Page 21 of Hazardous to a Duke’s Heart (Lords of Hazard #1)

T ory awakened slowly, realizing she was sore in some unusual places. Within seconds, she realized why, and then could only luxuriate in the reason. She’d lost her innocence. She should regret that, but how could she? Jon had been so considerate, yet so fierce in his desire for her. Just thinking of it now made her want to swoon. So it didn’t even bother her that she was no longer chaste. No one would ever know, not even Mrs. Gully.

She had a moment’s panic and glanced at the clock, then relaxed to find it still quite early, only six AM . Mrs. Gully wouldn’t be here yet, and anyway, Tory had done all she could to hide the truth from her loyal servant. She’d remade the bed last night and hidden the bloody sheet in her satchel, intending to dispense with it in the garbage from Falcon House.

As for a husband finding out she wasn’t chaste, the only man she would ever choose to marry, anyway, was Jon and he obviously already knew. A smile crept over her face. Jon. The sweet things he’d said after their lovemaking and his unexpected offer of marriage had quite taken her by surprise.

Granted, he’d said such things the night of the ball, but she hadn’t dared to let herself believe them. Not until he’d offered marriage last night and then stood by the offer even after meeting Cyril.

Cyril! Oh, Lord, she’d forgotten about cautioning Cyril against any mention of her “friend” to Mrs. Gully! Then she heard voices in the hall—the warm tones of Mrs. Gully followed by the childish ones of Cyril.

What was the woman doing here so early? She generally didn’t even appear until seven!

Tory leaped out of bed and pulled on her wrapper, then hurried into the kitchen, surprised to find Cyril already dressed and eating breakfast. “Good morning, Sissy!” he said cheerfully. “Mrs. Gully made me eggy bread and rashers!”

“What a treat!” she said, forcing gaiety into her tone. “Did you tell her ‘Thank you’?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Gully!” Cyril said as he attacked the slices of fried egg-dipped bread.

“Come into the parlor with me, miss,” Mrs. Gully said. “You stay right here, Master Cyril, and enjoy that eggy bread. I need to speak to your sister a bit.”

That didn’t sound good. Dread settling in the pit of her stomach, Tory followed her into the parlor. When Mrs. Gully shut the door, she knew for certain something was wrong.

“There’s sumpthin’ you should see,” Mrs. Gully said grimly, and handed her one of those gossip rags that Chloe always loved to read.

This one was open to a certain page with a particular column circled. It read:

We have it on good authority that a certain former governess now appearing in Society circles as an heiress is not quite that. The dowry supposedly provided to her by her late father, a well-known bear leader who died in France, is actually being provided by his pupil and newly returned heir to a dukedom, the Duke of F———. Is this a case of the duke showing his gratitude to his former tutor by helping the man’s daughter? Or could there be more between him and Miss M——- than anyone knows?

Tory’s mind whirled until it landed on the one salient implication in the whole piece: that Jon had been the one to supply her dowry. Was it true? It didn’t seem like the sort of thing even the gossip rags would just invent. And if it was the case, it explained why he’d become so angry when she’d teased him about wanting to marry her for her dowry.

Still, why would he provide her with one? It made no sense. And who would set out to ruin her reputation by telling the press about it and implying that it meant something salacious was going on? How would such a person even find out about it?

Mrs. Gully folded her hands over her waist. “Now, George says as I should mind my own business, but I’ve watched you grow up from a child to a woman, and ’twouldn’t feel right not tellin’ you when I see sumpthin’ wrong, ’specially considerin’ you ain’t got a mother and all anymore.”

“Mrs. Gully, I can explain—” Tory began.

“And furthermore, when I hear from the lad that you had a man visit you in the middle of the night—”

“First of all, it wasn’t the middle of the night. You know Cyril. He thinks anything that happens after he goes to bed is ‘the middle of the night.’ It was right after sundown, truly. And yes, it was His Grace here. He stopped by to . . . to . . .”

