The Odious Duke Read online

  “Lady Edith Sheraton!” she repeated, a puzzled look in her eyes.

  “I believe you were girls together,” the Duke said, “and Lady Edith is looking forward eagerly to renewing your acquaintance.”

  “Edith Sheraton! She was Edith Cecil – of course I remember her!” Lady Bingley exclaimed. “What a lovely girl she was too! How does she appear today?”

  “In great good looks like yourself,” the Duke answered gallantly.

  Lady Bingley laughed.

  “Your Grace is a flatterer and I am far too old to listen to you. Take Verena to your grandmother and say something pleasant to her on the way for she has seemed to me to have been out of sorts the whole day.”

  The Duke looked scrutinisingly at Verena, who said quickly,

  “No indeed there is nothing amiss and I too am looking forward to meeting the Duchess.”

  “Then, if we are not to incur her wrath by being late for dinner, we should leave now,” the Duke replied.

  He kissed Lady Bingley’s hand and followed Verena downstairs to where his landau was waiting.

  She saw at a glance that Fowler was sitting up behind the carriage and that the footman holding open the door was a stalwart-looking young man with an alert expression on his face.

  Verena stepped into the landau and the Duke seated himself beside her. The horses were fresh and they were soon moving swiftly away from the traffic towards Regents Park.

  “What made you ask us to Selchester Castle?” Verena enquired.

  “I want to show it to you,” the Duke said casually, “and in case you are thinking I am enticing you away from the gaieties of the Fashionable World, I have also invited your cousin to be my guest.”

  “You have asked Giles to Selchester Castle?” Verena exclaimed in astonishment. “But why?”

  “He expressed a desire to see my stables,” the Duke replied. “I have only a few horses here in London, but a large number at Selchester. I am afraid that horses are a considerable extravagance for me.”

  “I doubt if Giles will be able to accept,” Verena said rapidly.

  “Maybe you feel that he would not wish to leave London,” the Duke suggested. “I have no wish for him to be bored, so I have also invited his close friend, my cousin Jasper, to accompany him.”

  With difficulty Verena suppressed a cry of horror.

  ‘How can the Duke do anything so foolish?’ she asked herself.

  And then she thought despairingly that he was doing it for her sake! Surely, she wondered, he could not believe that she was really attracted by a man so overdressed and so ignorant of bloodstock that he would pay a ridiculous sum for the horse that they had seen him riding in the Park?

  Then she remembered how warmly she had spoken of Giles when she had been nursing the Duke at her home.

  Of course he supposed her to be in love with her cousin!

  Her face burnt at the thought.

  Realising they must now be approaching Hampstead Heath, she bent forward to look at the roadway and at the unfrequented tree-covered land on either side of it.

  She saw at a glance how easy it would be for highwaymen to hide among the bushes in the woodland and without warning hold up a vehicle almost anywhere along the high road they were now proceeding down.

  At the same time she felt sure that the men the “Evil Genius’ would have hired under the command of Hickson would not attack in daylight.

  The sun was sinking down in a golden glory behind the trees and she remembered that, when she had told the Duke’s fortune, she had seen danger in the darkness.

  It was on their return journey that they must be most careful.

  The horses were drawing to a stop and Verena had a moment’s fear that she had been mistaken.

  Then the Duke said,

  “We have reached the toll gate. Do you see the inn opposite? It is known as The Spaniards and has a very bad reputation. They say it is the haunt of highwaymen.”

  “Highwaymen!” Verena repeated.

  “Yes, but don’t be afraid,” the Duke smiled. “The groom on the box of my carriage always carries a blunderbuss at night, especially when we drive into the country.”

  “I have heard that Hampstead Heath is beset with highwaymen and footpads,” Verena commented.

  “Most of such tales are exaggerated,” the Duke answered. “And, of one thing I am very certain, Verena, we shall not find our Bullion robbers lurking about in these bushes!”

