Page 18 of The Virgin Duchess (Unwanted Brides #2)

Chapter Fifteen

“ W ord has it that he’s been rather indisposed as the owner of a gaming hell indebted to a number of criminal types. Something about him refusing to settle his debts with them.”

Frederick’s tone was a performance of exaggerated intrigue. While it was confirmed that one Mr. Lowell was out for blood when it came to the Baron, the owner of that seedy establishment hadn’t gotten his hands on Halfacre. Frederick had already asked him.

“My word,” the Duchess of Kent put a hand to her mouth before dropping it to her chest where she fiddled with the thick beaded necklace draped across her throat, “indebted to criminals? That is hardly becoming behavior for a Baron. What was he thinking?”

Shrugging a bit with his head dipping, Frederick offered a faux expression of concern. “Perhaps it is the people he has allowed into his hell. I have heard that he allows the management to welcome anyone off the street, including those who look to sell any number of dangerous substances. Ugh, just think of the families.”

The volume of the conversations around them heightened as their own receded, and after thanking him for the information, the Duchess left to carry on with her enjoyment of the ball. Frederick sighed, hoping that these nuggets of truth would, in fact, draw the man out. He’d been planting them all evening with the help of Richard, and he was beyond exhausted by it all.

I should like to never go to a blasted ball again. Ugh, rest. I just need to rest .

Charlotte was speaking with Amelia when his eyes found her while scanning the room for another target. He’d not spoken much to her since he’d arrived home last evening, but it was abundantly clear that she was still quite upset with him.

Not that he blamed her.

There was a part of him that wished to go speak to her, to attempt to explain the situation so that she might see he had every reason to be behaving as he was. But Frederick was more of a coward than he realized because the notion of approaching her right now sounded as entertaining as eating glass.

So, as much as the Duke wished to be done with the evening, he rounded the room, refreshing his drink and searching for the next young woman of status to whom he might depict the Baron’s despicable behaviors.

At least I might actually be helping women to avoid the Baron and men like him. There is that .

Standing in the corner of the room near a massive portrait depicting the portly lord of the estate in a highly untrue shape was the Marchioness of Denmead and her only child, Lady Catherine. The young woman was just of marriageable age, and word had it around the ton that she was actively seeking a husband.

Perfect.

Frederick proceeded over, careful to avoid looking too interested in approaching them. He didn’t want to lead the pair to the incorrect assumption that he was interested in Lady Catherine or attempting to pursue something inappropriate if they were already aware of his recent marriage.

When he reached them, the Marchioness bowed her gently to him and smiled politely. He’d not heard much about the woman in his years, only that she had married the Marquess when she was quite young and had been his wife since then, able to deliver him a daughter before word had it that it was unsafe for her to carry another child.

“Good evening, Marchioness.” Frederick bowed and turned to her daughter. “And to you, Lady Catherine.”

“Good evening to you, Lord Emerton.” The woman smiled a bit more eagerly, putting her hand on her daughter’s back. “It is quite the lovely ball, is it not?”

Frederick grinned back, but he knew immediately that the woman clearly was not up on the latest news because she had used his previous title. It would actually benefit him to speak to such a woman and her daughter because it would even more come across as an act of service to them, informing them of the recent events.

“It is. Though, I must inform you that, alas, I am no longer Lord Emerton. My father has passed.”

The Marchioness gasped softly, putting a hand over her heart. “Oh, dear. I am dreadfully sorry, Your Grace. It is such a hard thing to lose a parent. My condolences.”

He nodded solemnly, remembering how he felt when he’d first learned of his father’s death and the conflict of emotions that had swirled through him like a storm.

“Thank you. In truth,” Frederick hesitated, looking up at the ridiculous portrait, “I had thought to join you here because I find that my social skills are lacking because of it all. Losing him, marrying to uphold his dying wish, it has left me quite bewildered.”

There was a deflation in the woman’s posture as he spoke about his recent marriage, but it fled quickly. Replaced by a sympathetic expression that surprised Frederick quite a bit.

“I understand precisely what you mean, Your Grace. I, or I should say we,” she glanced at her daughter with a mournful smile, “have recently lost our Marquess.”

Frederick’s brows shot up, and he placed a hand over his heart regarding her. “I am so dreadfully sorry. News of the Marquess’s passing has not reached the ton, yet it seems.”

“No, it was rather recently. We’ve…I have been having a difficult time finding the words to fill his obituary.”

“Of course.” Frederick’s nerve to spread the word about Halfacre faltered, this appearing to be a terrible time to do such a thing. “I am sorry that I’ve interrupted the both of you.”

The Dowager Marchioness, as she was now, smiled with a shake of her head. “Nonsense. You are quite welcome. We’ve both been rather cooped up in the corner. It is lovely to have someone to talk to.”

