A Secret Affair (36 page)

There must
be
a way of saving Jess Barnes. He had taken fourteen chickens from the coop of a neighbor and then returned them and apologized. Constantine’s manager had paid the value of the chickens even though they had been returned. And for all that a man was to lose his life—as an example to others.

The judicial system was sometimes capable of asinine and terrifying madness.

An old adage leapt to her mind: “One might as well hang for a sheep as a lamb.” But one
could
hang for either. Or for a few chickens.

Someone
must be able to help. Someone with influence. Constantine, despite his lineage, was a mere commoner. There must be …

She looked toward the house and then hurried toward it, holding her skirt up out of the way, half running. And it would have been
quicker, she thought as she ran up the steps beneath the pillared portico and through the front doors, to have gone around to the side and into the drawing room through the French windows.

Good heavens, it must be very late indeed. Everyone would wonder where she was, where the tea tray was. Everyone was
tired
.

Everyone was still in the drawing room, she saw when she hurried into it after a footman had darted ahead of her to open the doors. They all turned to look inquiringly at her. Belatedly she realized that she must look flushed and disheveled—again. A few of those who were seated got to their feet. Barbara came hurrying toward her.

“Hannah?” she said. “Is something wrong? We heard a carriage.”

She took Hannah’s hands, and Hannah squeezed them tightly. Her eyes found the Earl of Merton.

“Lord Merton,” she said. “A private word with you, please. Oh, please. And please
hurry.”

It was fortunate that there was a chair directly behind her. She collapsed onto it, her hands sliding from Barbara’s as she did so. She was shaking uncontrollably. Her teeth were chattering. Her thoughts were racing about inside her head. She was, she realized in some dismay, going all to pieces.

And then the Earl of Merton was on one knee before her, and her hands were in his very steady ones.

“Your Grace,” he said, “tell me what it is. Is it Con? Has he met with some accident?”

“He has g-g-gone,” she said. She closed her eyes briefly, imposing some control over herself. “I am so sorry you have not all had tea yet. Will you order the tray, Babs, please? But may I talk to
you
outside, Lord Merton?” She tightened her hands about the earl’s.

No one moved.

“Hannah,” Barbara said, “tell us what has happened. We are all concerned. Did you quarrel with Mr. Huxtable? But no, it is more than that.”

The earl’s hands were still warm and steady. Hannah looked into his blue eyes.

“How may I be of service to you?” he asked her.

He did not know. None of them did. Oh, foolish Constantine, to have been so secretive all these years.

It was not her secret to divulge.

But the time for secrets had passed.

“He has gone to Ainsley Park,” she said, “his home in Gloucestershire. And home to a large number of unwed mothers and handicapped persons and reformed criminals and others rejected by society. One of the handicapped—I think he must be a little like Constantine’s brother—let the fox in with the chickens and tried to compensate for the loss so that Constantine would not be disappointed in him, by taking chickens from a neighbor to replace them. He returned the chickens and apologized, and the manager of the project paid for the chickens in addition, but even so poor Jess has been sentenced to hang.”

She gasped for breath. She was not sure she had paused for one during her explanation.

There were other gasps in the room. A few of the ladies clapped hands to their mouths and closed their eyes. Hannah was not aware of much, though, beyond the intent eyes of the Earl of Merton.

“So
that
is what Constantine has been doing in Gloucestershire,” Lady Sheringford half whispered.

Hannah leaned a little closer to the earl.

“He took my carriage,” she said. “He thinks he can save that poor man, but he probably will not be able to. Will you let me take
your
carriage? And will you escort me to London?”

“I’ll go myself to Ainsley Park if I can discover where in Gloucestershire it is,” he said. “I’ll do all in my power—”

“I thought the Duke of Moreland …” she said.

“Elliott?” He searched her eyes with his own.

“Oh,” she said, and the sound came out as a near wail. “I
wish
my duke were still alive. He would save Jess with one look in the right direction. But he is dead. The Duke of Moreland’s word will count for a great deal.”

“Elliott and Con have been bitter enemies since before I knew either,” he said.

“That is because Constantine was selling the Merton jewels to finance the project at his brother’s behest,” she said. “It was all his brother’s idea, though he embraced it wholeheartedly himself. But the Duke of Moreland accused
him
of robbing his own brother and even of debauching the poor unwed mothers in the neighborhood, and Constantine would not contradict him, partly because he feared the duke would put an end to his brother’s dream, and largely because of pride. The duke accused instead of asking.”

She watched him draw in a deep breath, hold it, and then release it slowly.

“I am not sure Elliott will be willing to help, Your Grace,” he said. “Let me—”

But Lady Sheringford was on her feet and approaching across the room.

“Of course he will help, Stephen,” she said briskly.
“Of course
he will. He would not have remained angry with Constantine all these years if he did not care deeply for him. And if he even hesitates,
Nessie
will talk him into helping. She will be easy to persuade. She always likes to think the best of people. I have suspected for years that she would forgive Constantine in a heartbeat if he would only ask her forgiveness for whatever it was he did to hurt her.”

“I must
go,”
Hannah said, getting to her feet and withdrawing her hands from the earl’s clasp. “Even now it may be too late.” She slapped her hands to her cheeks. “But I have a houseful of
guests.”

