The Accidental Duchess (25 page)

“You cannot bring a dead man to trial. The War Office investigated quietly, and the offending officers were removed, but revelations about his role were not released.”

“Perhaps influence was used to ensure that. A few words from a man of importance, or from his important friends, for example.”

“Perhaps your brother pled his case.”

“I do not think it was my brother. If he had known about those commissions, he would not have cut you for over a year.”

It was dark when they entered the garden. Delicious odors beckoned from the kitchen. Lydia stopped him before he could open the door.

“Thank you for telling me. Although you did not include everything, did you?”

“I told you most of it.” Not the shock of Lakewood’s sudden movement, or watching him fall. Not the weeks of reliving those few moments, to try to see what had truly happened.

She stretched up and kissed him. “You were a better friend than he deserved. He knew you would be, I think. He knew that if he died, you would protect his name, because you are so good and fair.”

He had concluded much the same thing. A self-inflicted death to atone for his sins, knowing his good name would be spared—it was a fine plot. Lakewood’s character appeared almost noble and sacrificing in the story it told. It had taken a long time to realize the plot suffered from melodrama.

It would take more than the threatening scandal over those commissions to drive Lakewood to do what he did. He had seen something else in the future, once questions began being asked. Something he would rather die than face.

He followed Lydia into the cottage, wondering if she would think him so good when he found out what the rest of Lakewood’s crimes had been.

F
irst light made her stir. Subtle movements pulled her awake. The bed beside her was empty. She turned to see Penthurst dressed already. He came over, kissed her, and tucked the bed cloths up around her.

“Go back to sleep.”

“Are you leaving?”

“Only for a few hours at most. I thought to walk to the coast. It is not far from here. I can smell the sea sometimes.”

She threw off the bed coverings. “It is maybe an hour walk if you go through the Forest of Bere, but longer by the roads. I will come too, and show you the shorter way, if you do not mind company.”

“It isn’t too far for you?”

She slipped out of the bed. “I have walked it often before. I have walked even farther when I stay at Crownhill. You should have realized by now that I am not very delicate in constitution.”

He waited, sitting in a chair, watching her wash and pull on her chemise and hose and dress.

“Thank you for reassuring Sarah about the militias last night. She was much relieved to hear they are unlikely to ever see a battle,” she said.

“There are determined efforts at negotiations at work. I think we may see this war end soon, or at least have a truce so those efforts can be doubled.”

“That would be wonderful. I have lived my life with this war, it seems. An end to all the costs and deaths has appeared out of reach.”

“After it is over, we will go to France. You did want to once, enough to stow away in a galley.”

She pulled on her half boots. He gestured for her to come over. One at a time, he lifted her feet to his knee and worked the side buttons. Bonnet, spencer, and gloves came next. Finally she was ready to go.

“Wait.” He opened her wardrobe and poked around. He emerged with an old shawl that she could not remember ever seeing. He unfurled it and wrapped it around her. “It is cold out still and the night’s damp will chill you.”

“This is very ugly. I think it belonged to a servant who once worked here. If we pass anyone, I will embarrass you.”

“If we come upon anyone, you can shed it and I will carry it. But you will wear it now, Lydia. This walk will take enough of a toll that I will not have you get sick too.”

“You will see it takes no toll at all on me. Let us go.”

 • • • 

E
arly mornings were the best time for walks, Lydia decided. The whole world still carried the stillness of the night, and the silver light made even ordinary sights magical. They made their way south over the countryside and into the forest while Penthurst described events in London.

They were very close to the coast before that light turned white and the sun showed. Even so she was not sorry to have the ugly shawl. The air held the crisp chill of winter’s near arrival.

“You know your way here very well,” he said.

She knew her way because she had come here often with Lakewood. Due to the distance, which had seemed far shorter back then, she had not retraced this particular walk during the last two weeks.

Something in his observation and voice made her think twice about completely retracing those steps today. She led him to spot a little to the west of the harbor, where the view of the ships was lateral and eastward.

He studied the lay of the harbor, and the position of Portsmouth across the way. He pointed to the long stretch of Portsdown Hill north of the water. “Let us walk up that hill and see the fleet.”

“There are guards there. They will question us.”

“Then we will answer their questions. I do not think they will be suspicious of a gentleman and lady.”

