The Debonair Duke (25 page)

* * * *

They met Sir Cecil along the Row. He informed them that
Lady Anne was better this morning, but inclined to take things easy. “She would like to see you this afternoon, if you would be so kind as to call on her,” he said with a bow to Pamela.

“Of course, I shall
,
” she replied warmly. “I trust Lady Anne will feel more the thing by then.”

Algie and the duke remained at her side throughout the ride, dismounting when they returned to Gresham House.

“Perhaps you would come in? I know my mother would be most pleased to see you,” Pamela said before she recalled what she had implied regarding Algernon Thynne an hour or so ago. Only after they joined her in the hall, leaving the capable Timson to handle the horses, did her words return to mind. Mercy!

The countess received both gentlemen with supreme grace and charm, praising Algernon and extending profuse thanks to the duke for his thoughtfulness.

Pamela felt pleased with the two men, who now sat at ease in the drawing room, effortlessly handling the social banalities required in society. There was much to be said for propriety; the world indeed ran better on good manners.

They sipped the finest of sherries with appreciation, admired the restrained elegance around them that bespoke wealth and taste, saw the respect and love shared between mother and daughter all too often absent in families, and could not help but be impressed.

At the proper time, the men rose, bowed low over Lady Gresham’s hand, then turned to Pamela.

“I shall see you this evening at Almack’s?” Algernon asked with an encouraging smile.

“Of course, she will be there. Where else would she go?” the duke said irritably before Pamela might utter a word. “Would you join us on our way down, my lady?” He gestured to the door.

“Naturally,” Pamela said after a glance at her mother. Heavens, dear Mama was eyeing Algernon Thynne with a highly speculative gaze as he left the room. When her mother turned that same consideration to the duke, Pamela rushed him out of the room and down the stairs.

“I have heard nothing regarding the situation that we discovered last evening,” the duke confided after Algernon had gone out of the front door. The duke paused near the entry. “With any luck at all, we shall manage to scrape through this unscathed. But if there is trouble, I want you to know that I stand to do what is proper.”

“Please do not say it
,
Your Grace,” Pamela pleaded, holding her hand up as though to ward off his words. “It is not what I wish.” The look he gave her seemed almost one of hurt, except that she was well aware he could have no desire to be saddled with her.

Chapter Fourteen

“I cannot believe all that happened last evening after we parted,” Lady Anne exclaimed, languidly curled upon her daybed and looking interestingly wan when Pamela was ushered to her room. She perked up upon hearing a carefully edited version of what occurred after the Chetwynd-Talbot ball. Placing dainty feet on the floor, she rang for her maid to bring tea to the private sitting room where she entertained Pamela.

“It was highly improper of me to command the duke to take after the would-be thief,” Pamela declared once the maid left. “Only we so hoped to uncover his identity. If you ask me, he was a singularly inept robber. He missed the duke by a wide margin—thank goodness—and turned tail in an instant when one of the duke’s bullets grazed his arm. I just wish he had not disappeared at that inn.” She bit her lip in vexation when she recalled the frustration of seeing the man vanish.

Pamela said nothing about finding the baron on the floor of the inn bedroom. The duke had suggested it would be as well were they to keep it a secret. As for that spectacular kiss, Pamela kept that in the recesses of her heart, to be dwelt on whenever she wished for a bit of romantic recollection. It was not likely that it would be repeated, at least by His Grace.

“How vexing for you, to be sure. I shan’t repeat your story, believe me,” Lady Anne vowed. “It would be considered improper, as you say. You realize your parents would be within their rights to demand that the duke marry you. Yet nothing would be more dreadful than to force a man to wed, especially because of circumstances as unusual as yours—the necklace, you know. I mean, you merely begged his help. It is not as
though he came courting only to be discovered in a compromising situation you both found delightful.”

Pamela hadn’t considered that haring off in the wee hours of the night could have led to a forced marriage. She resolved to consider a matter more carefully next time before acting with uncharacteristic impetuosity.

