Blame It on Bath: The Truth About the Duke Read online

  Mrs. Nollworth’s grip on her ladle eased. Her eyes went to her husband, who gave her a significant nod. “Well . . . I’m sure we can come to an agreement. If it’s something of very dear interest to your family . . .” She put on a pious expression. “I’m sure my papa would wish to help you if he could.”

  “Thank you, madam.”

  Finally she allowed her husband to bundle her out the door. “Do call for help if you need it,” she called back.

  Gerard stepped to the doorway and gave her a parting smile as Nollworth dragged her toward the house. “We shall.” He turned back to survey the mess once more. “Good God.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Carter carefully kicked a rusty pail out of the way. “You’re certain what you need is in here?”

  “If I was, I would have given him the two hundred pounds for the lot and had it carted back to Bath.” Gerard set aside his hat and took off his jacket. “I understand if you cannot stay. Nollworth led me to believe it was a trunk or two full of books.” He had explained their goal on the ride to Allenton.

  Carter shook his head, following Gerard’s lead and removing his coat and hat. “No, I’ve nothing to do in Bath. This is better than having Cora fret over me.”

  Kate. Gerard’s eyes closed for a moment as the name Cora made him think of his wife. If only they’d been able to have a proper conversation before he left. If only he’d known what to say to her. If only . . . The best he could hope for now was that the right response would come to him as they worked, and he could patch things up with Kate when he returned to town.

  “Let’s start with that one.” He kicked a nearby crate. “With any luck we’ll find it in there and can be on our way by morning.”

  But it soon became clear that was not to be. The crate contained clothing and an odd collection of what appeared to be theatrical costumes. By the time they got to the bottom, without uncovering a single book of any kind, the air was thick with dust and the smell of mildewed wool. Gerard forced the door open all the way, and Carter opened the small, dirty window. The light was changing, shifting to long shadows, but Gerard had a feeling the whole structure would go up in flames if he lit the lantern hanging from a nail by the door.

  Bragg returned from securing rooms at the nearby inn, and together they lifted down another crate. From the sheer weight of it, Gerard guessed it must have some books in it, but he was wrong; it was newspapers, sporting forms, betting slips, pamphlets, bills of every sort. Some was easy to discard, but there were letters interspersed with the rubbish, and he and Carter tried to make some sense of these before tossing them aside. He tried to sift through it as quickly as possible, but it was hopeless, given the waning light and the faded ink. He put down a stack and looked at his companions. Bragg had just finished repacking the first crate, and Carter was frowning over another letter, turning it on end to read the lines written crossways for economy. There was straw in his hair, and his shirtsleeves were almost black with grime. Gerard was sure he looked no better.

  “Well, well, I see you’re getting on well enough.” Nollworth stood in the doorway, rubbing his hands.

  Gerard got to his feet. “It would proceed a little faster if we could take things to a better place and examine them.”

  “Not a one,” said Nollworth with a mean little smile. “My wife, you see, is very attached to her father’s things. Won’t give them up easily.”

  “So far I’ve not found anything worth taking,” he muttered. “Carter?”

  Carter caught his eye. “One man’s private effects.” He tossed the letter back into the open crate. “It should have been burned years ago.”

  Nollworth scowled. “Then you won’t be back tomorrow, I expect.”

  “You persuaded us to come all this way. We’ll be back tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after if we wish.” He reached for his coat. “I shall not be pleased, Mr. Nollworth, if you’ve brought us on a fool’s errand. If there are no ledgers or books in these trunks . . .” Gerard slapped his hat on this head. “You asked two hundred pounds for this dross. Some might call that extortion.”

  The old man glared viciously. “If you don’t come back in the morn, I’ll know what to do.”

  “We’ll be back,” Gerard said flatly. “Good eve, sir.”

  They retired to the inn and sat down to a late dinner. Carter was more animated than ever, and Gerard was glad of it. He listened almost absently as Carter talked of his recuperation and of his fears for his sister, who had lost her husband at the Battle of Basque Roads the previous year and, in Carter’s belief, still felt his absence too keenly.

