Blame It on Bath: The Truth About the Duke Page 19

  “You could bury it in your garden and dig out a few pounds at a time.”

  “Even posting the letters would make me nervous,” she added. “It must cost a good sum to send a letter from Bath to Sussex. I would be in a state of fright someone at the post office might ask why I was sending a letter to a duke.”

  “An excellent point.” He grinned at her. “The clerk did remember the fellow who posted one letter. He’d never seen a letter to a duke before.”

  “I would be beside myself over that very worry,” she said. “But once I’d put my mind to it, I wouldn’t wait months, as you said. I would wish it to be finished as soon as possible. This person must have a very strong constitution, and a very strong desire to cause trouble. Every few months he’s sent another letter to infuriate you all even more, as if he didn’t wish you to think he’d gone away and forgotten. Like a cat letting a mouse run away, only to pounce on it again.”

  He looked at her in surprise. “That’s true. Perhaps money isn’t the villain’s object at all. Perhaps he just wants to ruin my father—or rather, me and my brothers. No one ever questioned Durham’s right to his title. He could have had ten wives and still held the dukedom. Even had he not already died, nothing the blackmailer did could displace him,” he went on, slowly putting facts in order. “My mother died years ago, so is also beyond the reach of any harm. Charlie, Edward, and I are the ones who shall suffer—who are suffering. I can’t think of anyone who would wish that on us, except Father’s cousin Augustus, who stands next in line for the title if Charlie is denied it. And if Augustus is behind this plot, he’s got no need at all of poking at us like caged bears. He can petition the Crown for the title and sweep it out from beneath us.” He fell silent for a moment, trying to comprehend it. “So someone wishes to torment us at leisure. It would certainly explain the letters and their drawn-out timing. The demand for money that was never repeated. And so far, no public denunciation. All the blackmailer has done is turn my family upside down.”

  “How did the rumors begin if he hasn’t denounced you?”

  “My brother Edward told his fiancée.”

  Kate’s face darkened, and for a moment she looked rather fierce. “His fiancée gossiped about your family troubles?”

  “No,” he said, surprisingly pleased by her outrage. “Her father sold the story to a gossip rag because he’d squandered his fortune at the gaming tables. He had staved off ruin on his daughter’s expectations. If Edward were to be disinherited, he wouldn’t be wealthy enough to save them.”

  “How appalling,” she exclaimed.

  “Edward’s well rid of her,” Gerard said frankly. “He thought he loved her, which is why he trusted her, but she obviously didn’t return the feeling.”

  She stared at him. “Yes,” she murmured after a pause. “If she didn’t love him enough to keep his secret, he’s well rid of her.”

  He pulled her into his arms, tucking her against his chest, and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “And now you must keep it secret also. I don’t want anyone to know what I’m searching for. If this fellow learns I’m in Bath looking for him, he’ll be on guard.”

  “I won’t say a word,” she promised.

  “Especially not to Lady Darby and Mrs. Woodforde.”

  She smiled in acknowledgment. “Especially not, although they are very dear ladies.”

  “Granted.” He rested his cheek on her temple. He’d thought it was a kindness not to burden Kate with his worries, but it felt surprisingly good to talk it over with her. “You made excellent points about the minister and his clerk. I find it unlikely they would be behind this, but it’s not impossible.”

  “If you’re having difficulties finding the letter writer, it does no harm to look in different directions, just to be sure.”

  He sighed. “My father didn’t even recall the clerk’s name. And there may well be a hundred William Ogilvies in Somerset, to say nothing of all England.”

  “It’s not that common a name. Surely a few inquiries wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Then I shall keep my ears alert for any mention of the name.”

  He smiled again at her loyal determination to help. It was rather endearing to think of her as his champion. “If you hear word of him, let me know at once.”

  “I will.” She nodded firmly. “One way or another we’ll find the wretch behind this.”

  We. Now it wasn’t only for his sake; he had her reputation and happiness to protect as well. Gerard held her tight, and said a quick prayer he would be worthy of her trust and confidence. “One way or another.”

