The Deception (24 page)

“You will listen to me and you will believe me, and that will be the end to it, all right?”

Lord Edmund walked slowly back to his father and stood staring up at him. “The world is round. Repeat that.” “The world is round, Papa. Are you certain?” “Have I ever lied to you?”

“No, Papa. I’ve never even known you to be wrong.” Evangeline groaned.

Marianne Clothilde laughed until tears were swimming in her eyes.

“Good. The next time Mrs. Raleigh tells you that the world is flat, you will smile and nod, but you will know that the world is really round.”

“Yes, Papa.”

The duke smiled at his son, picked him up, and tucked him against his side.

“Goodness, your grace, that was well done,” Evangeline said, and Marianne Clothilde heard nothing but humor in that rich voice, no flirtatious sighs or giggles that her son was treated to so very often.

“Yes, I’m very impressed. Now, do not think that you’re intruding, Madame. I quite wanted to meet you. My son has told me a good bit about you.” “Oh, dear,” Evangeline said. “I told her that you were stubborn as a pig, a passing good rider, and you very much enjoyed the scenery at Chesleigh. Oh, yes, I did tell her that you also had a bit of charm.”

“I suppose I must be relieved that you didn’t go into a good deal of detail.”

“Why don’t you think I did? She’s my mother, after all. She admires me, tells me that I can do no wrong at all.”

“That is quite true,” Marianne Clothilde said. “But he’s my son. What’s a mother to do with such a splendid son?”

Evangeline groaned, the duke tossed Edmund once into the air, and Marianne Clothilde said, “Do come and sit down, Madame. I will ring for tea. May I call you Evangeline? Madame surely doesn’t fit on an earth that is round.”

“I don’t know, Grandmama,” Edmund said, frowning. “Mrs. Raleigh is always so certain when she tells me.”

“Round, Edmund,” the duke said. “Round.” “Yes, Papa. Grandmama, did Papa tell you that I’m the finest shot in the country?”

“He did say that you had cleanly shot Rex the peacock at least a dozen times.”

“Yes,” Edmund said, then gave a big yawn. Evangeline leaned down and pushed his face up with her fingers. “Now, I want no arguments. You’re as tired as your papa. Because you’re young, you’ll get to go with Ellen to the nursery and rest for just a little while.”

The duke lifted his son back into his arms. “No, I’ll take him to Ellen. Yes, I’ll come back. I won’t leave you to the dragon here. Mother, don’t frighten her to her toes while I’m gone.”

“But, Papa, what about my story? I’m ready to tell Grandmama more of my story.”

“You will, after you’ve reposed yourself.” He said from the doorway, “I’ll tell Grayson to bring tea.”

He left the young lady with her, quite alone. Marianne Clothilde prayed that this was the right woman for her son, prayed with all her heart. She gave her a charming smile that was quite natural. “Do sit down, Evangeline. Did you ride the entire time with Edmund?”

“All but one hour when I had the headache. His grace insisted that I ride with him.” “Ride with him?” Marianne Clothilde said. To her delight, Evangeline flushed. “You see, the duke was riding his beautiful stallion, and he said—in any case, I rode seated in front of him. That was all, your grace, truly.”

But it wasn’t all, Marianne Clothilde saw, and was immensely pleased. She said, “It’s nearly impossible to
say no to my son. He’s very forceful upon occasion.”

“Yes,” Evangeline said. “I have found that to be true.” Actually, he hadn’t forced her to do anything. Indeed, nothing at all had happened. Evangeline had leaned back against him, in the circle of his arms, and slept soundly. She hadn’t felt so safe in a very long time.

Marianne Clothilde patted the seat beside her, and Evangeline unfastened her cloak, laying it over the back of a chair, then sat down. Now, this was a very nice thing, Marianne Clothilde thought. The young lady had an elegant slim figure that, truth be told, was very much like her own—even to her very full bosom. She supposed that the gown had been Marissa’s, poor foolish girl.

“Actually, Evangeline,” Marianne Clothilde said after a moment, “my son finally admitted to me that he’d given you orders, quite in his best lord-of-the castle manner. As I recall, he came very close to snarling.”

“Oh, no,” Evangeline said. “He didn’t mean to do that precisely. He’s so very used to having everyone obey him instantly. It’s just that I couldn’t allow him to at that particular moment. That is—”

“I know. My son has been kind to you, all sweetness.”

