My Inconvenient Duke (Difficult Dukes #3)

Chapter 17

The world tilted. Alice gripped the tree trunk she sat upon, and she was glad she was sitting. She couldn’t have heard aright.

She was concussed. Delirious.

“What?” she said.

“I’m looking at the facts,” Blackwood said. “You might try doing the same. What difference will it make to you which duke

it is? I’d serve the same purpose as Doveridge. If you want be in a position where the Worm can’t trouble you, then you might

as well marry me and spare yourself the charade.”

Marry me. He’d said it. Twice.

“Did you fall on your head, too?” Her heart surged to double time.

“Face facts, Alice. Two choices.”

Two choices. Like choosing between Scylla and Charybdis.

Yet it wanted scarcely a heartbeat to decide.

She leapt up so quickly that her head spun. She was so flurried, she barely heeded it.

“Very well,” she said. “You. I choose you. I choose to remain. Now can we find my brother?”

He went very still. Had she not been so wild with frustration, had she not endured an excessive degree of emotion this day, she would have laughed at the expression he wore. She was far too agitated to take any notice.

He put up a hand. “Erm... one moment. I believe—”

“Yes,” she said. “As you said, what difference does it make? May we set our minds to finding Ripley?”

He opened his mouth to speak. Then he shut it and cocked his head, listening.

It took her a moment to make out the sound through the tumult in her mind. Then she heard it, too.

Somebody was shouting.

He and she turned their heads in the direction of the sound.

The grooms were shouting and pointing.

“Now what?” Blackwood said.

“I don’t know.”

They stepped farther to one side of the road and made out a pair of figures, hands joined, swiftly shrinking into the distance.

Absorbed in their private upheaval, the duke and Alice had forgotten they had an audience, a most attentive one.

The scene had captivated the two grooms, who’d been standing by the horses, pretending to be deaf, as good servants ought

to do in such situations. What they observed, however, was too thrilling to resist: His Grace in a temper on account of her

ladyship; her ladyship ringing a peal over His Grace.

While unable to hear precisely what was said, Elphick and Pratt had no trouble comprehending facial expressions, gestures, and tone of voice. Her lady ship stormed down the lane. His Grace stood, clearly at point non plus, before retrieving the thing she’d thrown at him and setting out after her.

This was a once-in-a-lifetime scene, and the servants were riveted upon it.

All the same, they did not forget their responsibilities altogether. They led the cattle cautiously after the couple while

maintaining a discreet distance. After all, the vehicle ought to be near at hand when the time came to depart.

What they did forget temporarily were the two thieves.

Moss and Bray, on the other hand, were on high alert, survival at the front of their minds. The prospect of meeting with the

local constabulary failed to enchant them. With even less delight did they anticipate a close acquaintance with, say, a stint

of hard labor, a voyage on a transport ship, or a swing on the gallows—all distinct possibilities.

While not the cleverest fellows, they could recognize an opportunity when it presented itself. They looked at each other.

As one—not much choice, since their hands were bound together—they took a cautious step backward. Then another and another.

A few more steps brought them behind the carriage and concealed them from their captors’ view.

At which point they turned and ran.

Blackwood stood watching them go.

It did not seem very important at present. His heart beat as though he faced a firing squad. What had he said? What had he

said? Not what he’d thought he’d say.

But there it was.

He’d said what he’d said and could not take it back.

He waited for Alice to come to her senses, laugh in his face, throw something at him. All three and more.

She was still gazing after the two figures as they grew smaller and smaller. Then they pivoted left, presumably into a footpath,

and disappeared altogether.

At last she turned away and looked up at Blackwood. “The thieves said Ripley was in a place between the two-mile stone and

the turnpike. We’ve passed the two-mile stone. What do you think the odds are of our finding a tavern or inn near the turnpike?

The farmers and their friends will not have gone to bed yet. We might as well stop and continue our enquiries.”

“Alice.”

“I’ve crossed the Rubicon,” she said. “You offered two choices, and I chose. I will not turn back. If you wish to continue

arguing, we can do that in the carriage. I should like to reach the next stopping place before everybody goes home for the

night.”

