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

  His grace had made it plain he didn’t want his sister associating with her. She ought to send Sarah home immediately as she’d promised, but something held her back. Sarah hadn’t told her the full story.

  In less than a minute, a maid appeared with a tray bearing their refreshments. Perched on the edge of the chair, Sarah took a biscuit and held it on her lap, while she lifted the cup and sipped daintily.

  The girl’s eyelids still drooped, and Cassandra gave her time to work through her emotions. After a nibble of the biscuit and another sip of chocolate, Sarah set her cup aside. “I have a plan to stop Edward from proposing to Lady Ashford.” She looked as if she might start weeping again as she glanced at Cassandra. “If you’ll help me.”

  Cassandra’s cup wobbled as she set it on the occasional table. “What could I possibly do?”

  “It occurred to me that Edward is interested in Lady Ashford because no other lady has taken his fancy. She thinks no one else will appeal to him.”

  Cassandra inclined her head. “Indeed, it would help your cause if Lady Ashford had a rival, but I fear I can’t suggest a suitable young lady to compete for your brother’s affections.”

  Sarah’s questioning look made her add, “Since I’ve been in mourning, I haven’t been in society.” That wasn’t the real reason, but Sarah was too young to understand the truth.

  With a shake of her head, Sarah bounded from the chair. Her eyes took on the look of spaniel begging a treat. “I don’t want you to suggest someone. I want you to be Lady Ashford’s rival.”

  Cassandra’s hand flew to her throat, but she couldn’t prevent a derisive bark from jumping through her lips. “That’s absurd. The duke doesn’t associate with me.” Nor would he.

  Sarah grappled Cassandra’s open hand, clutching it to her chest. “But he will when he gets to know you. You have gold hair and blue eyes. Edward favors those features in a lady. Mama had hair like yours, and she was a good person. You’re a good person.”

  Never mind the duke. Sarah had obviously taken a fancy to her because she reminded her of her mother. Cassandra had to stop this nonsense.

  She tugged her hand from Sarah’s grasp and took her by the shoulders. This girl had to face reality. “Stop it, Sarah. What you suggest is impossible. The duke will not give me a by-your-leave much less consider me a…a suitable match.”

  “He would too. He admired Lord Wayte above any in the House of Lords.”

  “Just because he admired my husband doesn’t follow that he admires me.” Knowing she’d be crushing the girl’s dream, Cassandra stared past her, unable to look into her eyes. “The truth is, I’m not received. The duke’s reputation would be tarnished by associating with me, and he won’t do that.”

  “I know why you’re not received, but Edward detests gossip. You see, a long time ago some people gossiped about Mama, and Edward called one man out and shot him. The man didn’t die, but he apologized to Mama. Edward says people who gossip are jealous.”

  While Cassandra tried to collect some thoughts together that might be convincing, Sarah pulled away to take a figurine from the table. She examined the porcelain as she spoke. “Lady Ashford tried to say something cruel about you once, and Edward told her he wouldn’t allow anyone to disparage Lord Wayte’s widow in his home. She’s been careful not to say anything like that in his hearing again.”

  “It pleases me to hear that, my dear, but the whole plan is impossible.”

  Sarah returned the figurine to its place and faced Cassandra, a look of defiance darting from eyes that still watered. “You must help me. She’ll make my life miserable. She’s already decided to send me away to a horrid convent school in France next year.”

  Cassandra rose to step behind her chair, leaning on its back. She could empathize with Sarah. If Daphne Ashford married the duke, she would make life unbearable for his spirited sister. Cassandra had suffered the same fate as a child.

  Her grandfather had become her guardian upon the death of her parents when she was seven years old. She, like Sarah, had been left to her own devices until her grandfather remarried.

  Everything changed when Hortense moved in. The stern woman could find nothing but fault, and she vented her displeasure at the slightest provocation by beating Cassandra. Unable to endure the abuse any longer, she’d run away to London.

  Where a worse fate awaited her.