“To what? Cyril says you were together in your bedchamber, miss. Your bedchamber!”

She stifled a groan. “We were. It was the only place I could be sure His Grace didn’t hear or see Cyril or couldn’t be seen by anyone in the neighborhood through the parlor curtains. He even entered through the back door to protect my reputation.”

Mrs. Gully crossed her arms over her ample bosom. “And why exactly was he here and hiding the fact from folks if he weren’t up to no good?”

Tory considered telling her the truth—that Jon had seen a man following her, but Mrs. Gully would just say that Jon had used that excuse to get to see her alone.

Had he?

No, that was absurd. He’d already proved it was easy enough to get her alone at his mansion. He needn’t have followed her home for that.

Still, telling Mrs. Gully about the man following her might make the woman so alarmed that she’d worry about her own safety here alone during the day with Cyril.

Perhaps Tory should tell Mrs. Gully part of the truth of what happened last night. At least then she could get the woman’s advice. “His Grace came to propose marriage to me.” That was what had happened in the end, anyway, so it wasn’t entirely a lie, was it?

Mrs. Gully blinked, then broke into a broad smile. “Truly? His Grace wants to marry you? Oh, Lordy, don’t that beat all—a governess marrying a duke!” She scowled. “Wait—so, has he truly been offerin’ gentlemen a dowry to marry you?”

“He has. Remember when I told you Papa left me an inheritance, and you were skeptical? You were right to be so. If I’m to believe the gossip rag, that was the money His Grace was offering for my dowry.” She forced a smile. “But it appears he’s decided he wants me for himself.”

“He has, has he? Well, he couldn’t do no better than you, and you sure couldn’t do no better than him. I daresay you accepted his proposal.”

She swallowed. “I told him I’d have to think about it.”

“What?” Mrs. Gully roared. “ Why , for pity’s sake?”

“Because of Cyril, of course.”

Mrs. Gully’s face fell. “Oh, right. I forgot Cyril came in on the man. I suppose it was a shock for the duke, finding out about the lad all sudden-like.” The woman sighed. “I take it His Grace wasn’t keen on having a wife with . . . a brother like Cyril.”

“Actually, the duke claimed he would bring Cyril into his home. And if his mother didn’t like it, he’d take me and Cyril to the country to live.”

“Then why wouldn’t you accept his proposal?” A frown darkened her brow. “Though I don’t know as if I like him leaving his mother behind. The duchess waited a long time for him to come home.”

Tory dropped onto the sofa. “I know. I think the duke was trying to reassure me about Cyril. But I fear . . .”

Mrs. Gully sat down beside her. “What is it, dearie?” She patted Tory’s knee. “You can tell me.”

“I worry that once he has me, he’ll . . . he’ll send Cyril away. He promised he never would, but . . . well . . . He said a lot of lovely things last night. Yet he said naught about love. About being in love with me. And now that I know he offered the dowry himself, I wonder if . . . this is all just some way to repay Papa for being his tutor or to assuage his guilt that Papa didn’t live and he did, or . . . I don’t know what to think.”

Mrs. Gully took her hand in both of her own. “What about you? Do you love him ?”

“I don’t know. I never thought I’d get the chance to love anyone, so I’m not sure what love is even like.”

“Oh, dearie. That, you’ll have to figure out for yourself. But ask yourself this. Does being around him make you happy? Make you want to see him even more? Is there anyone else you fancy more? Because if the answer to the first two is yes, and the answer to the last one is no, then you’re halfway to figuring it out already.”

Tory patted their joined hands. “After three husbands, you probably know a lot more about love than I ever could.”

“I dunno about that. Never loved the first one—just wanted to get away from home by marryin’ him. I fancied I loved the second one—but once he died, I didn’t miss him near as much as I expected to. But George? I’d die if I couldn’t have him beside me. To me, that’s love.”

“It does sound like it. I just don’t know what to think about the duke and me.”