Marry. Alice. He’d said it. She’d said yes.

He would think about it later, when his mind came back from wherever it had escaped to.

He returned with her to the carriage and his two red-faced servants.

“I’m that sorry, Your Grace,” Elphick said.

“We took our eyes off of ’em,” Pratt said. “It’s the sad truth. And them sneaks took off.”

“Right under our noses.” Elphick’s color deepened to brick.

“They was well down the road before we noticed,” Pratt said. “They won’t have gone far, though, battered like they was, thanks

to you and her ladyship, and tied right tight. But I ought to’ve run after ’em, all the same.”

“I don’t care about them,” Alice said. “They’re no use to us anymore. They don’t know where Ripley is. Why waste our time and fray our tempers further trying to find them? Let the police deal with them.”

Blackwood looked about him. Clouds, heavy and nearly black, obscured the sun. What fading light penetrated this blanket told

him it was touching the horizon.

“Lady Alice has summed up the situation correctly,” he said. “They know the area. We don’t. We’re losing the light. We’ll

have the devil’s own time trying to find them now. I’m not even sure I could find their dratted cottage again.”

“Then let’s not waste any more time,” Alice said.

Meanwhile in London

“Newmarket!” the Duke of Doveridge said.

“I see no alternative,” Lord Frederick Beckingham said. “One cannot leave Ashmont there on his own, and at the moment, I’ve

nobody to send. His two companions abandoned him on Saturday, it seems. An urgent matter, I daresay.” He smiled wryly. “Or,

possibly, plain fatigue. One cannot blame Blackwood and Ripley altogether, and I do believe they’ve grown rather old for this

sort of thing. Wild oats, Doveridge. We’ve sown them ourselves. Still, one would hope my nephew and his two friends would

be done with the foolishness by now.”

He’d called at Doveridge House to explain his inability to attend Parliament this evening. His lordship had more on his agenda—he

usually did—but this was his ostensible reason.

The two men sat before the fireplace in the duke’s study, where they met at least once a week to discuss Parliamentary or royal strategy or gossip. They were both courtiers of long standing, with Lord Frederick the elder and more experienced—some would say the wilier—of the two.

“This is a day of disruptions,” Doveridge said. “My dinner party is all to pieces. Perhaps that’s for the best. I had expected

the Reform Bill to be passed by now. When I planned my little party, I did not foresee the obstinacy of the forces of obstruction.

In hindsight, I ought to have done.”

“These things are impossible to predict.”

“Sussex will speak tonight, beyond question, yet I ought to speak as well.”

His Royal Highness the Duke of Sussex was one of the Reform Bill’s staunchest supporters.

Doveridge rose from his seat by the fire. “It won’t do. I cannot cancel my party at this late hour, though our numbers are

so sadly reduced.”

“Somebody is ill?” Lord Frederick said. He had a good suspicion what the problem was. As his nephew Ashmont often complained,

Uncle Fred knew everything about everybody. He knew, for instance, that there had been a to-do this morning at Blackwood House,

and another not long thereafter at Lady Kempton’s at Sussex Place. He had not yet learnt all the whys and wherefores.

Meanwhile, he could not leave Ashmont alone to run amok at Newmarket. He was a profound pain in the arse, but he had to be

kept alive—at least long enough to find a suitable girl, marry, and produce a legitimate heir.

“I’ve only minutes ago had a message from Lady Kempton, apologizing for the late notice,” the duke said. “She’s unable to

attend.”

“Ah. In that case, Lady Alice will not appear.”

A longish pause ensued before Doveridge said, “I am not easy in my mind.” He sat down again and briefly described the scene on Saturday at the Zoological Gardens.

“I never interfere,” Lord Frederick said. He smiled a little. “Actually, I do. All the time. Let me say a few words, which

you are free to discard as nonsensical.”

“That is something I rarely do, as you well know. After all, you are my elder. Not by much, admittedly. As I recall, you counseled

me regarding a lady some years ago, and I had reason to be grateful.”

