The Way to a Duke's Heart: The Truth About the Duke (5 page)

Perhaps that was natural. A blackmailer would be a fool to trust a chatty old lady like Mrs. Bates. Charlie was sure he could tease just about any secret from Mrs. Bates, given enough time and sherry. Tessa Neville, though, was made of stronger stuff. In fact, she seemed determined to hate him, even after he’d been cordial to her. Could that mean she knew Scott was a blackmailer? Or even that she was party to it, as unlikely as that seemed? Perhaps she was just a bit shrewish by nature . . . but it provoked him like nothing else could have.

Mrs. Bates directed him to turn down a corridor leading toward his own rooms. He almost laughed out loud when she stopped in front of a door nearly directly across from his. What a fine joke on him, if the person he sought had been mere feet away since he arrived in Bath. “Why, how near we are!” he exclaimed, not hiding his pleased surprise. “My own suite is right there. Should you require more assistance, you must send your maid to knock.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Bates blushed again. “How—How delightful, my lord! But really, I have been enough nuisance to you . . .”

“Not a bit,” he assured her.

“Well, and yes, we are leaving tomorrow,” she went on, sounding increasingly relieved. “It has been such a pleasure; I am sure it was the
finest
afternoon I spent in Bath!”

“I shall hope we meet again in London.” He bowed and kissed her hand as the young maid opened the door. “Farewell, Mrs. Bates.”

“Farewell, my lord,” she replied breathlessly, fluttering her fingers as she went into her room. Beyond her Charlie could see no sign of Mrs. Neville, who had rushed ahead of them. He wondered what sort of scolding she would give her companion once he was safely away. The maid bobbed an uncertain curtsy and closed the door.

He went to his own rooms, where his valet looked up from polishing a boot. “There are a pair of ladies in this hotel, Barnes, lodged directly across the corridor,” Charlie told him. “Mrs. Tessa Neville and her companion, Mrs. Eugenie Bates. They are leaving tomorrow. Find out where they are going, and pack my things. We’re going to follow them.”

Chapter 4

T
essa stayed out of sight until the door closed on Lord Gresham’s charming smile and perfect manners. Then she pounced on her companion. “Eugenie! What were you thinking?”

Eugenie gave a great start. Her dreamy little smile vanished, turning into alarm. “Oh, my dear, was it really so bad of me? He was
so
polite and
so
kind and
so
solicitous—”

Tessa waved it away impatiently. “After you made me promise to avoid him at every turn! What possessed you to speak to him?”

“Well,” replied the older woman cautiously, “he spoke to me first. Mary and I had just returned to the hotel—that reminds me, dear, Mr. Scott left a letter for you. Mary, where is the letter for Mrs. Neville?”

“Here, ma’am.” The maid fetched it from the mantel.

Tessa accepted the letter without looking at it, still focused on Eugenie. “Thank you, Mary. You may go for now.”

“I’m sorry, dear.” Eugenie twisted her hands, looking penitent. “But don’t you see? He wasn’t angry about what you said, not at all. And now I can safely tell Lady Woodall we have formed an acquaintance with His Lordship, and you know how pleased she will be about that.” She hesitated. “Was it really so awful? Surely your opinion of him must have improved, due to his gracious behavior today.”

Tessa sighed and pressed the back of her wrist to her forehead. Everything Eugenie said made sense, and if Lord Gresham remembered them with any regard at all, it would completely disarm any fears Louise might raise when she learned of her own earlier, rash remark. There was no chance Eugenie would keep silent about that now, as it fed into the delightful story of how she met the earl. Sooner or later she would tell Louise, and Tessa knew her only hope of avoiding a storm of reproach was a newly cordial, or at least civil, relationship with the gentleman.

Still, there was something that made her uncomfortable. “How did you meet him?” she asked Eugenie. “You looked quite well, only a little tired, when we parted. I’d no idea you were unwell.”

“Ah . . .” Her companion’s brow wrinkled in thought as she sank into a chair. “I don’t remember. We came back to the hotel, and I did plan to take tea, but no sooner had Mary gone upstairs than he appeared beside me, inquiring after my health. I must have looked unwell—perhaps I swayed on my feet? I
was
very tired, and you know my left ankle has been tender since we left Rushwood. But Lord Gresham escorted me to the tearoom, and ordered an
excellent
sherry—delivered by Mr. Lucas himself, my dear!—and we had a very amiable conversation.”

“What did he want to talk about?” asked Tessa, suspicious again.

“Why . . .” Eugenie’s face blanked. “Nothing of import, dear. He made the most polite inquiries about what brought us to Bath, and where we were from. When I mentioned we would be in London in a fortnight’s time, he answered my every meek query about the city with kindness and great charm. Lady Woodall shall be so very pleased to know all I learned from His Lordship about London.”

That sounded very innocent. Tessa couldn’t quite put her finger on why she still felt uneasy about Eugenie’s tête-à-tête with the earl, but she most certainly did. “That was all? He didn’t ask about me?”

