Her Brooding Duke (The Worthington Legacy #7)

Chapter Twenty-Four

“T here is a bet going here in White’s,” Lord Hawthorne said cheerfully as he aimed his focus on Tristan, “that the police will not be able to discover who killed Lord Hollingsworth.”

Trevor and his brothers sat at a table, and looked up as Dominic approached. Trevor silently groaned, wishing Hawthorne had stayed away. Yet, it seemed since the marquess and Trey were good friends, they always were seen together.

Quickly, before he could say anything condemning about Dominic’s statement, Trevor tossed down his brandy in one gulp. The drink burned his throat and stung his eyes.

“What do you mean, my good man?” Trey asked.

Dominic pulled a chair from another table to join the brothers. “I have it on good authority that Lord Hollingsworth had many enemies.”

Tristan tilted back his head and laughed heartily. “I would think so, Hawthorne. As crooked and deceitful as that lord was, I would imagine half of London would want to cut the lord’s throat.” He lifted his glass of whiskey, then drank it. “Put me down in the book for one thousand pounds. This will be an easy bet to win.”

“I’ll bet one thousand as well,” Trey said, laughing.

“From what I have heard,” Dominic continued, “the police are baffled. They have many suspicions, but nothing conclusive.” He grinned at Tristan. “Perhaps you won’t need a good solicitor after all.”

“You are correct there.” Tristan nodded. “They cannot get me on this one. I did not kill the man, although the thought had crossed my mind often enough.”

“Yours, along with many other blokes,” Trey added.

“Which is why bets are being added in the book.” Hawthorne swung his gaze at Trevor and nodded. “And I’m very happy to see you here with your brothers. I have some news for you as well.”

Trevor really didn’t want to hear what his brother’s friend had to say. He really didn’t care, for that matter. All that had been going through his mind since he brought Louisa and the children back from the circus was the way she’d acted. The way Louisa still acted now three days later.

Like she’d seen a ghost.

Like she was frightened of her own shadow.

But mostly, she had withdrawn from him, and the confusion inside him from her mysterious actions tore him apart more than he wanted to admit. Heaven help him, but he’d fallen madly in love with the woman, and he never wanted that happiness to end. So why did Trevor feel as if it was indeed ending?

“What kind of news?” he asked anyway.

“The other day, as I talked to Lord Talbot, I discovered his youngest daughter drowned about six years ago.” Dominic leaned on the table, closer to Trevor. “The girl’s body was never found. The girl would have been Louisa’s age.”

Trevor’s interest perked a bit. “What was her name?”

“I cannot recall right now. We were into our cups a bit more than we should have been—”

“Just tell me, man. Was her name Louisa?”

Dominic frowned. “I don’t believe so. But that doesn’t mean she’s not the same girl.”

Irritated, Trevor slapped the table. “Hawthorne, how can you think such a thing?”

“Hear me out.” Dominic raised his hand. “We have already surmised that something dreadful happened in Louisa’s past. What if Louisa is not her real name, but the name given to her by her guardian or the person who raised her for six years?”

Trevor opened his mouth to rebut the marquess’s theory, but the mere suggestion had him pausing in curiosity. If Louisa couldn’t recall her past, how did she know Louisa wasn’t her real name? He hated to admit it, but Hawthorne just might be correct with this assumption.

“You know I’m right.” Dominic grinned wide.

“Do not start fluffing your feathers like a proud peacock just yet, Hawthorne,” Trevor ground out. “There are still things that we must discover which would be similar to Louisa’s life. Did you ask Lord Talbot what his daughter looked like? Or her exact age?”

“Do we even know Louisa’s exact age?” Trey cut in. “We assume she’s in her early twenties, but Trevor, you must admit, when you first saw her, you thought she was much younger.”

“That’s because of her thin frame,” Trevor argued. “She’s filled out since that first day. She does not resemble a half-starved child any longer.”

