Duke Number Five Read online

  When Richard left Lady Longstowe’s side to fetch her a glass of champagne from a footman, Phineas intercepted him. “You’ve had your fun now, Richard. Let’s go home.”

  “Don’t be daft, Perfect,” Richard said, pushing past Phineas. “The fun is just beginning.” He took a champagne glass and handed it to Phineas. “Have another drink and dance with one of the wallflowers. The night is young.” Richard took two more glasses and started back toward Lady Longstowe.

  “I don’t want a drink, and I don’t want to dance.” Phineas walked after his brother. “We have a long day of travel tomorrow. I will call for the coach, and if you aren’t in the vestibule in a quarter hour, you’ll have to walk home.”

  “Capital idea!” Richard said, holding one of the glasses aloft. “Take the carriage home. I’m certain I’ll be riding home with the Wanton Widow tonight. In fact, I may ride her all the way home!” He roared with laughter and walked away from Phineas, who stood in the center of the ballroom seething.

  Phineas looked down at his champagne. He did not want the beverage. He did not want to attend this ball. What he did want was one night where he did not have to trail his brother. One night where he could climb into his own bed before dawn and not go to sleep with the knowledge that he’d wake midday with a splitting head.

  He looked over at Richard again and caught Lady Longstowe’s gaze. Her eyes, so blue against the pale complexion typical to redheads, were fastened on him. Phineas’s heart jumped, and before he could think what to do, she looked away again.

  Back at his brother.

  That was it. Let her have the idiot. There was no danger at this ball, and if Richard went home with Lady Longstowe and spent the night in her bed, he’d be in no mortal danger there either.

  Phineas set his full champagne glass on the tray of a passing footman and walked out of the ballroom.

  Part II: The Duke

  Phineas waited until almost noon before he took the ducal coach and started for Southmead Cottage, the estate of the dukes of Mayne, in West Sussex. The weather was cold but clear, and the roads would be good. Still, he wanted to arrive before nightfall. It was Christmas Eve, after all.

  Of course, his idiot brother would not oblige him. Richard’s valet said his master had returned about four in the morning and gone straight to bed. That was good news. Richard had survived another night. But despite Phineas badgering Richard’s valet several times to wake the duke, Richard would not rise from bed. At one point, his curses were so loud, Phineas heard them all the way across the ducal town house.

  And so, once again, Phineas had been forced to set out on his own. His brother could take another conveyance or ride his horse. Or he could stay in London, for all Phineas cared. Not that Phin left everything to chance. He spoke with the grooms and instructed the best to accompany his brother when he was ready to depart. He spoke to Richard’s valet and ordered him to insure his brother was warmly dressed and sober enough to ride. If Richard was not feeling well, the butler, who Phin also pulled aside, was to put Richard in a carriage, no matter what objections Richard made.

  His nanny duties accomplished, Phineas stepped into the ducal carriage, placed his feet on the warm brick on the floor and closed his eyes. If the head that wore the crown was heavy, the head of the next-in-line was blissfully light. And that was how Phineas intended to keep it.

  He arrived at Southmead Cottage just in time to change for dinner. He’d been given the green room, which was one of the smaller rooms, but the one he always occupied when the family was at Southmead. To call the house a cottage was a bit of a

  misnomer. It might have begun as a cottage when the oldest section had been built—sometime in the seventeenth century—but after a century of additions and improvements, the sprawling building was more castle than cottage. Still, it always felt more like home than the town house in London. Phineas changed quickly and went down to the drawing room, where his nieces and nephews begged him to give them horsey rides.

  Phineas obliged them, and when his back began to hurt, he joined his sisters, his mother, and his brother-in-law for a celebratory glass of Madeira.

  “Where is Richard?” John, Anne’s husband and Phineas’s brother-in-law, asked with a tone of resignation.

  “He was out late, as usual, and couldn’t be roused from bed. I’m sure he’ll be here before we finish dinner.”

  His mother gave a worrying look at the windows. “But it’s growing dark outside.”

