A Lot Like a Lady (9 page)

Grey stared at the ledger pages in front of him. The figures blurred and rearranged themselves into a vision of the maybe-Annabella on Satan’s back. His throat went dry as he saw again the way the breeze had played with her blonde hair the same way it had lifted the horse’s mane. Though her seat sans saddle had been awkward, she’d been as graceful as the most accomplished of horsewomen. And the way the pink muslin had clung to her rounded hips as she sat… risen just a bit to tease with a peek of ankle…

Petry crossed the room and opened the door to admit Higgins, and Grey’s rumination came to a crashing halt. He glanced at the clock on the mantle. Precisely half past two.

“A message has arrived for his grace,” announced the butler, holding a salver on which rested a folded letter. “And Mr. Delbert Stowe is here for his appointment.”

“Show him in, please.” Grey closed the cursed ledger and set it aside.

Petry took the letter, placed a log on the fire, and stirred the embers beneath the grate as Higgins escorted Grey’s inquiry agent into the study. Higgins retreated, closing the door behind him.

The tall man folded himself into the leather chair next to Grey’s desk, crossed his knees, and leaned back, making himself comfortable without invitation. Grey stifled his irritation. After all, he didn’t pay the man for his manners. Stowe’s black tailcoat and woolen trousers were rumpled, as though he’d spent the night in them. A lock of black hair fell across his forehead just above his right eye. From somewhere beneath the errant curl originated a thin, jagged scar that ran along the side of his lean face to the middle of his jaw.

Delbert Stowe was not a man who would be easily overlooked in any room, and though his disdain for the peerage was well known, when it came to discretion, Grey trusted no man more. If nothing else, the outrageous fee he paid the man assured his loyalty.

Petry crossed the room carrying a tray holding two glasses of port. One he set on Grey’s desk, the other he extended to the investigator, who accepted with a nod.

“Thank you, Petry,” murmured Grey. “You may have the remainder of the afternoon off.”

“Yes, your grace.” Petry laid the folded piece of paper Higgins had delivered on the desk.

The untidy scrawl across the front was without doubt Jon’s and the direction was Haselmere. Grey’s fingers tingled with anticipation. Finally he would have the answer to his pretty little riddle. But first he’d have to sit through a meeting with Stowe that would doubtless prove just as unrevealing and unsatisfying as their previous discussions. He sighed and focused his attention on his agent.

The investigator spoke right away. “I have word of your brother.”

The words jerked Grey’s head up. Four years… four years they’d searched with little result. Hope stirred. “Recent word?”

Stowe shrugged. “Within the past year. He’s in America.”

Grey’s heart twisted but he squashed his troublesome emotions. “That much I managed to glean from your last visit, Mr. Stowe. Have you anything new to report or have you need of more funds for your services?”

Stowe held up a hand and shook his head rapidly. “You have been more than generous with your payment, your grace. Lord William was at Fort Mackinac.”

“Where the devil is that?” Keeping a civil tone was growing tiresome. Grey curled his fingers around his glass and sipped to prevent himself from reaching across his desk and throttling the self-satisfaction right out of the man.

“It’s in the northern part of America near the border with Canada.” Stowe watched Grey over the rim of his glass as he sipped his port. “It took longer to find him because he now uses the name William Marks. Colonel William Marks. His division captured the fort but it was not an easy battle. Colonel Marks was wounded, but I’m afraid the extent of his injuries is unknown. Would you like me to investigate further? I have connections in The King’s Army.”

Grey’s heart pounded against the inside of his chest.
Will… wounded
. “Thank you. Yes, please. Continue your investigation.”

“And the same message applies as always, your grace?” Stowe drained his glass and with deliberate motions, set it on the edge of the desk.

Grey picked up a pen and twirled it between his fingers. The standing message was simply a request to return home. Grey had so much more he wanted to say to his brother now. He raised his eyes. Stowe’s knowing stare followed the movements of the quill and Grey froze. The man missed very little. Grey wasn’t going to give him anything more.

“Yes, the same message,” he clipped. “Thank you, Mr. Stowe.”

“As you wish, your grace.” The investigator uncrossed his legs and pushed to his feet. With a sardonic smirk, he offered a mocking bow and then sauntered from the room without a word.

At the click of the door, Grey clenched his fist around the swan’s quill until it snapped in two. So, William had shortened his name to Marks. Colonel Marks. And he’d been wounded. Grey massaged his temples. Had his brother’s lust for adventure caught up with him? His heart twisted into his throat. Certainly, were his brother dead of his wounds, he’d know.

The gentle snap and crackle of the fire filled the room. He closed his eyes and sank back in his chair. “Will,” he whispered, calling up the memory of his younger brother’s laughing blue eyes.
I always knew you’d wander, but I thought you’d surely return by now.
A log split with a loud pop and one end dropped off the grate. Grey’s eyes sprung open and he pulled himself up in his seat. If thinking of his brother could bring him home, Will would have arrived years ago.

