The Irish Duchess (17 page)

The pair of them had more energy than any ten people he knew. Scribbling his name across a document Michael had brought for his signature, Neville nodded. “I’ll go down to Cornwall after Christmas.”

Michael sent him a disgruntled look. “Don’t be foolish. You’ll be a newly married man. You can’t leave Fiona to look after herself so early in the game.”

Neville wondered what Michael would think should he learn of his earlier discussion with Fiona. Without glancing up from the papers, he dismissed the problem. “As long as Blanche is paying the staff at Anglesey, I’ll earn my keep. She doesn’t like you traveling too far, and with the child coming, she’ll need you close to home. I can go to Cornwall.”

Michael snorted. “You’re not thinking like a married man yet, Duke. Fiona might have an opinion on that.”

Neville finally glanced up at the man he had once considered his nemesis. For a change, he knew something better than Michael did. “By the first of the year Fiona will have had time to settle in. She’ll have her own pursuits and won’t miss me in the least, I promise.”

Michael stopped his pacing and picked up several brass ornaments Neville had deliberately requested to replace the porcelain figurines usually there. The earl tossed the ornaments back and forth as he studied Neville. “Does Fiona know how much time you spend away from home?”

“Michael, you’ll have to understand that what’s between us isn’t the same as for you and Blanche. One of the reasons Fiona will make a perfect wife for me is that she is completely independent and capable of entertaining herself. I won’t have to spend every waking moment worrying over a clinging female.” Remembering the scene with his mistress when she’d flung all his gifts back in his face, Neville gave thanks to God all over again for letting him see the light. He didn’t have the temperament for demanding females.

“If you’d married Gwyneth as we all expected, you could have restored Anglesey’s empty coffers immediately. Are you certain you’ll not regret this?”

Neville heard the concern in Michael’s question and didn’t take umbrage. As Fiona’s cousin, Michael had a right for concern. He set his pen down and shook his head. “Pour some brandy and let us celebrate our double cousinship. Anglesey has survived for centuries. Bankruptcy won’t stop us now.”

Lingering in the shadows, Fiona covered her gasp with her hand. She wished she’d entered without eavesdropping. She had only meant to wait for a break in the conversation. Now she knew entirely too much, and anger as well as fear shook her.
Bankruptcy.
No wonder the tenant cottages hadn’t been repaired. She knew poverty well.

He should have told her he needed Gwyneth’s money. He should have told her marriage between them was out of the question. He couldn’t let his tenants suffer because of her, because of their lust and selfishness. It wasn’t right.

Confused, appalled, and frightened, Fiona grabbed a shawl and fled out a side door. She would have an entire lifetime in which to repent if she didn’t do the right thing now.

There was no child. She’d been given a reprieve from her foolishness. God had given her time to think this through.

She didn’t place much consequence on the knowledge that she was no longer a virgin. She had never particularly expected to marry.

She had entered into this agreement in hopes of relieving the people of her village and saving the orphans. She hadn’t realized that she might cause the suffering of others in return.

Fiona shivered and gazed up at the stormy night sky. Her shawl did little to keep the autumn wind from freezing her bare arms. Clouds scudded across what few stars dared show their faces. The wind had stripped the trees, and their naked branches tossed and turned against the sky. It seemed only fitting that she must make a difficult decision on a night such as this.

Michael and Blanche would never forgive her if she bolted. The duke would resent her for the rest of her life, and the notion brought tears to her eyes. She didn’t want him hating her.

Disturbed by the realization that she truly cared what he thought of her, she had no choice but to admit that she didn’t want to give him up. If she gave up the duke, she would never again know a man’s touch or feel a child’s suckle. She would condemn herself to a life of loneliness.

She didn’t normally cry. She’d railed against the fates, shaken her fist at the stars, raced her horse across the countryside until she worked out her tears and anger. But none of those methods would work now. For just a little while, for a very little while, she’d felt needed. She hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted that.

