The Truth About Dukes Page 10

  A fair question, considering Constance had asked exactly that of her sister any number of times. Beyond the coach window, the outskirts of York went by in the usual procession of drab granite edifices and cramped cobblestone lanes.

  “We will shop, but I have an errand to see to first,” Constance said. “Whenever I return here, I always fear I will see Jack Wentworth lounging outside one of the disreputable inns, trying to look handsome and rakish, and mostly looking evil.”

  “I try not to think of Jack Wentworth at all.”

  Constance considered her sister, who’d returned from yesterday’s outing to Crofton Ford quite late and humming Handel. “Have you succeeded in evicting Jack from your mind?”

  Althea became fascinated with the dreary shops beyond the coach window. All the bright sunshine in the world could not make York look less medieval.

  “I’m doing better lately,” Althea said. “Better at putting the past behind me. I’ve told Nathaniel about a lot of it. About Jack, the begging. The men. I thought telling Nathaniel the particulars would bring it all back, but instead…It’s like I handed over a heavy burden to my intended, and he was able to set it aside for me. There are good people in the world, Constance. Lots of them.”

  Sometimes, goodness was not enough. “But where were those good people when Jack Wentworth broke Stephen’s leg? When Jack told us to be nice to his men friends?”

  “He hadn’t any friends.”

  “You know what I mean. We were children, Thea. Nobody was outraged enough to do anything for us. I can grasp that Jack was broken in his soul, mad somehow, but nobody sent him away where he couldn’t hurt us, did they? Whether we lived or died was of no moment when the alternative was to insult a poor man down on his luck.”

  Rothhaven had also been sacrificed to his father’s fragile arrogance, oddly enough. This discussion helped Constance understand part of why she’d been such a disobedient maid at Soames’s hospital. Why she’d grasped the situation there without anybody having to explain it to her.

  “You think Jack was mad?” Althea asked, shifting on the padded bench. “A lunatic?”

  “When Stephen was in his worst difficulties, I did some reading regarding the legal aspects of mental competence. One measure of mental fitness is whether a person knows the difference between right and wrong. Jack surely failed that test. Right was whatever benefited him; wrong was whatever annoyed him. No judge would approve of Jack’s definitions in a civilized society, but those same judges would never regard Jack as mad. I conclude that society itself is mad in some respects.”

  The neighborhood had improved as the coach rolled along. The houses were grander, the window boxes full of bobbing tulips.

  “By your definition,” Althea said, “half the peerage and most of the wealthier cits are legally unfit. Everything under the heavens exists for their pleasure, women especially. I hear you inspired Rothhaven to walk to the orchard yesterday.”

  “Subtle, Thea.” Though Constance gladly abandoned the topic of Jack Wentworth and society’s complete indifference to the evil he’d wrought. “The only way you could have heard about our stroll to the orchard is if Nathaniel paid you a visit sometime between moonrise and dawn.” Assuming Rothhaven had told his brother about the outing to the orchard, and had not been spied upon by his own servants at that brother’s request.

  “Perhaps Nathaniel sent me a note to read with my morning tea.”

  He most assuredly had not. Constance’s room was immediately adjacent to Althea’s. Shortly before midnight, soft voices had drifted from one balcony to the next, and that was after the happy couple had spent the entire day together.

  “Aren’t you worried about conceiving a child, Thea? Sorting out the title could take some time.”

  “Sorting out the title will be the work of a moment. Quinn’s consequence is a good thing for once. Besides, unless Rothhaven marries, ensuring the succession will fall to Nathaniel and me. Fortunately, all I’ve ever wanted is a family of my own. Tell me about your trip to the orchard.”

  Not bloody likely. “Rothhaven would like me to paint his portrait.”

  The coach slowed to take a sharp corner, the streets in York lacking the open grandeur of their much younger Mayfair counterparts.

  “Are you considering accepting the commission? You need not, not on my account. Rothhaven can be difficult company.”

