I've Got My Duke to Keep Me Warm (The Lords of Worth) (31 page)

D
o you suppose the duke will have me hanged?”

The Duchess of Worth had been poring over a map of Quatre Bras, bold arrows clearly illustrating the advance and retreat of English and French troops. She set it down and leveled a stern look at Jenna. “No one is going to be hanged.”

“So just transported then.”

“No one is going to be transported anywhere,” said Eleanor with an exasperated sigh.

“Have you forgotten what it is I do?” Jenna kicked the edge of the rug in frustration.

The duchess’s nostrils flared. “Dramatics do not suit you, Miss Hughes.”

“I am not being dramatic, I am being pragmatic. Every successful thief is pragmatic.”

“You are not a thief. You use a unique set of skills to recover. Recoup. Retrieve.”

“I steal.”

The duchess made a derisive sound. “No more than anyone else.”

“Except when the ton does it, it’s not called stealing. When an earl or a viscount or a marquess steals
the rightfully earned income of his tailor or cobbler, it’s called
entitlement
.”

“That may be so, Miss Hughes, but nothing has changed from yesterday. There has always been risk.”

“Yes, but now there is a duke. And a damned decent one at that.”

“He would be pleased to hear you say so.”

“He would not be so pleased if he discovered what I do.”

Eleanor’s lips thinned but she remained silent.

“Tell me that your son would look the other way if he caught me swindling his friends and fellow peers out of their money. If he caught me fleecing his social contemporaries for what would appear to be my own gain. He wouldn’t care who I was.”

The duchess looked disturbed. “No, he wouldn’t,” she agreed quietly. “Strange, since it is the very opposite of how his father would approach a similar dilemma. Status and connection were the only things that mattered to my husband, and in his eyes, rank would excuse almost anything. And since you are connected to me, the old duke might have been tempted to overlook your transgressions. Particularly if he could personally benefit somehow. My son has a much better-developed sense of right and wrong.”

Jenna groaned. “I hear Botany Bay is nice. I’ve always fancied living near the ocean. And at least the winters would be warmer.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’d never allow that to happen.”

“I don’t know that you’d get much of a say, Your Grace,” Jenna mumbled miserably.

The duchess returned her attention to her map, her brows furrowed. Jenna knew Eleanor did her best thinking when she retreated into her massive collection of
military maps, and if there was ever a time when the duchess’s shrewd wisdom was needed, now was it. Because the man currently sleeping in the gold guest room upstairs was going to be a problem on an epic scale, and at the moment, Jenna had no idea what to do about it.

Jenna had spent a great deal of time studying the Duke of Worth. Well, specifically his horses, but by default, the duke as well. It was her job to educate herself about the owners and the trainers and the jockeys and who out of the lot would offer up real competition each year. It was her responsibility to know who could be bought, and for how much. Who would be willing to drug a horse, lame a horse, or ride that same horse anyway. Who could be paid to steal a horse, replace a horse, or pull a horse to keep it from running to its full potential. In her experience, everyone had their price. Everyone, that was, except the Duke of Worth.

In fact, the Duke of Worth, for all his obvious disinterest in politics and the governance of the Empire, was an unexpected leader at the tracks. He was involved with the Jockey Club, advocated for the accurate development of a stud book, and, to the best of her knowledge, had never accepted a bribe for anything. All things Jenna would normally admire.

But these were also things that would make her job at Ascot that much more difficult.

For all his sterling qualities as a horseman, Jenna knew William Somerhall would never understand what she did. And he would never forgive her absolute disregard for the rules of the track and the dignity of thoroughbred racing in fair Britannia.

“Do you think if we get rid of the chickens, he’ll leave?” Jenna asked, trying to keep the desperation from her voice.

“I’m quite sure that will not be sufficient. Though I must admit the idea has appeal. Those damned birds are becoming tiresome. As is my supposed eccentricity,” Eleanor muttered under her breath, riffling through a pile of notes and pulling out a page. “Why do you think the Prince of Orange didn’t order square when the French cuirassiers attacked?” she asked abruptly.

“Because he was an idiot.”

“I can’t use that word in my thesis. It sounds inexpert.”

“How about
uninformed
?”

“No, he certainly had the information he needed to issue the appropriate order.”

“Perhaps he was distracted by the shiny tassels on his uniform?”

The duchess gave Jenna a long look.

Jenna sighed. “Perhaps
unwise
?”

“Better.” Eleanor crossed out a word and replaced it.

“He’ll want to see our stables.” Jenna wasn’t talking about the Prince of Orange anymore.

The duchess winced. “Yes, he will.” She tapped her quill against the table. “There is no avoiding it, but I am hoping he will be too focused on his own mounts to pay much attention to ours. When the time comes, and it will, I am confident we can explain away my horses. Sadly, I do not think we will have the same success if we try to explain away your role with the horses. You’ll need to appear to be simply my companion.”

Jenna could do that. She’d posed as Eleanor’s companion many times in the past and knew she did a damn convincing job of it. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t search for another solution to the problem that was the Duke of Worth. Every problem had a solution if one was
resourceful enough and willing to think creatively. And Jenna had always been good at creative thinking.

“What if we bought him a new horse?” Jenna demanded. “Something he could not resist racing. Something he would feel compelled to take to Epsom immediately. Lord Bering has suggested he might be selling that Eclipse colt he bought as a yearling a few years ago.”

“And how would we explain that?”

“A birthday gift?”

“His birthday is in January.”

“An early birthday gift?” Jenna was reaching.

“My son believes I can’t tell the difference between a donkey and a draft horse. He would only become more suspicious.”

Jenna cleared her throat. “Well, how about a woman to distract him then? Perhaps I could find him a mistress,” she suggested, though somehow that thought rankled.

