Fit for a Duke: Dangerous Dukes Page 2

  Eton and Oxford followed, then the horrors of the war against Napoleon.

  They had come through their escapades with barely a scratch to show for it. Could Henry’s romantic nature finally be his undoing? Miss Hardwick was the third lady whom Henry had fallen desperately and irrevocably in love with that season alone, and his passions never endured.

  Ezra, finding himself unexpectedly in the position of stepping into his dead brother’s shoes, had been in mourning for his father and brother and therefore had a valid excuse to avoid society. The only disadvantage was that he hadn’t been on hand to steer Henry clear of dangerous romantic waters.

  Ezra had spent the two years since Waterloo hiding himself away and getting to grips with his inherited duties. Even his mother, hard to gainsay and determined to see her son married, could not fault the show of respect that Ezra demonstrated for a man he had neither liked nor respected. His father had been profligate, scattering bastard children carelessly in his wake after every liaison he’d entered into and showing little or no affection towards his wife. He was renowned for his wild behaviour and yet got away with it without criticism simply because he was a duke.

  A leader in an elevated position who had failed in his duty to enhance the status of the aristocracy as a whole.

  Ezra was determined to plough a very different path, which is why he would not enter into a suitable yet loveless marriage, as his father before him had done. But finding someone he would be willing to spend the rest of his life with without feeling the urge to stray was likely to be challenging.

  And a decision he would be willing to defer indefinitely.

  But, he thought, sighing, he was approaching thirty and the time had come. This summer, he would do the round of the house parties and make a choice before he died of boredom.

  He absolutely would.

  The sound of shots and the lingering smell of cordite in the air brought Ezra’s thoughts back to the here and now. Both men had fired and Ezra had been too withdrawn to even notice. Both were still standing. And yet blood spurted on the white of Carstairs’ shirt and Henry swore as he clutched his arm.

  Upon closer inspection, neither man appeared to be seriously injured. The doctor shook his head, swigged from a flask that he produced from his pocket, returned to his carriage and had it drive off without even bothering to attend to their wounds.

  ‘Did we pay him?’ Ezra asked Carstairs’ second. ‘If so, we should demand a refund.’

  ‘They are neither of them badly hurt,’ the man replied, nodding towards the combatants, who had just shaken hands and agreed that the matter had been honourably settled. They then proceeded to compare wounds. Even Ezra couldn’t help laughing as he bound the scratch on Henry’s arm with a handkerchief.

  ‘If you were aiming for his heart then you are an even worse shot than I realised,’ Ezra said as he and Henry walked away, remounted and rode off in search of breakfast.

  ‘I was aiming at the ground,’ Henry replied cheerfully, ‘but my hand shook.’

  ‘Firing at the sky too good for you?’

  ‘I wanted to be original. And I might have missed.’

  Ezra laughed. ‘Let’s go to Grosvenor Square,’ he said. ‘My servants will have prepared breakfast for one. I wasn’t sure if you would be joining me or your maker, and it doesn’t do to waste good food. But I dare say they can rustle up some coddled eggs if you work that famous charm of yours that seems so effective with the ladies—with Miss Hardwick at any rate.’

  ‘I say, she’s an angel,’ Henry replied, bouncing enthusiastically in his saddle and causing his horse to prance sideways. ‘That’s why I couldn’t permit Carstairs to become all proprietorial when she assures me that nothing has been settled between them. Indeed, I don’t think she even likes him very much—which is a terrible shame because he’s a fine fellow.’

  ‘The same fine fellow you tried to put a bullet through ten minutes ago?’

  ‘I keep telling you, I fired into the ground.’

  ‘Is there anyone you take an actual dislike to?’ Ezra asked.

  ‘Not if I can help it. Animosity is such a negative emotion. Quite exhausting. I much prefer to see the good in everyone and if I can’t find any then I simply ignore them. You should try it.’

  ‘Perhaps I shall.’

  ‘Ha!’ Henry threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘That I should like to see. You have such a taciturn disposition that you only ever see a person’s faults.’