Dominic shook his head. “The point I’m trying to make is because of her memory loss, that poor woman does not really know how old she is, either. For all we know, she might be Lord Talbot’s daughter.”

“Or Lord Danvers’s,” Trey added.

“Or,” Trevor said as anger filled him, “Louisa could be the Duke of Devonshire’s illegitimate daughter for all we know.”

Dominic rolled his eyes. “You are not humorous, old man.”

Trevor bunched his hands, wanting to wallop Hawthorne… and enjoy doing it. “So it seems we are all on a goose chase. We know Louisa was born from Quality parents, but because Louisa might not be her real name, and we are not certain of her true age, finding her past is out of our reach.”

Silence stretched around the table as each man seemed lost in his own thoughts. All of this nonsense annoyed Trevor, but what confused him even more was knowing they might never learn Louisa’s true identity. What if she never regained her memory?

Trevor loved her, but would he dare go against Society’s rules and ask her to become his wife? Would marrying Louisa only bring ridicule to her and his children? He definitely could not put his family through that. If only the ton knew her like Trevor knew her, they’d see she was not just a mere servant. In fact, in ways she was better mannered than Gwen had been.

“I have an idea,” Tristan said, breaking the silence.

Trevor glanced at the middle Worthington brother. “What is that?”

Tristan remained leaning back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest. “In the next few days, we ask around. We gather a list of those friends and acquaintances that had a daughter, sister, or grandchild disappear who could be Louisa’s age. Then we turn this list in to Mother to invite to her weekend party. If any of these people are Louisa’s family, she will recognize them, I hope.”

Trey slapped his older brother on the shoulder. “Tristan, you are brilliant. Mother has been hounding me for names of people she could invite, and now I shall be able to help her.” He glanced at the other men around the table. “We shall all be able to help.”

Hawthorne and Tristan lifted their glass in a mock salute before drinking down the liquid.

Trevor pushed away from the table and stood. “Best of luck, men. Please ask around without giving away the real reason we want to know. In case Louisa is not who we think she is, I do not wish rumors to fly. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly.” Dominic smiled. Trey and Tristan also acknowledged with a nod.

“Now, if you will excuse me. I have other matters to attend to.” Trevor turned and stepped away, moving toward the door. But just as he reached the exit, another lord entered and nearly collided with Trevor.

When he recognized the lord, he bunched his hands by his sides. Viscount Putney. The very man he couldn’t wait to speak with.

*

Trevor anticipated some kind of reaction from the viscount. They stood staring at each other as if waiting for someone to draw their sword first. Finally, Putney’s face hardened into a scowl, and his cheeks grew as red as his hair.

The viscount appeared as upset over their chance meeting as Trevor. “Putney, might I have a minute?”

The viscount lifted his arrogant nose as if he meant to snub Trevor. “Actually, Your Grace, I do have other business—”

“It will only take a minute, I assure you.”

Putney’s glare grew hotter as if he meant to burn holes through Trevor with his eyes. After a few awkward moments passed, the other man nodded.

Motioning toward another room, Trevor said, “Let us speak in here where it’s more private.”

“I agree.”

Right away, a servant hurried to their side. “May I get you a drink, my lords?”

Trevor flipped his hand in a dismissal wave. “I think now is not the time—”

“But I would like a brandy,” Putney quickly replied.

The servant gave a nod, turned and left the room.

Taking a deep breath, Trevor tried to calm his anger toward the other man. “Putney, I will make this short and to the point.”

“I wish you would, Your Grace.”

“Fine. You should know that Adam and Amanda are not your children,” Trevor said softly.

The viscount’s eyes widened before a dark scowl claimed his face. “How can you be so certain? The last I saw of them their hair had a trace of red, which makes them my offspring.”