  Phineas was worried too, but he refused to allow the idiot ruin Christmas Eve for him. “The roads are good, and I instructed the best grooms to accompany him. Except for a headache from overindulgence in drink, Richard will arrive hale and hearty.”

  The gong sounded then, and the company went down to dinner.

  After dinner, while the ladies sipped tea and the men port, Philomena begged Anne to allow the children to open the presents she had bought them before the little ones were put to bed. Anne’s children, looking adorable in their nightclothes and caps, gave their mother pleading looks, and she had little choice but to agree. Phil had bought the three little girls dolls dressed in ballgowns trimmed in Catarina lace.

  When Anne sawn the lace, her eyes went round. “That lace is worth a fortune. The girls will dirty it before morning.”

  “I don’t care,” Phil said, smiling at her nieces. “The little dresses look so pretty with the lace.” She lowered her voice. “And wait until you see the dresses I had made for you!”

  Phineas imagined the girls would match their dolls.

  Anne’s son, being older than his sisters, was finally allowed to open his gift. It was a book of Greek myths. “Thank you, Aunt Philomena,” the boy said, opening the book and beginning to read immediately.

  The children were then kissed and hugged and bundled off to bed, and the adults sat by the fire reading from their favorite books or from the story of Jesus’ birth in the Bible.

  Finally, it was only Phin and the duchess. When the longcase clock chimed midnight, she gave a long sigh. “I do not think Richard will come tonight.”

  “Shall I go out and look for him?”

  His mother waved her hand. “If I know your brother, he probably stopped for a wee nip in a pub and ended up drinking more than his share. He will turn up tomorrow, rumpled and apologetic.”

  It was a perfect description of Richard and the sort of thing he did all the time. A game of cards, a bottle of wine, or a buxom wench were all vastly more entertaining to Richard than family gatherings, the House of Lords, or estate management. Once again Phineas had reason to wish Ernest had not fallen on that ice. He would have made a much better duke.

  A cat would have made a better duke than Richard, who was probably, right at that moment, in some whore’s bed snoring in drunken slumber.

  For his own part, Phineas didn’t sleep quite so soundly that night. ***

  It was not even seven when Phineas’s valet roused him Christmas morning. “The duchess wishes to see you, my lord.”

  Phineas covered his head with the pillow. “Where is she?” he mumbled. “In the dining room, my lord. The blue coat or the gray?”

  Phineas lifted the pillow and squinted at the coats the valet held out for his

  inspection. “The gray with the red waistcoat.” “Most festive, my lord.”

  Phin was less confident the day would be so. When he was dressed, he found his nieces and nephew scampering about the house as though the building was on fire. Phineas dodged them and stepped into the dining room, closing the door behind him. He leaned on it and took a breath.

  “Quite rambunctious, aren’t they?” his mother said from the window where she stood looking out. The day was not quite so sunny or clear as yesterday. The skies looked gloomy and a light drizzle fell.

  “My head is still ringing.”

  “Probably a mistake to give them gingerbread and sugared plums this early, but I like to spoil them when I can.”

  Phineas smiled. “I remember many
holidays with special treats when I was growing up. You were a good mother and are an excellent grandmother.”

  She smiled at him, but there was a sadness in her eyes. She still wore her black mourning clothes, even on Christmas. She had rarely been out of them these past few years. He hadn’t thought much about how the deaths of his father and brother had weighed on her. Now he saw the weight was heavier than he’d been aware. He went to her and escorted her to a chair. Her knees seemed to buckle as she sank into it.

  “Oh, Phineas. I don’t know what to do. I simply cannot lose another son.”

  The shock that went through Phin’s body made him start. “Has Richard still not arrived?” Phineas was certain his idiot brother would have stumbled in in the wee hours of the night or early morning.

  “He has not, and I despair that something has happened.” The duchess covered her face.

  “I’ll go out on horseback and look for him now.” Phin didn’t wait for her approval. He started for the door.