  “I told her not to marry a sailing man,” he said, gesturing to his wounded leg. “She could see how careless the army is of its men, and the Royal Navy is no better. But she would not be warned; a woman is utterly irrational when she fancies herself in love.”

  Gerard looked up, roused from his thoughts. “Irrational?”

  Carter smiled ruefully. “Yes, I remember when Fitzwilliam began coming around, brash and clever. Cora thought the sun rose and set with his comings and goings, and anyone who said otherwise was a puling fool. My father tried to dissuade her, too, until my mother told him it was no use; Cora’s heart was her own to give, and it wouldn’t be given where her father directed.”

  Her own to give . . . “Was Fitzwilliam unworthy, then?”

  Carter hesitated, sorrow flickering over his face. “No. He was worthy. It broke my sister’s heart when his ship went down.”

  Gerard went to his room in a somber mood. He didn’t want to break Kate’s heart. Hell, he didn’t think she was wise to trust him with such a fragile, precious thing. He thought of Cora Fitzwilliam, losing the husband she adored. He thought of his father’s rough voice all those years ago, admitting he didn’t want Gerard’s mother to die. In his years in the army he’d seen hundreds of men die, and many of them left behind wives and children. Part of his desire for a simple marriage of convenience was rooted in that experience; he was only on leave from his regiment for a few months. There was a real chance a French marksman would pick him off in some battle, or a camp fever would catch him. Gerard hoped his bride would mourn him. But suffer a broken heart?

  He got out a sheet of paper to write to Kate. He would express his gratitude for her affections. He would say he was honored to have won her heart. He would vow to be a good husband. He dipped the pen into the ink and poised the pen over the paper, and the words scattered. He watched morosely as the pen dripped once, twice on the paper before he shoved it back into the inkpot.

  Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow he would send her a note. She would be curious to know how things were proceeding, and if he’d found anything helpful at Nollworth’s. Yes, tomorrow, after a good night’s sleep, he would find the right words. He slapped one hand down on the table, glad the decision was made, and his eye caught the paper. The ink had bled into two teardrop-shaped blots, rather like a heart split in two. Gerard swept up the paper and tossed it into the grate, where the fire seized it and consumed it at once. He watched the inky heart char and flake before finally disintegrating, and it made him feel like the lowest creature on earth.

  Bloody, bloody hell.

  Chapter 24

  At first Kate was glad Gerard had gone. It gave her some privacy to settle her emotions and come to terms with the fact that he didn’t love her. Hope still hovered around her heart, but wearily she wrestled it into quiet submission. Without his presence, she could view things more practically. When he wasn’t there to seduce her or charm her, she was able to steady her heart and think. She would be herself again by the time he was home.

  When he didn’t return in two days, she reminded herself he hadn’t known what he would find. Lieutenant Carter and Bragg had both gone with him, and surely one of them would send word if there was trouble, or if they needed anything. She told herself it must mean there was something to examine, something of value. Perhaps he was even now discovering the proof he sough
t that would establish once and for all his own legitimacy.

  When he didn’t return in four days, she began to wonder why he didn’t send her a note, even a curt line to say he was delayed but all was well. Or even return home quickly to fetch fresh clothing. Allenton was less than twenty miles away, not an insurmountable distance to a man with a sound horse. Even Bragg would have been a welcome sight.

  She went to visit Cora, hoping to hear if Lieutenant Carter might have written his sister. Much to her surprise and delight, the man himself was there when she arrived.

  “How fortunate I should see you,” he exclaimed.

  “Yes,” she said warmly. “I’ve been curious to know what you’ve discovered.”

  “Well, nothing yet, but de Lacey has hopes. Our fellow Ogilvie seems to have kept everything he ever picked up, and his daughter, Mrs. Nollworth, squirreled away every last piece of it. A fortunate turn for our purpose but dashed tedious to sort out. It may take another month to examine everything. The Nollworths are very particular, for all that they’ve stored every bill and worn-out hat as if they were treasures of antiquity.”

  “Then you believe it is the right man?”