  ‘It’s safer that way. One is less likely to be disappointed, as you will be when Miss Hardwick settles her interest elsewhere.’

  ‘Never!’

  Ezra rode on, dwelling upon the pressing reason he had for mixing in society that had nothing to do with finding a wife; a reason that he hadn’t even shared with Henry yet, and might never do so. His priority was to discover who had killed his brother and passed it off as an accident. More expediently, he needed to discover who was responsible for the two attempts that had already been made on his own life.

  Someone, it seemed, was determined to kill off all the male heirs to the Wickham duchy. Ezra was the only survivor and a crowded house party would give the perpetrator the perfect opportunity to strike again.

  Chapter Two

  Clio and Adele peered out of an upstairs window as the first carriages pulled up in front of the entrance portico. Lady Fletcher’s butler greeted the guests with stately aplomb and showed them into the house while an army of servants descended upon their luggage. Clio’s aunt awaited them in the drawing room but neither of her daughters were with her. Beth had been ordered to remain in her chamber. She would make her entrance that evening, when all the male guests would be assembled to admire her, which meant that Adele couldn’t show her face prematurely either. Clio and Adele had no arguments to make on that score and were happy to steer well clear of the orderly mayhem of arrival.

  ‘That must be the ducal carriage,’ Adele said, pointing to a cream landau conveyed by four matching high-stepping greys.

  ‘Is that the duke?’ Clio asked, wrinkling her nose as she watched a short man wave away the footman who had stepped forward so that he could help a lady, obviously the dowager duchess, from the conveyance himself. He made an unnecessary display of so doing, Clio thought, as though attempting to assert his authority. Even from her vantage point Clio could see that he was bandy-legged and running to fat. He held a lace-trimmed handkerchief beneath his nose in one hand, as though affected by the country smells, and offered the other arm to the dowager, who placed a gloved hand on it. ‘If so, I cannot understand what all the fuss is about. There is absolutely nothing remarkable about him, and I feel sorry for Beth if he is the man she is destined to spend the rest of her life with.’

  ‘Of course there is everything remarkable about him, silly. He’s a duke, and his grand position transcends any unfortunate traits of nature. But no, he is not the duke. I have never seen him, but am reliably informed…’

  ‘By Beth,’ they said together, laughing.

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘She hasn’t seen this person either,’ Clio pointed out.

  ‘Which will not have prevented her from learning everything there is to know about the man. Besides, we must assume that the dowager duchess knows her own son, and she has informed Mama that he is of above average height, with a sweep of thick black hair and deep blue eyes.’

  ‘Then unless she has grievously misled my aunt, the gentleman we are failing to admire cannot be the duke,’ Clio said, looking down on thinning brown hair and seeing a bald spot on top of the man’s head when he removed his hat before entering the house. ‘I am glad for Beth’s sake.’

  ‘Almost certainly not. I am sure Beth would have heard if the duke was short and bow-legged.’

  ‘Perhaps, but would that be enough to deter her?’

  Adele shook her head, smiling. ‘Very likely not. Anyway, I believe that this man is the dowager duchess’s nephew, her late sister’s only son. I have heard it
said that he made himself indispensable to the duchess after Lord Richard died. The current duke was away with the army at the time and when Lord Ezra returned he found Mr Conway installed at Wickham Hall, where he has remained ever since.’

  ‘I see. One assumes that he is not married.’

  ‘Presumably not.’

  ‘And that he recognises an opportunity when he sees one.’

  Clio pressed her nose against the window glass, watching from her vantage point as Mr Conway spent at least a minute emphasising a point to Pearson, waving the hand clutching the handkerchief in the air in added emphasis. Pearson remained impassive as the tirade continued.

  ‘How very ill-mannered,’ Clio remarked. ‘I wonder why the dowager doesn’t put a stop to it.’