Smiling, Frederick studied the pair. The older woman, who was only in her thirties, he had to assume, looked a bit tired. Her daughter, Lady Catherine, immediately put forth an air of shyness, her eyes consistently returning to the floor.

The Baron would see them as a target. Were he here, he would take advantage of their situation .

“Lady Denmead,” Frederick stepped forward, keeping his voice low, “I am truly sorry that you have been thrust into this situation, and I wonder if I might provide a bit of…information that could very well assist you as you look to remarry or find a suitable spouse for your daughter.”

For the first time all evening, Frederick didn’t have to act a part or exaggerate his desire to share information. Looking at the reserved Lady Catherine, it was all too easy to see Rose’s face where hers lay.

“Of course, Your Grace. I…I am surprised at the suddenness of your assistance. But it would be foolish of me to turn down anything that might aid my family.”

He smiled again, his chest squeezing. “The Baron of Halfacre has recently gone missing. Prior to his…departure, I have it on good authority that he was engaging in a rather vigorous pursuit of a wife. I would caution against taking him up on that offer.”

Lady Denmead cocked her head, her brow furrowing as she stepped between Frederick and her daughter.

“Oh? And why is that?”

Frederick swallowed, steeling his nerves. “I have heard directly from a young lady with whom I am a trusted friend that the Baron attempted to woo her away for a clandestine union in Scotland. And all of it down purely to gain the young woman’s money. Paperwork had been drafted up that would have given it all to him the moment they were wed.”

Eyes widening to the size of saucers, Lady Denmead pulled her daughter close. He could see it there on her face, the concern that the very same thing could have happened to her daughter were they in their current situation any sooner.

“He’s also been known to take up with the women soliciting their wares who enter his hell. And while it may be less of a concern directly, he rigs fights in his hell as well, ensuring that his business reaps all the rewards and takes everything it can from anyone who has the misfortune of entering those seedy halls.”

“You speak the truth? You can promise me that?” Lady Denmead looked utterly horrified, and Frederick felt icy slither down his spine. “Please, Your Grace, I am not one for trifle talk. But securing the future of my daughter is of the utmost importance.”

He sighed, reaching out for the woman’s gloved hand. “I speak the truth. I wish that I weren’t. I wish that it was a rumor or exaggeration. But I personally know that he is the man I’ve claimed him to be.”

Understanding spread over her face, and the Marchioness and her daughter looked at each other before turning back to him.

“Thank you, Your Grace. You have done us both a service, and we will be sure to relay this information to any other women in our situation.”

Nodding once more, Frederick smiled sadly and released Lady Denmead’s hand.

“That is all I wish to see done. For this man to at last face the consequences of his actions.”

Lady Denmead’s eyes held Frederick’s, and there was a stony coldness to them. She stepped forward again, closing the distance between them even more, and he could tell that the Marchioness meant to whisper to him. He offered his ear, watching Lady Catherine as she pulled into herself like she was nervous that she might be stepped on.

“That is what any good man would wish, and any mother at that rate. I will not see him harm more girls if I can help it, Your Grace. And truly, you are more kind than you know to detail the slights. Too many sit in silence while young girls are married off to men who are little more than scoundrels.”

Lady Denmead stepped back, eyeing him severely one final time. “Thank you.”

As she walked away with her daughter, both of them heading for the door to make their exit, Frederick watched them curiously. He didn’t want to assume anything, but from what Lady Denmead had just said to him, it seemed very likely that the late Marquess was as much of a bastard as the Baron.

Frederick let out a heavy sigh, remembering his drink and sipping at it idly before the sound of footsteps brought his attention around away from the hilarious portrait he’d been studying. Turning, he found Charlotte approaching him with some speed, her expression stern.

“Could you not leave anyone alone for the evening?” She folded her arms over her chest at him, drawing Frederick’s attention to the low curve of her gown’s neckline. “Her husband has just passed, and you are interrupting her to seek out your Baron.”

Shock hit Frederick squarely in the chest, and he took a half step backward. Charlotte had been staring daggers at him for the whole of the evening. However, it was still something else to be actively told by her that he was bothering people in his search for the Baron.

“Charlotte, I?—”

“Don’t. I would hate to have to tell me something that I should not be privy to.”

Without another word, Charlotte turned on her heel and stormed away. Frederick was left confused and feeling something akin to hurt festering in his chest. His wife was furious with him. There was no mistaking it, and still, that wasn’t the greatest of his concerns.

No, it was his own reaction that was the real issue. He was desperate to explain himself to her, to get Charlotte to understand the situation so that she might see him favorably once more. Her opinion of him mattered overmuch to him, and Frederick was overwhelmingly disappointed in himself that it did.

A bride of convenience…and a heart that doesn’t believe that in the slightest.