Page 18 of A Wager at Midnight (Betting Against the Duke #2)

Chapter 18

S TEPHEN —C HASING THE O NE T HAT G OT A WAY

I hurry up the pavement to the doors of Anya House. Footmen are at the ready to take my hat and gloves, but they are with my pride in my reeking carriage.

Head lifted, acting like everything is normal, I enter and in a casual tone ask, “Do you know where Miss Wilcox has gone?”

“Gone, sir?” the lead man in silver liveries asks. “The miss is in the library. I’ve been told she’s been there all day.”

He glances at me directly after issuing such a full-throated falsehood. Scarlett just passed through these doors.

There’s nothing else to ask the duke’s henchmen, and I walk deeper into the hall. Should I head to the library upstairs and be caught in our seventy-fifth compromise? No. Catching her changing from menswear to Scarlett-wear would be disastrous.

Sidestepping a pile of lumber, I find construction dust on everything. The hall looks like a battle has been waged.

“Excuse me, sir.” A man carrying a large crate passes me and heads into Torrance’s study.

That’s a sign. Go to the man who knows everything about the Wilcoxes and establishes alibis and lies. The duke will know why Scarlett doesn’t want to marry.

Moving into the study, I notice the tapestries are gone. Chairs, too. Sheets cover the floors. I move from the path of two big blokes carrying wood. “What’s going on? Where’s Torrance?”

One of the workers points toward the bookcases which are emptied of his books, chessboards, and vials. Then the two leave me with lumber and more sheet-covered items that are too difficult to move, like His Grace’s large desk.

I cough a little from the yellow haze in the air. I don’t see the duke.

Going to the desk, I peer out the large window that sits behind it. The floral gardens and high maze are luscious and green and Scarlett-less. My gut tightens. Why do I feel like the longer I’m away from her, the less likely we’ll be able to resolve the problem between us?

Noises rattle from behind the sheet-covered bookcase. A worker comes from the hall with tools. He lifts the sheet and disappears.

Knowing I’m well rested and have eaten, I can assume I’m not seeing things. I go to the sheet and uncover a large hole. It’s the entry to a secret room.

“Torrance? What d’yavol is this?”

“A moment, Mr. Carew,” he says. He’s coughing, leaning on his cane, pointing out where he wishes sconces to be placed to a carpenter.

This is not good for my patient’s health. I’ll find Scarlett later, after she calms. I can’t let Torrance do things to trigger another health crisis, so I grab his arm and hurry him outside into the sun and fresh air. “This construction is not good for you. And what have you done, Your Grace? Is the dining room still here?”

“Ah, Mr. Carew. A little less of the ballroom, a little less of the garden. But rest assured, the maze is fully intact. Scarlett still has her view of the gardens. She demands that.” The duke waves at a gentleman who’s entered his newly built lair to join us outdoors.

The fellow comes and has a satchel like Scarlett’s. “Progress seems to be going well, Your Grace.”

“Splendid,” the duke says. “Mr. Carew, this is Mr. Samuel Pepys Cockerell. He’s a wonderful architect. He studied under Sir Robert Taylor.”

I’m sure those credentials are impressive, but I’m more concerned with my patient. We don’t know what triggers his bouts of suffering. I know the stress of construction and the dust can’t be good. “What’s going on, Torrance?”

“I’ll leave you to the maze.” Cockerell folds his papers. “I’ll tell the carpenters to add the additional compartments. A rack for flintlocks is unusual but this is the stage to add nooks.” He walks back into the chaos.

“Guns, Torrance?”

“One can never be too careful. A third member of the Court of Chancery has resigned. You probably missed it in the papers. It was a little-known earl.”

“Not Lord Ashford?”

Torrance’s brow furrows. “No. Ashford isn’t on the court, but he often presents cases of titles and custody. A different peer has fallen.” He looks around and then motions me forward. “There’re too many people around. Let’s go into the maze.”

Resigned, I follow. The notion of him having weapons or needing them is very disconcerting.

“Well, you have seen the bones of my secret room. When it’s complete, a hidden latch will open the bookcase and I can hide . . . my treasures.”

“More rare chessboards or more guns?”

“Da and a few of my father’s flintlocks. He was an expert marksman. Of course, my more delicate chessboards, the rarest finds, will be in there and out of reach of those who may not show them proper care.”

The duke leads me deeper into the maze. “Chess,” he says, “with its twists and turns brings me infinite pleasure.” He stops after we’ve taken a few turns. The boxwood hedge is lovely, perfectly green and trimmed. A stone bench is nearby. “Carew, my friend, you look concerned. Are you well? I heard you haven’t been feeling well.”