“It could have gone the other way,” Lord Frederick said, though he doubted this very much. “At present I offer two recommendations.

First, I recommend that either you cancel your dinner party or leave your sister and her husband to host it. Anybody owning

a grain of sense will realize that tonight’s session will not be a short one. You must be there. You are crucial to the business.

Second, I advise you to call on Lady Kempton as soon as may be.” He glanced at the clock on the mantel. “You have time.”

The Bridge Inn was a substantial establishment that stood on the north side of the Uxbridge Road, next to, appropriately enough,

a bridge. By the time Alice and Blackwood entered, darkness was falling.

As one would expect, all conversation ceased when two strangers entered the bar.

Alice and Blackwood looked as though they’d recently enjoyed a melee. Still, nobody would mistake them for ordinary people.

The quality of their attire and the way they carried themselves revealed their place in the social hierarchy, even before

they spoke.

The first words Blackwood uttered did this and more.

“Landlord,” he said, “the lady and I have been on this road, on a compelling errand, for some hours, and we perish of thirst. May we trouble you for a drop of something to wet our throats? And while you’re about it, kindly do the same for the others present.” He gestured to indicate the other customers. “Our servants wait outside with the cattle, all equally parched. I wonder if you can spare somebody to attend to them?” He laid several coins on the counter.

And this, Alice thought, showed why Their Dis-Graces could break so many rules with impunity. This was why so many jumped

eagerly and happily to do their bidding. It wasn’t simply because they were dukes, although that certainly contributed. It

wasn’t even entirely because of the generous bribes, although those smoothed the way, beyond question.

It was the dose of courtesy they added.

He did not march into the place in state, demanding this and that. He didn’t have to. He knew he had wealth and rank on his

side. He had nothing to gain by treating other human beings as less than human. He had nothing to prove to anybody.

Beyond question it was plain bribery to get prompt and undivided attention, but he did it with courtesy. At the same time

he did not pretend to be anything but what he was.

They received prompt and undivided attention. Alice couldn’t hear the rest of Blackwood’s conversation with their host. This

was conducted in quiet tones. But soon thereafter, a maidservant named Mary led Alice to a room where she could wash her face

and hands and put herself to rights, insofar as this was possible, with the maid’s help.

While this futile endeavor proceeded, Alice began the interrogation.

“We’re looking for my brother,” she said. She’d long since given up the French actress pretense. “He was last seen lying deeply asleep under a tree not far from the two-mile stone.”

Mary let out an exclamation, incomprehensible.

Alice turned away from the horse dressing glass she’d been looking into—and wondering who was looking back at her, because

she was no longer sure who, exactly, she was. “You’ve heard something of this?”

“Oh, yes, miss. They been talking about it ever since Mr. Vickery brought word. Oh, miss, it’s a terrible shame.”

Alice’s heart went icy cold and seemed to stop.

“The sleeping man,” she said through stiff lips. “My brother. What’s happened to him?”

“It’s a wicked thing, it is. They found him, naked as the day he was born—begging your pardon, miss—”

“I’m not missish. Say what you mean.”

“They didn’t leave him nothing, miss, whoever it was. And him... well, dead, they thought he was at first, but then they

could tell he was breathing. Dead asleep, they said. Like maybe somebody knocked him in the head, but there wasn’t any lumps

or bruises they could see.”

Alice breathed then, cautiously.

“Who said? Who found him?”

“Why, Abel Pulbrook and his son Jonas. It was the dog found him first, and barking his head off. Otherwise, they say, they

might have missed him and he could’ve been left there in the morning wet and took his death. But they got him into the cart

and took him home. Last we heard, he ate a spoonful of gruel. Then he went back to sleep, poor gentleman.” The maid shook

her head. “I hope they catch whoever left him there like that. Shameful.”

Alice’s head spun. She grabbed the back of a chair and sat down hard.

“Miss?”

“Yes. Yes. Oh, Juno.” She looked up at Mary. “Alive. He is alive? Yes?”

“Oh, yes, miss. He— Miss?”

Something crashed and somebody cried out, and that was the last Alice heard before the walls closed in on her and the world

went away.