My Inconvenient Duke (Difficult Dukes #3)

Chapter 25

Morning of Friday 31 May 1833

“Jonesy has run away,” Liliane said. “He has been gone for a fortnight, and I only learnt of it last night. This is most distressing.

He seemed to have settled well in Putney, and the reports of him were all good.”

Alice had called on her before setting out for Camberley Place. On the way there, she’d planned to stop at the White Lion,

where Jonesy worked, to deliver messages and gifts from Liliane, and to see for herself how he fared.

After that she needed to consult with her aunt regarding the care and handling of the Duchess of Kent, mother of the King’s

heir presumptive. Thence Alice was to proceed to the Drakeleys’ for a house party.

“I’ll stop at the inn and make enquiries,” she said. “I wish I could do more, but my time is not my own at present.”

“I hope you will find answers,” Liliane said. “I have not the slightest idea where to look for him—and now we have lost so

much time. I do not understand. He has been there for a year and more, and he seemed happy.”

Alice remembered what Keeffe had said: When your gut tells you to get yourself lost, you do it, quick time.

If Jonesy felt unsafe, he’d make himself vanish.

“Something must have happened,” Alice said. “Still, I don’t imagine he’ll go farther afield. To him, Putney was across the

world. He’s likely to return to London, familiar territory.”

“If he is in trouble, I hope he will come to me,” Liliane said.

Alice hoped so, too.

For the moment there was little she could do, and nobody she could turn to. Blackwood still kept watch over his friend. Cassandra

had returned to England earlier in the week, but she’d stopped in London only overnight before going on to Hertfordshire to

look after one of her sisters-in-law. Of course Keeffe had gone with her.

“I daresay Miss Pomfret will be back by the time I return,” she said. “If he hasn’t turned up before then, she and I and Keeffe

will hunt the boy down. But with any luck, I’ll find answers today in Putney.”

She did not.

All she learnt there was that Jonesy had gone off without a word, leaving most of his belongings behind.

The following week, all hell broke loose among Alice’s friends and family, and she could do nothing, because Aunt Florentia,

who joined her at the Drakeleys’, caught a severe cold. She didn’t need nursing so much as watching, because she had a streak

of Ancaster stubbornness along with a belief that giving in to illness was a sign of moral weakness. Or something like that.

At any rate, Alice was obliged to stand guard, rather as Blackwood had had to stand guard over Ashmont while he was ill.

Meanwhile, the letters came—from Blackwood, Aunt Julia, Cassandra, two of Blackwood’s sisters, Cassandra’s sister Hyacinth, and, of course, the Queen.

By the time Alice was able to return to London, the situation had resolved itself. Lady Olympia was married, not to Ashmont

but to Ripley, and Ashmont was now determined to win Cassandra.

A great deal more had happened, some of it nearly catastrophic, and most of it infuriating. But Ripley was safely wed to an

intelligent girl who wouldn’t stand for any nonsense, and Cassandra belonged to the same general category.

This allowed Alice to devote her exasperation to her husband.

Blackwood had found Jonesy... and let him get away.

He wrote faithfully, though sometimes the letters were cryptic.

This wasn’t.

He wrote:

I didn’t recognize him. He was with a lot of other boys in Kensington High Street, and I could not tell one from another. Ashmont was the one who singled him out as the leader of the ragged youth group. It was only when we arrived in Battersea that I began to wonder if I’d encountered him before. Jonesy, the other boys called him. But the only name I knew was George Foster or Georgie, and that was a year ago. Truly, Alice, I doubt you’d have recognized him. Well, maybe by the stench, but I’ve not refined my smelling ability sufficiently to discriminate. He smelled like a cesspit that hadn’t been cleaned since the time of Queen Anne. It was not until he vanished that the possibility of his being your special juvenile delinquent dawned on me. Ashmont and I had been speaking of continuing to Putney, and it was then I remembered you’d sent the so-called George Foster there. But we came upon him in Kensington, miles away. Why was he there? And why did he not recognize me? He must have done, though he gave no sign, the cunning brat.