  The thought that this charming little girl might suffer as she had was more than she could bear, yet what could she do about it? She crossed her arms and met Sarah’s gaze. “I’m sorry, truly I am, but the whole scheme is preposterous. My path will never cross that of the duke’s.”

  “I have a plan for that too.”

  Cassandra relaxed and smiled. “I’m sure you have.” She shifted from behind the chair and directed Sarah to the settee where they could sit together. “Go ahead and tell me the rest of it then.”

  “Edward knows how good your painting is. When he returned from a trip to Waytefield, he mentioned your paintings he’d seen there. He said if you were a man, they’d be hanging in the palace.”

  Cassandra’s brows rose in disbelief while her lips curved in pleasure. She worked hard to make her art presentable, yet no one had complimented her except Lord Wayte. He’d been her husband and very partial. To hear that a stranger admired her paintings was like an unexpected gift. One she’d clutch to her bosom for a long time.

  Sarah’s voice rose with her eagerness. “I like to paint too, especially watercolors. If you’re willing, I’ll get Edward to ask you to tutor me. He doesn’t want me to come over here, but we could meet at my house. The back parlor has the best light.” She grinned. “And it’s next to Edward’s study.”

  Cassandra stared at the child with complete understanding. She let her head fall back and laughed, peals of merriment such as she’d not experienced in years. With Sarah giggling along, Cassandra laughed until her eyes watered. “You are incorrigible. The beaus won’t stand a chance when you grow up. But I doubt the duke will approve of me as your tutor.”

  “He will. Oh, he acts stern on the outside, but on the inside, he’s as sweet and soft as bread pudding.” Sarah gazed at her from under long lashes. “You will agree to tutor me?”

  “If you can convince your brother, I’d be delighted to tutor you. As to being Lady Ashford’s rival, I still regard that to be on the outside of ridiculous.” Cassandra got to her feet and moved to the bell pull to summon the butler.

  When he appeared she ordered him to escort Sarah home.

  She and Sarah curtsied to each other and without further argument, Sarah followed the butler. Abruptly, she swung around and ran back to Cassandra, hugging her about the waist. “Thank you, Lady Wayte. I love you.”

  I love you. Cassandra hadn’t heard those words since Geoffrey uttered them the night of his death. Emotion the size of a boulder lodged in her throat, preventing speech. She wrapped her arms around the child.

  Sarah stepped out of the embrace and gave her a sheepish glance. “You don’t have to actually marry Edward, but I’ll be praying you do.”

  Cassandra stared at the tall entrance door long after Sarah departed. She hated to think of the child’s disappointment when her scheme failed, as it was sure to do. Sarah was too young to realize prayers were rarely answered.

  Chapter 2

  At times such as these, doubts crowded in on Cassandra, threatening to crush her resolve. What would life be like if she’d chosen another path? She would be in a position to pursue the duke, to marry him or another just as noble. Have children. Take her rightful place in society. She’d had no choice, though she admitted it would have been wiser to have been more discreet.

  Without Lord Wayte, she was adrift. If she had a confidant to advise her. One close friend. Her godmother loved her, but dear Gama was in poor health and couldn’t be burdened. The old lady would be amused by the duke’s and Sarah’s visits.

  Cassandra turned and headed to the stairs, hoping she’d find Gama awake.
A knock at the front door stopped her. Could it be Sarah returning, or worse, the duke ready to give her a dressing down for harboring his sister and denying the fact?

  She waited for Carswell to announce the caller, and he appeared within seconds. “Mrs. Jane Vernon has called, your ladyship.”

  Cassandra let out the tense breath she’d held. “Show her to the drawing room, Carswell.”

  The butler gave her a stiff nod and retreated to carry out her order. He didn’t hide his disapproval of Jane Vernon and Cassandra’s other actress acquaintances. Servants frequently held a higher standard of propriety than did their masters.

  She cared not for what the servants thought, or indeed, anyone else. Jane might be an actress, but she was worth a dozen of the Ton’s most distinguished hostesses. What had they done for society but sit around their parlors, sipping tea and crucifying their acquaintances with acid tongues? At least actresses brought entertainment into a dreary world.