  “But what am I to tell the rector at church when neither of my sons appear for the Christmas service?”

  “Ask Phil,” Phineas tossed over his shoulder. “She has a knack for storytelling.” He ought to know as he’d been subjected to her longwinded stories on many occasions when all he’d done was attempt politeness by asking how her day was.

  He changed into riding boots, a wide brimmed hat, and a great coat; had a horse from the stables saddled; and rode out with one of the experienced grooms. Young Simon, as the groom was known, was older than Phineas by a good two decades. Phin had always assumed that at one point there had been an Old Simon, though he’d never known the man.

  Once they were away from the estate, Young Simon slowed his horse and steered him away from the village, which was where Phineas had intended to search first. Phineas rode up beside him to object.

  “Begging your pardon, my lord, but if His Grace had been in the village, we would have heard something of it by now. The duchess gave many of us a half day, and quite a few of the staff spent their time in the village. It was after midnight when Roberts finally locked the door.”

  Roberts was the butler, and surely if he’d heard anything from the servants about Richard drinking in the village, he would have reported it to the duchess.

  “What do you suggest then?”

  “It’s customary when travel from London to take the main road and enter through the village.”

  Phin nodded. That was the way he had come.

  “But I’m wondering if His Grace might have wanted a bit more privacy.” Considering anything that happened in the village would be reported back at

  Southmead Cottage, Phineas could see the benefit of Richard avoiding the village. “There’s a fork in the road after that last posting house.”

  “I know it.”

  “Travel on it for about two miles, and there’s—”

  “Johnson’s farm,” Phineas finished, remembering now himself. “Does he still make his own gin?”

  “He does, and he has two daughters still at home. They’re not all that easy on the eyes, but they’re happy for some company when they can get it.”

  Phineas had gone to Johnson’s farm when he’d been young to drink Johnson’s gin without his father knowing of it. He’d known the way at one time, but he doubted he could find it now.

  “Lead the way, Simon. How far, do you think?”

  “Six or seven miles, as the crow flies.”

  Phineas looked up at the sky and the relentless drizzle. He almost wished he were in church.

  ***

  Phineas and Young Simon arrived almost two hours later. There had been a downpour, and they’d been obliged to seek shelter under a copse of trees and to lead the horses through several patches of mud too deep for the horses to traverse without aid. When Phineas spotted the smoke from Johnson’s farm house, he wanted nothing more than to go inside and have a glass of gin himself.

  Instead, he left his horse with Young Simon, removed his hat and went to the front door. A thin woman in her thirties with tangled hair and a dirty apron opened the door before he could knock. “Happy Christmas to you.” She smiled, showing her brown teeth.

  “Happy Christmas. Is your father at home?”

  “Now why would you want him? I’m much more entertaining.”

  Phineas swallowed. “I’m sure you are, but—”

  “Who is it, Polly?” came another woman’s voice from inside.

  “A man. And I saw him first. He’s mine.”

  “Actually—” Phineas began.

  The other woman appeared and pulled the door wider. She was a shorter curvier

  version of her sister. “Ooh, he’s a nice one.”

  Polly elbowed her sister in the breadbasket. “You had your fun last night. This

  one is mine.”

  “Speaking of last night,” Phineas interrupted, “did a man happen to stop here? I’m

  looking for the Duke of Mayne.”

  He women’s faces went quickly blank. “A lot of men stop here. What’s it to you?”

  “He’s my brother, and he hasn’t come home. My mother is worried for him.” Polly’s mask was the first to break. “Hasn’t come home? He left here hours ago.” “What time was that?” Phineas asked, relieved he was finally making progress.

  No doubt if his friend Jasper had been here he would have ferreted the answer out immediately, but unlike Jasper, Phineas was better known for his skill with negotiation, not investigation.

  “I can’t rightly say.” Polly scratched her chin. “It was late.” “But he left last night?”

  Polly nodded.

  “Before or after midnight?”