“I’ve not ever known him to be sweet. That’s not in his character. He’s more often jesting to get his way, that, or he frowns at you, knowing that only a fool would dare to go against him and— Oh, dear, I don’t mean to insult your son, your grace. Truly, the duke has been very solicitous toward me. Yes, that’s the right word. He wouldn’t resent being called solicitous. Would he?”

Marianne Clothilde patted Evangeline’s clasped hands. “We will ask him. You don’t yet know me well enough, but I will tell you the truth. My son and I are very much alike, for better or for worse. You, my dear Evangeline,” she continued without pause, “are feeling very guilty, aren’t you?”

How could she possibly know?

When she said, “Yes, I suppose that I am,” she sounded terrified.

“You’re part of the family. You belong here for as long as it pleases you. Incidentally, Marissa’s gown becomes you. It’s an excellent color for you. I fancy Dorrie altered it for you?”

“Yes, she’s quite good.”

“I know. I realized that a very long time ago. I was the one who assigned her to Marissa. Marissa liked her very much.”

A tall, plump man with a headful of thick reddish-white hair came into the drawing room, carrying a heavy silver tea service in his black-clad arms. He had very thick dark red eyebrows that looked perpetually arched, making him look mildly surprised.

“Ah, Grayson, you’ve brought sustenance.”

“Yes, the kind of sustenance that pleases you, your grace.” He set the tray down on the table in front of them.

“Grayson and I grew up together,” Marianne Clothilde said as, to Evangeline’s surprise, the butler himself poured tea.

“Madame?”

“I like it plain, Grayson.”

“He’s so very good at it,” Marianne Clothilde said. “You see, I have arthritis. It has made me clumsy the past few years, so Grayson does many things for me.
That is another reason I cannot stay at Chesleigh. The damp chill makes the condition worse.” She smiled at the butler as she took her cup of tea from him. “I think we make an impressive pair, particularly now that our bones are brittle, our hair is graying, and our consequence is at its peak.”

“Just so, your grace,” Grayson said, “but I am of the opinion that the redder the hair, the more naturally consequence sits upon the shoulders.”

“You would,” Marianne Clothilde said as she gracefully bit into an apple tart. “Ah, this is excellent. Not as good as the Dinwitty cook of Phillip Mercerault’s, not as good as Mrs. Dent’s, but acceptable. Now, Grayson, this is Madame de la Valette. She is one of the family and is at present also Lord Edmund’s nanny.”

Grayson eyed Evangeline, then slowly nodded. “I believe this will do just fine,” he said, and left the drawing room.

Marianne Clothilde laughed. “Now, you’re staring at the scones. Do have one, Evangeline.”

“However do he and Bassick get along?” Evangeline said between bites of an apple-flavored scone.

Marianne Clothilde laughed. “Very astute of you, Evangeline. Actually, they’ve never met. The duke agrees with me that we should keep the households apart. Now, Tsar Ivan—that is what I have taken to calling our butler at St. John Court, Richard’s estate in the north—I have always thought him to be cut from far starchier cloth than either Grayson or Bassick. He unbent himself sufficiently upon one occasion to inform me that if the Conqueror had enjoyed the services of a butler, he would doubtless have been one of his ancestors.”

Evangeline was laughing when the duke entered the drawing room. He paused a moment on the threshold, a smile lighting his eyes. And such a smile, his mother thought, staring at him.

M
arianne Clothilde said, “Do come in and sit down, dearest, and pour yourself a cup of tea. Evangeline quite likes Cook’s scones. I’ve been telling her about Tsar Ivan.”

“Tsar Ivan is a terror,” the duke said. He added with a smile, “I gather from your laughter, Evangeline, that my mother hasn’t tried to interrogate you about the grandeur of your ancestors, accuse you of trying to steal my son’s affections, or threatened to pull out your toenails if you dare to provide a single criticism of either me or my son?”

“We have only discussed Tsar Ivan’s ancestors, your grace. Mine, as you know, are noble enough, but not at all as grand as his.”

“He’s an old Methodist. He quite terrified me when I was a boy. He still does.” He poured himself a cup of tea, refreshing his mother’s cup as well, something he did with his customary grace.

Evangeline laughed again, a lovely, free sound that seemed to expand in his chest, making him want to grab her in his arms and kiss her until he could manage to pull her gown down to her waist and caress her breasts and taste her and … dear God, he was in
his mother’s drawing room, drinking tea, and he was thinking about making love to her, kissing her until she was screaming his name. He shook himself and choked on the damned tea.