Not if the gentleman was a baron. There had been little company on that hill years ago, but a peer could gain access with a few words. She expected even less trouble if she accompanied a duke.

She did not want to trudge up that rise of land, but she followed. Each step reminded her that when she returned to London, she would again be trying to placate Algernon Trilby. They walked to where most of the fleet could be seen at anchor and the busy activity on the docks looked like a swarm of ants. A guard did stroll over to them and question their purpose. Penthurst identified himself, and that ended that.

Penthurst surveyed it all with a thoughtful expression. “You used to come here with him.”

It was not a question. “Yes. I would bring food and we would eat
en plein air
here, or on the way back.”

“Did you do this often?”

“Several times. It was a favorite walk for a few weeks. Why do you ask? Not jealousy, I know.”

“I am not too good to feel jealousy, Lydia. However, this is why I ask.” He reached into his pocket and removed a folded paper. He gave it to her. She opened it.

She thought she might faint when she saw her handwriting, and the ships listed. Faint or get sick. She dared not take her eyes off the paper. She could not look at him, but she felt his gaze on her.

“It came to me with a letter, in case you are wondering. Mr. Trilby decided you had dithered too long and recently sent him too little.”

“
Dithered
? I gave that scoundrel almost three thousand and promised more. His demands were too ridiculous from the start, and only got worse.”

“There is no winning in negotiations with blackmailers, Lydia.” He tugged gently at the page until she released it. “How did you come to write this?”

“It is part of a novel. A bad one, admittedly. I was writing it here, to pass the time when I was alone with my aunt. All kinds of things found their way into it.”

“It is very detailed. It looks incriminating as hell, Lydia. You know that. You would not have given him a shilling otherwise.”

“We would play games while we ate our meal,” she explained desperately. “We would make silly rhymes about the ships, like little school songs. As with any such lesson, it was easy to remember what I had seen.”

“The songs were very detailed then, too, if they enumerated the number of men-o’-war and frigates and such.”

She gazed out on the fleet. She would not have known a frigate if her life counted on it. Lakewood had pointed all that out, and created most of the silly songs. She had laughed long and hard at how ridiculous some of the rhymes were. She had thought him the most amusing man in the world.

And when next she jotted in her novel, it had been easy to have her heroine walking alone up here, seeing all those ships while she pined for her lover.

A thought came to her. A terrible one. She tried to put it out of her mind, but it stuck there, demanding attention. If she had written down the information memorized through those little rhymes, had Lakewood done so as well? Had that been the whole reason for coming here?

She looked at Penthurst and she knew he had been harboring the same thought. Perhaps he had been for days.

She pointed at the paper. “What are you going to do with that?”

“Burn it. As for Mr. Trilby, I will do what I would have done weeks ago if you had only confided in me. He and I will have a long conversation. Depending on what I learn, and whether he cooperates, I will either pay him off, once and finally, or swear down information and see him sent to the hulks.”

They spoke of other things on the way back. The duke did not upbraid her for the stupidity that had led to the blackmail. He did not have to. She knew mortification with every step. Her compromise in Buxton would pale compared with the scandal if Trilby did not cooperate. She did not doubt that Penthurst contemplated how he had gotten a very bad bargain in her.

Her mind also worked through other things. At long last she looked at that early spring with uncompromising honesty. She did not make any more excuses for Lakewood, and she did not shrink from the implications of what she saw. By the time they arrived back at the cottage she was furious.

“It was no accident that he favored the walk to the coast, was it?” she asked while she hung her spencer on its peg.

Penthurst did not answer. He appeared troubled and thoughtful. Not for himself, surely. For her. About her?

“Well,
I
think it was no accident,” she said, if he would not. “He would have needed an excuse to spend time where he could study the port. They might let a baron go there, but he could not just sit down and take notes, could he? So he flattered and flirted with a girl heading for the shelf fast, so his visits there could be seen as simple walks to an interesting picnic spot.” Indignation poured through her. “And if that were not bad enough, he—”

“Lydia, calm yourself. We do not know—”

“We do know. I know. He used me to do something so dishonorable it cannot be excused or forgiven. Something he would rather die than have exposed. And if that were not bad enough, he then told someone about my manuscript and it was taken and ended up in Trilby’s hands. I had even read Lakewood parts of it. He knew what it contained. Who would go to the trouble to steal it unless they knew too?”