Oh, Jonesy had recognized him, beyond question. But the boy was far too sharp to let on—because he’d run away and didn’t want

to be found. He’d gone on with the two dukes as long as he felt safe. Blackwood’s failing to recognize him must have amused

him. Meanwhile, the child got to ride with Blackwood on a fine horse while getting paid to help the dukes find their quarry.

When they mentioned Putney, though, he must have sensed that Blackwood was beginning to catch on. A look. A raised eyebrow.

A word or two. The boy would need no more than a hint. And by now he’d moved on, to who knew where.

Blackwood House

Evening of Thursday 20 June 1833

Alice had dined with Cassandra Pomfret’s family, and Blackwood had dined with Ashmont and Humphrey Morris, a younger brother

of Worbury’s minion, Lord Consett. Morris, however, had turned out to be a different article from his repellent elder brother,

and an unexceptionable companion for Ashmont.

Now, at last, Blackwood and his wife had a few hours to spend together, and he did not want to spend it quarreling about the sewer rat. She did, apparently.

True, she’d come to his bedchamber and was dressed or semi-dressed appropriately, but she did not seem to be in a loving frame

of mind.

“Men are idiots,” she said as she climbed onto his bed. “I tell myself you can’t help it, and I try to forgive you on that

account, but I had deluded myself that you were above the common herd of men.”

“Ye gods, no,” he said. “I’m there in the herd, taller than most, perhaps, but otherwise indistinguishable from the rest.”

“Giles, that child was there today, at the fancy fair at the Hanover Square Rooms. Cassandra recognized him, though she hadn’t

seen him since before we left England last year. She wouldn’t have let him go if she’d known I was looking for him. But she

had her own problems, and I saw no reason to trouble her with this one, especially in the little time we’ve had together.”

Ashmont was one of the problems. He’d used the boy to commit a prank at the fancy fair, a prank that Miss Pomfret turned back

on him. Now Ashmont loved her more than ever.

“My dear girl, I was some distance away, in a suffocating crowd—though that might have been due to the boy’s aroma thickening

the atmosphere. I caught a bit of the exchange, but I never had a close look at him. All I saw was an animate rag heap. Miss

Pomfret dealt swiftly with matters, and the boy ran off—with riches, I might add.”

“And you didn’t try to catch him.”

“I am not a rat catcher.” He frowned. “Do I insult the rats by saying that? I would as soon catch a mound of horse manure, on grounds that it’s more wholesome.”

“Oh, Giles.” She put a hand to her forehead.

He slipped into the bed alongside her. “I wish you wouldn’t fret about that boy.”

“You think he’s a hopeless cause.”

“I’m more sure of it than ever. He’s cunning, and he has his own peculiar charm and winning ways—once you get past the filth

and translate whatever language it is that he speaks. But this is a street child. He’s run away from respectable employment,

a safe place to sleep, and regular meals. Clearly, domestication doesn’t suit him. Not all of those children can be reclaimed.

Surely you realize this. You must have seen enough cases.”

“He was content for more than a year. He would not have run away unless he was frightened.”

“He doesn’t strike me as the kind who frightens easily.”

“You don’t know what it’s like for those children.”

He didn’t. His childhood had not been ideal. She and Ripley, though, had had a miserable time of it. Their father had been

a man of sudden and extreme changes of temperament. Without reason or warning, he’d fall into terrifying rages and bouts of

remorse and bewildering delusions of poverty and persecution. Their mother had eventually retreated into the laudanum bottle.

While such a childhood was nothing like the wretchedness paupers faced, it helped account for so much that Alice did, especially

her ferocious determination to rescue Defenseless Children.

