Page 18 of The Duke’s Indecent Scandal (Indecent Dukes #1)

Chapter Seventeen

G regory

Over the next week, Sebastian proved far too deft at playing chaperone, guarding the hen house after the fox had already gotten in. Gregory felt sure his friend was doing so for no other reason than to frustrate him as a kind of torment for kissing Tiffany in the library in the first place. He could grin and bear it.

Besides, he’d never minded a challenge. He hoped he could find some time to pull Tiffany away from the others this evening. He’d even enlisted his mother’s help to keep the Duchess of Bolton occupied. She had agreed, although she had not seemed entirely thrilled by the request. The two mothers had been getting along when it came to wedding plans, but Gregory had noticed that the Duchess of Bolton had a tendency to talk over Tiffany. Even when a question was asked directly to her.

His mother wanted to get to know his bride, and it was difficult when his bride’s mother was constantly speaking for her. But his mother also acknowledged that it was more important that he have the time with Tiffany than her. Besides, there would be plenty of time after the wedding for the two to bond.

While the wedding plans moved ahead apace, unfortunately, their attempts to discover who murdered their fathers did not. Nathan provided the letters he’d found to Sebastian, who had examined each of them carefully and found no sign that any attempt had been made to disguise their hands, unlike the letters Gregory had found. All the letters were signed, in fact, which made sense as the creditors would want their identities known so they could receive repayment.

Even the less-than-savory debt holders signed their notes.

None of them had even been close to the same handwriting as any of the notes Gregory’s father had received.

Though the notes indicated anger at both of their fathers, as far as clues went, it was a disappointing dead end.

Gregory even gathered some handwriting samples from his half-sister’s mothers and their husbands. It was easy to cross all of them off as suspects unless they’d had someone else write the letters for them. The best handwriting came from Maggie, the worst from Agatha’s husband, John, who could barely do more than scrawl his name.

It did make him realize one important fact. Whoever had written the letters and been accomplished enough to disguise their handwriting while doing so was educated. Well educated. All the letters—including the ones that did not have disguised handwriting—were not only legible, but the handwriting was also well structured and practiced.

The letters Nathan’s father had received ran the gamut in terms of skill, but not Gregory’s. Perhaps it narrowed the pool… a bit. He hoped. At some point, he was going to need to interview the staff to see if any of them had any idea who might have sent the notes. He was not looking forward to the interviews. He liked most of them a good deal better than he had his father.

Lifting his chin, he gave his valet more room to tie his cravat. Redding was frowning in focused concentration, intent on doing one of the more complicated knots. Gregory wanted to look his best as the Boltons were coming over for a private, soon-to-be family dinner. It was the first time Tiffany would see the house she would soon be mistress of. His mother was already having the dowager house prepared, gleeful at handing off the duties she’d never enjoyed to her new daughter-in-law and decorating the smaller house to suit her own tastes without having to worry about anyone else’s preferences.

Gregory expected an explosion of color and textures that would make his eyes water.

“That should do it, Your Grace.” Redding nodded, stepping back so Gregory could look at himself in the mirror. He grinned.

Yes, he was dressed a tad formally for a family dinner, but he wanted to show how seriously he was taking this union. And… perhaps… because he wanted to impress Tiffany. Though she was attracted to him—of that much, he was certain—he did not have any particular talents that he was bringing to their marriage.

Granted, he had never before considered playing a musical instrument to be one of the attributes he would like in a bride, but hearing her play had changed his mind. For the first time, he’d understood why one might include such talent on a list. She’d been breathtaking.

Enough so that he’d had a rather delightful dream last night of her playing the harp while she was seated on his cock, his hands full of her breasts. He very much hoped it was a prophetic dream.

His navy coat was trimmed with gold, the sapphire blue jacket he was wearing boasted gold buttons, and he had a matching sapphire pin in his cravat. Redding had done a fine job with Gregory’s hair, so it waved back away from his face, neatly framing his square jawline. He turned his head this way and that, the stiff points of his collar poking at said jawline as he admired himself.