Of course, Neville didn’t really need her. He could have any mistress he wanted, any wife he chose. Yet despite what she had done to his hopes for the future, he had treated her like a queen. He’d led her to believe she could truly be his wife, that he wanted her and only her.

And so, for his sake, she must be equally kind. He’d been forced to offer marriage. She would relieve him of the burden of marrying a penniless thorn in his side.

That decision formed, Fiona considered the consequences. Aberdare would suffer for it. There would be no dowry to buy the looms, though Michael might be persuaded to buy them after he quit being angry with her. The village would have to struggle along until then. The fate of the orphans was most pressing. She must hurry back to Aileen’s children, find some way of providing for them.

She was good with horses. She’d trained the yearlings that kept Aberdare from bankruptcy. She could hire herself out, if she could disguise herself as a man. Something better might occur once she returned home.

Home. She needed the funds to return. She’d made that horrible journey alone once before. She wouldn’t do it again without money. Blanche had given her a small allowance, but that wasn’t sufficient. She hated stealing, but she had naught else. The duke hadn’t even given her a betrothal gift. Everything had happened too quickly.

She would wait until Michael and Blanche had retired to their bed. Michael would have coins somewhere about. She didn’t want to steal from Neville. She wasn’t his responsibility any longer.

She wandered toward the warmth of the stable. The huge stone building broke some of the wind, and she brushed strands of hair back from her face as she paced beside it.

She didn’t want to hurt Neville.

That idea struck her so forcefully that Fiona deliberately attempted to avoid it by listening to the wind. Instead, she thought she heard horses and voices. On a night like this? Shaking her head, she turned the corner, seeking the stable door and the warmth of the animals within.

She
did
hear voices.

Glancing up, Fiona saw the silhouette of a horse rearing a protest against the night sky. A groom fought to hold the animal down. None of Anglesey’s horses behaved so badly. They’d all been properly trained and had no reason to fear their grooms. Had the duke possessed an animal like this one in his stables, she would have thought twice or more about marrying the man.

The groom led the horse inside the stable. The clouds had completely covered the sky now, and Fiona saw two men in the yard, their figures silhouetted by lights from the house beyond. They couldn’t see her, thank goodness. She must look a fright. She slipped closer to the towering stone wall and out of anyone’s sight.

“The announcement said he’s to wed tomorrow. You’ll not pry him away until he’s bedded his bride,” a stranger’s voice warned.

“She’s an Irish nobody. He’s probably already bedded and bred her. There’s no other reason he’s given up his pursuit of wealth unless Aberdare threatened to close his purse strings. I think our duke will be willing enough to postpone the nuptials once I give him excuse.”

The second voice had a ring of familiarity, but Fiona couldn’t quite place it. She was torn between wanting to slap the man’s face and the need to hear more. Instinct told her to be patient for a change.

“Claiming the chit is part of a conspiracy against the crown won’t work without evidence, especially if she’s carrying his heir.”

Fiona bit back a gasp of outrage.

“I have evidence enough to send him hastening into London to confirm it. Quit worrying. We just need to stop this marriage before it consolidates Anglesey’s name and power behind Aberdare and Effingham. Once we remove the duke’s name from the bill, no one will listen to those two radical hotheads. They didn’t go to school here, their ways are too foreign. The reform bills will disappear, never to return. We’re doing this for the good of the country.”

“I still don’t like it,” the unfamiliar voice muttered as the two men strolled in the direction of the house. “There’s no guarantee that removing the girl will prevent Anglesey from supporting the bill.”

The familiar voice held a hint of exasperation. “Don’t push me too far, Durham. I’ll handle the problem myself this time, rather than leave it to hired thugs.”

Their voices faded into the night. Fiona sought some way of following them without being seen, but only the open stable yard stood between her and the house.

Swallowing her terror and confusion, she slipped along the wall of the stable toward the kitchen and the rear entrance. The men would be admitted at the front. She could discover who they were easily enough, but could she stop their lies as easily?

