Page 23 of A Wager at Midnight (Betting Against the Duke #2)

Chapter 23

S CARLETT —W HAT W OULD A L ADY D O ?

I t’s Wednesday. Two more days before I see Stephen again. I stand in front of the long mirror, wondering about the winning gown and the note he sent. His fancy parchment is in my hand. I don’t exactly know what to make of it.

I’ve thought about it all night. I’m at a loss for what to do.

“There is no need to fidget, Scarlett. You’ll look beautiful.” The duke stands at the threshold. The maid has left the door open as she goes to get the matching cape pressed. “You were made to wear crimson.”

The color is bold. Maybe too bright. “I settled on this because Katherine objected.”

“You’re a Wilcox.”

“Is that your way of saying that we sisters are contrary?”

“Pretty much, but you’ll look lovely in it. The physician will not be able to take his eyes from you.”

Through my enchanted bay window, the warm morning sunshine reflects onto my table where the other dresses lie on tissue paper—safe blue, a white one with shiny silver. “This will make me stand out.”

“What’s wrong with that?” His voice is strong, almost bubbly, like he’s inspecting his creation. The duke seems chipper with a longer stride, but he’s always happier when everyone spends the night. Katherine, Lydia, and I stay in Anya House in the rooms he’s made permanently available for us.

“Most of the time, I wish to hide.”

“Ah, your love of disguises. Well, instead of a waistcoat, you will have a lovely fichu and cape.”

“Your Grace, it’s a very bright choice.”

He nods in that funny way he does. “Do you know that a candle will still burn if hidden under a basket?”

“It can also set the straw on fire. And burn down the whole house.” I shake my head and hold back my unexplainable, unwanted fears. “Not sure I want to be responsible for setting London ablaze.”

“A light needs to be seen. Not hidden. You’re flame, Scarlett. You wish to merely show a spark of your brilliance? Nyet. You must be willing to burn to get what you want.”

I turn to where he remains at the door. “Is that what you are doing? Burning up your enemies?”

He squints at me, and I point him to the London Morning Post on the bed. “Seems another member of the Court of Chancery has resigned. More mysterious circumstances. Lord Flanders seemed like a nice man.”

The duke doesn’t blink. “ Seems is right.”

I go to him, crossing the self-imposed distance. “Have you taken your revenge on everyone who’s your enemy? When is enough, enough?”

The duke chuckles. “I think you’ve listened to Katherine too much. She assumes I have special powers.”

“I’m not her. For I see you, all of you.” I retreat and he follows. “Did you do it? Have you made these men resign?”

He shrugs. “I believe they’ve decided that their old-world views are no longer needed. Each has voluntarily resigned.”

“Because something damning has been discovered. To avoid scandal, they’ve relented their power. Is that how you work?”

He shrugs again. “Let’s consider what you say is true. I may have obtained some information that newspapermen might enjoy printing. These alleged paragons who sit in judgment, hypothetically, have done some very terrible things. One could say it is a way to save their valor, to resign without bringing scandal to their families.”

“How honorable, Your Grace. Again, when do you stop?”

He sinks into the seat in the bay window. “When all the guilty are punished, or I die. The guilty must be punished, Scarlett. I’m hanging in there.”

“Did you target Tavis? He wronged you.”

His smile flattens to a harsh line. “Yes, he wronged me by lying so completely to Katherine that she refuses to see the truth.”

The duke hasn’t answered my question. Did he target Tavis? Did the duke put into motion all the actions that would make a desperate man take his last bet? “Are the slights against you enough to make Tavis pay with his life?”

The duke doesn’t answer at first, but then he says. “ Lózh’ kozaku ne k litsu , which is to say, lies do not suit a Cossack. I’d never do anything to hurt Katherine. Knowing the pain our separation caused—everything that it cost—I could not. But Tavis was a fool. He had magic and didn’t know it. He’s gone. I wish him well in hell.”

That is the strongest thing the duke has said about my brother-in-law. Cold as a Gunter’s ice. Heaven help us, the day he no longer has feelings for Katherine. I need to help him see that she’s still hurting from Wilcox secrets.

“Scarlett, I do not mean to make you fretful. But I am running out of time. One doesn’t have forever to fix everything. You and Lydia need to be protected.”

I stoop and take his hand. “Then you keep fighting. Your light can’t be hidden, either. You’re too good.”