  “Oh, after. He and Millie were loud as horses, and I couldn’t sleep until after

  two.”

  Millie swatted her sister. “As if you never carry on with a man. Oh, John. Yes, John!”

  “Was the duke traveling with anyone?” Phineas said loudly to be heard over the women. “Did he come on horseback or in a carriage?”

  “Oh, he were on horseback. I think he had a groom with him.”

  “He did,” Millie added. “I tried to persuade the man to come in from the cold, but

  he insisted on staying outside with the horses.”

  Phineas gave a quick bow. “Thank you, ladies.”

  “Oh, but you’re not leaving” A stricken look crossed Millie’s face. “It’s

  Christmas. First glass of gin is on the house.”

  “Or on me, if you like!” Polly added with a wink.

  Millie shoved her, and Polly shoved her sister back, and Phineas replaced his hat

  and waved farewell at the two women. He mounted his horse again and filled Young Simon in.

  “Even if he had as much trouble on the road as we did, he should have been home by dawn.”

  “Perhaps we passed His Grace and didn’t realize it.”

  Phineas nodded slowly. If Richard had been drinking, he might have tumbled off his horse or stopped to rest and fallen asleep while his horse wandered away. They could have passed him and not realized it. But what of the groom?

  Phineas and Young Simon spent another three hours retracing their path, circling in and out of the woods, but when they arrived back at Southmead Cottage, they’d saw no sign of Richard or the groom.

  “If it hadn’t rained so hard, we might have had some sign of him,” Phineas told his mother when she’d met him in entry hall. “As it is, any tracks he might have made were washed away.”

  The duchess wrung her hands.

  “I’ll go back out in a few minutes. I only wanted to change clothing and gather a larger group of men so we might cover more area.”

  “No!” The duchess gripped the sleeve of his greatcoat. “I won’t have you catching your death of cold or risk the health of my servants. It’s Christmas. We can’t ask them to forego their celebrations because of your brother’s foolishness.”

  “I understand, Mama, but I’d rather be out
looking than sitting here doing nothing.” Indeed, Phineas feared if he did sit and do nothing, the real terror of his situation might become appallingly clear. For there was a very good chance that Richard would not come home alive, and Phin’s worst nightmare would come true. He’d be the ninth Duke of Mayne. Why the hell had he ever left London without Richard? He should have never left his brother on his own.

  His mother straightened and gave him the look he’d always called The Duchess Stare. “Comforting an old woman is hardly doing nothing.”

  “You’re not an old woman.”

  “Old enough! I want you here, and here you shall stay. Now go change your clothing and come have some mulled wine. We’ve waited for you to open gifts, and the children are growing impatient.”

  Phineas did as his mother requested, but he could not enjoy the day. He was tense and edgy, listening for the door or hoofbeats, hoping his brother would arrive. Richard would laugh at all of them for worrying, and Phineas would hug his brother before punching him in the nose.

  And then he wouldn’t let Richard out of his sight until the man had an heir and a spare and Phineas was finally free from the threat of the ducal mantle.

  And then, finally, just before the family was to go into dinner, someone was at the door. Roberts went to answer it, and Phineas stared at the drawing room doors, willing them to open and Richard to walk inside.

  But the man who entered was not Richard.

  “May I present Mr. Fielding,” Roberts said, when he escorted the guest inside. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace. My lords—and ladies.” Mr. Fielding was

  small and thin and quite damp. He held his cap in his hands, wringing it constantly, and looking from Phineas to the duchess to the ladies.

  “Mr. Fielding, happy Christmas to you,” the duchess said. “I do hope all is well on your farm.” She looked at Phineas. “You know Mr. Fielding. He farms the land adjacent to ours on the north side.”

  Phineas moved forward and shook Fielding’s damp hand. “A pleasure to see you again, sir. Might I offer you some tea or mulled wine?”

  “No, thank you, my lord. I come with—” His eyes darted to the children. Anne seemed to understand his hesitation, and she gathered the children and escorted them from the room.