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He looked me over from head to toe. “Yes, we do.”
I held his gaze as heat crept up my face. No man had looked at me that way since I was barely older than Emma. I never thought I’d be flattered by a duke. Especially a duke who fevered my dreams.
After that, I was able to walk without thinking about the tiara. I was too busy trying to figure out what the Duke of Blackford had in mind. Sumner returned and whispered something in the duke’s ear. Then he returned to the corner, where his gaze never left Emma.
“Georgia,” Lady Westover said as she fell into step next to me, “I know what happened yesterday was not your fault. I should not have been angry with you. However, Honoria has been my friend for a very long time, and I hate to see her distressed.”
“I feel badly for her, and badly for you to see her so”—I searched for a euphemism—“despondent.”
“It would be terrible for her and the family if word were to spread of her . . . affliction.”
“It’s a shame her husband could drink himself under the table and no one in polite society would bat an eye, but his poor grieving wife can’t.”
Lady Westover’s stern expression told me my opinion was not welcome.
“I spoke to Lord Dutton-Cox. He mourns his daughter as much as his wife does. She needs to try to rely on him. Encourage her to talk to him, Lady Westover.”
“I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, she needs privacy to regain her composure.”
“No one will hear of her lapse from me. I’ve already made the same promise to her daughter, Elizabeth. I can’t speak for the Dutton-Cox servants.”
“That’s all I ask, Georgia. That you allow her to suffer in peace. And hopefully she’ll regain her common sense.” She gave me a sharp look. “You went so far as to question her daughter after that unpleasant visit with Honoria?”
“Elizabeth came to visit me at the bookshop. She told me about their problems with Nicholas Drake and what her sister was like. She doesn’t seem worried that I’ll bother her mother again.”
“Good. I’m glad she’s showing some interest in her mother. Honoria’s going to need all the help she can get from her family.”
I nodded, and the tiara stayed in place. I gave her a surprised smile, and she patted my arm. Apparently I could be trusted as much as one of aristocratic birth.
“What costumes will Drake’s victims wear to the ball?” I asked.
“Waxpool and his grandchildren won’t be attending. Neither will the Dutton-Coxes or the Naylards,” Lady Westover said.
“The younger Dutton-Cox daughter, Elizabeth, will be attending with her husband, Viscount Dalrymple. They’re going as Cleopatra and Mark Antony,” the duke said, suddenly appearing at my side.
“This is her first masked ball as a married woman. Young women often run wild when they’re first freed from their chaperones,” Lady Westover said with a tsk.
“She couldn’t get away with it if Dalrymple wasn’t daring,” the duke said. “They’re well matched.”
“I know what you’re wearing,” I told the duke. “What about the Mervilles and Lord Hancock?”
“The Mervilles go as Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI every year. I don’t know about Hancock or his ward.”
I glanced out of the corner of my eye at Lady Westover, who shook her head. “I don’t know, either.”
When the duke proclaimed us ready, all the jewels were put away and then loaded into a small chest. “Would you ladies like a ride home in my carriage?”
“That would be very kind, Your Grace,” Emma said before I could open my mouth.
“I need to stop at Sir Broderick’s house for a moment tonight, so—”
The duke gave me a gracious smile. “We will make a small detour.”
Thanking Lady Westover, we went out and climbed into his tall carriage. Emma scrambled in with grace. With my muscles screaming from the earlier attack, I needed a hand to make my way up the folding steps and felt awkward.
Within a few minutes, we were at Sir Broderick’s stoop. When the carriage door was opened, I looked at the pavement far below my feet and shuddered.
I was helped from the carriage by a footman while another of the duke’s liveried servants rang the bell. Jacob opened the door in time to see me land heavily on both feet on the pavement. Fighting a grin, he said, “Georgia, do you need to see Sir Broderick?”
“No. Just a message for him.” Sliding a quick glance toward the duke watching me from the carriage, I leaned toward Jacob and whispered in his ear. “Send word to Frances Atterby that she needs to come to the bookshop tomorrow to help Emma for the next four days. I’m going north to talk to the duke’s sister. I need to know what’s going on before this masked ball.”
“What’s wrong?” he whispered back.
“I don’t know. None of this makes sense.” Then, raising my voice, I wished him a good night and climbed into the carriage with as much dignity as I could muster, since I couldn’t manage any agility.
*
I LEFT FROM King’s Cross Station the next morning wearing my traveling clothes and carrying a few good novels in my holdall. I broke my journey in Durham at the end of the first day, staying in a small guesthouse and touring the cathedral. The next morning I started out again early by rail for the village of Blackford on the River Black.
For the last few miles I transferred from a slow-moving local train to an open cart, bouncing painfully on a wooden plank under the weak midafternoon sunshine. The water rushing in the river alongside the road raised my spirits and I hoped for a quick end to my journey.
I could smell the sea before we arrived. Then Castle Blackford’s turrets appeared above the treetops, and soon I had my first view of the village.
The village, when we came to it, rose up the hillsides, probably looking much as it had when the Vikings arrived. The sea pounded against the river at the mouth of the rocky harbor. One bridge at the inland end of the village co
Walking into the only i
The lane constantly rose until I thought I’d reach the clouds, but I didn’t mind. I was curious to see the home of the Duke of Blackford. The tang of salt filled my head and the call of seabirds rang in the breezy air. As the path curved back and forth, a stone fortress came in and out of view behind pine trees and the boulders that lined the road. It looked medieval and decidedly uncomfortable.
When I reached it, I was glad to see the drawbridge was down, because the tall, unbroken walls were unbreachable. I walked through the empty gateway and into the cobblestoned courtyard. On either side were stables and other outbuildings against the protecting walls. In front of me, set in the center of the fortress, was a modern stone manor house with large windows. The edge of a flower garden peeked out from behind the house but in front of the surrounding wall. I headed toward a door facing me on the ground floor, hoping I’d find a bell to ring.
Before I reached the house, someone found me. A middle-aged woman in a faded dress and apron, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows and a kerchief around her hair, came out of a low door in a building to my left and crossed over to me. “Hello,” she said, suspicion in her voice.