Duchess Decadence (12 page)

“Haven’t you heard?” she asked with a lightness she did not feel. “The high-stakes gamble is a Duchess Decadence specialty.”

…

Wynchester rode home from the
Route du Roi
, affectionately referred to as
Rotten Row
, alone and very deep in thought. His afternoon had begun pleasant enough. His efforts and last night’s soiree had done much to ease Eustace’s way back into society. Most men he and Eustace met in Hyde Park had greeted his brother with the same civility and deference with which they greeted him. But two events from the afternoon weighed on his mind.

The first involved Sir Bronward Layton, nephew to the Under Secretary, and Lord Nutley, a member of the Privy Council. While those men acknowledged Eustace, they had given him a distinctly frosty reception. Understood, perhaps, since the former Under Secretary had been implicated in a treasonous plot by Eustace. Should the charge be issued and progress to trial, Eustace would likely serve as witness. But Wynchester sensed a deeper disturbance between the men—and his sense had come less from Sir Bronward and Nutley and more from Eustace.

Were such a thing not impossible, he might have suspected the men to be under Eustace’s control. But how could such a thing be, when his brother had spent the last few years imprisoned by a madman?

Even if he were to set aside his uneasiness over the strangeness of their exchange, there had been Eustace’s reaction to Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Wynchester.

Wynchester had no love lost for the woman whom his father married to the near-ruin of the Worthington name. On the other hand, Wynchester had repaired his father’s damage with consistent action and dutiful service. Whatever his private feeling for the dowager, Wynchester treated her—at a respectable distance, of course—with all the civility due his father’s wife.

One could not lift up a mud-stained name with remainders of past fouls.

As he and Eustace had approached the dowager’s carriage—emblazoned with the Wynchester coat of arms, as was correct—he had reminded Eustace of the necessity of a proper greeting. Eustace had suddenly departed in a gallop.
A cut direct
. Furious, Wynchester had proceeded as he intended, with a polite and distant greeting. The dowager, for her part, behaved as she ought. She pretended she had not noticed Eustace’s cut, and, with great affection, inquired after Thea Marie.

He reluctantly admitted the woman had shown far greater discretion than his brother.

When Wynchester finally reached Eustace, he’d made his displeasure clear. Eustace hastily explained he had not intended a cut, but had left only because he’d seen Lady Hemingford and her daughter, and had been overcome by the desire to see the girl. When that excuse failed to produce an immediate response, Eustace had blamed his long departure from society for his lapse.

Eustace
had
remained behind with Lady Hemingford, so there could have been truth in his brother’s explanation. Excuses, however, did not endear Wynchester, especially since he refused them on his own behalf.

Which left him facing an uncomfortable truth. He’d been quick to welcome his brother home. He’d reasoned that any man reunited with a brother he’d thought long dead would be overjoyed—he especially, since he’d sent Eustace away in the first place. But now, his reasoning bore the tarnished mark of justification.

He had been
too
quick and
too
unquestioning—too willing to welcome Eustace home without question. In his eagerness to make things right, he hadn’t even mentioned the circumstances which caused him to send Eustace away in the first place, nor had he probed too deeply into Eustace’s time in India. He had been assured that the Privy Council considered Sophia’s sister’s death welcome, and that they had no reason to question Eustace’s assertions. Now that he examined the details, however, there were plenty of holes in Eustace’s convenient explanations.

And no proof of Eustace’s innocence—at least without the Under Secretary’s admission of guilt.

And other small things had been simply
off
. Eustace’s hostile response to Thea’s dress. His implied insult regarding the prospect of a pregnancy. And, though less significant, Eustace’s reaction when Wynchester had asked him if he had yet written his one-time nurse, since he’d returned. The question had seemed natural enough—Widow Norton and Eustace had kept a close correspondence before Eustace had been sent to India. However, Eustace appeared not to remember the woman who had practically raised him.

Perhaps he had better have Eustace investigated. Discreetly.

He slowed his horse to a stop. Ahead, men worked to clear a carriage mishap. The wreck was such that no more than one carriage could navigate the road at a time. Having no desire to use his title and precedence to insist the workmen make way, he waited his turn. Meanwhile, his gaze roamed over the mottled collection of humanity gathered in the street.
Rabble
, his mother had called working people:
The Bottom of the Natural Order of Things
. To her, only the aged, the sick, and the impaired were due any compassion and even then, through proper channels. Everyone else, she argued, had the responsibility to lift themselves up, regardless of circumstances. Unlike his wife, his mother would never have hired a pregnant maid hoping to provide the unfortunate girl shelter.

Surprisingly, Thea Marie’s act of compassion warmed him still.

A spatter of rain tapped against his tri-cornered hat. He glanced up to darkening skies and spotted a young man holding an infant in a second-floor window. The man bounced the baby as if to calm the child. Then, he held the baby close. The man pointed to the street and his lips moved against the babe’s forehead, though the babe was clearly too young to speak. He placed a kiss on the babe’s brow and smiled.

Longing ached in Wynchester’s chest.
Rabble, indeed
.

By the time he reached the gates of Wynchester House, drizzle had turned to rain. He dismounted, handed off his horse, and was met by Bates, ready with a dry banyan. Bates assisted in removing his coat, and informed him Harrison waited in his study, while Her Grace was attended by Lady Vaile in her parlor. Lady Randolph, he continued, had been present, but had since returned home.

Well then, the Furies had come together again. He wondered what mischief the three had contrived and whether or not it had anything to do with
misbehaving
.

He donned banyan over dry waistcoat and near-dry breeches and proceeded to his study. While aware of Harrison lounging in a chair, Wynchester’s gaze fixed on a far more welcome sight.