“I’m well, but I’m hunting Miss Wilcox. She ran from my carriage.”

“Tsk tsk.” The duke chuckles. “Well, thank you for bringing her back from Somerset House. Meetings here ran long.” He glances at me, like I do to examine a patient for illness. “You and poor Scarlett cannot help but argue. Such a shame.”

“Oh, this time we got along too well. I asked her to marry me. And then she ran.”

Torrance blinks a few times. “So you just figured out that you like her. And that she’s a woman?”

“I’ve always liked her.” I put my hands to my head like I can stuff my sanity back into my cranium. Goodness, every bit of me smells of that awful rose water. “But now I want to marry her.”

The duke sits on the bench and takes deep breaths. “My, what a change.”

“Torrance, I knew that dust would get to you.” I reach and pick up his wrist, checking his pulse rate against my pocket watch. “Well, everything is still beating properly.”

“I’m fine, Carew. You, on the other hand, do not look well at all. But you smell like roses. Can’t be all bad.”

Dropping his wrist, I nod. “Things can be bettah . . . better with your help.”

“Avoiding brothels during the day with Miss Wilcox might help.”

“We didn’t go there again . . .” Oh. I’m dead. “Torrance, you know about that whole crazy night and haven’t tried to duel with me with one of your father’s guns? I guess I’m fortunate.”

He glances up at me blinking. The sun is behind us, in my eyes. He must be calculating my usefulness. “So you’ve come to beg forgiveness?”

I wanna beg, alright, but not to him. “The night at the brothel was a combination of my stupidity, Livingston’s zeal, my driver’s deference to fools, and Miss Wilcox’s iron disposition. I would never willingly take her there. And she was kind enough not to leave me there.”

“Scarlett is one of the good ones—loyal, pretty, clever.”

The sun beads sweat on my brow, while Torrance looks as cool as a Gunter’s ice. “Why do you sanction her behavior?”

His laughter rumbles in his chest along with a thunderous cough. “You think I want her at a brothel?”

“Of course not, Torrance.”

“You can either help a mule or stand back and let it kick you. I’ll let Scarlett Wilcox do what she wishes, for you cannot stop someone so determined. I’d rather she be safe and confide in me, no matter what happens. Scandal is harshest on women. I don’t want her trying to navigate this world by herself.”

There is a twisted sort of logic to that. “Doesn’t it drive you crazy that she could be disgraced any moment?”

“Perhaps a little. But it seems to bother you a great deal more. Why is that?”

The remote throbbing of a well-deserved headache starts to ramp. “I’ve known the family a long time. Mr. Wilcox was someone I greatly admired. He introduced me to so many people when I first began to practice. I owe him.”

“Then helping keep Scarlett safe is not too big of a request.” He taps his lips with his ring finger. One that I notice has a small gold band. “A bold woman,” he says, “is something magical to behold.”

“I . . . I just wish she was more cautious. Her mother was such a levelheaded woman.”

“Mrs. Wilcox suffered the same condition I have.”

His tone doesn’t sound like a question, but I see no harm in answering. “Yes. And she was remarkable and dignified. Such a credit to her husband.”

“Was she faithful to Mr. Wilcox?”

A snap sounds behind us. It echoes as if it has come from deeper in the maze.

“The construction,” the duke says. “Pay no attention to it. Continue talking about Mrs. Wilcox.”

“Of course she was faithful. Mrs. Wilcox was the kind of woman who’d never bring scandal to her family. She stressed that to her daughters. Not quite sure if they listened—”

“Did it not strike you as odd that only Lydia Wilcox has this same condition? Unless the other Wilcox sisters still have a chance of coming down with this sickness later in life.”

“No one knows how it happens. From the small amount of research I’ve seen, these are chronic issues. Sometimes the parents show no sign and the illness befalls their child. There’s just not enough known.”

The duke folds his arms and leans back along the bench. “My sister Anya, I’m convinced, died of this.”

“Your father was British, Duke. I’ve seen this in people with color in their skin. It ravages Blackamoors the most.”

“Well, perhaps the brown-eyed people of London have more explaining to do about their heritage. My mother sent a picture of Anya. When all the renovations are done, I’ll find an important place to display it.”

I hate bothering him when I can tell he isn’t up to his best, but things can’t wait. Matters of honor cannot. “Torrance, I want to marry Scarlett Wilcox. I can’t keep pretending that she’s my cousin, my male cousin, especially now that I want her to be my wife. She met the aunties of Cheapside as Scotland. They want to find ‘my cousin’ a nice girl.”