His gaze fell upon the message from Jon and he reached for it but halted, his hand hovering over the note without picking it up. Did he want to know what news the letter contained? He snatched it up and turned it over, noting Jon’s seal pressed into the glob of hardened white wax. With a deep inhalation, Grey broke the seal and unfolded the paper. As usual, his friend had dispensed with formal niceties.

Your stepsister is quite alive and thriving well. However, she is not currently in residence at your townhouse in London. I shall be taking this opportunity afforded to remain in Haselmere for a time.

Yours, Jon

What in heaven’s name was Jon trying to tell him? Cursing the man and his tendency to assume that just because he understood what he was stating those reading his messages would also, Grey scowled at the paper as though doing so would somehow force the cryptic note to reveal more than it did.

He sipped his port and considered the letter. So, Annabella was well.
Thriving,
according to Lord Jon. Grey finished the wine and placed the glass on his desk. Drawing a calming breath, he sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers, lightly tapping the tips against his lips as he watched the flickering fire. And, just as he had suspected,
not
currently residing with him.

So was he supposed to guess who the imposter was? Why hadn’t Jon named her? Why had Annabella remained in the country? And how had the imposter managed to fool Annabella’s aunts? Maybe the arranged outing to Almack’s two days hence would be the perfect time to find out the answers to his many questions.

“Who are you, girl?” He whispered the words into the empty room, though his mind pictured a slender girl with golden curls, an upturned nose, and eyes like a cat’s. “And just what am I going to do about you?”

****

Two days later

“Our niece appears to be ailing, your grace,” announced Lady Charity.

“What do you mean she’s ailing?” Even through the heavy wooden door against which Juliet currently pressed her ear, the duke’s ire was tangible.

The fine hairs on Juliet’s arm raised and she pressed her ear more tightly to the door, certain any moment she’d hear the duke’s heavy tread climbing the stairway, coming to drag her from her sickbed to go to that awful assembly hall with the intent to secure her a husband.
Oh, Annabella, why have you not sent the letter from your mother?

From the upper landing, Lady Harmony spoke so softly that Juliet heard only the rise and fall of her voice, no specific words.

“Really… she seemed in splendid health this morning when she returned from walking the dog. Alone again.”

Juliet flinched. Poor Percy hadn’t been able to wait for her to get one of the aunts to go with her. She’d been faced with the choice of going out alone or knowing the char had to clean yet another of the dog’s accidental piddles on the umbrella stand outside the duke’s study door before his grace discovered it — he already hated the poor dog. And she hadn’t gone far — just to the little park in the churchyard at the end of the street. How could that hurt?

She hadn’t known the duke had noticed her sneaking out, and she was certainly surprised to learn it. The man seemed to know everything that went on in his household almost before it occurred.

Lady Harmony spoke, again too quietly for Juliet to hear.

“Well, what the—”

Juliet’s eyes bulged painfully at the curse his grace bit off. She had no doubt Lady Charity had quelled his outburst with another of her reproachful stares.

“My apologies, ladies,” Grey continued in a softer tone. “Might I inquire as to what malady my young guest is suffering?”

“No, you certainly may not!” exploded Lady Charity. “Why, ‘tis unseemly and poor manners to inquire the specifics of a lady’s complaints.”

Lady’s complaints! Why, that sounds…
Heat flooded Juliet’s face and she fanned herself with her fingers.

“Lady Charity, I am merely attempting to establish whether the young lady requires the services of a physician,” Grey fairly barked.

Harmony murmured something but Juliet jumped back from the door.
A physician! Oh, sweet mercy!
A physician would either kill her with a cupping or, perhaps worse, he’d be able to tell the duke she was feigning her sickness.

She pressed her ear to the door again and heard Lady Charity’s voice. “—be well come morning, I assure you.”

Her stomach fluttered as Juliet strained for the first hint of footsteps on the stairs, poised to run back to her bed. Instead, when the duke spoke, his voice sounded more distant, as though he had walked away from the bottom of the steps.

“Very well then. I’ll leave you to see to her. Higgins, have the town coach brought round. I shall take an evening at White’s.”

Juliet clapped her hands together. With the duke out of his townhouse, he wouldn’t be apt to drag her off to Almack’s should she affect a sudden miraculous recovery. She fairly pranced across the room to sit in the chair by the window so she could watch him climb into the carriage and leave.

Before too long, the carriage pulled in front of the townhouse and the duke made his exit in grand style. Juliet was halfway across the room when the door pushed open and Lady Charity hobbled through the door.

“My gracious, dear, you surprised me.” Lady Charity smiled. “Are you feeling better?”

“I am, Auntie! I don’t know what came over me.”

Charity’s eyes lit with humor. “I think I have a few notions. Where are you off to now?”