  Chapter 18

  Much to Kate’s delight, Cora Fitzwilliam sent an invitation to go walking. Feeling very pleased to have a friend her own age, she answered Cora’s message in the affirmative, and that afternoon they set out.

  Cora turned out to be a passionate walker. She suggested climbing Beechen Cliff, saying the view was beautiful, and Kate agreed. Together they crossed the river and climbed to the top of the cliff, which loomed just across the river to the south of Bath. It was a steeper climb than it looked from the safe confines of the town, and Kate, not much used to climbing hills, felt rather winded by the time they reached the top, and she paused to catch her breath. Showing no such signs of fatigue, Cora urged her on to a particular spot. “You can see all of Bath,” she said, laughing. “Come! If I sit down here, I’ll not get up for an hour, and the view is so much better from over there.”

  Kate was sure she could sit anywhere on the hillside and enjoy the view, as long as she was off her aching feet. But she let Cora tow her to the desired spot and was immediately glad. “How beautiful,” she exclaimed. The town lay below, nestled into the curve of the River Avon, like a mosaic of white stone and dark slate roofs set into the surrounding green hills, spiraling out from the Abbey Church in the center. It seemed one could see for miles, and for a moment she felt almost dizzy at the endless stretch of landscape below her.

  “I think so.” Cora directed her servant to spread out the blanket on the grass and settled herself upon it. “I could sit here all day sometimes.”

  Kate made her way to the blanket and sat down, holding her breath for a moment as her ankles throbbed with relief. “I could certainly sit here for a while today.”

  Cora smiled. “It’s not as bad going down. But I understand. The first time I came, I was afraid I’d never be able to make it back to town.” She drew up her knees in a very unladylike posture and folded her arms around them, gazing over the view. “Now I walk here every week if the weather permits.” She flashed a quick smile at Kate. “Though normally without such pleasant company.”

  “It’s very peaceful.” And solitary. It was the sort of retreat Kate liked, a quiet, lovely spot where she needn’t feel dull or awkward. But she was quiet by nature. She wondered what brought vivacious Cora out here alone every week. “Thank you for inviting me to come with you.”

  “Nonsense! I’m so glad to have a friend who appreciates it. Most people think only of the other people in Bath—much like London, I understand. It grows tiring.”

  “Have you been long in Bath?”

  Sorrow flickered over the other woman’s face. “Since Danny was wounded last year. It would have been too hard on him to spend the winter isolated in the country.”

  “Yes,” said Kate softly, thinking of the long years at Howe Manor in Sussex. Even she had found it dull and constraining. “It can be hard.”

  “But you must tell me of London, for I’ve never been,” said Cora with renewed brightness.

  Kate smiled ruefully. “This was only my second visit, and it was no happier than the first. I confess I haven’t a good account of the city to give. I was still in mourning for my late husband when we went this year.”

  “Oh my dear,” gasped Cora. “Forgive me—I’d no idea—”

  “No, no! I didn’t mean to . . .” She stopped, mortified. “I only meant I didn�
�t get to enjoy many of London’s delights.”

  “The fault is mine, for prying.”

  “How could you have known?” asked Kate simply. She avoided Cora’s dismayed eyes. “In truth, don’t think you caused me any pain. It wasn’t a true mourning. I didn’t love my first husband; we hardly knew each other. His death was merely like another of his long absences.” She looked over the town below them. “I do believe I like Bath a great deal more than London anyway.”

  “You have taken it by storm.” Cora took the hint, much to Kate’s relief. “I vow, even Danny commented that he wished he could dance, when you and the captain arrived the other evening at the Assembly Rooms.”

  “I would have been very happy to dance with him.” Kate hesitated. “Perhaps you would feel free to dance yourself, then.”

  Cora held up her hand in mock horror. “Come now—don’t you take his side against me! I shan’t dance just to please him, nor even you.”

  “Of course not! You must dance to please yourself.”

  “Precisely,” Cora said, before Kate had completed the sentence. “It just doesn’t please me to dance.”

