The Duke's Dilemma (The Wolf Deceivers Series Book 2) Read online

  The Duke’s Dilemma

  Book 2

  The Wolf Deceivers

  Elaine Manders

  Copyright ©2017, Elaine Manders

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN: 978-0-9969228-5-2

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons is purely coincidental.

  Scripture references are taken from the King James Version (KJV) of the Bible.

  Cover designed by Ruthie Madison, Madison Book Cover Designs.

  Table of Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Author’s Note

  Other Books by this Author

  About the Author

  I am the good shepherd: the good shepherd giveth his life for the sheep. But he that is an hireling, and not the shepherd, whose own the sheep are not, seeth the wolf coming, and the wolf catcheth them, and scattereth the sheep.

  -St John 10:11-12

  Foreword

  Human trafficking is an unsavory subject for an historical romance, especially one set in the genteel era of Regency England. But it happened—and is a perfect example of what I call the Wolf Deceivers.

  Who are the Wolf Deceivers? They are the ones who stalk around the periphery of society picking off the young and vulnerable who stray too far from the fold. Though they ensnare their victims in plain sight, and their intentions are obvious, people refuse to believe what they see and hear. Perhaps that’s why Jesus spoke to those who had ears to hear and eyes to see.

  The Wolf Deceivers manage to delude without bothering to dress in sheep’s clothing. Their ability to do evil with impunity is evidenced by the sex trade that’s been going on since the beginning of time. Throughout history society has found it more convenient to blame the victim than the predator.

  Although England was a leader in outlawing African slavery, little was done to address the problem of sex trade. There were accounts and outcry against so-called “white slavery” associated with European women enslaved in Middle Eastern harems. However, it wasn’t until the late 1800s that any associated antislavery legislation was passed in Parliament.

  The rigid class structure of the Regency period, coupled with loosening morals, allowed the upper crust to ignore the problem. Perhaps they found it easy to turn their backs on the practice because, if they looked too closely, they might be compelled to get involved.

  Chapter 1

  London, 1815

  Lady Cassandra Wayte stared unseeing at her garden’s far wall covered with late flowering vines. Anger left over from last night’s altercation with a haughty merchant fumed within her.

  Even if she were the husband-killing gold digger the gossips said, her character would exceed that of most of the Ton. What had the peerage ever done for society except make up rules for everyone else to follow? And if there was anyone worse than the men, it was the women who ran after them.

  She blinked to gain focus and studied the watercolor she’d begun painting of the ancient oak shrouded in morning mist. This garden was her only escape now—the only peaceful place left in her dismal world.

  Before she touched paint to canvas, a chill of awareness raced up her spine. She dropped the brush.

  She leaped to her feet and spun around in such haste the stool toppled. A drop of green marred her late husband’s banyan, the one she used as a smock, but she paid scant notice. All her attention riveted on the man standing in the doorway of her townhouse.

  The Duke of Langsdale. He’d moved into the house next door over a month ago, and thus far, hadn’t given her as much as a nod in passing.

  His attire confirmed his nobility. The superbly cut charcoal tweed coat and breeches of the finest chamois cloth were the height of fashion. The neck cloth could only have been tied by a valet of the first order, and his glossy black boots must have been made by Hoby, the Regent’s own boot maker.

  For a moment, they stared at each other. She knew by the scowl on his handsome face this wasn’t a social call, not that anyone would call on her. No one in the Ton deemed her worthy of being received.

  He drew up to his full height, over six feet if an inch, and covered the distance between them. How had he gotten past her servants?

  With his square chin clinched, he removed his beaver and bowed more deeply than convention required. “Forgive the intrusion, Lady Wayte. As you doubtless know, I’m your neighbor, Edward Dalton.” When she remained silent, he added, “Duke of Langsdale. I’m looking for my sister.”

  She lifted her chin in what she hoped matched his air of condescension. “Why should your grace think your sister would be found here?”

  He sighed as if he found her question totally unnecessary. “I saw her climb over your wall.” A smile softened his stern features. “As you must know, the wall separates our gardens.”

  The duke had to be bamming her. “Your sister scaled a ten-foot wall?”

  He rolled his eyes heavenward. “Lady Sarah is an eleven-year-old child and a hoyden, I fear. Scaling a wall is nothing to her. How she did it is of no import. I merely wish to fetch her home.”

  Cassandra found herself empathizing with Lady Sarah. She’d been labeled a hoyden and a nuisance as a child. “I assure your grace, your sister couldn’t have come down on this side of the wall without my seeing her. She likely realized how high it was from the top and dropped back down on the other side without your seeing her. After all, it was quite foggy until a moment ago.”

  “I could see well enough to tell that she did go over the wall.” The duke’s brows furrowed, showing his growing irritation.

  Cassandra glanced past him to find Carswell, her butler, approaching.

  “Your ladyship, your grace.” Carswell bowed. “We could find nothing of the child in the house. The maids looked through every room, even the cellars.”

  “That’s impossible,” the duke said.