  He spoke jokingly, but Verena felt herself shudder. It would not be for Bullion that the “Evil Genius’s” men would commit murder tonight, it would be for a coronet!

  How could the Duke, she asked herself, be so blind or so stupid as not to realise that his Heir Presumptive, even if he did not know he was the “Evil Genius”, was envious of his position?

  But perhaps, she thought, he would not expect someone of his own blood to behave so despicably and would credit him with at least some attributes of a gentleman.

  “I would hope when we return from Selchester Castle,” the Duke was saying, “I can arrange a number of entertainments to amuse you. My sister intends to give a ball the week after next that you and, of course, Lady Bingley, will be invited. My aunt, who is now widowed, has eight daughters, two of whom have made their debut this season and will be attending all the functions that make the Season an exhausting round of gaiety. She has already promised to chaperone you.”

  “It is kind of you,” Verena answered, “and I know I should be very grateful. But I hope you will not think me rude if I tell you that I feel too old for such frivolities.”

  “Too old!” the Duke exclaimed. “Really, Verena, you are an endless source of surprise. What exactly do you mean by that?”

  “As you will know by now, I have always lived with older people, my grandfather, my mother and, of course, when she died, grandfather’s friends. I like being with older people, I do like talking seriously! I think perhaps I have now forgotten or never knew how to be young and empty-headed!”

  The Duke laughed.

  “What a sad story! I see we must somehow coax you into throwing away the cares of old age and being as young as you appear.”

  “You will not believe me if I tell you that I am completely happy with older people, with my horses and my books?”

  “I shall not only disbelieve you,” the Duke said, “but I shall make every effort to prove you wrong.”

  “Then it is most unlikely you will succeed,” Verena replied sharply.

  “We shall see. In the meantime tonight you will be in your element, for my grandmother is over eighty and you two old people should find a great deal in common!”

  The Duke had spoken jestingly, but he soon realised that Verena had a way with the elderly. Most of the young, when they met the Dowager Duchess, were frightened immediately into an embarrassed silence and remained tongue-tied in the presence of such an awe-inspiring old lady.

  The Duchess, who had been a great beauty in her youth, was in fact a relic of the scandalous days of social irresponsibility in the middle of the last century that culminated in the wild gaiety and vast extravagance of the young Prince of Wales.

  The Duchess like the rest of the Beau Ton became bored with the respectability and the dismal gloom of the Court and had made Carlton House the focal point of amusement.

  The Duchess, dressed in white and wearing no less than six ropes of pearls and just as many bracelets and several diamond rings on her blue-veined hands, received Verena and the Duke in a grand salon, hung with Van Dykes, which overlooked the extensive grounds of her residence.

  She did not rise as they entered, but sat bolt upright in a high velvet chair, her legs covered with a stable rug. Beside her stood a small black boy wearing a turban and wielding a large fan of peacock feathers.

  The Duke bent down first to kiss his grandmother’s hand and then her cheek.

  “Good evening, Grandmama, I am, as you well know, delighted to see you.”

  “I know nothing of the
sort,” his grandmother snapped back. “I only know it is nigh on a century since you last condescended to visit me!”

  “The last time I came,” the Duke rejoined with a hint of laughter in his voice, “you told me to stay well away until I could present you with my bride. As I could find no one suitable enough to please your critical eye, I thought I was utterly in disgrace!”

  “You thought nothing of the sort!” the Duchess retorted. “And, as you are better looking than the rest of my tiresome grandchildren, I prefer you to those feather-brained moon-calves your Uncle Cornelius brought into the world. I never could abide females!”

  “That is unfortunate,” the Duke remarked, “because tonight I have brought you both a female and a relative, Grandmama. Please allow me to present Miss Verena Winchcombe.”

  The Duchess held out her hand and Verena, curtseying, was aware of two shrewd blue eyes in the wrinkled face that seemed to scrutinise every detail of her appearance.

