other man was his brother.

  “I do not,” he said in answer to the mention of owning a hothouse.

  The first hint of a grin he had ever seen on Isabella suddenly appeared, a grin that finally had her looking her age. And looking quite fetching. Any man would be lucky to have her features lighting up the breakfast parlor in the morning. “What is it?” he asked as he allowed one of his own.

  “She likes your kisses, too. She wrote that they were ‘delectable’,” Isabella said in a hoarse whisper, her grin widening at the same time a blush colored her face.

  The hint of a grin on David’s face disappeared in an instant. He had never kissed Clarinda, which could only mean one thing.

  Daniel had.

  And apparently more than one time.

  “She wrote that?” he asked in disbelief.

  Isabella suddenly straightened in her chair. “She did. I thought... I apologize. I suppose I shouldn’t speak of such things. I just thought.. seeing as how you’ll be marrying my cousin...” She stopped and allowed a sigh, the humor gone from her face as quickly as it had appeared.

  “Perhaps I should see to bestowing some more of them on her before our wedding,” the earl commented with an arched brow, attempting to lift the mood to what it had been just a moment ago. “Thank you for letting me know.”

  A bit confused, Isabella allowed a nod. “When do you suppose I’ll be leaving for Huntinghurst?”

 
; Realizing the moment of humor was gone for good, David sighed. “No more than a week from now.”

  “May I take my horse, my lord?”

  Bristling at her continued use of ‘my lord’, he nearly admonished her before he remembered he hadn’t told her she needn’t address him as such. “Indeed. Huntington has agreed to arrange a place for him in his stables. The stableboy here says Hancock has a slight limp, but otherwise he seems to be recovering. An amazing feat for a horse of his age. He must have a good deal of Arabian in him.”

  “Oh, Hancock does,” Isabella said with a nod. “He made an excellent steeple chaser one year, but now Father...” She paused and blinked. “Craythorne is only interested in the shorter races.”

  David couldn’t help but hear the derision in her voice, especially when she said the name ‘Craythorne’. But then, she believed the man had killed her mother. Had killed her mother and was going to get away with having done so given his status as an aristocrat.

  Not if I can do anything about it, David thought as he considered when he might make a trip to Basingstoke. First, he had to be sure Isabella was safely hidden away at Huntinghurst. And then he had to be sure Clarinda was going to marry him and not Daniel.

  Isabella’s comment about steeple chasing suddenly brought him up short. “What do you know of horse racing?”

  Isabella’s eyes widened, as if she just realized she shouldn’t have put voice to her claim about Hancock. “I’ve attended a few races,” she hedged.

  “And?” he prompted.

  Giving a slight shrug, Isabella wondered how to respond. “I study the lineages of the horses. I try to sort which studs and mares might produce the best racers.”

  “Indeed,” David whispered. He straightened. “I rather imagine you’ll appreciate the stables at Huntinghurst. The duke raises his racers there, although he hasn’t had a contender in a couple of years.” Ever since his wife died, he didn’t add.

  Her face brightening, Isabella looked as if she might not be able to stay seated. “Oh, do you suppose I might be allowed to visit his stables?”

  David blinked. Her excitement at hearing there were race horses at Huntinghurst had her disposition changing once again. Christ, if he doesn’t, I’ll build another set of stables just for you, he thought. And give you a few horses while I’m at it. “I don’t see as how that will be a problem. Besides, Lord Huntington is rarely in residence. He goes there to hunt and sometimes hosts a house party.” Although, now that he gave it some more thought, David realized the duke hadn’t hosted a house party there since his duchess had died.

  “Oh,” Isabella responded, as if she wasn’t sure how she should react to this bit of information. “But you’ll ask him on my behalf?” she pressed.

  The earl nodded. “Of course.” He dared a glance at the clock on the mantle and gave a start. “I must take my leave of you. I have an appointment in St. James Street.” He stood up and gave Isabella a bow, pausing as if he might finally tell her the truth about him. But when she dipped a curtsy and seemed at a bit of a loss, he thought better of it.

  She was still reeling from the loss of her mother. How would she react when she learned Craythorne wasn’t her father?

  Relieved, he could only hope.

  As for David, mourning Arabella meant spending the entire night and most of the next week becoming too familiar with the bottoms of several bottles of scotch.

  Chapter 9

  News of a Death Reaches London

  A week later

  Clarinda stared at her father for a very long time before she blinked and asked if she might sit down.

  “Of course,” Albert Brotherton, Earl of Heath, said in a whisper, indicating the chair across from his desk. “I should have told you yesterday, but you were still so happy about Norwick’s proposal, I couldn’t abide being the bearer of bad news.”

  Dropping into the chair, Clarinda’s eyes brightened with tears as she stared at the earl. “When did she die?”

  Heath cleared his throat as an attempt to hide the annoyance he still felt by how long it had taken to be notified of his sister’s death. “A bit over a week ago. She slipped and fell. Hit her head on a footboard. Craythorne wrote that she was probably dead before she hit the floor.”