“Yes, well, that is certainly true,” she managed to say by way of agreement. While there was nothing she might desire more than marriage to the duke, she wanted no part of a situation that compelled them to wed. However, she decided this was a subject best ignored for the moment. “How are you this morning? I trust your head is better?”

Lady Anne adopted a smug look, then grinned, her pretty eyes dancing with obvious delight. “Cecil insists I rest and demands no more late nights. The doctor confirmed what I had suspected for a while—that I am in the family way at last. Cecil and I are in transports, for we want a family so dearly, and thought we might be denied this joy. It must be a boy, of course,” she confided, leaning against the pillows the maid had fluffed behind her after bringing the tray with tea and biscuits.

“I am so pleased for you, my lady,” Pamela said, clapping her hands with delight. “You think you can order a boy, just like that? I do hope you are right.”

They visited longer than the usual afternoon call, for Lady Anne was not receiving today and Pamela had been declared beyond the realm of a caller, rather being deemed a friend—much to Pamela’s added happiness. After mulling over a variety of names but reaching no decision, and speculating on the amount of infant clothing necessary for the heir to the Radcliffe title and fortune, Pamela left. She resolved to embroider a cap for the coming baby. She had seen a fetching pattern in a back copy of
The Lady’s Magazine
and stopped at the linen drapers to purchase some fine linen and a length of lace for a decorative insertion.

* * * *

At Almack’s that Wednesday evening, the rooms were abuzz with the news of the baron’s death. Murder was the
word used. As to possible motive, everything from A
to Z was offered, with the likelihood of a connection to his government activities—which of necessity involved spying—being high on the list.

Pamela thought of the man who had raced down the back stairs of the inn and the tryst Lady Vane had kept with the distinguished baron in that little village following her dinner, however she kept her opinion to herself. She had no doubt there was a connection between the two incidents, but to offer that knowledge was to open a Pandora’s box of trouble for herself and the duke.

“What a blessing you had not formed a
tendre
for the baron,” Lady Gresham said quietly to Pamela after the news reached her. “I cannot say I was particularly drawn to the gentleman,” she concluded, “but he possessed admirable polish.”

“Nor I.” Pamela admitted. “But one never knows what might happen, does one?” She made a point of listening to every account of the event that she managed to overhear, wondering if the presence of a couple in his room would be mentioned. At last it was.

“I heard.” Lady Jersey said with authority to an enthralled group, “that there was a man and woman in his room shortly before his body was discovered. I also heard that they were in a most romantic embrace. How ghastly to be enfolded in a kiss with a dead man a few feet away.” she said with a moue of distaste. “They think they know who the man is, but have no clue as to whom the woman might be. How clever to keep her anonymous. It offers such delicious speculation!” The countess looked around her with malicious glee. “We do not have to look about us to guess who she might be. All we have to do is to ascertain who
he
is, then note to whom he pays court.”

Pamela shot a look across the room at the duke, wondering if he had truly been identified as being at the scene of the crime. And would she be targeted as the woman involved were she to allow him to continue to seek her out? Somehow she doubted it. Sensible creatures were simply not the target of that sort of speculation, were they?

Prince Radinski presented himself at that moment, narrowly beating the vicomte to her side. “A dance
,
Lady Pamela, I beg of you,” the prince declared with his usual flourish.

Knowing she had best accept as many partners as possible so that in the event the duke did seek her out she would not be conspicuous in the least. Pamela agreed.

“And when you return, I would take his place,” the vicomte said with a glare at the prince, who was again attired in white this evening and obviously looked far too princely to suit the vicomte.

“I shall be delighted to partner each of you in turn,” Pamela said with an impartial smile.

“I adore you, my lady,” the prince vowed, glaring at his rival. “The vicomte cannot lay claim to such an emotion. To him, love is a game he plays rather well.” With that the prince led her through the steps of the cotillion, all the while assuring Pamela of his devotion.

She, in turn, suspected that the prince was far more attached to her jewels and dowry than her person.