  “Winchcombe!” she said reflectively. “I did not know that we had anyone of that name in the family.”

  “Great-Grandpapa married Arabella Winchcombe,” the Duke said. “But I daresay you were not told about it.”

  “Of course, I recall it, dear boy.” A shocking scandal! No one spoke about it except in whispers. I once asked your great-grandfather when he was old what the girl had been like. He said he could not remember. Such fustian! As though one would not recall the face of a wench with whom one had spent five months reaching Gretna Green!”

  The Duke threw back his head and laughed.

  “Is that not like you, Grandmama? Uncle Adolphus has been falling over himself all these past years to keep such a disreputable story from sullying the purity of our ears. And you knew about it all the time!”

  “Naturally I knew. Adolphus is just an old woman! I have always thought so. You will become like him if you don’t marry.”

  “That is a development definitely to be avoided,” the Duke replied.

  The Duchess looked at Verena, who was regarding this formidable old lady with interest and amusement.

  “And you, child, what are you trying to do? Catch yourself a rich and titled husband?”

  “No, ma’am,” Verena replied. “I am not at all interested in wealth or titles!”

  “Indeed. Then you are different from most of the pretty chits,” the Duchess remarked. “What then do you seek in a husband?”

  Verena felt embarrassed.

  She knew that the Duke was watching her, his eyes on her face. But her honesty made her answer the Duchess’s question truthfully.

  “If I marry, ma’am, I would wish to wed a man I loved and who loved me!”

  Her words seemed to vibrate on the air.

  She dared not look at the Duke.

  “A very unfashionable sentiment!” the Duchess snapped. “Where can you have come from?”

  “From Bedfordshire,” the Duke answered for her. “Her grandfather, as I have told you in my note, Grandmama, was General Sir Alexander Winchcombe.”

  “I had not forgotten,” the Duchess replied. “A very fine soldier. I met him once, it must have been over fifty years ago. He was in love with a married woman at that time so would pay no attention to me. A pretty rattle she was too!”

  Verena laughed.

  “Oh, you must tell me about it, ma’am,” she said without a touch of shyness. “Grandpapa used to hint that he had been somewhat of a dasher in his youth, but I could never get him to tell me of his love affairs. I was, however, quite convinced that there must have been a number of them!”

  From that moment the Duke was made aware that Verena and his grandmother got on famously together.

  Verena, unlike the Dowager’s grandchildren, was quite unshocked at the unbridled way she spoke, one that the younger generation thought shocking and unconventional.

  When they took their leave immediately after dinner as the Duchess retired early to bed, she admonished her grandson to bring Verena to see her again at the earliest opportunity.

  “I should very much like to come, ma’am,” Verena said, and quite obviously meant it. “And I was wondering if one day I could not ride over to visit you and show you my horse. I am sure you would be amused by many of the tricks he can do.”

  “He is a remarkable animal,” the Duke agreed.

  “Then do bring him, child, and while you are about it, ginger that grandson of mine out of his fastidious ways. Never could stand a man myself who had not a touch of the rake about him!”

  “I will do my best, ma’am,” Verena said mischievously. “But I am convinced it would be difficult to make a leopard change his spots!”

  The Duke laughed at this.

  Soon they were driving back down the Duchess’s drive and Verena, holding her muff in her lap, found the elation and amusement she had felt during dinner ebbing away.

  She was suddenly very cold and then something was constricting her breathing, something that made it almost impossible for her to speak naturally.

  The landau turned out of the drive gates and now, Verena knew, they had only a short distance to travel before they reached the toll gate.

  She knew, she could not explain how, but she was certain that the ruffians would be waiting somewhere near The Spaniards.

  Moving uphill and slowing for the toll gate, the landau would be an easy target!

  It was as they reached the foot of the incline that she drew a pistol from her muff and handed it to the Duke.