“Well, before you start ponderin’ the matter, mayhap you should ask His Grace all your questions. Because you ought to know why he wants to marry you so’s you can decide if’n his reason is good enough. Don’t you think?”

“I do.” Tory reached over and hugged the woman who had lived with them longer than her own father had. “Thank you for the advice. I feel better just discussing it with you.”

The door to the parlor opened. “Sissy, do you want any of the eggy bread?”

She knew from long experience that Cyril was hoping she’d say no so he could eat it all himself. “I don’t much feel like eating right now, sweetie. Why don’t you finish it off?”

“I will!” he cried, and went running back into the kitchen.

“There goes a lad who always knows exactly what he wants,” Mrs. Gully said.

“Especially when it involves his belly.”

They both laughed. But Tory sat there long after Mrs. Gully had returned to the kitchen, thinking of everything the woman had said.

She had to know more about Jon’s feelings if she was to figure out what she wanted. And there was only one way to do that. She had to talk to him.

Jon was feeling ridiculously happy this morning, even though his valet seemed oddly subdued and quiet as he helped Jon dress. Well, even servants were entitled to their moods. It wouldn’t dampen his. He had to marry Tory, and that was that. Even Morris would approve under the circumstances.

No, Morris would insist on thrashing him for seducing his daughter.

Jon thrust that thought from his head. Morris was dead, and Jon had kept his promise to the man. As long as Tory accepted him, that is. But she would. Jon meant to court her until she did.

Still feeling quite jovial, he entered the dining room for breakfast only to find his mother and sister awaiting him, looking as grave as his valet had. No doubt he was about to get an earful from Mother about some transgression of Society protocol he’d made.

Well, he refused to let it affect him. Once he told them about marrying Tory, they would forget all about whatever he’d done.

“What is it this time?” he asked with a smile as he set about filling his plate. “Did I neglect to address someone important at the ball? Use the wrong hand to pass the potatoes at supper the other night?” He grinned at Chloe as he sat down across the table from her. “Accidentally insult one of your suitors, Sis?”

Chloe winced. “You’d better read this, Jon.” She shoved a copy of that ridiculous gossip rag she liked to read across the table.

“I’m not in the mood for—”

“Read it, son,” his mother ordered. “ Now. ”

“Oh, very well.” He picked the thing up, noticing that a column had been marked. As he read, his heart sank. “No,” he muttered. “No, no, no . . .” He glanced up at them. “Has Tory seen this?”

His mother’s eyebrows rose. “Tory?”

“Miss Morris,” he snapped. “Has she seen this?”

“She’s not here yet,” Chloe said. “So, probably not.”

“Don’t show it to her.” He rose to his feet, his breakfast forgotten.

“She’ll find out eventually,” Mother said, “probably sooner rather than later.”

“With any luck, by then it will be dealt with,” Jon said. “I know I can fix this. Somehow.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, son,” his mother said. “Anything you did to ‘fix this’ would only make it worse. Unless the information about the dowry is a flat-out lie.” His mother looked at him hopefully. “Is it?”

Jon tensed, realizing he’d have to tell them something. “No. It’s true. But before you chastise me, I should tell you I’ve asked Miss Morris to marry me.”

Mother gaped at him, but Chloe burst into applause. “How wonderful! I’m so happy for you both!”

“That might be premature, Sis. She hasn’t yet said yes.”

Chloe waved her hand dismissively. “But she will. I know she will. She’d have to be a fool not to. You’re perfect for each other. And now I’ll have a sister ! I’ve always wanted one.”

His mother, however, hadn’t voiced her opinion. Nor was she smiling. “Chloe, dear,” she finally said. “Would you give me and Jon a few minutes alone?”

“Very well.” Chloe looked flummoxed, but had the good sense not to go against their mother.

The moment she was gone, Jon said, “Mother, I know what you’re going to say, but—”

“I don’t think you do know,” his mother said frostily. “As it happens, I am aware of some things about Victoria’s situation that I don’t believe you are.”