“Thank you, Redding,” he said, running his hand over his stomach, unnecessarily tugging at the jacket to straighten the fabric out, even though it was already perfectly smooth. His valet gave a satisfied bow and was about to turn away when Gregory’s next words stopped him. “Redding… you have had some time to get to know my father’s staff by now… have you heard from anyone who held particular rancor toward him?”

The other man hesitated. He was only a bit older than Gregory, and they had been together since Gregory left his father’s household. He’d hired Redding after realizing that his former valet, provided by his father, was reporting Gregory’s activities back to the duke. Redding had proven to be a devoted valet, accomplished in his skills and completely loyal to Gregory. He also tended to stand on ceremony more than Gregory did.

“I do not wish to speak ill of the dead, Your Grace,” he said finally, “but it would be easier to give you a list of those who did not.”

Wonderful.

His father had left behind an entire staff of people who may wish to do him harm. Gregory did not think it was any of the staff—most of them were not educated enough to produce the letters that had been sent to his father—but it had occurred to him that perhaps someone could have been convinced to act on behalf of the letter sender.

He was hoping Redding would be able to point him in a particular direction to start his questioning, but if his father had been that unpopular…

Gregory sighed. “A list of those who did not hold a grudge against my father would be appreciated.”

At the very least, he could probably save them for last. Unless perhaps they would have a better idea of who held the most ill will toward his father. Good grief, why could this not be easier?

“Yes, Your Grace,” Redding said with a bow, just as there was a knock at the door. Redding went to answer it to find a footman on the other side.

“Your guests have arrived, Your Grace,” he said.

“Thank you.” Gregory gave himself one last look in the mirror before leaving his room. The problem of his father’s murder would have to wait. His wedding was the more pressing issue.

Tiffany

Trying to be discreet, Tiffany looked all around her as Gregory’s butler led them to a sitting room. Unfortunately, her mother caught her at it and reached out, pinching the soft skin on her upper arm, where it was covered by her sleeve.

“Do not gawk!” her mother hissed. “And try not to show your avarice so plainly.”

What avarice?

Tiffany felt a kernel of anger like a pit in her belly. She had just been looking at the house she would soon be living in, and her mother assumed the worst of her. It was starting to feel like her mother always assumed the worst of her.

Her brother looked over his shoulder at them and smiled. She did not think he’d heard what their mother had said. Tiffany smiled back, thankful he was there with her. It felt as if ever since her engagement, she made more and more mistakes—at least in her mother’s eyes. Sebastian had not seemed to notice her gaffes, or if he did, he did not think her missteps were as disgraceful as their mother did.

Last night, her mother had kept her up hours past when Tiffany usually went to sleep, lecturing her on the long list of things she had done wrong at the Manchester ball. Tiffany could not even remember what half of them were, and thankfully, they had been too busy today for her mother to quiz her on them.

At least tonight, it was no one but family. Surely, she could not commit too many horrible blunders.

The Duchess of Clarence was waiting for them in the sitting room. She straightened up with a smile on her face the moment they walked in, getting to her feet from the chaise where she had been sitting. It did not appear as if she had been doing anything other than waiting for them. Tonight, she wore a patterned damask dress, three feathers bobbing above her head to match the bright violet, sky blue, and bronze of her gown, and only one ruffle along the hem.

“Tiffany! And Susan and Sebastian, of course,” the duchess said, rushing over to take Tiffany’s hands and pull her down to kiss her cheeks. The duchess was a good deal shorter than Tiffany. She laughed as she turned to Tiffany’s mother, who was standing stiffly beside Tiffany. “You must forgive me for not standing on ceremony, Susan, but as we are all to be family…”

“Of course,” Tiffany’s mother said, though her smile was strained as she took the duchess’ hands and exchanged cheek kisses with her as well. Tiffany winced inwardly. Family or not, she could tell her mother was displeased at the Duchess of Clarence ignoring the proprieties of rank.

As Tiffany’s mother and the current Duchess of Bolton, she should have been greeted before Tiffany.

“Come, come, please sit. Gregory should be joining us any moment.” The Duchess of Clarence gestured at them after giving Sebastian a kiss on his cheek as well. He grinned down at her. Turning back to Tiffany, the duchess beamed. “Tiffany, I was hoping that perhaps you might play the harp for us after dinner. Things have been so hectic, I am afraid if I do not take advantage of you this evening, I may not get the chance again for weeks!”