Juliet hesitated. She could hardly admit to Annabella’s aunt that she was going to poke around the Duke of Wyndham’s townhouse. “I thought a quiet evening reading would be just the trick to have me feeling my best by the morning.”

“Oh, well, his grace certainly has enough books in that study of his, if you like his choice of reading.” She limped across the sitting room, heading for the stack of library books Mr. Petry had secured for her.

Juliet closed the door softly behind her and peered along the hallway. It wouldn’t do for Higgins or one of the maids to catch sight of her up and about the moment the duke was out of the house.

Drawing a deep breath, she pulled herself up straight and walked down the staircase like a lady. A giggle escaped and she clapped a hand over her mouth. Imagine, her, Juliet Cicely Baines, a lady. Why, if his grace knew exactly how far from a proper lady she was, he’d probably turn apoplectic. She frowned, amazed that she didn’t find the notion nearly as humorous as she’d have thought. But she was halted from further rumination on the subject by the study door in front of her. She’d only ever crossed this threshold when his grace was in the room. She was about to enter without his express consent.

She pushed the door open with nary a creak, squeezed inside, then quietly shut it behind her. The room was shuttered in dimness but she dared not light the chandelier and risk discovery. The glow of her chamberstick would have to do.

She looked around. Without the duke in attendance, the study was almost just an ordinary room.

Except even without his bodily presence, his essence was everywhere. The smell of cigar clung to the air. She hadn’t even realized he enjoyed a smoke, but now she could imagine him puffing away and looking out onto the street before retiring to his bed. A sideboard along the hearth wall held a silver tray upon which rested several crystal decanters of spirits.

“Well, he does like his comforts, doesn’t he?” she murmured into the empty room. Then she frowned at the acidulous thought. Who was she to say the man shouldn’t enjoy a bit of relaxation at the end of the day? And he did entertain visitors in his study — she’d seen some of them. So no doubt he closed deals over a glass of his fine wine.

Juliet sighed. She’d never understand the lifestyle. Never.

She traced the tooling along the spines of the leather-bound books with the tip of one finger. Books had been a luxury for her family. She’d read a couple that Annabella had managed to sneak into her hands. Juliet’s family had owned only two, though. One was a family Bible, cheaply bound in black leather and passed down from ancestors Juliet had no knowledge of save for their names in the registry. It still graced her nightstand at the country estate. The other was a ragged and torn edition of some of William Shakespeare’s works that her father had salvaged from the discarded estate of Annabella’s real father. She’d left that back in the country as well.

But here she was, standing in Grey’s study before his fabulous library collection. Two of the walls were lined floor-to-ceiling with brown and black leather-bound books, titles and authors’ names glittering out at her in luxurious gold lettering. The books amazed Juliet, not only by the sheer number of them, but by their impeccable condition.

She stepped away from the shelves and twirled to take in the effect of the entire room. A pair of red velvet chairs sat conversation-style in front of the floor-to-ceiling bay window. The dark green and brown draperies were no longer tied back. When she’d been in the study the first time, diffuse morning light had spilled through the tall window into the room. It would be a wonderful place to read, quiet with plenty of light so as not to hurt the eyes.

Did Grey sit in one of those chairs and enjoy the adventures his books could carry him on?

She sighed. Of course, Grey went on plenty of his own adventures. He’d mentioned bringing Satin back from Spain. And he’d spoken of Vienna. He wasn’t confined to London or the country. Juliet had been fortunate to be able to spend a Season in London, and even at that, her life here in Town was all a pretense. But she didn’t want to think such thoughts… not tonight when the adventures in Grey’s books could be hers for the choosing.

Lady Charity seemed to be enjoying the books Grey’s secretary had borrowed from the circulating library for her. With a smile curving her lips, Juliet’s mind drifted to Grey again. Was he indeed as well-read as he was traveled? He certainly had opinions on everything. Would he have a recommendation for her evening’s adventure?

She sighed. If she told him the truth of her circumstance, she likely wouldn’t be standing before this treasure trove of tomes.

She drew the chamberstick toward the first shelf, careful not to bring it too close. Her gaze drifted along the selection. Books about history and architecture, of ships and carriages. And one thin book detailing methods of horse training. She leafed through the pages, stopping at a section about breeding. Her breath caught over the crude drawings of mating horses, and her cheeks burned. “Silliness,” she muttered, shoving the book back onto the shelf. “As if anyone can learn to train a horse by reading a dusty old book.”

The next one on the shelf was thicker. “
Birds of the English Countryside
,” she read aloud, and sighed. Annabella hadn’t told her she would see hardly a bird in London, or that she would miss hearing the trilling of the song sparrows and the scolding of the magpies in the fields.

The name
Shakespeare
on the spine of a thick volume bound in brown leather caught her eye. She slid it from the shelf with a smile.