That caught him off guard. “Like what?”

“For one thing, she has a brother who is . . . not well.”

Jon caught his breath, shock settling into the pit of his stomach. “You know about Cyril?”

“Oh!” she said. “So you know about him, too.”

“Yes.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “But I was told you did not.”

“Well, your mother isn’t quite the shatter-brain you seem to think. I wasn’t about to hire Victoria to be Chloe’s governess without having some knowledge of her home situation. I’ve had my spies in her neighborhood for some time. So, yes, I know about young Cyril, though I’ve never said a word to Victoria about it.”

She marched over to pour herself a cup of tea. “I also know of Victoria’s determination not to have her brother sent away somewhere, so I realize the unlikelihood that she will indeed marry you.”

That shook his own firm feelings on the matter. “If you were certain she’d never marry, why on earth did you even agree to see that she had a Season?”

“Because I hoped to be proved wrong. You must understand—I like Victoria quite a bit. I was rather hopeful she would snag some gentleman who could convince her to marry without bringing her brother along. Or even that some gentleman would agree to take him in. That she’d find the sort of match she’d be a fool to turn down. But I never dreamed you would be the gentleman she snagged.”

“Why? Because I’m duke? Because you figured I’d marry who you told me to?”

“Of course not . . . I just . . .”

“You might as well know—I told her that Cyril could live with us.” He stared down at his mother. “And I meant that.”

“I don’t think you fully comprehend the ramifications of—”

“I do, actually. It will be awkward. There will be gossip. Cyril will need understanding servants to care for him.” Jon leaned forward to plant his hands on the table. “I will make sure he has those. I want Tory to marry me, and I will do whatever I must to ensure that it happens.”

She blinked. “I see. So you’re determined to marry her.”

“I am.”

Going over to the sideboard, she opened one of the cupboards beneath it and took out a bottle of brandy, then poured a healthy amount into her tea before she drank deeply of it. Thus fortified, she faced him once more. “Have you considered what happens if your child—your heir—inherits Cyril’s . . . problem?”

Jon sighed, tiring of this pointless argument. “That’s unlikely, Mother. Cyril’s ‘problem’ occurred while he was being born. A mishap with the umbilical cord that cut off his breathing for too long. You don’t ‘inherit’ that sort of thing.”

“How do you know? For that matter, how do you know that what Tory is telling you is the truth—”

“She wouldn’t lie to me about that,” he growled.

“That’s not what I meant,” she said hastily. “I mean, Tory is telling you what her mother or the midwife undoubtedly told her . That doesn’t mean it’s what happened.”

A thought occurred to him. “Have you ever met Cyril, Mother?”

His mother blinked. “Well . . . no. How would I?”

“Why don’t you reserve judgment until you do? Because I have met him. And I think you’ll find him to be a sweet child.”

She frowned. “All right. I suppose that’s the least I can do.”

“It is.”

A long silence ensued, during which his mother took another generous swig of her brandy-laced tea.

“And now, if you have no more cautions for me,” Jon said, “I must go.”

“Where?”

“To find out who learned the truth about Tory’s dowry, for one thing. Clearly someone in my employ has a loose tongue.”

“It might be one of your friends,” Mother said. “Did they know?”

Jon thought over the conversations he’d had with both Scovell and Heathbrook. “They figured it out, but only recently. And they would never betray me. But I must get to the bottom of this before I can fix it.”

“I already told you, son, you can’t—”

“Yes, yes, I heard you—I can’t ‘fix it.’ But I have to try. For her sake.”

“I am all for that,” his mother said. “Victoria doesn’t deserve the scandal you’ve brought down on her head.”

“So now you’re on her side?” he asked skeptically.

“I’ve always been on her side. And yours. I’m just not on the side of both of you as a couple.”

“ Yet ,” he said. “But you will be. Just give it a chance. That’s all I ask.”