  Carter nodded. “It seems hard to credit there could be two such scoundrels of the same age named William Ogilvie, living in the same county. De Lacey is sure we’ll find something of use.”

  “That would be wonderful,” said Kate softly.

  “Indeed.” Carter grinned. “I daresay we’ll find enough information to keep a scandal sheet in business if we keep looking. Ogilvie was a veritable Renaissance man of vice; illicit marriages are the least objectionable. I wrote Cora some of the more shocking episodes—why, there was one scheme with a Covent Garden pickpocket—”

  “Danny!” Cora smiled at Kate even as she gave her brother a look of warning. “I’m sure Kate has no wish to listen to you prattle on. I thought you had some errands to run as well.”

  Her brother flushed and gave Kate a contrite look. “Of course. De Lacey asked me to see to a few things for him. He’ll have me flogged if I sit about gossiping. Forgive me, Lady Gerard. I’m back to Allenton soon; shall I give him your regards?”

  “Yes, please,” she said faintly. Apparently those “few things” Gerard had asked Lieutenant Carter to do didn’t include calling on her or telling her how they were getting on. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

  When the door closed behind him, she stirred her tea, staring into the depths of her cup. “Don’t mind Danny,” said Cora brightly after a moment. “He’s become as chatty as an old woman since convalescing. I tried to encourage him to take up drawing, but he refused, which is a great pity. He used to be quite talented as a boy.”

  “He wrote to you.” Kate raised her eyes.

  Cora made a dismissive gesture. “He told me very little—nothing of import.”

  Gerard hadn’t even done that much. “You could have told me,” she murmured.

  With a rustle of skirts her friend came to sit beside her on the small sofa. “Kate, you mustn’t take it to heart. Danny told me they’ve been searching from early morning until it’s too dark to see at night, in a filthy little storage room with that vile Nollworth pestering them every hour. You should take it as a mark of your good sense that they’re so consumed; you had the thought to look for Reverend Ogilvie, and now look what you’ve uncovered . . .”

  Kate set her teacup down. “I am pleased, and very hopeful.”

  Cora watched her with concerned eyes. “You look as though your heart is breaking,” she said. “It grieves me to see it.”

  Kate said nothing.

  “Does—does Captain de Lacey know you love him?” Cora asked gently. Kate glanced at her in alarm. “Don’t worry,” she rushed to add. “I would never breathe a word—but I do so want you to be happy, and it is the greatest joy to be happy with your own husband—”

  Kate took a deep breath. “He knows.” She exhaled slowly. “He hasn’t been similarly afflicted.”

  “Oh, my dear.” Cora wrapped her free hand around Kate’s. “He cares for you a great deal. Everyone can see it. And he’s so solicitous of your well-being.”

  She forced a shaky laugh. It was either that, or burst into tears. “That makes it worse, Cora. He’s wonderful in every way, more than I could ever have asked for in a husband. And I think I would rather have a husband who never bought me jewels or held the umbrella for me, if only he loved me.”

  “He will,” declared Cora firmly. “Who could not love you? It just takes time for a man to lose his heart, longer than it takes a woman.”

  “Perhaps.” Kate straightened her spine. “But he plans to return to his regiment when he’s settled this problem. I won’t see him for a year or more if he goes on campaign. How likely is love to grow then?”

  “My husband was at sea for most of our marriage. Our love did grow.”

  “Did he love you before he left?” Kate nodded when Cora just bit her lip. “I don’t blame him. He can’t make himself love me, any more than I can make myself stop loving him. It would be so much easier if I could. We would enjoy a peaceful marriage of convenience and live our lives as amiable companions. Instead . . .” She brushed her hands over her skirt. “I was a fool to marry him. It would have been better to marry someone I cared little for, or not at all.”

  “Don’t say that!” Cora’s voice was suddenly fierce. “It was a risk, yes; but not a foolish one. He cares for you—how many loves grow from care and familiarity? At least you still have the chance of it.” Her voice broke. “I had six months with my love, and now he’s dead and gone forever.”