“Well, cousins do marry here in Britain.” The duke begins to laugh until he coughs. “Carew, how do you get in such predicaments?”

The duke sees the humor. I see the scandalous illustrations that will be the rage of London.

“Carew, it seems we both have problems getting Wilcox women to marry us.”

Oh, he’s humored, but let me bus’ de mark. “Torrance, it seems this isn’t the first time you’ve tried to marry one of them.”

His face changes, saddens. Bus’ de mark.

“Scarlett accidently admitted you knew her sister before. That would have to be after Inverness and in St. Petersburg.”

“Da. I knew Katherine Wilcox ‘the younger,’ but I don’t know the older, this woman who has become a viscountess.” He struggles and sighs deeply. “I don’t know her at all. I suppose as we get older, they do, too. Girls change. Women, too.”

“Your Grace, do you need to be out here? Are you feeling well?”

He stares past me and looks to the house. “Scarlett loves looking at the maze in the mornings. She loves the bay window. Used to remind her of the one at White’s, until your great adventure.”

I look down at my dusty boots. Benny spent time polishing them. “Our outing didn’t change her. She’s been different since last year, since your ball.”

“Carew, can disappointment make someone act out of character, or could you have been deceived all along?”

There is not a drop of mirth in his words, but I hear truth in his pain. “As Shakespeare writes of Othello and Desdemona, jealousy can quickly turn love into hatred. But Scarlett’s not jealous, and Lady Hampton merely despises you.”

“What a conventional attitude you have, physician.” The duke shakes his head. “Lady Hampton is jealous that I have the means to show affection to whom I please. My current object is my Lidochka. She must ask herself, how can a man who doesn’t love me love the child of my flesh, bone of my bone?”

The passion in his tone is unnerving. Shouldn’t have quoted Shakespeare. It’s armed him to push me off a poetic cliff . . . a deserved cliff. “Your Grace, we were talking about Miss Wilcox.”

“Scarlett is jealous that you can have science. You can go to lectures, visit patients, while she must contend to matters of the home and art she doesn’t wish to know or care for.”

“Torrance, look at Anya House. You’re building a secret room fit for a king because you feel like it. I was there last year; you brought an elephant to Miss Lydia Wilcox’s birthday. That is hard to contend with.”

“Why contend? Why not be content that this child, who may not know tomorrow, gets the best of every day?” He taps his cane on the ground. The tip hides in the thick freshly cut grass. “I should not raise my voice.”

“You are being wonderful to the Wilcoxes. More generous to them than I think anyone, but—” I raise my hands. “I surrender the point. Do as you please. My birthday is in December.”

“Da, at the end of the year, Carew. I will remember.”

“Actually, if you wish to give me an early gift, convince Scarlett to come with me to Wesley’s Chapel. She promised the aunties that I’m courting a beautiful girl and that she’ll accompany me to church on Friday, and then to a picnic-dinner thing. It’s hard to describe, but I want them to meet Scarlett.”

“You want me to convince Scarlett to dress in a gown and go with you. Not breeches. Done.”

The man still chuckles, while the word breeches gives me the image of her straddling me on the floor of my carriage as we drown in passionate, rosewater hell. “I need you to do more, Torrance. I compromised her. I want to marry Scarlett. I need you to make that happen.”

All the laughter stops. He’s glancing up at me. “How am I to make that happen? I’m not a tsar. And my barrister says my powers as a duke are, apparently, limited.”

Why would he check? I clear my head and get to the point. “You have a bet, Torrance. I know she said you’d pick who she’d marry. Tell her me.”

The duke plays with his cane like he’s considering lifting it and giving me a whack. “This is quite a change. I’m hearing intensity and passion. Not so much love.”

Now I’m silent.

I care a great deal for her, but is this wild desperate feeling love? “I don’t know. But I’m not waiting around to let someone else swoop in and sweep her off her feet. I want to be the man who carries her away.”

Torrance looks like he’s thinking. That’s dangerous.

“Your Grace, do I need to go to Lady Hampton? If I mention one of the ways I’ve . . . the way Scarlett has been scandalized, she’ll give her permission.”

“That’s unnecessary and dangerous. Katherine could turn against you. She did after my son was stillborn, did she not?”

His son. The duke knows. I’ll not lie to patients. I’ll keep their lies. This is a rare truth. “She didn’t want me near the house. For a long time, I was a reminder of that night.”