He did not appear very surprised, or even sympathetic. He looked like the Duke of Penthurst, who required the world to bend to his liking.

“What you are saying might be correct. I will know soon. I do not think he intended that you be the victim of blackmail, however. The goal may have only been to take your journal so it would not be read by others, and raise questions.”

About him, or her? It would be nice to think Lakewood had the decency to try to protect her. “It is not a journal. I told you, it is a novel.”

“I assume that will be obvious once I see more than one page of it.”

They went in to the meal Sarah had cooked. It proved a quiet and awkward hour. While she picked at the stew, she watched him. She could tell that his mind worked on something.

He did not believe her, she realized. He was not sure, at least. His analysis had left open the chance that Lydia—reckless, excitement-seeking Lydia—had thought it would be fun to at least pretend to spy on the fleet. She could not blame him for wondering, but a deep sorrow saturated her.

He had known everything when he arrived yesterday. It was why he had come. And their tender, soulful reunion in that iron bed may have been so poignant because he knew he would soon never see her the same way again.

 • • • 

“I
told the coachman to come in the morning, to bring you and Sarah back to London.”

He spoke into the night. Their passion had been fast and unsatisfactory, as thoughts from the day interfered with losing herself in the pleasure. Lydia wondered if this was how it would always be now. She might not have minded had she not experienced better. She would have never noticed a lack of intimacy and closeness if she had never come to love him.

“When did you tell him?” He had not left her side since arriving.

“Before I came by yesterday.”

It had all been planned, then. Except her joining him on the walk to the coast. He had intended to do that alone.

“Will you be riding back with us?”

“I have something to do before I return to town. I will be there in a few days.”

“Should I close up the cottage, or will you be staying here?”

“Tell Sarah to close it.”

He turned toward her. As he fell asleep, his arm came to rest across her in that familiar embrace. She lay there, not doing anything to cause him to move it.

 • • • 

“D
id you bring them?” Penthurst asked.

He sat in a tavern in the village not far from the cottage. The man he had arranged to meet had just entered and sat at his table.

Kendale called for some ale. “Your letter told me to bring my army, which made no sense. I have no army, of course. I have not been in the army myself for years.”

“Forgive me. I wrote in haste. Did you bring any of those many servants who practice at arms and do your bidding?” It was indeed a little army, much to the government’s concern. Had Kendale not been a viscount, he would probably be in prison for some of the things he deployed those men to do.

“Four of them came with me. There is nothing you could need doing that requires more.”

Four would probably be more than enough, but there was no way for Kendale to know that, other than his low opinion of the sorts of missions a duke might undertake.

They drank their ale in silence. Kendale asked for no particulars about the letter, or the events to unfold. Penthurst had known he would not. It was why Kendale had received the letter in the first place. The only question had been whether he would come. Since he had, Penthurst did not expect any arguments. When Kendale perceived the true quarry they hunted today, it was unlikely he would voice resentments or judgment either.

“Let us go. It is not far from here.”

They went out and mounted their horses. Four men on horseback followed them down the road. After a few miles they turned up a lane. It ended in front of a house of good size. On examination it became obvious that most of the building was of recent construction. The center block and main entrance appeared much older. Its stone displayed the wear of ages, while the additions did not.

“There is no need for you to do anything except line up here and appear forbidding,” Penthurst said after he dismounted.

“Are you saying you dragged me all the way here and there is nothing to do?”

“There will be no battles, if that is what you expected.”

“Too bad. I brought my sword.” Kendale assessed the house. “New money.”

“Yes.”

“Ill gotten?”

“I think so.”

Kendale kept studying the house. “Is this Lakewood’s infamous Dunner Park?”

The questions lined up in a way to suggest Kendale, for all of his uncompromising view of that duel, had learned a few things on his own.

“Hell. No, it isn’t, but if you ask that question, you may as well come along.” Penthurst strode to the door. While he waited for his knock to be answered, Kendale joined him.

A female servant in cap and apron opened the door. Penthurst handed over his card. “Tell her that it is in her brother’s interests that she receive me.”

The woman let them wait outside while she took the card in. She returned to escort them to a large, high-ceilinged library that looked like something his aunt Rosalyn might have decorated.