  “When the door of the carriage opens,” she told him, “shoot without question – don’t wait. There will be two men and they mean to kill you!”

  She rose as she spoke and blew out the candle-lantern in front of them.

  She was confident that the men would have instructions to spare her. Giles wanted The Priory and her fortune. If she was dead, not having made a will, there would be no chance of his obtaining it.

  “What the devil is all this about?” the Duke asked in astonishment.

  “I will explain it later,” Verena replied. “Just be ready. Shoot as the door opens and don’t miss!”

  “And you?” he enquired, striving to see her through the darkness.

  “I have a pistol and I shall shoot the man on this side,” Verena said. “Be ready, for God’s sake, Leopard, be ready!”

  As she finished speaking, she then realised that the carriage had now almost come to a standstill.

  Two shots rang out, followed by another, as the doors of the landau were wrenched open.

  As Verena had anticipated, the men, who had expected the carriage to be lit, paused for a split second.

  As they did so, Verena shot at the figure on her side of the carriage.

  Almost instantaneously the Duke fired as well.

  Two bodies crashed to the ground and Fowler was at the doorway asking urgently,

  “Is Your Grace safe?”

  “We are neither of us hurt,” the Duke replied calmly. “They did not get a chance to shoot at us.”

  “I killed me man, Your Grace,” Fowler answered, “but one of them got away and I thinks James has been winged.”

  “Let me have a look,” the Duke replied.

  He climbed from the coach. Verena did not move, she sat still and put her head on the soft cushions. She had been right! It all had occurred exactly as she had anticipated. It was a pity, she thought, that one man should have escaped. She was certain that it must have been Hickson.

  The Duke and Fowler were lifting the injured footman down from the box, while the horses, plunging in fright at the shots, were being soothed by the coachman.

  The landau moved backwards and forward and, after a moment or two, Verena leant forward to the door and looked out.

  By the light of the carriage lamps she could see that the footman had been lowered onto the side of the road and his livery coat had been pulled away from one shoulder.

  His shirt already had a crimson stain on it and Verena got out and, stepping over a dead body on the roadwa
y, went towards him. Before the Duke could prevent her she had knelt down beside the wounded man and drawn aside the blood-stained shirt.

  “It is only a flesh wound,” she said after a moment, “but the bullet will be lodged in it and must be extracted. Give me your handkerchiefs.”

  Fowler dived into his pocket. The coachman produced a square of coarse cambric. Verena pulled from her neck a soft chiffon scarf that she had worn over her pearls.

  She rolled them all into a tight ball, covered them with the Duke’s fine linen handkerchief and pressed the pad against the wound.

  “Lift him into the carriage,” she instructed. “He can lie flat on the back seat with his legs bent.”

  She knew as she spoke that Fowler looked up at the Duke as if for confirmation of such an order.

  “Do as Miss Winchcombe says,” he confirmed.

  Carefully they lifted the man with Verena striving to keep the pad in place.

  When finally he had been laid down on the back seat, she knelt on the floor of the landau beside him, holding the pad firm.

  The Duke had the candle-lantern lit again.

  “Can you manage?” he asked Verena.

  “Yes,” she answered. “But tell the coachman to drive slowly.”

  “The Duke gave the order and climbed into the landau to sit with his back to the horses.

  The coachman started the horses up the hill again. They paid their dues at the toll gate and soon were moving at a steady pace across the Heath.

  “I be sorry I lets ’im escape, Your Grace,” James murmured.

  “It cannot be helped,” the Duke answered. “You did your best.”

  “I thanks Your Grace.”

  It had been Hickson, Verena thought, who had got away. He had been too clever to expose himself as he made the others do.

  “What about the dead men?” she asked the Duke, turning her head round to look at him.

  “Let someone else find them,” the Duke answered. “They are not our concern.”

  He spoke quite indifferently and yet she knew there was something particularly searching and curious in his eyes. She realised with a sinking of her heart that later there would have to be explanations.