“Where is my son buried?”

“St. Pancras. Torrance, I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was yours. The Wilcoxes didn’t volunteer information.”

The wind blows. Yellow particles scatter in the air.

“Your Grace?”

He stares off into nothingness. “Are you ready to concede that your definition of the perfect woman is wrong?”

“Torrance, what are you talking about?”

He moves his hands like he’s directing instruments. “I believe you said, ‘The perfect woman is demure, quiet, born of pedigree, an impeccable dresser, and beautiful.’”

“Yes. Yes, Torrance. And Scarlett’s all of these things. She’s loyal and wonderful.”

“Quiet and demure? My Scarlett?” He shakes his head. “And even if she were to become all of those things, or become less of herself to please you, what are you going to change to be the type of man that she wants?”

Comparisons . . . she said something about comparing. Oh Lord. Is there someone else? “Your Grace, I probably know. You remember how we studied at Inverness. The answer’s up here.” I tap my brow. “I just need to stop and find it. Give me a chance to find out. Just one.”

“If the aunties are expecting the perfect woman to show up with you, I can arrange that. I can have a cultured, sophisticated woman prepared to meet them.”

“But I want it to be Miss Wilcox. I don’t want a substitute, unless she can be so impressive that it keeps the aunties from plotting to reconnect me to Eveline Gray. My old love is now without a husband. I don’t want Eveline, or anyone but Scarlett.” Scarlett and time is what I want, more than . . .

I hear what sounds like a footfall. The duke doesn’t move. Must be my conscience making noise, because I’ve bungled things so badly. “Can you convince Scarlett to marry me?”

He shrugs. “I think you need to figure out why she doesn’t want you.”

Oh, I know she wants me, she just doesn’t want to keep me. “I’ll ask her now. Where is she? Do you have her in a tower?”

“Nyet. But the bay window.” He points to a large bay window above the protrusion of the duke’s new secret lair. The lacy puce curtains are spread wide.

“That’s Scarlett’s room? Seems a bit feminine.”

“Don’t let the tailcoat fool you, Carew. Scarlett picked every decoration. A Vasilisa or Cinderella in training. Or for you, my Shakespeare-loving friend, she’s a Kate after finding love.” He shakes his head and waves his cane provocatively. “Now, let her be. Anya House is her sanctuary. I wish my estate as a refuge for as long as she wishes, regardless of any bet.”

Why did the duke’s voice rise so suddenly?

Guess this impasse will have to hold until I see her again. “Fine. Get her to come with me Friday. I will find out whatever she wants. I’ll be whatever she wants. I’ll not lose her.”

The duke stands and hobbles closer. “You talk of grand gestures. Bring her elephants because you can. Scarlett Wilcox knows what she wants. Make it your mission to find out what it is. Don’t plan. Do. I suspect her list is specific, and probably scientific.”

That’s Scarlett through and through—a satchel of curiosity and research notes. Yet, a set of lacy curtains gives me greater hope. Maybe I wouldn’t always be her mentor. Maybe she could be my respite from the strain of seeing sickness and disease and heartache every day from my patients. “There must be something sweet and romantic about her, too. Torrance, my foolhardy list wasn’t complete. It needs frivolity and laughter to balance all the sadness my medicine can’t heal.”

“And if she is none of those things? Will you still want Scarlett Wilcox?”

If the carriage floor is any indication of our life together, then we can both be highly illogical and lusty, too. “I’ll do anything, Torrance. I’ll be a good husband. I’ll strive to be the man who can make her happy.”

His brow rises. “If you are willing to change for her, that says a great deal about you.”

“Scarlett Wilcox is the most loyal person I know. She’s worth every sacrifice. Let me talk with her. I can figure it out, perhaps, before Friday.”

He stands and shakes his head. “No seeing her until then.”

“No visit? No supper? No walks in a maze?”

“Nothing. I’ll work to convince her to go with you Friday. Or I’ll have a substitute ready. You play by my rules. Come here Friday. Maybe the time apart will give you both clarity. And do leave off the rosewater soap. It might be what’s driving her away.”

His laughter follows me as I leave and head to the mews. Hopefully, Benny has the scent gone by now. I glance back at Anya House, at that bay window, wishing I could see Scarlett before I leave.

My prayer is that she’s not too stubborn and will venture into my world of Cheapside. I want to show her that she belongs there with me. Nonetheless, my fears of failing begin to spin. Friday is not enough time to plan. And I can’t believe my prospects are in the hands of the flintlock-hiding, grieving, mad duke.