Marianne Clothilde banged him on his back. When he’d recovered, she thought he looked rather flushed, but said, “We have not yet discussed Mrs. Needle’s murder. Yes, I use that very stark word because it is the truth. Now, what do you know about all this?”

“Baron Lindley treated Evangeline to a dose of his idiocy, namely, that one of Mrs. Needle’s potions must have killed a man’s lover or wife and he strangled Mrs. Needle in his rage and in revenge. Nonsense, of course, but the old bugger, er, excuse me, the old idiot wanted nothing more than to go home and put his head back in his brandy bottle and his gouty foot up on a cushion.” He paused a moment. “We owe our thanks to Evangeline. She had dealt with just about everything before I came.” He paused for a moment, his dark eyes resting on the heavy emerald signet ring on his left hand. “I’ve taken steps to see that Chesleigh is more carefully guarded. Her murder makes no sense at all. She was harmless. And that scares me to my toes. Why was she killed? Why Mrs. Needle in particular? We will see. I don’t plan to simply forget it and go on. No, I will find out who did this and why.”

Evangeline wondered what he’d done, what he planned to do. Perhaps he would discover that traitors were using his private beach for entry into England. Perhaps he would discover that she’d betrayed him. She kept her eyes upon the Dresden china cup in her lap.

“I received a letter from Mrs. Raleigh,” Marianne Clothilde said after a moment. “Everyone is very distressed. I’m glad you won’t simply let life go on as
usual, my dear. Mrs. Needle was a dear old woman, and she
saw
so very much. Did I ever tell you that she foresaw your birth, down to the month and the very day? She told me that you would be more handsome than your father, smarter than I—which I scarce believed possible—and a grand lover, something a mother really didn’t care to hear.” She smiled and patted his shoulder. “Now, no more of this for now. We will speak later.”

Suddenly the duke stood up. “Evangeline is tired. I will take her to the Rose Chamber, and she can rest until dinner. We will dine here this evening, just the three of us. Come, Evangeline.” And he held his hand out to her. She looked up at him, and very slowly she nodded and gave him her hand.

“Oh, dear,” Marianne Clothilde said. “We have guests coming. I would be shot if I canceled this late. What shall we do?”

Evangeline heard the duke curse. “By any chance will Lady Pemberly be here? And Miss Storleigh?”

Marianne Clothilde gave her an engaging grin that was the very copy of the duke’s. “So you’ve met Eudora? She could be one of Wellington’s generals. Yes, she’ll be coming.”

“She and Tsar Ivan are two of a kind,” the duke said. “She was camping on my doorstep on Evangeline’s second evening at Chesleigh. She wanted to make certain that some fortune-hunting hussy wasn’t there to take advantage of me. She dragged Drew and John Edgerton with her. She was in excellent spirits when she left. She approved of Evangeline.”

“Will Lord Pettigrew and John Edgerton also be coming, your grace?”

“I will invite them,” Marianne Clothilde said. “Two
more gentlemen at the table is just what I had in mind. Hopefully they will come.”

And Evangeline knew that John Edgerton would certainly come, damn him to hell.

Marianne Clothilde turned to the duke. “It is very strange. Drew is constantly with Felicia. He’s seen everywhere with her.” She shook her head. “It never ceases to amaze me which girl will make a man fall to his knees.”

“It’s repellent, Mother. No man should ever fall to his knees.” “I was speaking only metaphorically.” “It is still repellent. No man worth his salt would ever be brought that low. My God, I doubt Felicia could stop chattering even when they are—well, never mind that, but it’s nonetheless true.” He brought himself to a halt as his mother’s teacup rattled in its saucer.

Evangeline wasn’t listening. She wondered how she was going to get a message to John Edgerton, and the duke’s mother had solved the problem for her. She ran her tongue over her lips. “I thank you for allowing me to come, your grace.”

“What do you think, Richard? Should I instead have a tray sent to Evangeline’s room?”

“I should prefer that both of us could eat in my library, alone, in front of a nice warm fire.”

“That isn’t an alternative,” Marianne Clothilde said. “You will gird your loins, dearest.”

“At least you will rest now,” the duke said, pulling Evangeline closer to his side. His mother’s beautifully arched dark brows went up a good inch. This was fascinating. His tone was peremptory.

Evangeline merely nodded. At least now she would have some time alone, to think, to decide what she
would tell Edgerton. She wanted nothing more than to kill him.