  Cassandra pursued her lips, her own ire rising. How dare this man come to her home and order her servants about without a fare-thee-well to her, then bound upon her, disturbing her painting. Now he had the gall to dispute her and her servant’s word.

  “As we cannot produce your sister, your grace, I suggest you leave and hunt for her elsewhere.” Her words came out cold and slow like dripping icicles.

  “Cannot or will not? For some reason I can’t fathom, Sarah has become infatuated with you.”

  She recoiled as if he’d slapped her. “What are you suggesting? That I kidnapped your sister? For what? I have no need for money.” She looked away and added in a lower tone, “Nor anything else you have.”

  “I’m well aware of the fact that you’re one of London’s most wealthy ladies.” His voice was more controlled than hers. “And I can understand how a young girl might be intrigued by your exploits.”

  She glared at him. “My exploits? You mean the offences attributed to me by the gossips. You have doubtless heard how I came about my wealth. How I bewitched poor Lord Wayte,
cajoled him into turning over all he possessed except for that which was entailed and drove him to his grave a mere eight months after our marriage. That’s the favorite on-dit. Yet I seriously doubt it would intrigue a young girl.”

  His chin jutted out, and he stared down at her in a manner that made her want to kick him in the shin. “Your fascinating past concerns me not at all, Lady Wayte. I merely wish to find my sister.”

  Why was she ranting at this man? She was behaving like a common fishwife. Lord Wayte would have been so ashamed of her. Tugging the banyan closer, she swallowed her pride. “Pray forgive my outburst, your grace. I speak hastily at times, but I assure you I’ve never met your sister. If I or my servants should see her, we’ll send her home.”

  “It would seem I have no choice in the matter. Should you find her, please ensure she’s escorted to my residence.” The duke turned on his heel and marched off, his broad shoulders ramrod straight.

  What an overpowering figure he made. If she were not a social outcast, they might have met under more auspicious conditions. Even when the London season was at its height, she’d not received one invitation. And now—although she and the duke were neighbors, they might as well be poles apart.

  She returned to her painting and studied the creation, trying to decide whether to continue or wait until the morrow. Full sun had burned off the fog, and she’d so wanted to capture the ancient oak enshrouded in mist.

  Worst yet, the duke had spoiled her mood, which wasn’t good to begin with. The idea that he would accuse her of hiding his sister rankled her to the core.

  Before she’d made up her mind, a shadow fell across the table that held her paints and brushes. As soon as her gaze met that of the little girl who stood before her, the child burst out in a breathless tirade.

  “I beg your pardon, Lady Wayte, for disrupting your painting. I know how you love to paint because I’ve watched you every day from the tree in our yard. Now I’ve spoiled your day, but I had to see you. I simply had to.”

  The girl resembled her brother. The same set of chin and the same shape of nose, but Sarah’s eyes were the color of pansies while the duke’s were forest green. On the whole, Sarah was as pretty as her brother was handsome. She would grow up to be a beautiful woman.

  “Were you here all the while your brother was ranting at me?”

  “I do beg pardon for Edward. He’s not ordinarily such a rudesby. But I couldn’t let him know I was here. I’m forbidden to come into your garden.”

  “Where were you hiding?”

  “Behind the primrose bushes.” Sarah pointed to the back corner, then turned her attention to the painting. “You do such beautiful watercolors. I never can. Mine run together. I’ve been trying to do a portrait of Edward, but he comes out looking like the rat coachman in Cinderella.”

  Cassandra couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Portraits are exceedingly hard to execute.”

  “Have you done any?” Sarah’s fresh young face beamed with excitement. “I’d love to see your collection.”

  “Perhaps another time. I promised your brother to see you home.”

  Sarah stepped back, her pansy eyes pleading. “No, please, not yet. I must ask you something, and I’ve waited so long. I admire you vastly, Lady Wayte, not just for your painting. Everyone who comes to the house talks about you.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’ve even read stories about you in the Gazette. I especially liked the story of you pushing Lord Dunfear in the goldfish pond.”

  Cassandra stiffened. Lord Dunfear in the goldfish pond? That happened before she’d married Lord Wayte, when she’d believed that if evil doers were exposed, people would turn on them. Instead they’d turned on her.

  “Surely your governess doesn’t give you the Gazette to read or allow you to listen to gossip.”

  Sarah shrugged. “Old Bates? She never knows anything.”

  Cassandra began gathering her paints and supplies, placing them in the case designed to hold them. Sarah fell in to help her. “I don’t believe the gossip. I know you’re a good person.”

  The loud snap of the closing art case startled a sparrow that just landed nearby.

  Cassandra ought not indulge the child, but who wouldn’t be flattered by hero-worship. There was nothing unusual in girls being fascinated by notorious women. Hadn’t she admired Lady Hamilton, Lord Nelson’s paramour? “How do you know I’m a good person?”

  “I watch you from our tree, as I’ve said, and I’ve seen how kind you are to those sad, strange women who come into the secret gate at the back.”

  Shock surged through Cassandra, and she dropped the case to the ground. No one could know that. “What did you see?”