He didn’t wait for her answer. He now had two women he was trying to coax into accepting this marriage, and the effort had become greater than he’d expected. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, honestly.

All the same, at the very least, he had to find out who’d revealed the truth about the dowry. Tory deserved better than to have sly insinuations made about her around town. Marrying him might get rid of most of them, but there would still be whispers. It would be better to have them stamped out effectively at the outset.

First, he sent off notes to both Heathbrook and Scovell, who was supposed to be back in town from the naval review, asking them to meet him at their usual meeting place at noon. Jon needed reinforcements.

Then he went to the offices of the gossip rag to learn who had told them about the source of the dowry. When they hesitated to answer, he threatened to have them shut down for good if they didn’t reveal it. Finally, they admitted they didn’t actually know who’d told them. The information had come in an anonymous letter left at the offices when no one was watching. But it was supported with copies of documents from Jon’s bank, which was enough for them to deem it legitimate. After threatening to sue them if they didn’t print a retraction, he stormed out.

Now seething, he paid a visit to his banker, who categorically denied having given anyone papers about Jon’s private affairs. But he did admit, with great embarrassment and effusive apologies, that the documents had come from the bank, and he would get to the bottom of it.

Jon talked to his solicitor who hadn’t even read the gossip yet, so that let him out. He even went to talk to Morris’s solicitor, but Mr. Trimnell had been with a client when Jon arrived, so the man couldn’t see him. By then, it was time for Jon to meet with Scovell and Heathbrook.

He could tell from their grim expressions when they met him at Travelers’ Inn and Tavern that they were no happier about the gossip than he was.

“I wish you’d consulted us before you decided to bestow a dowry on Miss Morris in her father’s name,” Scovell said. “We would both have been happy to contribute and then you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“I would be in this mess regardless the minute I asked her to marry me.”

“You’re going to propose?” Heathbrook asked.

“I already proposed,” Jon said with a sigh. “She just hasn’t yet accepted my offer.”

“Why not?” Scovell asked, sounding incredulous.

“She has an issue I can’t disclose. I’m working around it, though, and I’m confident the matter will be resolved.”

“Good God, man,” Heathbrook said, “you’re ‘confident the matter will be resolved’? You sound like a bloody solicitor. Using that sort of language won’t help you gain a woman’s heart.”

“Look, I don’t want to talk about hearts right now,” Jon snapped. Especially since his was a bit battered after her response to his proposal.

No, not his heart, for God’s sake. He wouldn’t let it be engaged. Because if she refused him definitively, he didn’t know how he’d recover.

“I need to find out who told the press about the dowry,” Jon went on, and explained everything he’d learned. “I also need you both to hear about something that happened last night.”

“Oh?” Scovell said, exchanging a glance with Heathbrook.

“Someone followed Miss Morris home. Or tried to, anyway. I followed him when I saw him go after her, but he spotted me along the way and ran off.”

That put both of his friends on the alert. “Why would someone follow her?” Heathbrook asked.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve been racking my brain to figure it out.”

Scovell began to pace. “It must concern Morris.”

Jon stared at Heathbrook. “Does Scovell know about Mademoiselle Bernard being in England?”

“I told him when we arrived,” Heathbrook said. “But I don’t see how she would have anything to do with it.”

“You never do,” Jon shot back. “But whoever followed Miss Morris was in a hooded cloak—I couldn’t be sure about the sex of the person. It could have been Mademoiselle Bernard or a man she hired. After all, if she was the one who betrayed us, she might wish to determine if Morris’s wife is still alive and knows the truth about her betraying us. Or she might even want to determine if Miss Morris knows what happened. She or the man she hired might want to . . . to silence Miss Morris.”

Scovell laughed. “If that’s her plan, she’s chosen a very convoluted way to go about it. She wouldn’t have to go to Miss Morris’s abode either to talk to her or ‘silence her.’ She could simply meet Miss Morris at any public affair and tell her that she knew Morris. The way we did at the theater.”