  “And you believed him?” Clarinda queried, a combination of sorrow and anger giving her the appearance of a woman far older than her two-and-twenty years.

  Giving a slight shake of his head, Heath wasn’t about to admit he had already dispatched a courier to Basingstoke with instructions to learn what he could of Arabella’s death. Craythorne’s account had seemed plausible, of course, but given the man’s temper and the fact that Arabella hadn’t been back to London in an age had Heath suspicious. “I don’t yet know what to believe, but I am determined to learn the truth. Especially...” He paused, not sure he should mention the rest of what Craythorne had written about in his letter. From the blotches scattered about the perfectly penned missive, Heath realized the man had probably been crying whilst he wrote the words that described not only the loss of his wife, but of his daughter, as well.

  She paid witness to her mother’s death, or at least the immediate aftermath, and was overcome with grief. The groom said she rode off on her favorite horse, Hancock, and she has not been seen since anywhere near Basingstoke.

  “Especially?” Clarinda prompted as she leaned forward.

  Heath sighed. “Lady Isabella is missing. She... saw her dead mother, and she took off on a horse.”

  “And went where?” his daughter asked, incredulous.

  Shaking his head from side to side, the earl finally said, “We’ve no idea. She was still missing when he penned this,” he said as he lifted the pages of the Earl of Craythorne’s letter. “By now, she’s probably returned to Craythorne Castle,” he said with some hope.

  Leaning back in her chair as if she had been slapped, Clarinda allowed a cry of sorrow. “He killed her, didn’t he? She saw what he had done to Arabella, so he had to kill her to keep her quiet—”

  “Clare!” Heath admonished her. “We don’t know that,” he said, rather surprised Clarinda would seem so sure her uncle-by-marriage was a murderer. Her reaction was in line with his, though. If Parliament wasn’t in session, he would make the trip to Basingstoke himself.

  “He’ll get away with it, too, won’t he?” she whispered, her front teeth denting her lower lip as she tilted her head back. She stared at the coffered ceiling, losing her battle to keep the tears from falling in front of her father. She knew he hated it when women cried, but she couldn’t help the sorrow she felt just then.

  The Earl of Heath dropped his chin to his chest, rather wishing he had held off telling Clarinda about her aunt until after the courier returned from Basingstoke with some kind of official word. It was possible that even if it was murder at the earl’s hands, the coroner had been paid to claim it was an accident. “Even if he’s not brought up on formal charges, Craythorne will suffer for what he’s done. You can be sure of that, Clare.”

  His daughter nodded, a lacy hanky already held against one cheek. “Should I tell Norwick we have to delay the wedding?” she asked, ready to reschedule her nuptials if necessary. She really should mourn her aunt.

  Heath shook his head, already expecting she would offer to reschedule the wedding. He was determined to have her wed, though. Another man had already written claiming he wished to offer for her hand if Norwick didn’t marry her ‘by the deadline’. He supposed the would-be suitor referred to Clarinda’s twenty-second birthday, but how many knew about that provision in the betrothal contract? “No. Arabella would want you to go ahead. You’ve already been delayed quite enough through no fault of your own,” he replied, his annoyance at the Earl of Norwick’s late proposal evident in how he said the words.

  In fact, since his daughter wasn’t wed by the time she turned two-and-twenty, Heath had been about to send a letter to Norwick telling him the terms of the contract were null and void. And then the letter
from Craythorne had arrived at the same time his man of business was telling him Norwick had a contract to sell his gaming hell to Frank O’Leary and that an agent was seeing to the sale of the mansion in which The Elegant Courtesan conducted business.

  Given his daughter’s frequent trips to Kensington Gardens and the pink roses that scented the front hall of Stockton House, it seemed Norwick was intent on marrying Clarinda. Now that she was displaying a rather expensive sapphire ring, Heath decided he would allow Norwick to wed his daughter. In fact, he would insist on it.

  “I think just a small ceremony, then,” Clarinda managed to get out before a sob robbed her of breath.

  The earl secretly thrilled at hearing the words. Her dowry would drain one of his accounts as it was. “Whatever you think is best,” he agreed with a nod. “Courage, daughter,” he added in a solemn voice. “And don’t worry too much about Izzy. She’s probably already returned to Craythorne Castle.”

  “Has Cousin John been informed? He’s away at school. I shouldn’t want him to learn of his mother’s death from... from a classmate,” she said as her eyes widened. From her father’s reaction, Clarinda realized he hadn’t given a thought to her youngest cousin.

  “I should think Craythorne has already written to him. No need for you to be concerned, especially with your upcoming nuptials,” he commented. Before Clarinda could put voice to a protest, he turned in his chair and regarded a piece of correspondence on a silver salver.

  Realizing she was being dismissed, Clarinda gave a curtsy and took her leave of her father’s study.