  “I haven’t told anyone. I know it’s a secret, but that’s how I can tell you’re a good person. You help those women, don’t you? They’re poor and you help the poor.”

  Sarah retrieved the case, and after placing it on the table, threaded her fingers together at her waist. “You don’t want anyone to see your good deeds. Mama always said one should never boast about doing good.” She flung one hand to her right. “You shouldn’t let your right hand know what your left is doing.” She waved her left hand. “I know she was right. That’s in the Bible.”

  Cassandra took both Sarah’s hands and bent to stare into the child’s eyes. “Please forget what you’ve seen and never tell a soul. If anyone knew—” If word got out and “those women” were identified, it would be a matter of life and death—or worse.

  “I’d never tell, but they are poor, aren’t they?” Uncertainty crept into Sarah’s voice. “The next day they come out looking very different, dressed like maids, but they’re the same women, aren’t they?”

  With a nod, Cassandra straightened. “They are poor.” She dared not divulge more. Forcing a smile, she sought to divert Sarah’s attention. “Perhaps you should tell me what was so important that you defied your brother to see me.”

  Sarah sucked in a deep breath and lowered her voice. “Do you know Lady Daphne Ashford?”

  Of a certainty, Cassandra knew Lady Ashford, the esteemed war widow and bosom bow of Lady Millicent, the current countess of Waytefield. Millicent delighted in passing scandalous lies about Cassandra to Lady Ashford who spread them throughout London society.

  At first Cassandra refused to believe that anyone would give credence to the gossip. She’d been wrong.

  Sarah need know nothing about that. “I have met Lady Ashford, but we’re hardly acquaintances.”

  “She has her cap set for Edward. Ever since he returned from the war, she’s been with him. She goes to all the balls and assemblies he attends. Last week she went with him to Tattersalls to purchase a new hunter, although she has no liking for horses in the least. She calls at our house almost every day to see Aunt Chloe, she says, but she really wants to see Edward. At times, she even stays on after bidding Aunt Chloe good-night.”

  Cassandra studied the girl’s innocent face, satisfied that Sarah had no understanding of the implication of what she’d said. It came as no surprise Lady Ashford was after the duke. He was as eagerly sought by hopeful young windows and debutant mamas as were vouchers to Almack’s. “Your aunt is the only other relative living in the house with you and the duke?” She knew Sarah’s parents had been killed in some tragic accident.

  “Yes ma’am. Aunt Chloe is a dear, but she’s not very br…, not very astute about Lady Ashford. I fear she’s being duped as Edward as been.”

  “Your brother is an intelligent man. I very much doubt he’s being duped.”

  “But he is. I overheard Lady Ashford talking to her maid. She intends to marry Edward. I asked Aunt Chloe about it, and she thinks it’s wonderful.” Sarah rolled her eyes heavenward.

  “I take it you don’t care for Lady Ashford.”

  “I hate her. She has two faces. This is the face she shows Edward.” Sarah threw out both hands and tilted her head back. Batting her lashes, she spoke in a breathless tone. “Oh Edward, that new coat makes you look s
o vastly handsome. Oh, Edward, you’re so cleaver to have said that.”

  Pausing but a scant second, Sarah dropped her hands and drew her features into an exaggerated scowl. “This is her other face when Edward isn’t around.” Her voice dropped to a growl. “Maggie, I have convinced his grace not to accept Lady Haversham’s invitation. He mustn’t meet her daughter, though the bucked-toothed trollop couldn’t possibly compete with me.”

  Despite herself, a bubble of laughter escaped Cassandra’s lips. “Has no one told you it’s impolite to eavesdrop?”

  Sarah giggled, causing the rolled curls on either side of her face to bounce. “They don’t know I’m eavesdropping. Sometimes they speak as though I’m not really there.”

  That much was true. The nobility seemed to forget that children, or even servants, had ears. Cassandra searched for words to reassure the girl. “I shouldn’t worry overmuch. Of a truth, I don’t believe Lady Ashford has a feather to fly with in pursuing your brother.”

  “I wouldn’t worry except I overheard yesterday that the betting at White’s is in favor of Edward coming up to scratch ten-to-one. That means he’ll propose to her, doesn’t it?”

  “That’s what it means,” Cassandra admitted. Surely the duke wouldn’t seriously consider marriage to Lady Ashford, but betting at White’s indicated the Ton was convinced.

  “I don’t want Edward to be unhappy, and Lady Ashford will make him unhappy. He should marry a kind and good lady like our mama.” Tears welled in Sarah’s eyes.

  Cassandra fumbled in the banyan’s pocket and brought out a monogrammed handkerchief. She handed it to Sarah, but not before one tear spilled down the little girl’s pink cheek.

  “The sun is getting warm. Come along.” Cassandra laid her arm around Sarah’s shoulder and guided her toward the house. “We’ll have cook send out some biscuits and hot chocolate.”

  She gave the order to the attentive butler on their way and directed Sarah to a plush velvet covered chair in the drawing room. An image of the duke’s scowling face surfaced in Cassandra’s mind.