“Ah.” He lifted a corked bottle from his desk. “Contraband.”

“Perfectly legal,” Harrison said, rising.

“In the Kingdom, perhaps, but here, I answer to an additional monarch.”

“Surely,” Harrison said with a clear-eyed-twinkle, “your rule is absolute.”

“I’m afraid,” Wynchester said pouring a measure of liquid gold into two glasses, “the duchess possesses an unwritten Magna Carta, pitifully restraining my power.”

Harrison’s lips twitched and Wynchester handed him a glass. “Has the duchess, at least, revealed her charter’s contents?”

Wynchester considered his own metaphor. “No, although I grow more confident in my deductive skill.” He closed his eyes and took a sip, bliss radiated outward in the form of an unintentional smile.

“Will you tell the duchess I’ve brought you a bottle from my cask?” Harrison asked.

The duke opened one eye. “Whose side are you on?”

“I wasn’t aware there was a battle, Your Grace.”

“Like hell you weren’t.” He sighed. “How do you manage?”

Harrison frowned. “You might be more specific.”

“Our ladies are up there, trading confidences at our expense.”

A dark look passed over Harrison’s features but quickly dissipated. “I trust Lavinia to reveal only what she deems necessary and only to people worthy of her faith.”

Wynchester humphed. “Would Thea were so easily read.” Wynchester set down his drink and tossed himself into his chair. “An enigma, my wife.”

“I would not call any woman
easy
to read,” Harrison replied, “but are you right to complain? Nothing so fascinates like a puzzle.”

He sent Harrison a wry glance. “Quite so.”

Harrison held up his glass and let the light of a nearby sconce illuminate the liquid. “Do you believe that repeating something one has overheard holds the taint of dishonor?”

Wynchester kicked back his chair and balanced on the back two legs. “I abhor gossip.”

“As do I,” Harrison replied.

“Something troubles you,” Wynchester said. “I know that look.”

“Several things,” Harrison said.

“We have dealt together long enough for you to speak plain.”

“Even if it concerns your brother?”

Wynchester nodded slowly.

Harrison inclined his head in a silent gesture of appreciation. “As you know, I refrained from general society after returning from my ordeal at Kasai’s hands.” Harrison’s gaze grew dark. “Leaving that dungeon, it turned out, was more than a simple matter of walking out the door.”

Wynchester set down his chair and leaned forward, conscious of the weight of male confidence. Conscious and, indeed, humbled.

“You tell me this because you think Eustace suffers the same challenge?”

Harrison remained silent, his gaze heavy and weighing. “I believe there are challenges ahead for Eustace. Challenges he cannot yet fathom.”

Wynchester thought of his brother’s behavior toward the dowager duchess and nodded. “What you say has merit.”

“In his state,” Harrison continued, “he could be a danger to others.”

Wynchester raised his brows. “Possibly violent?”

Harrison replied, “Yes.”

Wynchester’s mind went directly—disconcertingly so—to his duchess. His proud, still-hurting Duchess. He weighed his duty to Eustace against his duty to his wife. The experience was hauntingly familiar. His memory glittered with scattered sapphires.

He narrowed his eyes. “You have, I believe, a suggestion.”

“You know me well,” Harrison replied. “You mentioned once, that the room I use for a study once served as a nursery for you and Eustace.” He paused to take a sip of his drink. “I have suffered what Eustace suffered. We share a dark past. I would, with Your Grace’s permission, invite him to reside with me for a time. Familiar surroundings, in his condition, are sometimes a comfort.”

A sense of relief accompanied his contemplation of Harrison’s plan. He could release the burden of his brother, and concentrate instead, for a time, on his wife. In the end, if Eustace indeed was the aggrieved innocent he claimed to be, they could come back together stronger. However…

“The Privy Council,” he said, “required he be confined to ducal households while the Under Secretary remains missing.”

“And so he would be,” Harrison said. “I live in a ducal residence.”

“And so,” Wynchester, again, kicked back his chair, “he would be.”

He templed his fingers and bounced them against his lip. “You believe you can help Eustace?”

“I believe I can prevent future violence, yes. When I returned from India, Lavinia’s father performed the office for me.” Harrison set down his glass. “If you and your duchess were to sojourn out of London for a time, would it not be natural for Eustace to visit,” Harrison paused for a moment, “an old friend?”

“Of course.” He brushed aside the slight suspicion of being managed. This was
Harrison
. Harrison was honor to his core. “Consider the matter settled. Just this morning, I had the notion there was more to Eustace’s past than he has revealed.”

Harrison sat forward. “And what gave you that impression?”

“A terse exchange between Eustace, Lord Nutley, and Sir Bronward Layton.” Wynchester frowned. “I am concerned Eustace has not been fully forthcoming. You share a past with him. Would you—with the utmost discretion—look into the associations he had when in India?”

Harrison blinked. “Of course.”

“Now,” he tossed down the rest of his drink, “what gossip have you overheard?”

“Did I say gossip?” Harrison asked.

“You said
overheard
.”

“Yes, I did,” Harrison said thoughtfully, “didn’t I?” He adjusted his collar as he sat back in his chair.

“It must be quite the
on-dit
to have you so exceedingly out-of-sorts.”

“Not an
on-dit
at all. What I heard was for my intended’s ears only, and, would have never traveled beyond.”

Wynchester narrowed his eyes. “So I
was
the ladies’ chosen topic.”

“If you were,” Harrison said with care, “would you find fault?”

He turned a withering gaze on his friend. “I suppose ladies must be allowed their ways. Thea Marie has never been one for idle gossip.”

Harrison exhaled as if he’d been holding his breath.