  Pearson was an excellent butler and did not require to be lectured on his duties, certainly not by a dependent relative. Clio knew he would take offence but would not permit his displeasure to show—at least not publicly. She smiled, thinking that Mr Conway might well have to wait a considerable time for his bell to be answered, and wondered why those with the least authority were almost always the ones most inclined to throw their weight about. An innate feeling of inferiority, no doubt, at least insofar as Mr Conway was concerned and she knew that she would not like the man.

  ‘I imagine he has no money of his own and is dependent upon the current duke’s largesse,’ Clio said. ‘But still, if he entertains the dowager and keeps her amused, I don’t suppose the duke will mind too much. I suspect that the lady is anxious to see her only remaining son married and that naturally the duke resents the pressure, so a dependent male cousin who is willing to flatter his mother is probably just the distraction he requires. I wonder where he is—the duke that is—and why he was not here to escort his mama.’

  ‘He is a very close friend of the Viscount Fryer. I hear they are inseparable, or at least they were before the duke’s status changed. Henry Fryer has accepted his own invitation to this party and his mother arrived just before the duchess, so I expect Lord Fryer and the duke will be arriving together.’

  ‘Well, if they don’t get here soon they will miss both dinner and Beth’s grand entrance.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Adele grinned. ‘That will never do. Speaking of which, we had best think about dressing ourselves, otherwise we will be the ones arriving late and making an entrance. Don’t forget that we promised not to put ourselves forward so that Beth would have the chance to shine.’

  ‘As if we could steal the limelight from her! Well, you could, in fairness, since you are equally pretty, but there is nothing memorable about me.’

  ‘Fishing for compliments, dearest?’

  ‘Just being pragmatic, my love,’ Clio replied. ‘Nothing other than my wealth is likely to appeal to the gentlemen here today, but since I am neither officially out nor on the prowl for a husband, I shall not let that trivial detail concern me. Instead I shall enjoy observing the jockeying for position and favour once the duke arrives.’

  ‘One does not have to be out to join in the festivities at a house party. That is rather the point of them. They offer a useful means for those without sufficient funds to give a daughter a season an opportunity to expediently marry her off.’

  ‘Now who’s being pragmatic?’

  Adele grinned. ‘Practical, more like.’

  The girls hugged and went to their separate rooms, where maids awaited them with hot water and gowns prepared for the big night.

  ‘What a hubbub below stairs, miss,’ Daisy, Clio’s maid, said, looking agitated. ‘I ain’t never seen so many grand servants, nor so much activity neither. Everyone making demands and pulling rank and Mr Pearson keeping order as smoothly as the workings of a well-oiled clock and never looking flustered. I don’t know how he does it, indeed I don’t. Those retainers of the duke’s terrify me.’

  ‘Do they put on airs and throw their weight around?’

  ‘Actually no but…well, I find them daunting.’

  Clio nodded, aware that status was every bit as important below stairs as it would be later in her aunt’s drawing room. ‘Do not allow them to intimidate you, Daisy,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, I don’t feel intimidated. Well,’ she added, looking vague, ‘I don’t think I do, but that Mr Godfrey, the duke’s valet, he’s a right charmer.’ Daisy’s cheeks turned bright pink.

  ‘I see,’ Clio said, smiling.

  Daisy poured water into the ewer and helped Clio out of her gown. ‘You will have to get a move on, miss. You’ve left it late. The duke ain’t arrived yet but Mr Godfrey says he’ll be here directly. He’s riding down with his friend, Lord Fryer. Lady Fletcher is worried that they won’t get here in time for dinner so she’s held it back for an hour. Even so, you will be expected downstairs at the usual time.’

  ‘Then I had best be there.’ Not that anyone other than Adele and her aunt would notice if she was not, but even so, her aunt had taken her in and been kind to her. It was a great relief to be settled, no longer passed around between relatives like an inconvenient parcel. This party was hugely important to Lady Fletcher and Clio would play her small supporting role in proceedings dutifully. ‘You know it doesn’t take me long to get ready.’

  ‘It will tonight. I intend to dress your hair properly.’