She didn’t entirely understand their plans. Neville was aware of her brother’s connections with Irish rebels. If these men had contrived some evidence against her, duty would require he look into the matter. She didn’t like it, but since she’d planned on leaving anyway, their plan didn’t affect her drastically as yet.

The things she hadn’t quite heard or that had gone unsaid and the part about hired thugs worried her the most.

Anyone who knew Neville would know that if he’d made up his mind to support the reform bill, he wouldn’t change it simply because his affianced wife betrayed him. Even with Fiona out of the picture, Neville would swing his whole support behind Effingham’s bill. And these men meant to stop him.

These men had already hired thugs to stop him? They may have been responsible for the attack that had left Neville near death! He had to be warned of the possibility.

Reaching the cover of the trees at the side of the house, Fiona scampered across the courtyard, up the steps, and into the back hall. Breath rasping raggedly, she raced up the back stairs. She would tell Michael.

She found Blanche in the sitting room of her bedchamber. She glanced up from her knitting in surprise as Fiona burst in.

Fiona glanced at the baby cap forming beneath Blanche’s talented fingers and closed her eyes against the sharp blow of realization. She’d forgotten Blanche’s pregnancy. That’s why Michael was so concerned about who would go to Cornwall. Blanche had a strong mind and character, but a weak constitution.

“Fiona, what’s wrong? You look as if you’ve just ridden in on a broom.” Blanche smiled to take any sting from her words.

“Where’s Michael? I need to ask him something.” Frantic, Fiona tried to think of some way of warning Blanche, some way of telling someone, but she didn’t know how without worrying her.

“Oh, some gentlemen just came in from London. He and Neville are meeting with them in the study, something about the bill they’re sponsoring, I suppose. I do wish people would be a little more sensible. We cannot live in the past forever. But no, they must stick their heads in the sand until someone shoots them in the rear.”

At any other time, Fiona would have laughed at this lovely lady’s prosaic description of most of British Parliament, but she didn’t have a laugh left in her. Panic seeped in as time grew shorter. Should she run down to the study and accuse the visitors of wickedness?

Who would believe her? Making some flimsy excuse, Fiona bowed out of the sitting room.

Michael might believe her, but she couldn’t speak with him alone. Neville would have to investigate. He was too dutiful not to. If they’d had a love match, it might have been different, but there was no chance of that. He’d investigate.

And if he didn’t change his mind about the bill, something terrible would happen to Neville
. She knew it. She’d heard it in their voices.
Once we remove the duke’s name from the bill
… How? With hired thugs? More lies?

They intended to stop her marriage, condemn any child she bore to bastardy, and discredit Neville in such a way that he couldn’t support the reform bills now or in the future. Damn good thing there was no bastard apparent.

Fury blending with fear, Fiona raced to her room, seeking some means of protecting Neville until Michael could investigate. Neville wouldn’t necessarily believe her if she warned him of what she’d heard. Once those men gave him evidence condemning her as a traitor, he wouldn’t believe anything she said.

She couldn’t let him go to London into whatever trap those two planned.

But if she wasn’t here, his damned pride would force him to come after her.

Seventeen

Neville snarled at the documents littering his desk, the ones Townsend and his sniveling son-in-law had delivered the prior night. He already knew about the seditious behavior of Fiona’s friends and family—hell, all of Aberdare. That didn’t make Fiona a traitor, as these papers declared. If she had any link to the violent White Boy factions disrupting the Irish countryside, he’d personally eat Townsend’s hat.

He already knew of the failed attempt by Irish factions to blow up the heads of government a few years back. Fiona had been involved in that, admittedly. She’d been the one who’d warned Michael.

He didn’t trust Townsend and his cohorts for a bleeding minute. They were up to something by rehashing this old news. They didn’t come all the way out here to stop his marriage purely on an altruistic basis. If anything, he would have expected them to let him marry a traitor, then turn Fiona over to the government out of spite.

But Fiona’s disappearance on the same night that they brought this filthy “evidence” was suspicious in the extreme. Michael was out looking for her, but that was only an excuse to avoid Neville. They both knew where she’d gone.