Then she noted that Lady Jersey had sought out the duke, and she almost stopped breathing at the thought that the nosy woman might have figured out the truth and intended to challenge the duke. The pattern of the dance led them close to where the duke stood with Lady Jersey, and Pamela tried to listen without losing her place in the dance.

His deep voice rumbled through polite inanities, prompting Pamela to relax a trifle. He looked as though he had not a care in
the world, much less had been involved with a murder in
any way, shape, or form. That debonair air, the superior attitude that was quite a natural part of him, and his gracious attention to the countess, all gave lie to the notion he might have conspired to murder anyone. And why should he? There was no
motive and who would dare accuse him? Pamela breathed a sigh of relief.

When the prince returned her to her mother’s side, she accepted the hand of the vicomte with grace. There would be no scandal. All was well.

“You must be sorry to lose one of your court, my lady, particularly in such a dreadful manner,” the vicomte said while awaiting their turn in a country-dance
.

“He
was a very pleasant, if reserved, gentleman.” she replied politely. “I should be sorry to see anyone murdered, particularly one with a knife grimly protruding from his chest. How truly frightful. As my papa says, what is the world coming to?”

“I had not heard he had a knife in his chest,” the vicomte said with a speculative look at Pamela.

Realizing she might have really landed herself in the briars, she shrugged and said, “I believe that is what Lady Jersey said. One hears so many stories in a place like this where gossip is the food of the evening—especially since the fare provided is so meager.”

That led the vicomte off on one of his favorite complaints—the inadequacy and poor quality of the food at such an elite establishment.
“Mais non.”
he exclaimed, “I cannot see such a thing in France. Were we at liberty to offer such entertainments, the food would be superb!”

When he returned Pamela to Lady Gresham’s side, the duke stood chatting with her ladyship, discussing the latest
on dit.
“I am told that one of the people in question somewhat resembled me—at least the chap wore a coat similar to mine,” the duke concluded with a glance at the vicomte, who also wore a coat of much the same color and cut as the one the duke had worn the evening before. “Astonishing how many men have similar taste.”

“But then, when one sets a fine example, others follow, my dear duke,” the vicomte shot back, not in the least perturbed. Apparently, he had a clear conscience and was not the least worried about being accused of murdering the baron. Moreover, he did seem to wish to butter up His Grace, which was not the least unusual.

“You look as though you might enjoy a bit of lemonade—even if it is tepid,” the duke said to Pamela, knowing her mother would not say nay to his escorting her anywhere he chose. Being a duke assured one of a great number of privileges.

“Indeed, it is warm here this evening, made more so by all the gossip flying about,” Pamela said as they wound their way through the clusters of gossiping females and not a few gentlemen exchanging views on the means of the baron’s death. “There is nothing liked so well as a breath of scandal.”

“How true,” he said, handing her a glass containing the despised lemonade, then guiding her along to a pair of chairs that had been placed close together.

“I almost put myself in a basket,” she confessed immediately. She related what she had said to the vicomte. then gave the duke an expectant look. “Do you think I sufficiently diverted him
,
Your Grace?”

“Well, I think you are safe enough. It was clever of you to guide his thoughts in the direction of the food. Everyone has heard him complain about the dull offerings here. He is fortunate Lady Jersey dotes on him, or he’d likely be refused entrance.” The duke glanced back in the vicomte’s direction a moment, then returned his gaze to Pamela.

“That is because he is a handsome gentleman, and I suspect every patroness has a soft spot in her heart for such,” Pamela suggested. “Is it not said that there is no one more loved than a scoundrel?”

“Do you as well harbor a soft spot for such?” he asked with a curious expression on his face that Pamela couldn’t begin to decipher.

“For a handsome gentleman? or the Vicomte Reynaud?” Pamela said with a twinkle in her blue eyes. “Never say you believe I might harbor a
tendre
for a scoundrel!”

“I think you have become a minx, Lady Pamela.” A grin hovered on his lips a moment, then he grew serious. “So far I believe we are going to escape unscathed. How fortunate I wore such an ordinary shade of blue last evening.”