“Am I? Katherine thinks I’m the d’yavol. Maybe she’s right.”

My heart hurts for him. He has power but nothing to help him heal. Like my father, the duke has money and the strength to fight for others, but maybe not for himself. “You need to battle for your health. No one else can manage the wars you’ve started.”

His smile at me is brief. “Scarlett, you may be right. Mr. Thom had an incident today. He ran the coal wagon into a ditch.”

Incident? Or accident? My heart pounds. “No. Is he . . .” I want to ask if he’s blind or dead, but I can’t get the words out.

“Scarlett, he’s well, just a little shaken up. He didn’t want to come here, so I had him sent to Ground Street. While his sons are away trying to build trade routes, he needs to be watched. The wagon is in my mews being repaired . . . Scarlett? You look unwell.”

“I’m not ready. I can’t do the surgery yet.”

“Scarlett? Tell me what’s going on. I got you tools without asking questions. You’re risking your reputation to do eye research. What have you discovered? Enlighten me.”

“You were at White’s. You saw how the scientists listened to me. I’ve discovered the procedure to restore some sight.”

The duke offers me a thoughtful look. “Is that all? Why the urgency? Who needs help?”

He’s glancing at me, waiting for a confession. I trust him enough to give him one.

“Mr. Thom is losing his sight.”

His head tilts. The duke looks away toward the floor. “Continue.”

“You know? Of course you know. The lenses of his eyes have darkened with what I can only describe as a hardened white mucus. The cataract has taken sight from one eye. It may take it from the other.”

“Will this work on any clouded lens, not just cataracts, this couching method?”

“You were listening. I think it should. The tools are what is needed for the delicate surgery.”

“Risking everything for a friend.” The duke kisses my hand and then releases my fingers. “You are the most like me. I’ll put my resources at your disposal for Thom. Develop the skills.”

“It’s not that simple. Knowing the parts of the eye is not the same as taking tools to fix the eye. The lens must be dislodged without hurting the eye. As you can imagine, it’s a delicate procedure.”

He nods. “There’s someone with the skills of a surgeon who might be able to help.”

My lungs deflate, and we say it together. “Mr. Carew.”

Chuckling, the duke wears the smile like this has been his plan all along. “Yes, the man whom you have tender feelings for, who now wishes to marry you, began his medical career as a surgeon. He’s the best of both worlds. He has the erudite thought of a learned man, but doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty. Surgery is work gentlemen won’t do.”

“You forgot to add that he reads frivolous novels, too. Most gentlemen don’t do that.”

The duke leans back a little on the window seat. “I never considered Shakespeare frivolous. And I do remember you being moved by his words, when Carew said them to your sister.”

“Well, now he’s sent them to me.” I go to the table and pull Stephen’s note from under the crinkling tissue paper. “Here. The verse is from the author, A. Lady.”

“How clever, for you are a lady even in disguise.” He reads the page aloud. “ ‘Her skin was very brown, but, from its transparency, her complexion was uncommonly brilliant.’”

The duke’s cheeks brighten. He seems to scan the paper for something unladylike for my delicate ears. “Nothing untoward,” he says, then he continues. “ ‘Her features were all good; her smile was sweet and attractive; and in her eyes, which were very dark, there was a life, a spirit, an eagerness, which could hardly be seen without delight. I am delighted by you, Scarlett Wilcox. Your Humbled Servant. S. A. Carew.’”

“Romantic d’yavol.” The duke looks up at me. “This passage is from Sense and Sensibility . I believe the Prince Regent is an admirer of this author. Scarlett, can you not see what Carew is saying?”

Blinking to ensure my eyes haven’t glazed over, I shrug.

“It is a compliment. May I ask why you can’t see that the good physician thinks you’re beautiful, transparent, and with such life it’s hard for him to take his eyes off of you?”

Said like that, my traitorous heart races. After all these years, he sees me. “But how do I respond? What do I say? Georgina is the one who loves these novels. Perhaps I should ask her?”

“Send him a note entirely from you, S. Wilcox. No guises. No pretense. Let it be you.”

I take the note back and hide it in my palm. “If Mr. Carew were the earl, it would be easier to write to him. Drench the foolscap in rose water and offer to pay his passage to a brothel, the man of science would listen.”

