The Deception (Baron 3)

“Grayson and I grew up together,” Marianne Clothilde said as, to Evangeline’s surprise, the butler himself poured tea.

“Madame?”

“I like it plain, Grayson.”

“He’s so very good at it,” Marianne Clothilde said. “You see, I have arthritis. It has made me clumsy the past few years, so Grayson does many things for me. That is another reason I cannot stay at Chesleigh. The damp chill makes the condition worse.” She smiled at the butler as she took her cup of tea from him. “I think we make an impressive pair, particularly now that our bones are brittle, our hair is graying, and our consequence is at its peak.”

“Just so, your grace,” Grayson said, “but I am of the opinion that the redder the hair, the more naturally consequence sits upon the shoulders.”

“You would,” Marianne Clothilde said as she gracefully bit into an apple tart. “Ah, this is excellent. Not as good as the Dinwitty cook of Phillip Mercerault’s, not as good as Mrs. Dent’s, but acceptable. Now, Grayson, this is Madame de la Valette. She is one of the family and is at present also Lord Edmund’s nanny.”

Grayson eyed Evangeline, then slowly nodded. “I believe this will do just fine,” he said, and left the drawing room.

Marianne Clothilde laughed. “Now, you’re staring at the scones. Do have one, Evangeline.”

“However do he and Bassick get along?” Evangeline said between bites of an apple-flavored scone.

Marianne Clothilde laughed. “Very astute of you, Evangeline. Actually, they’ve never met. The duke agrees with me that we should keep the households apart. Now, Tsar Ivan—that is what I have taken to calling our butler at St. John Court, Richard’s estate in the north—I have always thought him to be cut from far starchier cloth than either Grayson or Bassick. He unbent himself sufficiently upon one occasion to inform me that if the Conqueror had enjoyed the services of a butler, he would doubtless have been one of his ancestors.”

Evangeline was laughing when the duke entered the drawing room. He paused a moment on the threshold, a smile lighting his eyes. And such a smile, his mother thought, staring at him.

Chapter 24

Marianne Clothilde said, “Do come in and sit down, dearest, and pour yourself a cup of tea. Evangeline quite likes Cook’s scones. I’ve been telling her about Tsar Ivan.”

“Tsar Ivan is a terror,” the duke said. He added with a smile, “I gather from your laughter, Evangeline, that my mother hasn’t tried to interrogate you about the grandeur of your ancestors, accuse you of trying to steal my son’s affections, or threatened to pull out your toenails if you dare to provide a single criticism of either me or my son?”

“We have only discussed Tsar Ivan’s ancestors, your grace. Mine, as you know, are noble enough, but not at all as grand as his.”

“He’s an old Methodist. He quite terrified me when I was a boy. He still does.” He poured himself a cup of tea, refreshing his mother’s cup as well, something he did with his customary grace.

Evangeline laughed again, a lovely, free sound that seemed to expand in his chest, making him want to grab her in his arms and kiss her until he could manage to pull her gown down to her waist and caress her breasts and taste her and … dear God, he was in his mother’s drawing room, drinking tea, and he was thinking about making love to her, kissing her until she was screaming his name. He shook himself and choked on the damned tea.

Marianne Clothilde banged him on his back. When he’d recovered, she thought he looked rather flushed, but said, “We have not yet discussed Mrs. Needle’s murder. Yes, I use that very stark word because it is the truth. Now, what do you know about all this?”

“Baron Lindley treated Evangeline to a dose of his idiocy, namely, that one of Mrs. Needle’s potions must have killed a man’s lover or wife and he strangled Mrs. Needle in his rage and in revenge. Nonsense, of course, but the old bugger, er, excuse me, the old idiot wanted nothing more than to go home and put his head back in his brandy bottle and his gouty foot up on a cushion.” He paused a moment. “We owe our thanks to Evangeline. She had dealt with just about everything before I came.” He paused for a moment, his dark eyes resting on the heavy emerald signet ring on his left hand. “I’ve taken steps to see that Chesleigh is more carefully guarded. Her murder makes no sense at all. She was harmless. And that scares me to my toes. Why was she killed? Why Mrs. Needle in particular? We will see. I don’t plan to simply forget it and go on. No, I will find out who did this and why.”

Evangeline wondered what he’d done, what he planned to do. Perhaps he would discover that traitors were using his private beach for entry into England. Perhaps he would discover that she’d betrayed him. She kept her eyes upon the Dresden china cup in her lap.

“I received a letter from Mrs. Raleigh,” Marianne Clothilde said after a moment. “Everyone is very distressed. I’m glad you won’t simply let life go on as usual, my dear. Mrs. Needle was a dear old woman, and she saw so very much. Did I ever tell you that she foresaw your birth, down to the month and the very day? She told me that you would be more handsome than your father, smarter than I—which I scarce believed possible—and a grand lover, something a mother really didn’t care to hear.” She smiled and patted his shoulder. “Now, no more of this for now. We will speak later.”

Suddenly the duke stood up. “Evangeline is tired. I will take her to the Rose Chamber, and she can rest until dinner. We will dine here this evening, just the three of us. Come, Evangeline.” And he held his hand out to her. She looked up at him, and very slowly she nodded and gave him her hand.

“Oh, dear,” Marianne Clothilde said. “We have guests coming. I would be shot if I canceled this late. What shall we do?”

Evangeline heard the duke curse. “By any chance will Lady Pemberly be here? And Miss Storleigh?”

Marianne Clothilde gave her an engaging grin that was the very copy of the duke’s. “So you’ve met Eudora? She could be one of Wellington’s generals. Yes, she’ll be coming.”

“She and Tsar Ivan are two of a kind,” the duke said. “She was camping on my doorstep on Evangeline’s second evening at Chesleigh. She wanted to make certain that some fortune-hunting hussy wasn’t there to take advantage of me. She dragged Drew and John Edgerton with her. She was in excellent spirits when she left. She approved of Evangeline.”

“Will Lord Pettigrew and John Edgerton also be coming, your grace?”

“I will invite them,” Marianne Clothilde said. “Two more gentlemen at the table is just what I had in mind. Hopefully they will come.”

And Evangeline knew that John Edgerton would certainly come, damn him to hell.

Marianne Clothilde turned to the duke. “It is very strange. Drew is constantly with Felicia. He’s seen everywhere with her.” She shook her head. “It never ceases to amaze me which girl will make a man fall to his knees.”