  A hot rush of shame burned Kate’s face. How selfish she was, moping because her husband didn’t love her. He did care for her. He was a better husband than most women hoped for. And Cora, who had once had what Kate longed for, had lost it irrevocably. “You’re right,” she said at once. “Forgive me; you are too kind to me, indulging my melancholy . . .”

  “No.” Cora swiped at her eyes and summoned a determined smile. “In your shoes I would feel the same. You deserve love. Don’t give up on the captain yet.”

  Kate walked home in a pensive mood. Was she sorry she’d married Gerard? Not when he was near. No matter how much she tried to tamp it down, the hope of his feelings deepening still lingered, fanned a little brighter by Cora’s words. But that didn’t mean she knew what to do. Without the distraction of his presence, she could see how very different they were. She was content to be quietly at home or with a few friends, while he had to be out doing something vigorous or dangerous. Once he rejoined his regiment, this would be her life: worrying about him, waiting for infrequent letters that might never come, fading back into her quiet, solitary ways.

  Her mother called almost as soon as she reached home. Kate welcomed her in a subdued voice, which Mama’s keen eye noted at once. “Darling, you look ill,” was her pronouncement.

  “I’m well, Mama. Will you take some tea?”

  She let Kate fill her cup. “I don’t think Bath agrees with you. Really, you looked feverish when I first arrived, and now your cheeks are as pale as frost.”

  “It has nothing to do with Bath.” Kate stirred her tea, wishing she could add a drop of brandy to it. Her mother would take that as a sign of fatal illness, unfortunately.

  “It must. This city doesn’t suit me, either. Too close to the river, most likely. I’ve never been so unwell in my life. In fact, I came to tell you I’m returning to Cobham.” Mama managed to look beautiful even as she claimed to be ill. “You should come with me.”

  She didn’t want to go. Mama had purchased Cobham after Kate’s father’s death, as their family home was too small and dark for Mama’s taste. At Cobham there would be nothing to do but endure her mother’s self-absorbed flights of fancy and musings on all her own failings. “I cannot leave Bath, Mama. What would my husband say?”

  “Has he returned?” Mama opened her eyes wide and looked around. “I thought he left town
several days ago.”

  “He’ll be home soon.”

  “Oh, my dear . . .” Mama put down her teacup and looked dismayed. “All men stray sooner or later,” she said gently. “It’s only a matter of time, and once he’d got your fortune . . . You know that, Katherine.”

  “He is away on business.” Kate’s face felt hot.

  “Yes, they always say so. You mustn’t blame yourself, dear.”

  “Mama,” she said plaintively. “Please.”

  “Oh, Katherine.” Her mother’s eyes welled up. “I only wish to help you, but if you don’t want my advice, I shall do my best to suffer for you in silence. Have some compassion. I’ve had the most dreadful headaches in this town. I do wish you would come with me to Cobham. It would do you a great deal of good to get away from this foul air. Your husband won’t mind—he’s not even here to miss you.”

  “Is Lucien leaving Bath as well?” She tried desperately to turn the conversation away from Gerard’s absence.

  “No, he refuses to go. He’s grown so hard-hearted since you disappointed him.” Mama sighed piteously. “It will be such an arduous journey alone. I thought my only daughter would take more pity on her mother.”

  “The captain is coming home soon,” said Kate again. “Would you have me leave my husband?”

  Mama’s eyes opened wider. “But he’s already left you. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you came with me.”

  Kate felt it like a physical blow. “I’m sorry, Mama,” she murmured. “No.”

  For two days she withstood her mother’s fretting. For two days she waited in vain for any word from Gerard. Anything at all would have been enough. But without his presence, she fell slowly back into her old habits regarding her mother. The longer her mother pressed her to leave Bath, the more she felt herself weakening. Too many years of giving in had taken their toll, and now Kate felt so battered by Gerard’s departure and silence, she couldn’t take her mother’s constant faint pity. Mama thought Gerard must have found another woman by now, and as much as Kate didn’t want to believe it—as much as she didn’t believe it—it rubbed her heart raw to hear it suggested every day.