“I will be happy to play for you any time,” Tiffany responded truthfully, despite the disapproving look her mother shot her. She could almost hear her mother’s voice in her head, accusing her of showing off. But she was not! The duchess, her soon-to-be mother-in-law, had made a request.

Likely, her mother would say that she should have found a way to politely decline so as not to appear too eager to draw attention to herself.

Right now, Tiffany did not care.

Except that she did, and a curl of fear was making her belly ache, but she remained resolute. Any time Gregory’s mother wanted Tiffany to play for her, she would. She did not want to disrespect her own mother, but soon, she would be part of Gregory’s household, and his mother’s desires would take precedence.

And my mother will hardly be able to stand over me before I go to sleep, lecturing me on all my faults once I am part of Gregory’s household.

Even if she had no kind of tender feelings toward him, that one benefit alone would have her eager to marry.

“Do you have a particular song you would like to hear?” she asked, feeling rather rebellious, avoiding her mother’s gaze and focusing on Gregory’s mother. If she did not see her mother glaring at her, she could pretend she did not know her mother disapproved. Her stomach dipped uneasily. Despite her pretense, she was all too aware of her mother’s censure.

Her mother tittered, the sound sharp to Tiffany’s ear.

“Tiffany does not mean to make it sound as though she could play any song anyone might request,” her mother said.

Tiffany opened her mouth, then closed it. The truth was, there was not a song anyone could request that she could not at least make an attempt at. Including songs that were not originally meant for the harp. She liked to challenge herself by trying to learn them.

But her mother did not know that because her mother had never approved of how much time she spent practicing, even though she was the one who insisted Tiffany learn to play in the first place. Since she did not have the looks to set her apart from other young ladies, once her mother had realized she was accomplished at pianoforte and violin, she’d hired a flute and harp instructor as well to ensure that Tiffany had something the average debutante did not.

Tiffany loved to play any of her instruments, but the harp was her particular favorite because of how versatile it was.

“Oh, I am happy to listen to anything, though if you are of a mood to play the Bach again that Gregory heard…” The Duchess of Clarence let her voice trail off, smiling hopefully.

“I would like to hear that, too,” Sebastian chimed in. “I missed it when I went to fetch you, and it has been ages since I heard you play.”

“It would be my pleasure.” Tiffany smiled back at Gregory’s mother before sharing that smile with Sebastian. She was becoming used to the way the Duchess of Clarence was always looking at her with approval and warmth. It was just how the duchess was.

She wished her own mother was just a bit more like the Duchess of Clarence, even though it felt like a horrible betrayal to think such a thing. But she could feel the glare in her mother’s eyes even as there was a smile upon her lips. Her mother was displeased with her.

Again.

“Good evening.” Gregory strode into the room, and a knot in Tiffany’s shoulders loosened as he walked toward her immediately, as if no one else was in the room. She smiled up at him, feeling better now that he was here. Strange, but true. “You look lovely tonight, my sweet.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said, blushing hotly. She was wearing the mint dress. Again. Because he seemed to have liked that one.

Her mother sighed.

“It is just family this evening, Gregory. You do not need to keep up the pretense for us.”

“Who says it is pretense?” he asked, and Tiffany blinked because it seemed like there was an edge to his voice. Had he just admonished her mother? “Tiffany, can I steal you away for a few minutes? I have something I would like to show you.”

“Oh… I… yes.” Tiffany got to her feet as her brother scowled.

“Perhaps I should come,” Sebastian said, moving to stand.

“Oh, no, I have some particulars I would love your opinion on,” Gregory’s mother said. “You and your mother’s. I promise you, they will not be left entirely to their own devices.”

“Ah, yes, well then.” Sebastian settled back into his chair with a peculiar expression on his face, obviously not having expected to be thwarted. Her mother’s face was completely void of an expression, but she was sitting very stiffly.

Tiffany was happy to escape the room on Gregory’s arm. If she was not near her mother then her mother could not comment on her behavior or her conversation.