The confusion on the duke’s face is priceless. “Well, Lord Livingston—”

“No, Jahleel. I know Scarlett will listen to you to her detriment. So please do not convince her that that drunk, marriage-hating man, is the one she should marry.” Katherine storms into the room. She’s pointing and raising her tone. “Scarlett’s convinced a marriage of convenience is what she wants. And love is a foolish emotion. On that I agree, but please spare my sister from someone who will make her miserable. Save her from my mistakes.”

“Katherine, which of your mistakes are we discussing? Tavis or Tavis.” He smothers a laugh.

Katherine hisses at him. “You’re impossible.”

Before the duke says something that will make my sister leave and take Lydia, too, I move between them and catch her pointing finger. “The duke would never choose a fool for me. He’s chosen Stephen Adam Carew. And I think His Grace is right.”

Now Katherine laughs. “Mr. Carew. Our family’s physician? The man you constantly annoy?”

“He’s also a trained surgeon.” I say with a sense of pride. “That can come in handy with the proper tools.”

“A surgeon? You mean when he was a bone doctor in Trinidad.” Katherine’s tone is haughty. “What good is that to you? You need to wait.”

I can’t believe the slight is coming from my sister’s mouth. “Now I see why you married Tavis. You two are alike. You are both silly about titles, when more substantial things should matter.”

She looks away, toying with the cuff of her gown. “He was my husband. Of course we should be alike.”

“Yes, you and Tavis bonded. And you accepted his prejudice against any expertise that doesn’t come from Mayfair. Did you enjoy the physician his family sent? The gentleman hated every moment he stood in our house.”

“That’s not what I meant, Scarlett. This ridiculous bet makes me say things that are insensitive.”

“No, Katherine, it’s what you believe. Is that why when Mama passed, you were reluctant to call upon Mr. Carew when Lydia was sick?”

With her gaze flickering between me and the duke, she backs up. “No. He’s a busy man.”

The duke’s grin fades. “You’d let Lydia suffer because of your foolishness?”

“No. That’s not it. He was there to deliver my . . . Lydia. It was a troubled birth and for a long time, every time I saw him it reminded me of loss and pain.” Katherine weeps. “There was so much blood, then not enough.”

The duke doesn’t make a joke. He moves swiftly and holds my sister, first by the shoulders, then fully letting her fall into his arms.

Her sobbing is wild and loud.

Yet, I know why. She won’t tell anyone that she and Mama were both pregnant. That Mama gave birth to lively Lydia, while Katherine had to hold a stillborn in her arms. I was fourteen, but I remember how Mama’s pregnancy kept her in her room, bedridden. We hardly saw her for months. Katherine’s pregnancy kept her sad and big and full of shame.

All of their pain, it’s still in that house. It’s here in this room. Pain needs to be expressed to be expelled from the heart. “Sister. Did you ever give the child you lost a name? I know I hurt less when I say Scotland’s name.”

Katherine trembles. Through her tears, I hear her. “You shouldn’t have said—”

“I’m tired of not saying. Of pretending Scotland or your stillborn child didn’t exist.”

She pries away from Torrance a few inches. I watch their eyes lock.

They weep together, and he says, “Andrew Charles would be a good name for our son. Of course, his middle name would be a patronymic of Jahleel.”

Confirmation of their past relationship, and why she hates him: his abandonment.

Very gently, the duke folds her fully into his embrace. “Tavis, on his deathbed, told me. I know why you hate me. It’s deserved. I hate me, too. If I had known, I would’ve made another choice. I would have given up—”

“Please.” Her mouth quivers. “Don’t say something you don’t mean. Something we both know is a lie.”

She weeps harder. And I see the duke’s soul withering in his red, red eyes.

The duke whispers Russian words in her ear. It must be a prayer, a wish for forgiveness, a hope of peace.

And I ache for Katherine. She gave her love to a man who left her. He disappointed her when she needed him.

Tears roll down the duke’s cheeks, and he supports strong Katherine like she’s a fragile crystal chess piece from one of his rarest sets.

Gathering my research notes and Stephen’s letter, I flee the room. Those two need privacy to finally share what was lost. Time should stand still for them. Perhaps everyone at Anya House will now gain peace.

I’ll go to the duke’s study and write a response to Stephen. I plan on sending him something that says, I see you, and I trust you enough to share my thoughts and perhaps more. If he’s the one for me, he’ll sweep through every guise and recognize my heart.