  How little Althea knew. The idea that the ever-competent, never-hesitant older sister was dealing from a paucity of information pleased Constance more than it ought to.

  “Rothhaven never asked to be the duke, Thea. Nathaniel promised Robert he would not have to assume those responsibilities when he brought Robert home. Now the ducal title is thrust upon him, in part so you and Nathaniel can spend all of your waking hours seeing to the succession. Criticize Rothhaven to me at your peril.”

  “Robert,” Althea said, making the two syllables distinct. “And you have agreed to paint Robert’s portrait. What are you truly about, Con? Nathaniel says Robert could be declared mentally unfit at some point, and that will be painful enough without you becoming entangled in the situation.”

  Why must the coach move at such a sedate crawl? “You are being protective. I am growing impatient with my siblings’ protectiveness. I would also appreciate it if you could close your balcony door when you are entertaining callers in the middle of the night.”

  That had the desired effect of shutting Althea’s mouth, at least temporarily. When the coach drew to a halt in the yard of the George and Charlotte, Althea paused before getting out.

  “Nathaniel and I mostly talk, you know. He hasn’t had anybody to talk to for years.”

  “He’s had his brother.”

  “And I have had you, but it’s not the same, Con. I can tell Nathaniel anything. He tells me anything. We are in some way more friends than lovers, but that’s not entirely accurate either. Perhaps we are truly lovers, rather than merely trysting partners. I don’t know how to describe what has bloomed between Nathaniel and me, but I hope someday the same wonderful intimacy befalls you. I feel as if I have found a missing part of my heart.”

  The words were painful, so very painful, to hear. “Then I am happy for you, Thea. I will meet you here at noon.”

  They parted at the coach, Althea sailing off in the direction of her favorite modiste, two footmen in tow. Constance went the other way, back toward the smaller shops and older houses. When she came to a nearly shabby two-story stone building on a slightly tired side street, she pushed her way inside without knocking.

  The sign on the door said simply INQUIRY AGENT, BY APPOINTMENT ONLY, though Constance had long since passed any need to make an appointment here.

  “My lady.” The trim older woman at the desk rose. “Good day.”

  “Miss Harper, good day. Is Miss Abbott in?”

  Miss Harper was a master at hiding her emotions, but Constance always saw pity in those calm gray eyes.

  “I have standing instructions that for you, my lady, Miss Abbott is always in. Please have a seat in the parlor and give me a moment. Shall I have a tray brought up?”

  The ladies did a good job of creating a sense of normalcy for clients dealing with desperate situations, as if a tea tray could turn heartbreaking business into a social call upon a trusted old friend.

  “No tray, thank you.”

  Miss Abbott joined Constance in the parlor two minutes later. She was tall and substantial, and she dressed in severe good taste, usually in gray or some other half-mourning color. She often carried a cane, an affectation many women adopted only when substantially older than Miss Abbott. Most would call her handsome rather than pretty, though she was pretty. Constance had seen that within seconds of meeting her. The skill Miss Abbott used to disguise her feminine appeal had weighed in favor of retaining her.

  Heaven knew, the men Constance had hired previous to Miss Abbott hadn’t had expertise sufficient for the task they’d been paid to do.

  “Good day, your ladyship,” Miss Abbott said, taking the second wing chair. “I will be direct. I have not found her, but neither have I found her grave.”

  “No progress, in other words.” Exactly what Constance had been expecting and dreading to hear. “Will there ever be?”

  Miss Abbott looked at her hands. They were pale, not a ring or a bracelet upon them. The lapse in composure was small and telling.

  “After five years, my lady, I would be misleading you if I said I expect to find her. I will not stop looking until you tell me to, but these days…Young women immigrate, they move to the cities in search of positions or husbands, they follow the drum when they find those husbands. She could be anywhere in the world by now.”

