To Capture a Duke's Heart (31 page)

“I see,” Gabriel replied, careful to hide his underlying amusement.

“You, Gabriel, should count your blessings,” Agatha professed then, as a rare smile replaced her derisive expression, “for you are a fortunate man and a great deal more so than poor Patrick.  As not only has your wife taken society by storm and proven herself to be a most fitting duchess, but it is abundantly clear that the darling girl is quite head over heels in love with you as well.”

Though Gabriel’s amusement abruptly vanished, he was careful to maintain a pleasant façade.  “And how, pray tell, did you come to that rather bold supposition?”

“Alas, one thing our dear girl is not,” Agatha proclaimed good-naturedly, “is adept at concealing her emotions.  For Penelope wears her heart on her sleeve for all to see; and as I watched her throughout the Season’s progression it became exceedingly obvious that she utterly adores you.”

Gabriel feigned a smile, biting back the disavowal that caught bitterly within his throat.    

“Although,” she continued with a slight, cynical wave of her hand, “with time even our darling Penelope will doubtless perfect the art of masking her true feelings, just like the rest of us world-weary souls.”

“Indeed,” he replied tonelessly. 

“In any event, it’s regrettable that she wasn’t able to accompany you this weekend, for I so enjoy our little chats. Nevertheless, one can hardly blame her for not wishing to make the journey for something as trivial as this mindless little affair; and I do hope that the poor dear is feeling better soon.”

“I’m certain that she will be,” he avowed, especially considering that she
wasn’t
in fact ill, as he’d claimed.  But unfortunately, due to Penelope’s marked absence, he’d been forced to spin a tale of his own.

“And you’ll be sure to give her my regards when you return to Berkshire?”

“I shall,” he dissembled.

“Well then,” Agatha stated, affecting an exaggerated sigh, “I had best check in on Millicent before she commits some dreadful faux pas and this nonsensical weekend becomes the next source of fodder for the gossipmongers.” 

“Of course.”

As the dowager duchess then took her leave, Gabriel was left gnashing his teeth in silent frustration, wishing that he could have told Agatha just how wrong she was about her
darling
Penelope.  Head over heels in love with him indeed, he thought disgustedly.  Although, he had to admit that it
was
slightly comforting to know that he wasn’t the only person Penelope had managed to deceive, especially as he had always considered the duchess to be a most excellent judge of character. 

He had little time to ponder the matter further, however, as he noted Rafael’s sudden approach just a few moments later.  Likely his brother had been biding his time until Agatha’s departure, he mused, as the ever-observant duchess, one of the few people who didn’t hesitate to chasten his wickedly charming brother for his oft-times rakehell behavior, was undoubtedly aware of his shameless and continued pursuit of the fair Mrs. Elcot.

“Tell me, Gabe,” Rafael said, his expression reflecting a hint of amusement as he reached his brother’s side just seconds later, “have you done something to further incite Lady Beckford’s umbrage or is the countess still harboring a grudge from the resounding set down you gave her in Scotland?” 

“I beg your pardon?”

Rafael angled his head toward the small group of women, all with brightly-colored croquet mallets in hand, who stood on the opposite end of the Flitwick’s neatly-manicured front lawn.  “I only ask as I happened to glimpse the countess staring at you as I passed, or rather
glaring
at you
I should say, with an expression that could only be described as
decidedly hostile
.”

“You don’t say,” Gabriel remarked unperturbedly, for he’d caught a fair number of those selfsame glares himself during the past months.  “But to answer your question,
no
, I have done nothing to further provoke my disagreeable stepmother-in-law’s animosity.  And as far as I know, she and Beckford are as yet unaware of Penelope’s expulsion from Ainsworth Park.”

“Well whatever you said to her in Scotland must have left one hell of an impression then, for it would appear that the woman’s feelings of enmity haven’t lessened in the slightest.  In fact, I have seldom seen a look filled with such blatant ill will,” Rafael declared.  “Although, if you’ll recall,” he continued with a pointed
I told you so
look, “I
did
warn you that hell hath no fury.”