“I don’t know what it’s like,” he said. “That’s my good fortune. But knowing or not, we’re not going to find the brat this night. Given that he seems not to want to be found and is a genius at disappearing, the search will take thought and time. Tomorrow we’ll have only a few hours. We do need to dress for Ripley’s ball. We’re supposed to be celebrating his marriage.”

“We must also attend the state ball,” she said.

“On the same night?”

“You’ve forgotten, in all the excitement about my brother and Ashmont. I received and accepted the invitation before Ripley

announced his plans. But Aunt Julia and others are in the same predicament. She’s spoken to the Queen. We’ll attend the supper

so as not to disrupt those arrangements. We’re excused from the ball.”

The excitement about her brother and Ashmont: That was putting it mildly. Last week had been hellish.

“I’ll wager anything that your brother’s supper will be better,” he said.

“Of course it will be. Chardot is the best chef in London.” She paused, studying his face. “You’re disappointed. And displeased

with me.”

“Not with you. With this.” He waved a hand. “This life of ours. Your aunt has returned and we’re not free yet.”

“She’s been back for only four days! I’m no happier than you are, but we can’t have everything precisely as we like it.”

“We seem to have nothing as we like it.”

And so they quarreled, and in the end she slept in her bed and he in his, and the next day when he rose, very late, having

spent a restless night, he was told that Her Grace had gone out, and had not said when she would return.

Friday 21 June 1833

“Try to pretend you don’t hate me,” Blackwood said as they set out for the state ball. “At least for the duration of your

brother’s party. Then, when we return home, you may throw things at me.”

They’d been sitting as far apart as the carriage permitted, Alice at one window, Blackwood at the other. The atmosphere had

been chilly from the time she came home in the late afternoon. Not a pleasant experience.

She turned toward him. “Oh, Giles.”

“It wasn’t even a proper quarrel,” he said. He held out his hand.

She took it. “I’m not always reasonable.”

“That is because, unlike me, you’re not perfect. It isn’t your fault. You didn’t have my father.”

That won him a small laugh. “No, I had an altogether different one.”

“Had I wanted a reasonable wife, I should not have married you,” he said. “Come.”

She drew nearer, and he brought his arm about her shoulders. Carefully. The dress was white, with a great deal of lace, and

decorations on the lace. An embroidered green cashmere scarf circled her neck.

“I would hold you more tightly,” he said, “but then I’ll crush the lace, and everybody will think we had a tumble in the carriage.”

“I’m so tired of what everybody thinks,” she said. “There are moments when I want to run away, to simply travel about England

as we did before, more or less carefree.”

“I should like that above all things, but at present, responsibilities are rather in the way,” he said.

“How did this happen?” she said.

“It’s other people. They refuse to behave as we wish.”

“I haven’t the right personality for a courtier, Giles. Meanwhile, I can’t stop fretting about Jonesy. I tell myself he’s

a street child. They can’t all be domesticated, as you said. I know this. All the same, I can’t stop being anxious.”

“He’s a winning little sewer rat, I’ll give him that.”

“And there’s Cassandra. She has problems enough without having to deal with Ashmont.”

“He’s grown excessively fatiguing of late. I daresay I could find a pretext for taking him away for a time. That will be more

difficult than usual. He seems fixed on her.”

“I should feel more optimistic had he not also seemed to be fixed on Olympia.”

“As would I. Last week was not the most comfortable of my existence.”

He might easily have lost one of his two closest friends, possibly both of them. She might have lost her brother.

“I have not quite forgiven them,” she said. “Either of them.”

“Let’s see how Ashmont behaves tonight,” he said. “Frankly, I’m bloody tired of watching him and trying to protect him from

himself. Can’t we leave it to Miss Pomfret?”

Before she could retort, he put up his hand. “Please hear me out. Consider her character. Do you not deem her perfectly capable

of putting him in his place? Of all the women he might take it into his head to pursue, I should say she was the last to fret

about.”

“She may be capable, but she has a great deal burdening her mind at present. And he’s a handful, even for her.”