  ‘Oh lud, I thought you had abandoned that idea. My hair will always do precisely as it pleases no matter what you attempt, and well you know it. Besides, it is not as if I am trying to impress anyone.’

  Daisy ignored Clio’s complaints, just as she always did when Clio said something she didn’t want to hear. Sometimes Clio wondered who was in charge of whom, but Daisy was so dear to her that she would never dispense with her services. Young yet fiercely loyal, Daisy and Clio had been together through the worst of times. She was an excellent lady’s maid and completely dependable.

  Less than an hour later, turned out in turquoise silk that complimented the colour of her strawberry blonde hair, Clio was ready with time to spare. Some guests were already in the drawing room and no doubt spilling out onto the terrace to enjoy the last of the day’s fine weather. Clio heard cultured voices coming from that direction but had no desire to join the fray just yet. Adele took longer than she did to get ready, so Clio wandered into the grounds, enjoying the mild breeze, taking care to avoid the places where she might be seen from the terrace and have her purpose questioned. Worse still, she might find that she had company foisted upon her before she was ready to accept it.

  Feeling guilty for her taciturn disposition when she had so much to be grateful to Lady Fletcher for, Clio turned her face to the setting sun, determined to enjoy her moment of rebellion. Beth would be appalled to see her risking her complexion for no good reason, but since Clio already had a healthy dose of freckles decorating her nose that she didn’t attempt to conceal, she didn’t see much point in exercising caution.

  ‘What cannot be cured must be endured,’ she said aloud.

  A commotion coming from the direction of the duck pond drew her attention. Curious as to its cause, she strolled in that direction and saw a large shaggy dog making clumsy attempts to capture a group of ducklings that had paddled to safety in their mother’s wake. In the centre of the pond, they circled in an untidy gaggle, taunting the poor dog.

  ‘Who are you?’ she asked, scratching the mutt’s ears and wondering what breed he was. Not one that she recognised. Confident that none of the elegant guests would possess such a scruffy animal, she wondered how he came to be in the grounds. It was quite a way to come from the village. Clio considered his lack of discernible breeding a point in his favour, but she knew that her view would be very much in the minority. ‘Where did you come from, boy? You look too well fed to be a stray.’

  She stood back, aware of her fine clothing as the dog shook water from his coat, barked once and loped off with an ungainly stride in the direction of the stables. For want of something better to do—her only alternative was the drawing room which distinctly lacked appeal—Clio f
ollowed along at a leisurely pace. She stopped in her tracks when she heard low voices coming from the tack room. The voices were too cultured to belong to any of the grooms, all of whom were run off their feet caring for the guests’ horses, which had quadrupled the occupancy of the stalls.

  The dog wagged his tail and disappeared into the stables. Clio drew closer and leaned against the outside wall of the tack room, eavesdropping unashamedly.

  ‘It will have to happen here,’ the dominant voice said. ‘There will never be a better opportunity. All that remains to be determined is the choice of weapon.’

  Clio clasped a hand over her mouth to prevent a startled cry from emerging. Someone had come to this party with the intention of doing another person harm, that much was immediately obvious to her. But who was speaking? Whom should she warn? Lady Fletcher was the dearest aunt imaginable but she was afraid of her own shadow and even the suggestion of a murderous plot would give her a fit of the vapours. Never had Clio felt the lack of a competent man’s presence so keenly. She felt panic welling up inside her and adjured herself to remain calm. No one knew what she had overheard, and that gave her an advantage of sorts. If she could just find out a few more details, she would have a better idea of how to act.

  Possibly.

  ‘Perhaps Lord Fryer would…’

  ‘Leave him out of it, Godfrey!’

  ‘Godfrey? Wasn’t that the name of the duke’s valet that Daisy had just mentioned? Clio’s hands trembled. The person doing the talking spoke with such authority that she would have reached the conclusion that he was the duke even without Godfrey’s name pointing her in the right direction. His voice was deep, vibrant and earthy—a voice it would be hard to grow tired of listening to—were it not for the fact that he appeared to be a murderer.