  When Cassandra joined Jane in the drawing room, she found the actress standing with her back to her. With flame red hair and wearing a gaudy purple satin gown, Jane was in costume for the current play. If she’d come straight from the theater without taking time to change, this was an important visit.

  At the sound of Cassandra’s footfall, Jane swung around. “I came by earlier, but saw the Duke of Langsdale’s carriage. I knew you wouldn’t wish me to put in an appearance.”

  “Why ever not? The duke wasn’t on a social call. Do be seated.” Cassandra indicated a maroon brocade sofa shot with gold threads, the best piece of furniture in the room. She took satisfaction in offering the best to her low born guests.

  “Oh, but I had hoped.” Jane sank dramatically on the sofa and pursed her painted lips. “You must know what I mean. I’d hoped the duke might flaunt society and pay his respects as a neighbor. I’ve heard that he does flaunt society occasionally.”

  Cassandra sat on the other end of the sofa. Strange that Jane should think the duke would stoop to help her. Gama had intimated the same thing when he’d moved in next door. Was she such a nodcock not to recognize the possibility of gaining the duke’s favor? Both Gama and Jane would be in a teeter if they knew about Sarah’s suggestion.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but no, the duke wasn’t paying his respects.”

  Jane lifted her penciled brows. Cassandra was aware she wanted more details, but while she had to trust Jane to some extent, the less the actress knew the better. Since Lord Wayte died, Cassandra found she couldn’t trust anyone. Too many had turned against her.

  After some moments of awkward silence, Jane smiled and reached into the tiny reticule hanging from her wrist. She drew out a paper and handed it to Cassandra. “Here are the names of them…them brothel-keepers you asked about.”

  Cassandra took the paper, folding it in half without looking at it, and slipped it into her pocket. “Thank you, Jane. I think I shall go dressed as the old woman this time.” Jane had supplied her with costumes to dress incognito.

  “I wish you’d send someone else, m’lady. You shouldn’t meet with the likes of those women. You shouldn’t even know they exist.”

  Cassandra squared her shoulders and crossed her arms. Of course, look the other way like the rest of society. If one didn’t know about such things, there was nothing to be done. “But I do know they exist, don’t I, Jane?” She sighed. This was an old argument. “I can’t trust servants. My man of business makes arrangements at the houses where the girls will go, but even he doesn’t know where they come from. I ask that you keep this secret, as you did for Lord Wayte.”

  “I’d never divulge any of this, but you’re in more danger than Lord Wayte was. He was a man and could go into such establishments. What if the men who own those places become aware that you’re taking those girls? They could find the wenches wherever you hide them.”

  That much was true. Before her husband died, he purchased the houses near Cheapside where the girls worked as seamstresses for his other charities. In time most found other respectable employment or returned home. Yet nothing was hidden. The houses were as assessable as any other business establishment. Perhaps she ought to think about security for the houses.

  Cassandra rubbed her temple where a small ache was growing. “Is that all, Jane?”

  “No m’lady. I have bad news.”

  Foreboding swept through Cassandra such as she’d not felt since the doctors told her Lord Wayte’s time was near. She clasped her hands together and stared at Jane.

  “They took Lucy last night.”

  Cassandra knew who “they” were—Sir Harcumb’s henchmen. She glanced to the white knuckles of her hands before shooting from her seat. Cassandra had personally promised Lucy safety. “Have the Bow Street Runners been told. Do they need money?”

  “Indeed, they are already on retainer, but Jacobs says the girl is likely already out of the city, possibly out of the country. Harcumb is so determined, and Lucy is so pretty and a vir—. She’s valuable.”

  Cassandra let her head drop back and closed her eyes. No, she wouldn’t think about the horror Lucy was facing at this very moment. She’d be sold to the highest bidder, likely into a sultan’s harem. Lord Wayte had snatched Cassandra from such a fate four years ago. But Lucy was valuable. They wouldn’t harm her. Yet.

  She spoke over her shoulder. “Tell Jacobs they must find Lucy if they have to search to the ends of the earth.” Her voice rose with each word spoken.