He knew she wasn’t wrong. That didn’t make him any happier. “If you want him away, I’ll get him away. At the moment, I’ve no idea how to accomplish the feat. But I’ll do it.”

“I suppose that isn’t the soundest thinking.” She paused. “But nothing is right at present. If I could remain here, on the

spot, I shouldn’t fret so much.”

He was aware of a churlish anger welling. “You’re going away again ?”

“Liliane has asked me to inspect two sites for the schools.”

He kept the curses to himself. “More productive than dealing with the Duchess of Kent, I don’t doubt,” he said as mildly as

he could.

She looked up at him. “If you’d rather I didn’t, say so.”

“Of course I’d rather you didn’t,” he said, too sharply. “I’m rather fond of my wife and want her nearby. I’d rather not be

saddled with the nigh impossible task of prying Ashmont away from Miss Pomfret. I don’t want to tax my brain with clever schemes

for luring my friend out of London. I do not want to attend this damned supper. But Duty calls. Personal inconvenience doesn’t signify. Even the King can’t do exactly

as he pleases. He probably doesn’t want to attend, either. I’m sure he’d much rather go to Ripley’s ball, but kings aren’t

allowed to have that much fun.”

As it turned out, Blackwood didn’t have much fun at Ripley’s ball. Between holding his breath, waiting for his erratic friend

to set off an explosion, and racking his brains for a clever way to divert said friend from his pursuit of Miss Pomfret, Blackwood

had neither patience nor attention for much else.

He said and did the proper things, thanks to Correct Behavior. He didn’t need to be fully present for that. Even when he danced at last with his wife, he simmered with frustration, his

mind wandering to Ashmont and Miss Pomfret and the accurst brat.

He was sufficiently attuned to Alice, though, to be aware that she was in no better frame of mind.

So much for affinity.

Two days later, he and Ashmont left London.

Camberley Place

23rd Instant

My dear girl,

The uncanny Lord Frederick has saved my brain from burning up into ashes. He summoned Ashmont yesterday and counseled him on the wooing of Miss Pomfret. His lordship advised Ashmont to leave Town for a time—and take me with him. I was dumbfounded when Ashmont agreed. To our further astonishment, when we called on Lady Charles to say goodbye, she invited us to stay at Camberley Place on our own. My heart leapt, as you can imagine. We’d planned to go to the races, but neither of us hesitated to accept her kind offer. As you can guess, we stay at the fishing house, living rough, as we prefer. It will be good for Ashmont and even better for me, since it will be easier to keep him occupied and out of trouble. I must say, he seems in some ways another man, and I can’t help but ascribe the change to the effect Miss Pomfret has had on him. I hope this view of matters will not grieve you overmuch. I believe—and it seems that your aunt and Lord Frederick take the same view—my friend is on a path to reform.

Is it fanciful of me to wonder whether the two courtiers have been plotting together? At Ripley’s party I gained the impression

that Lord Frederick and Lady Charles were in league. The night is a blur for the most part, but I do recall their dancing

together, and now I wonder whether they, too, have an affinity. Fanciful, no doubt. It’s the air of Camberley Place. We arrived

only a few hours ago, and already my spirits improve. They would be more improved if you were here instead of Ashmont, but

one can’t have everything.

I remain

Your humble and obedient husband,

B

A young couple of high rank have developed a remarkable talent for not being in the same place at the same time. When the one is in London, the other has urgent business elsewhere. Little more than a year ago, the lady’s sudden change of heart and decision to give her hand, not to the highly esteemed nobleman it was assumed she’d choose, but to another of altogether different reputation, shocked members of the polite circles. In the betting books at the time, we are told, odds leant heavily toward the failure of this puzzling union. At present it appears that the principals have already deemed their marriage inconvenient, thus proving the naysayers more perspicacious than the optimists.

—Foxe’s Morning Spectacle

Wednesday 3 July 1833