Suddenly everything was taken out of her hands. The guests would
all
go, both to London and to Ainsley Park, if they followed mere inclination, someone declared—perhaps Lord Montford. But they could do nothing but get in the way. They would remain, then, and Stephen would go with her grace. Everything at Copeland ran so smoothly because of the duchess’s careful planning, the Countess of Sheringford said, that her presence was not strictly necessary until they all left tomorrow morning. And Miss Leavensworth had been a
perfect substitute hostess at tea yesterday and would be again at breakfast tomorrow. It would be a delight to have Miss Leavensworth return to town tomorrow in
their
carriage, Lady Montford said. Which was an extremely generous offer, Mrs. Newcombe declared, as of course
they
would gladly have taken Barbara with them, but she would have been severely cramped, poor dear, in the carriage with them and the twins.
Of course
Hannah could leave without any worries at all, Barbara added. She must
go
.

And Mr. Newcombe knew just where Ainsley Park was situated. Although he had never been there, it was no farther than twenty miles from his own home. He had even heard some good things about the training school there. He had not realized that the owner and Mr. Huxtable, his fellow guest here, were one and the same. If he had, he would have enjoyed a good heart-to-heart chat with him on the subject.

Cassandra had hurried from the room. She was going to come too and had gone to prepare the nurse and the baby for an imminent departure.

“Come, Hannah,” Barbara said, quiet and efficient in her usual way. “You must change your clothes and have a bag packed. I will see to everything else.”

Lord Sheringford had gone to order up the Merton carriage.

An hour later Hannah was on the way to London. The Earl of Merton sat opposite her with Cassandra. He was holding the baby, who was fast asleep. Apparently Cassandra had fed him before leaving.

Where was Constantine now? How far had he gone?

Would he be in time?

Would it matter even if he were?

Would the Duke of Moreland go?

Would
he
be in time?

Would his influence be powerful enough to stop the madness of hanging a mentally handicapped man whose only crime was trying to put right a wrong that had happened because of his carelessness?

If only
her duke were still alive. No one would have stood against
him. She had never known anyone with more power than the elderly Duke of Dunbarton. Except the king, perhaps.

The king.

The king
.

Hannah pressed herself back into the corner of her seat and closed her eyes tightly.

Could she?

Could
she? She was the Duchess of Dunbarton, was she not?

T
HE
D
UKE OF
M
ORELAND
was at breakfast in his London home on Cavendish Square when he was informed that her grace, the Duchess of Dunbarton, and the Earl of Merton were in the visitors’ parlor, requesting a moment of his time on a matter of some urgency. His duchess had joined him only a few moments before.

It was early. The duke was due at the House of Lords later and always liked to spend an hour with his secretary, discussing the business of the day, before he went. The duchess was still being dragged from her bed at an unholy hour each morning by a ravenous eight-month-old son, who had not yet learned that there were far more civilized hours at which to demand his breakfast.

They both appeared in the visitors’ parlor long before Hannah could establish a satisfactory route to pace. She had changed
her clothes since arriving in London a few hours ago, but she had not slept. She would have come and banged on the duke’s door long ago if decency had not prevailed. The Earl of Merton had been good enough to arrive back at Dunbarton House a good ten minutes earlier than he had promised.

“Stephen,” the duchess said, hugging her brother warmly, though she did look at him and then glance at Hannah with some curiosity.

“Duchess? Stephen? Good morning.” The duke looked keenly from one to the other of them.

Hannah did not wait for any further preliminaries.

“You must help Constantine,” she said, taking a few steps closer to the duke. “Please. You must.”

“Con?” The duke’s eyes came fully to rest on her—blue eyes in a narrow, dark-complexioned face with an austere, autocratic expression. So like Constantine and yet so unlike. “Must I, ma’am?”

“Constantine?” the duchess said at the same time. “Is he in some trouble?”

“A man is going to be hanged in Gloucestershire,” Hannah said, feeling out of breath, as if she must have run all the way here instead of riding in the earl’s carriage. “And Constantine has gone to save him. But he will not be able to do it. He has no authority. You do. You are the
Duke of Moreland
. You must go there too
without delay
and help him. Oh, please.”

It all seemed perfectly clear to her.

“Elliott,” the Earl of Merton began, but the duke held up a staying hand.

“Vanessa,” he said without taking his eyes off Hannah, “would you be so good as to have coffee brought in for the duchess? And for Stephen too, my love. They both look as if they must have just arrived back from Kent and have not breakfasted.”

“I will have some toast fetched too,” his duchess said as she left the room.

The duke took Hannah by one elbow and indicated a chair close by. She sat down heavily.

“Tell me about the man who is to be hanged, ma’am,” he said. “And his connection to Con.”

What had she said already? Probably not nearly enough. She had wanted to be as brief as possible so that he could be on his way to Ainsley Park without delay.

“He stole some chickens,” she said, “because he was afraid Constantine would be disappointed in him for leaving the door of the coop unlatched and letting the fox in, but he did not really understand that he was stealing until it was explained to him, and then he apologized and took the chickens back, and they were paid for too, but some
stupid
judge thought he should be made an example of and sentenced him to hang. Oh,
will
you go and stop it?”

And where was the controlled, articulate Duchess of Dunbarton just when she was most needed?

The duke’s eyes moved to the earl at the same moment as he surprised Hannah by taking one of her hands in his own and squeezing it.

“Stephen?” he said.

The duchess came back into the room.

“The property Con purchased in Gloucestershire,” the earl said, “was apparently bought at Jonathan’s urging, Elliott, to house unwed mothers and their children. Since it began, it has expanded to include handicapped people—both physically and mentally—and other people who find themselves rejected by society. I gather they are trained to find meaningful work elsewhere. The man in question is mentally handicapped and is inordinately fond of Con by the sound of it. He was responsible for losing some chickens to a fox, so he went and took some other chickens from a neighbor to replace them. It probably seemed logical to him. But he was arrested, and even the return of the chickens and a money payment in addition and an abject apology have been unable to save him from being sentenced to death.”