Jon scowled. “Mademoiselle Bernard doesn’t know what Miss Morris looks like or what places she frequents.”

“Yet she managed to follow her from your house?” Scovell said. “It wasn’t her, I tell you. I can’t see it.”

Scovell was being logical, which was always maddening.

“It’s far more likely,” Scovell went on, “that the person following Miss Morris was with the press and trying to find out about the dowry. But you frightened him off.”

Heathbrook, who’d been very quiet, said, “I don’t think that’s it, either. That night in the theater, Jon, when you and Scovell went off to fetch refreshments, I questioned Chloe about the dowry, since I knew Morris had no money at the end. She confirmed that Mrs. Morris had been in dire financial straits before she died, which was why your mother hired Morris’s daughter. Then I happened to notice a fellow in the next box paying close attention to our conversation. I only glimpsed him before he left, but I thought he looked familiar. I just couldn’t place him.”

Jon groaned. “If it was a détenu, it wouldn’t have taken much to put together from that discussion that I was funding Miss Morris’s dowry, especially if the fellow was in Verdun when we were there and knew of Morris’s circumstances. Although they’d have to know someone at the bank who would help them. And why punish Miss Morris by trying to ruin her reputation?”

“Why punish us by betraying us to Courcelles?” Scovell said. “We assumed that if it was a détenu, the person might merely have wanted the money or extra benefits that came with being Courcelles’s lackey. But there might have been some other reason.”

“True,” Jon said, scrubbing one hand over his face.

“Didn’t Morris have a solicitor?” Heathbrook asked.

“Yes,” Jon answered. “He was the one who accepted the codicil to the will.”

“Perhaps he got suspicious about the codicil and figured out that you’d doctored it,” Heathbrook said.

“You doctored it?” Scovell said. “For God’s sake, Jon, that’s forgery!”

“They’d have to prove it, and trust me, no one could.”

Heathbrook nudged Scovell with his elbow. “He got Beasley to do it.”

“That’s even worse,” Scovell said. “You have the money to fight such a charge, but Beasley—”

“I wouldn’t let Beasley hang for it, damn it,” Jon said irritably. “And unless he opens his mouth, no one will think he did it.”

“They might if they know about the help he gave us in escaping,” Heathbrook mused aloud. “And our betrayer might know that, too.”

“Is it possible Beasley is the one who went to the press?” Scovell asked.

“No,” Jon said firmly. “Miss Morris did him an invaluable service—helping him to find a post with a London printmaker when he could find no work. He would never do anything to hurt her. And speaking of that, at my request, Beasley has given me a list of détenus who haven’t been able to find work since their return. If I get you both a copy of the list, might either of you find a place for some of them at your estates or other establishments?”

“Absolutely,” Heathbrook said. “I could well use several people, and at least these are probably men and women I know. Besides, if our betrayer is among them, I’ll get the chance to observe them more closely.”

“That’s partly why I offered—so we could be closer to the détenu community in general.”

“Good idea,” Scovell said, “Just give me the list, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you. I know it will be appreciated by those who simply need the work. And it might enable us to find our betrayer, too.” Jon sighed. “I’ve got to go. I just wanted you two to know what’s going on with this business involving Miss Morris, so we can all be keeping an eye out. And since I haven’t yet spoken to Morris’s solicitor, I’m going to return there and try to see him.”

They nodded.

“We should probably meet more frequently now that things are happening,” Scovell said. “I’ll be in London for a while. I . . . er . . . may be selling my commission and staying.”

“Wonderful!” Heathbrook clapped him on the back. “Dare we ask why?”

“Let’s discuss that another day, shall we?” Scovell said. “Jon needs to handle this muddle first.”

“I do, indeed,” Jon said. “But I’ll let you know what I find out as soon as possible.”

The three friends parted at the door to the tavern, agreeing to meet again soon. Jon climbed into his carriage only to find Tory waiting for him inside.

And she was holding a copy of that damned gossip rag.