“He did ask, a little, although it made me recall . . .” She cleared her throat primly. “Well, I did become more reticent, not wishing to remind him of what you said, in case he had forgotten, but he showed no sign of any displeasure! Why, when you came into the room, I thought his expression looked . . . well . . . rather
intrigued
, dear . . .” Her voice, having become almost hopeful, petered out as Tessa stared at her incredulously.

“Eugenie, I’m shocked at you. Persuade me if you will that he acted out of excessive solicitude for you and your health, but you’re mad to think he—” She stopped short. “It’s rubbish. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“But you’re a very attractive lady,” persisted Eugenie timidly. “And he’s such a handsome gentleman . . .”

“He’s an earl,” she snapped. “A titled nobleman leagues above a woman of my position. You’re indulging in fantasy, Eugenie, and I beg you stop.”

“Yes, of course. I didn’t mean to upset you.” The older woman subsided, looking small and woebegone in the large armchair.

Tessa drew a deep breath. There was nothing to be gained by snapping off Eugenie’s head over this. If Lord Gresham didn’t remember or didn’t care about her imprudent remark, she should count herself very fortunate. If he found anything at all to like about her, so much the better, at least with regard to keeping Louise in good spirits. But what Eugenie intimated was complete farce, almost frighteningly so. The Earl of Gresham was the very last sort of man whose attention she wished to attract. There had been a flash of something in his eyes when he turned to see her trying to catch Eugenie’s attention from the tearoom doorway. She couldn’t even say what it was; he looked . . . well, almost pleased to see her, which was a puzzle. Their only connection was her rude remark, but he hadn’t said or done anything to indicate offense.

He had in fact been the picture of charm. Up close, the earl was even more attractive, with black hair that had just a hint of wave and dancing eyes as dark as sin. His mouth seemed permanently curved with a devilish hint of smile. It was really no surprise Eugenie had melted under the brilliance of his attention. Even Tessa, whose heart had grown a hard, protective shell years ago, felt the warmth of his smile right to her bones. Of course, that allure was also the reason she was so distrustful of him. Such a charming fellow must have some purpose in plying Eugenie with sherry and flattery. But what?

She gave her head a small shake to refocus her thoughts. How unfair it was that she could never meet a handsome man without suspecting him of every sort of vice and treachery. Just because one handsome, charming fellow had proven himself a lying snake, intent on deceiving her and using her, didn’t mean every such man was equally horrible. “I’m not angry. I was alarmed when I saw you sitting with him, but it sounds as though he acted honorably and decently, for which I am very grateful to him. I cannot believe he would notice me in any significant way, but as you say, it’s always flattering to be admired, and I would far rather be in his good graces than suffer his ill will.” Did that cover everything? Nearly. “And since we are leaving in the morning, there’s very little chance we shall see him again, which quite allays any last worries I had. Forgive me for being snappish with you.”

“Oh, but in London, we might—” Eugenie stopped as Tessa gave a small shake of her head. “You think not, dear? Would he snub us?”

“Likely not,” she said gently, “but you must remember, London is a far larger place than Bath. I doubt we shall move in the same circles, even if all my sister’s hopes are realized. It’s unlikely he would seek us out, and it would be most improper of us to seek out him. You mustn’t depend on seeing him in London.”

“You’re right,” murmured Eugenie after a moment. “I know you are. Still . . .” She sighed and plucked at her shawl.

Tessa felt a little sorry for her companion. No one as elegant and urbane as the Earl of Gresham had ever paid Eugenie any heed, and it was clear to see the experience had been utterly bewitching. She felt terrible for squashing all the lingering delight of her companion’s tea with the earl, but it would be harder if Eugenie lived in constant hope of meeting him again in London—or even worse, filled Louise with false expectations of an acquaintance. “Is he as charming as he appears?” she asked, trying to atone for the disappointment. “I don’t think we’ve seen a handsomer man in Bath.”

Eugenie’s face lit up. “Indeed! I knew even you could not deny how very attractive he is. And he is even more charming! He said I reminded him of his aunt, the Countess of Dowling. My dear, can you imagine? I reminded him of a
countess
!”

Tessa smiled. “I like him a little better now.” A very little, but she did. Not every man would pay so much kind attention to a lady like Eugenie. It shocked her that the earl would do so out of nothing more than Christian charity, but perhaps she was judging him too harshly. She had a tendency to do that, according to her sister.

“And he spoke of his brother, who has been living this summer in Bath. He’s a decorated army captain, newly married and very dashing. And— Oh!” She tittered with laughter. “Here is something that will amuse you: he is a passionate coffee drinker, like you! Although he has a low opinion of the coffeehouses here in Bath. What was the one you particularly liked? I tried to remember to recommend it to him.”

“Gardner’s,” said Tessa.

“Oh, yes, now I remember. But he said they were all dreadful, so he only drinks tea in Bath.”

“How very principled of him. Who could possibly dislike such a paragon?” She rose and went to kiss Eugenie on the cheek. “I’m sorry I arrived to cut short your visit with him. If only something half so pleasant would happen to me!”

“Oh, but it would, dear, if only you wouldn’t—” Her companion stopped suddenly, her fingers on her lips.

