Page 55 of Never Beguile a Duke (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #30)
SILAS MORTON, DUKE OF BEAUFORT
“T hank you all,” Silas said, lifting a snifter of whiskey, “for your attendance in witnessing my grand failure.”
Laughter echoed through the parlor as one by one, his friends saluted in return.
“I hereby declare myself defeated in the grand quest to remain unattached. Though I wish good fortune for the two remaining players, I,”—he took a drink—“don’t envy your lonely lives.”
Warwick set his glass down on the table beside him. “And what of the purse? Were you able to recover any of the funds after the sack was stolen from Roxburghe?”
Silas gestured to Mr. Aylett, who hurried forward from the doorway and deposited the bag beside Warwick’s half-empty snifter.
“You may count the coins to verify the sum if you wish,” Silas said, dismissing Mr. Aylett with a wave of his hand.
“I trust you.” Warwick’s fingers twitched.
“I don’t,” Mansfield said, a rare grin sliding across his face as he strode forward and snatched the bag from the table.
Upending the sack, Mansfield dumped the contents into a small pile, then counted the coins by twos, gesturing for the conversation to continue without him.
“Your Grace?” Mr. Aylett reappeared in the doorway. “Mr. Hughes is waiting in the study.”
“Show him to the parlor,” Silas replied, gesturing around the room. “His information affects more than just me.”
“As you wish.” Bowing, Mr. Aylett scurried from the room and returned a minute later with the parish constable.
“Good evening, Your Grace.” Mr. Hughes addressed each man in turn, ending with Silas. “I’ve completed my investigation, and I wanted to share my findings.”
He pulled a small piece of paper from his jacket pocket and unfolded the page.
“First,” he said, dropping his steel-gray eyes to the parchment, “The bodies of both men have been removed, and, per your request, a maid was employed to scrub the drawing room and the first-floor corridor of anything related to Miss Fernsby-Webb’s abduction.”
Silas nodded his approval. “You’ll advise me of the final cost.”
“We developed a small issue in regard to Miss Mead.” Mr. Hughes glanced up with a grimace. “In exchange for her discretion, she requested a position at the Webb residence instead of a singular payment. I informed her I wasn’t able to make that decision and would speak with you about the request.”
“If Mrs. Webb approves of the girl, I will pay Miss Mead’s wages,” Silas said, and frowned when Roxburghe scowled over the rim of his glass.
Peering around Mr. Hughes, Silas raised his eyebrows. “You disapprove of my offer to assist Mrs. Webb?”
Roxburghe’s glass dropped from his fingers and hit the table with a heavy thud. “If it jeopardizes my wedding date, I do.”
“Mrs. Webb holds no sway over her daughters, and I doubt Miss Webb is generous enough to give her wedding date to her sister. Unless…” Silas cupped his hand and his mouth and loudly hissed, “Is Miss Webb reconsidering a match with you?”
An inhuman growl rumbled in Roxburghe’s chest.
“Mr. Hughes,” Warwick said, shifting his cane out of Roxburghe’s reach, “perhaps you should stay after your business is concluded. I suspect another murder may be committed this evening.”
“Potentially a double homicide,” Mansfield said, snickering as he scraped the coins into the sack.
“If Roxburghe kills Beaufort?—”
“Thanks,” Silas muttered, glowering at Warwick.
“Who would kill Roxburghe?” Warwick continued, ignoring Silas’ interruption.
“There are several potential suspects,” Mansfield replied as he handed the coin bag to Warwick. “Mrs. Webb, her daughter, Miss Juliette, and any number of servants who happen to enjoy their employment with Beaufort.”
“Thus, a need for the parish constable.” Warwick lifted his glass and drained it.
Mr. Hughes’ gaze bounced between the four men as though attempting to discern the seriousness of their claim, then returned to his notes.
“I recommend summoning a doctor first,” he said, without lifting his head.
Silas chuckled. “Doctor Barnes is currently my guest.”
“That’s quite convenient,” Mr. Hughes said, his gaze finding Silas.
“His presence is due to Mr. Curtis’ attack on Mrs. Webb,” Silas said, his reply sharper than he intended.
“Ah.” Mr. Hughes ran his finger down the paper and stopped halfway down.
“I have a notation regarding that incident. It’s my conclusion that the assault was meant to drive Mrs. Webb from the residence, not to actually take her life.
With her afraid to return to her home, Mr. Curtis was able to come and go freely without notice. ”
“And Mr. Hollingsworth?” Silas asked, a dull twinge slicing through his chest. “How have you ended his story?”
“As an unfortunate victim of Mr. Curtis.” His voice trailing off, Mr. Hughes released a heavy sigh. “To take a person’s life as callously as he did, I must assume there are more innocents who’ve lost their lives to his hand. It’s unfortunate that we may never learn their names.”