  Constance had embarked on this search nearly ten years ago, the very day after her pin money had become hers and hers alone to spend. When Quinn had acquired a title, the task had become more difficult for requiring utmost discretion. Constance was tempted to give up, to admit defeat, but the object of this search was still young enough that Miss Abbott’s conjectures regarding marriage were premature.

  “Keep looking. I expect I will soon become engaged to a man of considerable standing, and my efforts must become even more discreet, but do keep looking. She’s out there, and we will find her.”

  Miss Abbott’s gaze was kind. “I would not blame you if you made another choice. Nobody would, particularly if you are about to acquire a husband of considerable standing.”

  The scent of considerable scandal hung unacknowledged in the air, but guilt outpaced even that worry. “I would blame myself if she needed me and I failed her. Keep looking.”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  Someday, Constance would have to explain this situation to Robert, but when years of searching had produced no result, that day was not soon.

  “You did what?” Nathaniel came half out of his chair to roar that question.

  Robert hid his smile behind a sip of cider. “I do believe that is the first time you have raised your voice to me—truly shouted—since we were boys. I am touched, brother. Please pass the salt.”

  Nathaniel set the salt cellar down so hard the silver spoon bounced. “You proposed to a woman you barely know? I grant you Constance Wentworth is a formidable female, but what on earth possessed—”

  Nathaniel’s gaze became hooded. His word choice had been unfortunate, for demonic possession was the usual explanation for epilepsy among the less enlightened.

  “Why propose marriage to a near stranger?” Nathaniel asked. “Lady Constance has no idea how your affliction manifests, and she will not be pleased to learn of it after the wedding.”

  “That you are concerned for the lady is another compliment to my improving health, is it not? Two months ago, you would have assumed Constance was taking advantage of me.”

  Two months ago, Constance would not have been permitted to set foot on Rothhaven property, so unrelenting had been Nathaniel’s protectiveness toward his older brother.

  Nathaniel crossed his arms. He uncrossed them. He picked up his wineglass, then put the drink down untasted. “You are making progress, if you can walk to the orchard in the broad light of day with no ill effects.”

  “I have traveled off the property by coach, Nathaniel. I have hired new staff. You haven’t troubled yourself over the correspondence in weeks, and need I remind you, your figurative boot applied to my arse was what inspired these feats of normalcy on my part. This beef is surprisingly good.”

  “Althea’s cook has been making regular visits belowstairs. How can you sit there, calm as a Quaker at his prayers, and tell me in one breath that the roast agrees with you and in the next that you’ve proposed marriage to a near stranger?”

  Nathaniel was not only puzzled, in his eyes lurked a hint of worry, as if Robert was evidencing a new and troubling symptom not of epilepsy, but of all the quirks and eccentricities that being incarcerated for years had produced in addition to the seizures.

  “Calm yourself,” Robert said. “I trust you will keep my confidences even from your intended, at least for a time. Constance and I have a prior acquaintance from years past. She has seen the extent of my illness as clearly as you have, though my more recent crotchets had yet to fully develop when last she knew me. Do eat your steak before it gets cold.”

  “To hell with my steak. Althea suspected the two of you knew each other, but how could Constance have known you? You were gone to that place, thirty miles from civilization.”

  Thirty-two miles, actually. “Your word, Nathaniel, that you will not whisper this tale to Lady Althea, for it is not entirely my tale to tell.”

  Nathaniel nodded—grudgingly, in Robert’s opinion.

  “In her youth,” Robert said, “Lady Constance was not a lady. She was the younger sister of a banker intent on making his fortune as quickly and successfully as possible. You know the situation prior to that. I gather that in Constance’s adolescence, a falling-out occurred with her older brother, and Constance decamped for independent employment. She took a post as a maid of all work in the facility where I was kept. We struck up an acquaintance.”

  Nathaniel swirled his wine, peering at Robert over the rim of his glass. “How old was she?”

  “A very self-possessed and savvy fifteen, or thereabouts.”

  “You didn’t—?”