  Jane got to her feet. “That I’ll do, your ladyship, but have you considered someone else might help us.”

  “Who?”

  “The duke. He’s in the House of Lords. He can take up where Lord Wayte left off. There’s much he can do to stop the likes of Harcumb.”

  “Many could help.” Cassandra’s words came out in a strangled breath. “But they won’t.”

  “Perhaps if you give him a chance,” Jane countered. “It’s time to use your mind instead of your heart, m’lady. With a little planning, you could be in the good graces of society by the time the Season ends, and the Duke of Langsdale could help you in that. What with your mourning over, it’s time to think of remarriage.”

  Cassandra walked away to stand in front of her husband’s portrait, wishing Jane would take her leave. “I’ll never remarry.” She focused all her attention on the man in the painting. No one would understand how much she loved this man who’d been old enough to be her grandfather. Their love had transcended age and social position and death. Unheeded, tears spilled down her cheeks.

  She had failed him. “I miss him so much.” Her voice waivered.

  “I know you do, m’lady.” Jane had come up behind her. “But it’s been over a year. You’re but one and twenty. Lord Wayte wouldn’t have expected you to remain unmarried.”

  Cassandra had to admit he would not. He’d have wanted her to be happy, but no other man could make her happy. Yet Jane had a point. If Cassandra could forge a relationship with the duke, she might be able to persuade him to introduce laws to stop those who lured young women into the brothels of London.

  “I’ll be taking my leave,” Jane said. “I’ll let you know about Lucy.”

  Without turning, Cassandra nodded. The door closed and she was alone, more alone than she’d ever been. Why had God taken Geoffrey from her? Not even God knew how much he meant to her. He was more than her husband. He was her savior.

  No, God hadn’t taken him. He’d been murdered.

  ***

  Hunched over his desk, the duke scrawled his name on the document before him and returned the quill to its holder. The butler’s gentle cough had made his presence known a few moments ago. “Good morning Jenson.” Without looking up, Edward gathered the pages strewn over his desktop.

  “Pardon the intrusion, your grace.” The butler’s tone was not at all congenial like old Simpkins at the country estate. “Lady Pugh requests your presence in the morning room.”

  “Tell Lady Pugh I’ll be there directly.”


  After Jensen bowed himself out, Edward stretched his arms to relieve the kinks in his shoulders, then leaned back, lacing his fingers together behind his head. Aunt Chloe would be entertaining Lady Ashford.

  He’d have to make a decision regarding Daphne soon. Sarah needed some mother figure in her life. Aunt Chloe wasn’t up to snuff. She’d sent Sarah to bed without supper last night for her antics, but Edward knew Sarah would sneak back to the kitchen and help herself, or else cajole the cook into bringing treats to her bedroom. The servants needed guidance too. But should it be Daphne?

  Inheriting the dukedom had brought on responsibilities he’d never imagined. His brother, Kelvin, had been trained for that role. Edward had followed the course of a second son in pursuing a military career.

  He’d been in France with the occupying forces following the defeat of Napoleon at Waterloo when the news came. His father, mother, Kelvin, and Kelvin’s wife, had all been killed in a yachting accident.

  In a stupor, he’d returned home, the Duke of Langsdale, with little knowledge of what his new duties entailed. After several months at Langsdale Manor, acquainting himself with the responsibilities of running a vast estate and adjusting to his role as guardian to the grief-stricken Sarah, he’d come to London to oversee his investments before taking his place in Parliament.

  Since Sarah was so morose at Langsdale, he’d brought her with him and Aunt Chloe, hoping the change in scenery would improve her mood.

  Lord Ashford, a comrade-in-arms Edward admired, fell at Waterloo. Naturally Edward wanted to pay his respects to Lord Ashford’s widow. He didn’t realize she’d view him as a suitor, but everyone seemed to think her the perfect match.

  Lady Ashford was a beauty of the first water. She’d grace his table and provide him with the heir he knew was expected of him. Yet the better he got to know her, the less he found to like. Or maybe it was just marriage that scared him.