“Miss Phoebe Ridlington.” Silas’ soft reply drew the attention of every man. “She was also one of the victims.”
Mr. Hughes raised his eyes. “I’ve not been informed of Miss Ridlington’s death.”
“Her employers hid the crime and disposed of her child,” Silas growled, his hand trembling as he squeezed the empty snifter.
“Do I need to investigate…”
“The Hills,” Mansfield answered when it became apparent that Silas had lost his ability to form intelligible words.
“And no, the Hills have no connection to Mr. Curtis’ crimes, and the child under discussion was rescued and currently is residing in this house under her father’s watchful, yet somewhat strict, eye. ”
Silas shot a withering glare at Mansfield.
“However,” Mansfield continued, as though he hadn’t just remarked upon Silas’ parenting approach, “she did witness the attack on her mother. If you’d like to interrogate Miss Juliette, we can summon her.”
“There’s no need,” Mr. Hughes replied, folding the parchment and tucking the piece back into his pocket.
“His Grace’s account holds enough merit to attach the crime to Mr. Curtis.
If you have nothing further, I wish you all a pleasant evening, and I thank you to stop discovering dead bodies in your houses. ”
Roxburghe nearly fell out of his chair laughing.
“Despite his body’s removal,” Lennox said, strolling across the parlor and snagging the decanter of whiskey from Warwick, “I’m curious to learn if Mr. Curtis’ spirit departed from the Webb residence.”
“Along with Mr. Hollingsworth’s.” Warwick tapped the rim of his glass against Lennox’s and winked.
“That’s not a factor,” Silas said, waving off their concern. “Miss Fernsby-Webb isn’t returning to her mother’s house after this week’s end. She and her sister will continue their stay with Miss Braddock.”
“And,”—Roxburghe shoved his glass toward Lennox, gesturing for a refill—“the three of us should be able to determine a method for distracting Miss Braddock’s ever-present brother.”
“Your Grace.” Mr. Aylett appeared in the doorway, clutching a letter. “The Duke of Cranbrook’s valet delivered this missive as Mr. Hughes was departing.”
Silas strode toward Mr. Aylett, but the older man shook his head and held the letter out to Grisham.
“It’s addressed to ‘the first to fall’,” Mr. Aylett said as Grisham rose and accepted the missive.
After sliding his finger beneath the thick red seal, Grisham opened the letter, skimmed the page, and snorted.
Then, he cleared his throat and read aloud.
“My dear friends, it became evident during his recent visit that the Duke of Roxburghe had been infected by the same affliction that claimed the Duke of Grisham last year. A quite contagious affliction, apparently, as it has also passed to the Duke of Lennox.”
Returning to his chair, Lennox stopped beside Grisham and clapped him on the back. “I don’t fault you for my attraction to Miss Braddock. I blame Roxburghe.”
Eyes narrowing, Roxburghe half-rose, bumping the table with his knee. “Shouldn’t you thank me for helping you realize what your foolishness would cost you?”
“I will if you give me your wedding date.” Lennox wiggled his eyebrows.
“Still no,” Roxburghe replied, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.
“My expectation,” Grisham said, reading the Duke of Cranbrook’s next words in a stern voice, “is that the remaining three of you will topple before this year is through.”
Warwick chortled, but his laugh wasn’t one of mirth. It was harsh and bitter, the derision of a man without hope.
“Don’t discount yourself,” Silas said, favoring Warwick with a kind smile. “None of us expected Roxburghe, cantankerous as he is, to find a match.”
“Roxburghe is a whole person,” Warwick replied, stabbing the floor with the tip of his cane.
“As are you.” Silas’ gaze shifted around the room, seeking support for his argument.
Roxburghe spoke first. “You think me more disagreeable than Warwick?”
“Warwick only recently developed his acerbic tendencies,” Silas replied and lifted his glass, saluting Roxburghe. “You’ve been ill-natured for the whole of your life.”
“Come now,” Lennox interrupted the brewing argument. “In his youth, Roxburghe was quite a charming boy.”
“What changed?” Silas quipped.
“I became titled,” Roxburghe replied over the burst of laughter that ricocheted around the room.
Silas stroked his chin, making a show of considering Roxburghe’s words, then slowly shook his head. “If that were the case, all of our personalities would have been altered, not just yours.”
“Mansfield is intimidating as well.” Roxburghe slashed an arm in their friend’s direction. “Why have you not spoken about his attitude?”
“Because Mansfield knows his presence can terrify, and he attempts to soften himself.” Silas grinned as Roxburghe’s face darkened. “You, however, enjoy your imposing reputation.”
Lennox leaned over Grisham’s shoulder. “Did the Duke of Cranbrook provide any guidance for preventing an impending murder?”
Grisham laughed. “He did not. However, he did give advice regarding our futures.”