“I beg to differ. My mother has a trace of red in her hair as well. But of late, I have come to notice how much the twins resemble me.” Trevor smiled as happiness filled his chest. This always happened when he thought of his beautiful children. “Their noses and mouths are the same shape as mine, and when they smile, they have a dimple in the same spot as I do. Adam even resembles Trey when he was a boy. Indeed, they are my children and not yours.” He straightened just a little prouder and lifted his chin higher than before.

Putney’s eyes misted and he blinked quickly. Sadness etched on his face even though he tried to look unaffected. Trevor almost felt sorry for him. Almost, but not quite. Did that make him a bad person because he didn’t care about Putney’s feelings? After all, Trevor wanted to believe he was a caring, understanding man even when it came to men who were in love with Gwen.

The viscount blew out a ragged breath. “Then I feel sorry for those poor children to have you as a father. I’m just happy to know I was the one who held their mother’s love.”

Trevor silently reprimanded himself for having second thoughts about the other man’s feelings. “Well, Putney, at least she was able to have some happiness in her life since all she brought to mine was misery.” He bowed. “Good day,” he snapped before leaving the room and hurrying out through the door.

Maybe now the viscount would leave him alone. Trevor didn’t want to admit that every time he saw that man, he remembered Gwen in Putney’s arms that time in the stable. Her betrayal had hurt so much Trevor had actually wanted her dead. At the time, his injured pride had wanted revenge. Still, it was hard for him not to think he’d killed her. Perhaps he’d never be able to free the burden of guilt weighing heavily on his mind. But at least now he could rest easier, knowing the children were his.

Not far up the road, his landau sat parked waiting for him. Instead of waiting for the vehicle to be brought around, Trevor decided to walk. The weather was nice this early in the evening, and since he didn’t have any pressing appointments, taking a small walk would do his mind good.

As long as he didn’t think about Louisa.

But how could he not? Since bringing her into his home, he couldn’t get her off his mind. And ever since he realized he loved her, all he wanted to do was hold her and talk about their future. He really didn’t care about her past. Not anymore. She had been a thief, but he knew it wasn’t by choice. A person like Louisa would have been forced to live in such a vile way to survive. Circumstances in her life had led her down the wrong pathway to a man like Macgregor. A man Trevor would like to meet face-to-face just so he could give the beast the beating he deserved for whipping Louisa like he’d done.

From the corner of his eyes, a lad—perhaps in his twelfth year or so—stood against a tree, trying his hardest not to act like he watched Trevor closely. Because of what happened with David, Trevor knew to be wary of pickpockets. And this boy was too suspicious.

Trevor slowed as he walked by the boy, almost hoping the vagabond would try to steal. As Trevor passed, he was almost disappointed when the lad didn’t even try.

But when shuffling footsteps snuck behind him, Trevor wanted to grin. He’d teach this vagabond a lesson.

Just as the footsteps quickened and the boy brushed by him, Trevor snatched the boy’s arm, stopping his hand as it began its descent into Trevor’s pocket.

He glared into the vagabond’s wide eyes. “I would not attempt that if I were you.”

Color left the boy’s dirty face quickly and he struggled to pull away. “Please, m’lord. Don’t turn me in. I’m hungry, is all. I need money for food.”

Trevor’s heart twisted upon hearing the lad’s plea, and he couldn’t help but imagine Louisa when she was younger and doing this. The day he’d hit her with his vehicle, she’d look so much like this boy—ratted hair, tattered overcoat, fingerless gloves. “Where are your parents?”

“I… don’t have any, m’lord.”

“Who do you work for?”

“Pardon me?” Confusion creased the boy’s forehead and narrowed eyes.

“Do you work for Macgregor?” Trevor demanded, not wanting to play any more games. The vagabond’s face lost even more color—if that were possible—and Trevor knew he’d received his answer. “I will let you go on one condition.”

The lad gulped and nodded slowly. “What is that?”

“You tell me where I can find Macgregor.”

“Oh, no… no, m’lord. I cannot do that. If he ever found out—” Tears welled in his eyes. “I’d rather go to the gaol, m’lord.”