  With a swift bolt of insight, Kate realized why Cora wouldn’t dance, and why she came up to Beechen Cliff to be alone. “You loved your husband very much, didn’t you?”

  Cora’s lips trembled, but her smile didn’t dim. “Very much.” She looked away, shading her eyes. “Marks! Bring the picnic, please.” Her servant, lounging under a nearby stand of trees, nodded and got up to bring the basket. “Climbing the hill always makes me ravenously hungry,” she confided to Kate. “I hope you are hungry as well, or I shall devour the whole luncheon.”

  Kate laughed, accepting the change of subject. She assured Cora she was also hungry, and they spread out the cold meats and strawberries the servant carried over. She liked Cora very much, and she was beginning to think the two of them weren’t so dissimilar, despite their opposite natures. Cora thought she’d caused pain by asking a question that led, however inadvertently, to mention of the late Lord Howe. Kate, who had some acquaintance with burying feelings deep, saw now the subtle signs of anguish in her new friend. Gerard told her Cora was the widow of a naval man, nothing more. For a moment Kate allowed a little door in her mind to open, just enough to consider the possibility that her own husband might not come back from his next campaign, and all she would have of him would be the memories of their weeks in Bath and a condoling letter from his commanding officer. Just the thought made her chest tighten and her eyes blur. With a shiver she slammed that door shut.

  “I have to visit Mrs. Goddard’s shop,” she said, grasping the first happy subject she could find. “I still have only the smallest wardrobe.”

  “Indeed?” Cora’s eyes lit with pleasure and relief, as if she, too, were happy to shake off maudlin thoughts. “She’s a wonderful dressmaker. Her advice is always perfectly attuned to my desires.”

  “I don’t even know what my desires are,” confessed Kate. “I was assured for so long that quiet colors like beige suited me, but I find—I find I prefer blue and green and other bright colors.”

  “Quiet colors!” exclaimed Cora. “No, of course not. The blue gown suited you beautifully the other night. Whoever said beige would flatter you?”

  Kate bit her lip. “My mother.”

  “Oh.” Cora put her hand over her mouth. “Well, not every mother has an eye for such things . . .”

  “My mother does,” Kate assured her. “She’s far more beautiful than I.”

  Cora looked doubtful. “Beige?”

  “The captain suggested I order a red dress.”

  “Hmm. Yes, a nice ruby red would look lovely,” said Cora slowly, eyeing Kate with a thin line of concentration between her brows. “None of those bright, garish reds. Mrs. Goddard has a good selection of silks in, newly arrived. Oh!” Her face shone. “One of them is the most brilliant gold lustring. It would look splendid on you!”

  “Gold?”

  “Goodness, yes, with pearls on the bodice and perhaps scarlet trim—” She burst out laughing. “You’ve made me want to dash down the cliff right to her shop!”

  “Really?” Kate smiled hesitantly. She had rarely ordered clothing on her own; her mother always managed to oversee the process. The idea of ordering clothing like Cora described sounded enormously appealing. Cora never looked less than lovely, even today, dressed for hill climbing. While Kate was pleased with the new clothing she had purchased already, it only made her eager to have more. “You are welcome to come and advise me—most welcome.”

  “I happily accept. A dressmaker’s shop is my favorite spot on earth.”

  Kate glanced around the hillside. “After this one.”

  Cora grinned, and a look of true comradeship passed between them. “Yes. After this one.”

  Kate’s belongings arrived from London a few days later. Unfortunately they arrived in the company of her mother and Lucien.

  “There was no need to bring them yourself,” she said, trying to conceal her dismay.

  Mama was unwinding the veil from her hat and glancing around with delight and interest at the hall. “Why shouldn’t we come? Bath is lovely, and I’ve never been. And my dear, dear daughter, so well married! And so suddenly! I was quite driven out of London, darling, by the incessant questions about the captain. It was unendurable—really, my dear, if you didn’t wish me to come to Bath, you should have kept your new husband in town long enough to satisfy everyone’s curiosity.” She gave Kate a vaguely admonishing glance. “It was a trying journey, you know, and my health hasn’t been all it might be. And now you’ve not got even a kind word of welcome for your mother.”