  “She was fifteen, Nathaniel. Clearly from decent family. I was young enough to have untoward thoughts, but what did I have to offer her? Madness and obscurity? That makes a fine dowry. Her brother found her after a few months, but in that time, she and I became friends.”

  An understatement and the truth.

  “And now you want to marry her?”

  “I have asked her to marry me, and I await her reply. She knows quite well that at any point, some meddling busybody who comes upon me in a shaking fit will decide I must be returned to the care of other meddling busybodies. Between you and the Wentworth family, I hope a judge can be persuaded to allow me to remain here at the Hall. My estate will nonetheless be managed by guardians, and they will doubtless leave my finances the worse for their efforts. His Grace of Walden will know how to protect the lady’s portion from such plundering.”

  Nathaniel cut into his beef, which had to be cold. “Why do this, though? If you want a woman’s company, there are friendly widows who’d put no demands on you. Why complicate your life?”

  That a man so clearly besotted would ask that question suggested that Nathaniel still saw his older brother primarily as an invalid.

  “Because if I do not marry now, before my competence is brought into question, then I will not ever marry, will I? Lunatics are presumed incapable of knowingly taking nuptial vows.”

  “You assume you will be found incompetent. You’re a duke, for God’s sake. Who will think to attack you?”

  How quickly Nathaniel had gone from being an over-vigilant protective sibling, anticipating every possible threat, to a man convinced of life’s benevolence. The shift in Nathaniel’s perspective felt to Robert like a minor abandonment and a major relief.

  “Anybody with a grudge against our dear father could attack my legal fitness,” Robert said. “Anybody in need of substantial coin. Anybody with a grudge against Althea’s family or against you. I am a duke, but I am also afflicted. I was incarcerated for nearly half my life due to that affliction, and I am not entirely well as we speak. Nor will I ever be. One must face facts, Nathaniel.”

  On this subject, Robert had become the elder, the head of the family. He took an odd satisfaction from that, though not a happy one.

  “You have no need to rush into marriage simply to produce an heir. Althea is more than willing to accept that responsibility with me.”

  “How very generous of you both.” Also a trifle arrogant. The Almighty alone decided which couples had male children and which did not. “Does it not occur to you that I might want a wife, somebody who accepts me as I am and will advocate for me as fiercely as you have? Might I not represent companionship that suits Constance better than what a more socially prominent, self-important man could offer her?”

  “Crooked pots and crooked lids, Robert? Althea is cross with me when I use that analogy.”

  “I am not cross with you. I will merely point out that we are all crooked pots, to one degree or another. Assuming Lady Constance accepts my suit, will you stand up with me?”

  Nathaniel, to his credit, did not hesitate. “Of course I will. What do you take me for? I would ask one thing of you, though.”

  “Name it.”

  “Find out exactly what sent Lady Constance fleeing her brother’s household. She would have known how dangerous a course she set for herself when she left, and to accept employment as a maid of all work…Something went seriously awry, Robert. Something that might yet be amiss. Ask her about it. You don’t want Walden or Lord Stephen as an enemy, and some affront to one of them might lie behind her flight.”

  Sound advice, if a bit cautious.

  “I can do that. You should take Lady Althea to the orchard, you know. The plum blossoms have a lovely, delicate scent.”

  Nathaniel looked like he wanted to say something more, then apparently thought better of it and went back to sawing away at his cold slice of beef.

  Chapter Eight

  “You are not to shout at me,” Constance said. “You are not to pace about like a caged hyena. You are not to clench your jaw as if biting back every foul oath you learned before the age of ten.”

  She’d chosen the nursery for this confrontation—for this discussion, rather—knowing the sleeping baby would keep Quinn quiet. The infant would also ensure Constance did not lose her resolve.

  “A hyena?” Quinn began lining up the books on the shelf in order of height. “A peer of the realm, a duke no less, and you liken me to a hyena.”

  “You’re putting the books out of order, Quinn. Althea arranges them by title alphabetically, so she can find the story she wants without having to hunt through the whole shelf.”