“Like a woman scorned,” Gabriel replied with a dismissive “humph” as he turned to watch one of the Flitwick’s English Mastiffs bound across the yard in pursuit of an errant tennis ball.  “
Yes
, I remember.”

“Hell, if I didn’t know that the countess all but despises Penelope, I might think to wonder if the vile woman had aided in her stepdaughter’s nefarious plot that night in Scotland,” he stated in a derisory tone, “if for no other reason than to get back at
you
for spurning her amorous advances.”

“What did you just say?” Gabriel asked, turning back to his brother.

Rafael regarded him uncertainly.  “Which part?”

“You said that the countess all but despises Penelope?”

“Yes… and?” 

“And whatever would lead you to believe that Lady Beckford
despises
her stepdaughter?”

“Well, I suppose I first got the impression from talking with Penelope, but it was one of Michael’s conversations with Lady Eleanor that confirmed it.”

“How so?”

“Where exactly are you going with this, Gabe?” Rafael queried, clearly bewildered.  “I mean, why the sudden interest in Penelope’s relationship with her stepmother?”

Gabriel ignored the question, his brows drawing together as he struggled to recall what Penelope had said to him that night, the night he’d returned home from Vienna. 
I don’t know who or why someone would have done such an unspeakable thing to either you or to me. 
Was it possible that Lady Beckford…?
 
But no, if it was true that Beckford’s wife harbored such an intense dislike of her stepdaughter, then surely the very last thing she would have wanted was for Penelope to become the next Duchess of Ainsworth? 

Damn it all!  He was doing it again, he realized, acting like the veriest of fools by giving actual consideration to Penelope’s ridiculous claims. 

“Gabe?”

I would never lie to you.  I love you.
  Unless… he thought suddenly, the countess hadn’t wanted Penelope to become his duchess at all; and instead, had anticipated that the shocking and scandalous discovery of her stepdaughter lying asleep in his bed, would have resulted in an entirely
different
outcome altogether. 

“Gabe?”

He blinked, returning his attention to his brother.  “That morning, when you and Michael encountered Lady Beckford in the hallway, did it strike you as odd that she told you that Penelope was
missing
?”

“Wait,” Rafael said, his curious expression instantly altering to one of incredulity, “you can’t possibly think that Lady Beckford…” he trailed off then, with a disbelieving shake of his head.  “But… it makes no sense.  Besides, just think about it for moment.  It would have been nigh impossible for a woman of her size and strength to get Penelope from her bed into yours, especially if she was drugged and unconscious.”

“No,” Gabriel agreed, thinking back to that morning, recalling Beckford’s words as they’d discussed how to get Penelope back to her own chamber without being observed. 
We are going to need to enlist the help of my wife’s maid.  The woman has been in her employ for over a decade and is fiercely loyal. 
“She most certainly would have needed help.” 

“Gabe, you can’t be serious?”

Fool
, his inner voice cried out, but still he said, “And what if there is even the
slightest
possibility that Penelope is telling the truth?”

Gabriel watched as Rafael inhaled and then exhaled a long, drawn out breath, and then, for the next several moments, they simply stared at one another in contemplative silence.

“If Lady Beckford
was
involved,” Rafael stated after a time, his tone dubious, “you can’t expect that she would ever admit to it.”

“Of course not.  Which is
precisely
why I don’t intend to ask her.”

“But-”

“Find Michael and meet me back here in twenty minutes,” Gabriel directed as he abruptly turned toward the house, leaving Rafael standing on the grass to stare after him as he walked swiftly away.

It was approximately thirty minutes later when Rafael answered the light knock that sounded upon the door of the Flitwick’s second floor sitting room, opening it to reveal the middle-aged, nondescript maid standing on the other side.