“If only I wouldn’t lose my temper and insult perfect strangers?” Tessa gave a wry, guilty smile. “How fortunate I am to have you along to smooth the way after my wayward tongue.”

Eugenie sighed wistfully. “And he wished us to dine with him! Dinner with an earl, could you imagine it? If only we weren’t leaving tomorrow.”

“If only.” But inside Tessa was glad. The earl might be as handsome as the devil, and even more charming, but the way he looked at her made her skin prickle. The sooner they were away from him, the better.

C
harlie was mildly shocked at how resourceful his valet turned out to be. He expected Barnes to discover a few mundane details about Mrs. Neville, but his man came back after dinner with far more.

“They arrived the same day Your Grace arrived, from near Malmesbury. Mrs. Neville paid the bill in advance, and she got a very pretty price, too.”

“How do you know that?”

Barnes glanced up from the trunk he was packing. “I nipped into Mr. Lucas’s office and read the account books.”

“Oh, indeed?” Charlie raised an eyebrow.

His valet didn’t look abashed in the slightest. “As Your Grace’s man, I expect I could go anywhere in this hotel and not be said nay.”

“Right. Go on.”

“The lady left word she was expecting a gentleman, a Mr. Hiram Scott.” Barnes paused at Charlie’s sudden stillness. “Your Grace?”

“Nothing,” murmured Charlie. “Who, pray, is this Mr. Scott?”

“A businessman of some sort. The waiter who served them in the tearoom said Mr. Scott had brought a number of ledger books and plans with him, and Mrs. Neville read them with great attention. He thought he heard them talking of canals.”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed. Canals were all the rage. He vaguely remembered vigorous debates over their efficacy, but he didn’t know much about them. Somehow he’d pictured the blackmailer as a scoundrel with expensive tastes, gambling debts or loose women or something equally ordinary. A canal must be accounted a very expensive endeavor—so expensive, in fact, five thousand pounds would hardly suffice to build it.

But what did that make Hiram Scott? Was he an innocent businessman, wrongly identified by a postal clerk as the man who sent those blackmail letters to Durham? Or was he a rank opportunist, with his fingers in a variety of pockets? For a moment Charlie wished he could quiz Mrs. Neville about the man, but he didn’t dare. Either she knew nothing about the blackmail, and therefore could tell him nothing, or she knew she was associating with an unscrupulous fellow, perhaps even approved of his actions, and was just as unlikely to reveal anything helpful.

“That fits with what the lad in the stable said,” Barnes went on. “Mrs. Neville engaged a travel chaise to take them toward Frome tomorrow, where they’re building a canal. Mrs. Bates is uneasy about the journey, and sent down a half-dozen requests for hot bricks and the like.”

That was no surprise. “Frome,” he said thoughtfully. “That’s rather near, isn’t it?”

“Close on a dozen miles.”

Charlie rose. “Excellent work, Barnes. Be sure to pack some good sherry. And hire a travel chaise, to depart tomorrow.” He had worn his horses into the ground lately, first coming to Bath from London and then helping Gerard retrieve his wife. As much as he preferred the luxury of the Durham coach, it was best to leave it in Bath, for many reasons. He caught up his hat and let Barnes help him into his coat, and left the hotel.

It was only a short walk to his brother’s town house, where he found Gerard fortunately at home. “Come in, come in,” Gerard said. “Bragg, bring the port,” he called to his batman, who nodded once and vanished.

“I trust I haven’t interrupted anything.” Charlie glanced from side to side. “Where is my charming sister-in-law?”

“Lying down. She felt a bit faint.”

Charlie drew a breath and waited, bracing himself for an announcement of impending offspring. It was clear to see his brother was utterly besotted with his new wife, and Charlie was sure he would be an uncle inside a year. But Gerard merely waved him toward a seat. “Have you learned something?”

“Hiram Scott is involved with the canals,” he told his brother. “It seems he was in town to meet with someone, armed with ledgers and maps.”

Gerard’s eyebrows went up. “So that’s it. I wonder why none of my queries turned him up?”

Charlie shrugged. “He didn’t seem overtly mysterious in his visit; he visited the post office and called upon a lady at the York, then left her a letter. He’s not staying at the hotel.”

“Hmm.” Gerard leaned back and kicked his feet out in front of him, crossed at the ankle. He frowned thoughtfully, his arms folded. “There are speculators around every corner in these parts. The coal fields, I suppose; that’s mostly what the canals transport through Bath. Still, I never heard of him.”

“You didn’t know you were looking for Hiram Scott,” said Charlie. “Perhaps you heard the name but had no reason to remember it.”

Gerard hesitated, but admitted, “That’s possible.”

“Or since he was blackmailing Durham, perhaps he wished to stay out of sight. Perhaps he wanted the money to purchase shares of his own and grew more desperate—or brazen—after Father died without paying him a penny. Who knows?” Charlie waved one hand, as though swishing away his own doubts about Scott’s motives. “Perhaps he’s gulling half of Parliament, and thinks himself too clever to be caught.”