Eleanor shook her head. “He won’t take a mistress, mostly because a mistress is an encumbrance. The last one he had was well over a year ago, and from what I understand, she could not accept that he spent more time at the track and in the barns than he did in her bed. She had a vilely destructive temper. He hasn’t had one since.”

Jenna groaned in frustration, well and truly backed into a corner with no discernible way out. “How about we get Margaret to tie him up and lock him in the dungeon until after the Cup? Please tell me the dower house has a dungeon.”

The duchess sighed in sympathy. “I believe dungeons went out of style a few centuries ago, dear.”

Jenna sank into a stuffed chair, defeated.

Eleanor watched her a moment, then approached, perching herself on the wide arm of the chair and putting
a hand on Jenna’s shoulder. “We’ll find a way, Miss Hughes, and Worth will be none the wiser. We’ll set him at the accounts first. If we’re lucky, he’ll give up after a day and leave on his own.”

“And what if he doesn’t? Leave, that is?”

“Then we’ll still depart for Windsor and Ascot Heath as planned.”

“You don’t think the duke will find it suspicious that we depart so early?”

“And therein lies the beauty of my bizarre behavior. Who can explain what I do?” Eleanor’s eyes twinkled.

Jenna rubbed at her eyes. “This has the makings of an utter disaster.”

The duchess patted her on the shoulder, and her features became wistful. “I’d like to think my son would understand what it is we—you do. Maybe, given enough time, maybe, given enough evidence of why we do it, he would eventually even empathize. He has a good heart—that I believe with all my soul.” Her voice dropped even lower. “But time is something we do not have the luxury of right now. And I am not close to William the way a mother should be. That is my fault, and I will regret it until the day I die. For I fear now it is too late.”

Jenna reached up and squeezed the duchess’s hand.

Eleanor cleared her throat brusquely. “I want you to keep track of Worth while he’s here. I don’t think it is in our best interests to have him wandering around the property unsupervised. If and when he starts putting two and two together, it would be better if we had some warning.”

“And what would make you think he will agree to my constant presence?”

The duchess smiled faintly. “My son has scores of
women vying for his attentions, either for his money, his title, or bragging rights. But you, Miss Hughes, are an enigma, if only for your clear disregard for all three. Like any man, he’ll want to determine why.”

“That’s not true. I quite like the idea of his money.”

“But not for yourself.”

“That’s not the point.”

“That’s exactly the point, dear.” Her expression became grave. “Now, listen carefully, Miss Hughes. The duke is going to have a great number of questions, especially when he gets a look at what lies beyond those oaks out back. Whenever possible, tell the truth. I’ve always found the truth is easier to remember. Establish yourself in the role he already assumes you fill. If he digs his heels in and decides to stick this out, there is only one thing that will enable you to do what will be required in just over a week.”

“What is that?”

“As long as the duke believes you are simply my hired companion, no matter what happens at Ascot, you will be above suspicion.”

Jenna forced herself to cast aside her discontentment, thinking of the people who were depending on her. She would succeed in outwitting the Duke of Worth because failure was simply not an option. Perhaps, if the fates were kind, the duke would reconsider his decision in the hours before dawn.

And leave before breakfast.

Sometime in the small hours of the morning, Will reconciled himself to his impulsive decision of the night before. He’d miss the stakes races at Epsom, that was true, and
that still needled. But after witnessing the aftermath of his mother’s ill-fated dinner party, he fully understood that the sacrifice was nonnegotiable.

He’d never liked Ascot. The turf itself was fine, as far as tracks went, though he found the longer distances of many of the races did not often suit his own mounts. It was everything else that he rebelled against. To start with, Ascot hosted only four consecutive days of races out of the entire year—four days that seemed more dedicated to pomp and pageantry than to the pure sport of racing. Society descended en masse for the first races and then stayed for the entire four days, Ascot being just a little too far from London to allow for daily return. At least at Epsom on Derby Day, most people came, watched, and left by nightfall.

Ascot was of value to the ton only as a place to see and be seen. They used the damn turf as a promenade in between races, for God’s sake, and it required hired men to push them back behind the rails so that they didn’t get trampled by the racehorses or—more important, as far as Will was concerned—cause injury to a horse or rider in their wanderings. It was one thing for them to conduct their social dramas at Almack’s or Rotten Row or Vauxhall, but that they made the racetrack just another backdrop for narcissistic theater maddened Will. The track was supposed to be where he could escape the political and matrimonial maneuverings of polite society. And it was for precisely that reason that he’d preferred to avoid Ascot entirely. Until now.

Though maybe this was meant to be, for this year was unlike any other. This year Will had a champion in his stable, a horse he had bred and trained himself. A horse that
would, with success, prove to everyone beyond a doubt that the Duke of Worth was to be taken seriously. Another peer might buy himself a winner. William Somerhall, on the other hand, had made one from scratch, and that was worth more than any amount of money.

He couldn’t deny that the Ascot Gold Cup was a very prestigious race. The distance was punishing, the competition fierce, and it took a rare horse to overcome both. A win on the track at Ascot would establish him as one of the preeminent horsemen of England, and that could only lead to great things. Yes, Will thought, warming to the idea, perhaps Ascot was indeed a blessing in disguise.

And the extra time would allow him to deal with whatever was amiss in the dower house. He would devote himself to straightening out his mother’s finances, reviewing her staff, and, most important, reshaping her reputation. His first order of business would be a heart-to-heart with Miss Hughes. If she was to remain as his mother’s companion, she would need to be more vigilant. Will planned to establish certain parameters for his mother’s behavior, and it would be up to Miss Hughes to enforce them.