“Oh, pardon me, my lord,” she said, eyeing Rafael in apparent confusion.  “But I was informed by one of Lady Flitwick’s staff that my mistress, Lady Beckford, was within and had need of my assistance.”

“Indeed you were,” Rafael replied with a nod, widening the door to allow her entry into the room.

She crossed the threshold, moving a few steps past Rafael as he closed the door behind her and then turned the metal lock with an audible click.  Pausing where she stood, she effected a quick, sweeping glance around the room, her eyes widening perceptibly as she noted that the only other occupants of the room were Gabriel and Michael, both of whom were standing near the narrow set of windows overlooking the side lawn.

“Please, come in,” Gabriel directed, motioning her forward as he stepped away from the wall and made his way toward her from across the room.

She hesitated for a moment and then took two tentative steps forward, her face reflecting her obvious sense of unease. 

“I can’t help noting that you seem somewhat distressed,” Gabriel remarked as he advanced toward her.

“I was told that… Lady Beckford was awaiting me here,” she responded fretfully, her anxious gaze futilely scanning the room once again.

“Alas, I am afraid that she is not,” he confirmed as he stopped just a few feet in front of her.  “And please, you shall have to forgive me,” he said then, his tone reflecting an exaggerated degree of politeness, “for whilst I believe our paths crossed briefly in Scotland, I cannot seem to recall having learned your name.”

She eyed him guardedly, the muscles of her throat visibly working as she swallowed.  “It’s… Mavis, Your Grace,” she replied after a moment, bobbing a hasty, belated curtsey before him.

“Well,
Mavis
,” he said then, “as Lady Beckford
did not
in fact summon you, I imagine that you must be wondering why you’re here.”

She swallowed again, nodding her head the tiniest fraction.

“Perhaps you’d like to have a seat?”  Gabriel motioned to one of the room’s red and gold, damask patterned armchairs. 

Mavis darted an anxious glance over her shoulder to where Rafael remained standing in front of the room’s only door, before slowly moving to the chair and then perching her sticklike frame upon the very edge of the seat cushion. 

Settling onto the matching chair next to hers, Gabriel regarded the woman silently for a moment.  “So, tell me Mavis,” he said in a deceptively pleasant tone, “why do
you
think you’re here?”  Watching her, he could see the mounting fear reflected in her dark-brown eyes; and in that instant he knew that his earlier assumption had been correct. 

“I don’t…” she faltered, cleared her throat and tried again.  “I don’t know, Your Grace.”

All traces of his earlier pleasantness vanished as Gabriel pinned her with a harsh, accusing stare.  “Oh, but I think that you do.”

Mavis visibly quailed, her eyes flitting from Gabriel to Michael to Rafael and then back to Gabriel as she clasped her hands together, wringing them upon her lap as he regarded her in stony silence. 

When at last she spoke, her voice was trembling, “I didn’t want to do it, Your Grace.  I swear to you I didn’t.  But… Lady Beckford, she…”

For a moment Gabriel felt as if the air had been completely knocked out of him, for to hear his suspicions confirmed by the countess’ cowering maid, was to know that Penelope had been telling the truth all along. 

Across from him, Mavis began to rock slowly back and forth upon her chair, her hands twisting desperately in her lap as tears began to fall slowly down her ashen face.

Several seconds later, when Gabriel was able to breathe once again, he said in a deep, commanding tone, “I want you to tell me
everything
that happened that night, Mavis; and I expect your account to include each and every exacting detail.”

Some twenty minutes later, once Gabriel was duly satisfied that Mavis had told him all she knew about the events that had transpired upon that fateful night in Scotland, he issued his final instruction. “If you so much as speak a single word of this conversation to your mistress without my leave, I will have you arrested and thrown into the lowest pits of Newgate, where I will personally see to it that you spend the remainder of your life,” he avowed in a purposefully harsh and unyielding tone.  “Do you understand?”