Page 19 of Dominating the Duke

13

JULY, 1826

ST. JAMES SQUARE, LONDON

Lady Camilla Bowles Attington Carrington Whitby kept her perennially enigmatic smile pasted on her face until her maid finished setting up the tea service and laying out cakes.

Camilla lifted the silver pot and began to pour out cups for her guests until the servant was out of the room and well out of earshot. She finished pouring and then set down the pot with a tad more force than was absolutely necessary.

"Now, which one of you is going to tell me exactly what the hell is going on? Every gossip sheet in London is proclaiming the Duke of Chelmsford has been found floating face-down in the Thames."

Bow Street runner Archer Colwyn and the eminent barrister Stephen Forsythe sat frozen in place, mouths open and staring at each other, neither one wanting to break the silence. Her secret weapon, special runner, and font of all information, Dickie Jones, spoke first.

"Captain El swore she was gonna stop his claret, but I don't think she did."

"Why was I not informed of this dire turn of affairs?" Despite her high dudgeon, Camilla took a lavender-iced cake, three sugars, and a prodigious amount of cream for her fragile cup of tea.

"Cause she said no one needed to know."

"Dickie..."

"I know, I know...you always need to know first, but..."

"But what?"

"The captain paid me a lot to keep my gob shut." He hung his head, and added, with little evidence of contrition, "I'm sorry, Aunt Camilla."

Col cleared his throat. "Did Captain Goodrum by chance tell you why she was going to 'stop his claret'?"

"The duke broke into all three of her estates trying to find proof of some kind of lay, or her being one of the dock badgers. She couldn't let some nob find out what she was really up to, could she?"

Sythe and Col exchanged looks before Sythe raised a finger to stop the speculative conversation. "We all know who Captain Goodrum is and the, ah, dire acts for which she and her minions are well known." He paused for effect, and then, staring directly at Aunt Camilla, continued. "Many of us, myself included, have used her services for what we've all told ourselves were good causes..."

Camilla raised a hand to keep him from saying more. "I think I know what you're trying to say, Mr. Forsythe, and I agree. We've used the poor woman as our 'Robin Hood' for far too long. She's an incredibly beautiful and capable woman who overcame horrible adversity to build her own empire. But..." She used an overly long pause to dramatic effect, and whilst everyone's gaze was trained on her face, C.B. and Ath arrived with the vital piece of information she'd been awaiting.

"It's not him," Ath said, tossing his hat to a waiting footman.

"Indeed, it is not," C.B. concurred. "Ath helped me steal the body and take it to my clinic for inspection."

She sucked in a sharp breath. She'd ordered them to use whatever means necessary to unearth the truth, but hearing her nephew confirm aloud what they'd done made the toast she'd had for breakfast seem like a ball of lead in her stomach.

Sythe leaned forward. "You have to be very sure, because a peerage is at stake."

C.B. gave his old school chum a rakish grin. "The last time Chelmsford took the short end of a toss-up with his boxing instructor, I treated the scrapes on his face and arms, and I noticed the duke has a nasty scar near his wrist. He said Daedalus got the better of him when they were no more than lads and took play sword-fighting a bit too far. Said he damned near bled to death."

"And the cadaver you, um, examined?" Camilla gritted her teeth. She hadn't done anything missish since she was in leading strings, and she wasn't going to faint now.

"Oh, he had plenty of scars. He's a street fighter, no doubt about it. But no wide scar in the same place as the one I saw on Percy's arm."

She let out the breath she'd been holding. "So Eleanor didn't kill the duke after all."

Dickie yawned a bit from the early hour they'd all gathered so as not to raise suspicion in the tonnish neighborhood. "No, but I'll bet she's made him wish he's dead, wherever she's holding him."

As one, all heads in the room turned toward Dickie.

"Well, where is he, lad?" C.B. exploded in impatience.

"Dunno, exactly," Dickie admitted, "but theLady Muirgenain't in her slip at the East India dock."