  “You are very welcome to Bath, of course,” Kate said after only a slight pause. She stepped forward to kiss her mother’s offered cheek. “I just didn’t expect you to come all the way out to Somerset and miss part of the Season in town. I know how you look forward to it all winter.”

  “For my only child, I shall bear the sacrifice.” She smiled, her gaze wandering toward the stairs. “And where is your husband, dear? I am ever so anxious to know my son-in-law better.”

  “He’s not at home now.” She stepped back to allow Bragg and the footman to carry in her last trunk. As pleased as she was to have her things again, they came at rather a high cost. Lucien followed, slapping his gloves against his palm. He looked thinner, and there were shadows under his eyes. Kate avoided his gaze as she dipped a curtsey. “Welcome to Bath, Lucien.”

  “Thank you, Katherine my dear.” His voice was as cool as ever. “I trust you are well.” It didn’t sound as though it would give him any pleasure.

  All her wariness of Lucien rushed back. For a moment her muscles instinctively slid into the lax expressionless pose she had found such safety in during her years as a member of the Howe family. Everything inside her recoiled into the small, safe place inside her where she had learned to hide her emotions and thoughts, to make herself almost invisible.

  Then she stopped herself. What was she doing? Marriage to Gerard had saved her from this. She was no longer subject to Lucien’s disapproval, and she no longer had to hide behind a mask. She lifted her head and looked directly into his frosty blue eyes. “Yes, thank you, I am quite well,” she said. Compared to what her life would have been with him, she was splendidly, brilliantly well. For a moment Gerard’s lazy, seductive grin flashed across her mind, and she even smiled. “Very well indeed.”

  His mouth turned down. “I am glad to hear it.”

  “Do you plan to stay long in Bath?” she asked, when an awkward silence descended.

  “Why, goodness, I don’t know,” exclaimed her mother. “I suppose we shall see how it suits us.”

  “A week,” said Lucien at the same time.

  Mama looked at him in unhappy surprise. “Oh no, Lucien dear. A week is far too short a time. I must see my daughter again and become acquainted with my new son-in-law. It is a mother’s duty to see that
her child is settled, you know—you would understand if you had children of your own. Really you must look for a bride. Perhaps a lady in Bath will accept you since none of the London gels took your fancy.”

  Lucien’s eyes flashed with fury even though his face didn’t change. “I cannot think of marriage at this time, madam. You may remember the reason why.”

  “Well, it was very hard of Katherine to disappoint you so, but you certainly would have done the same in her shoes. A Durham!” She sighed happily. “Where is he, Katherine dear?”

  “He is out, Mama,” Kate repeated.

  “Oh.” Her mother finally seemed to accept that she was telling the truth and quit peering around the hall. “Well, he will surely be home for dinner, and we shall see him then.”

  Kate gazed at her. This was always the way with Mama; when she wanted something, she kept at it until Kate wore down and gave it to her, no matter how reluctantly. She felt the old ingrained instinct to do it now, in fact. But she didn’t want to dine with her mother fawning over Gerard and Lucien glowering at them all, and luckily they’d already promised to attend a dinner party with Cora and Lieutenant Carter. She kept her head up though her clasped fingers tensed around each other. “Yes, he will return home before dinner—”

  “Lovely.” Her mother turned a bright, almost proud smile on her. “What time shall we arrive, Katherine dear? I’m so accustomed to town hours, I’ve no idea how people live out in the country anymore.”

  “Unfortunately we are already engaged for dinner this evening and cannot dine with you,” Kate finished evenly. “I hope you will be able to join us tomorrow evening.”

  The hall fell silent. Her mother’s blue eyes rounded, and her lips parted. She managed to look hurt and irked at the same time. “Oh, Katherine . . . You won’t change your plan even to see your own mother?”