Chapter Three
“Your butler does not like me, you know. I hope you are aware of that. The man despises my very existence.”
Lucas resisted the urge to sigh, removing his spectacles and setting them upon the mahogany desk before him. Frederick Wells came bounding in, clutching his leather satchel, and claimed the very edge of the sofa a few feet away. He opened the satchel at once and began extracting papers in a flurry.
“Good day to you too,” Lucas drawled, loud enough to carry.
“Good day, Your Grace. Did I not say good day?”
Unlike Lucas, Frederick wore his spectacles at all hours. Sometimes Lucas wondered if he truly needed them, or if he simply enjoyed the affectation of pushing them up his nose every few seconds.
“You did not,” Lucas said dryly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“It is never a pleasure to be here, Your Grace. I prefer my own office—it has far less natural light.”
“And that is a virtue, is it?”
“Of course.” Frederick pushed up his spectacles again. “The light is distracting. I can scarcely think in this room.”
“Goodness only knows how you survived the journey here, given your perilous exposure to daylight.”
“I took a carriage,” he replied solemnly. “Barely survived the ordeal.”
Ordinarily, Lucas found Frederick’s eccentricities amusing. As his solicitor, the man visited often enough to provide regular entertainment. Today, however, Lucas was not in a humour to be entertained.
It had been three days since the ball, and he had accomplished nothing of worth.
His thoughts were too restless—too drawn, despite himself, toward the Tremaine family.
He remained unconvinced by Lord Trenton’s insistence that his health was improving and found himself tempted to call upon them.
It would, after all, be polite to pay his respects to Lady Trenton, whom he had missed that evening…
and of course Miss Tremaine would be there.
He pushed that thought away. Distraction had already cost him three days of work, and the neglected ledger before him was evidence enough of his poor focus.
“Allow me to come straight to the point, Your Grace,” Frederick said suddenly, springing to his feet. “I have discovered something of the utmost importance, and you must hear it at once.”
He spread several papers across the desk, pointing agitatedly. They were covered in figures.
“What precisely am I meant to be seeing?” Lucas asked, picking up a sheet and scanning it without comprehension.
“Surely you recall the documents found in your father’s study?”
Lucas nodded, unease stirring in his chest. He had not stepped inside that room since inheriting the dukedom. After sending the contents to Frederick for review, he had left it untouched.
“Painstaking work, Your Grace, I assure you,” Frederick went on. “But I have uncovered something most alarming. These documents suggest that the late duke of Beaushire entered into a private investment shortly before his death.”
“And that alarms you because?”
“Because, as you can see here,”—Frederick seized another page and jabbed at the bottom with his finger—“he withdrew at the very last moment. Only weeks before his death! Do you not see what this implies?”
Lucas felt his earlier flicker of indulgence fading rapidly, replaced by that sinking feeling that he was not going to like whatever Frederick was getting at.
“Enlighten me.”
“Note the names, Your Grace.” Frederick adjusted his spectacles, eyes bright with excitement. “These are the very same gentlemen who later accused Baron Trenton of corruption. Is it not curious that the late duke had nearly invested with them, only to withdraw abruptly?”
Lucas sat straighter. The names were indeed familiar—men whose shadow seemed to linger over his father’s death, though he had never known why.
“That is not all, Your Grace.” Frederick went back to his satchel, making his way back to the desk with the entire thing in his hand. He dug his hand in and pulled out a few crumpled papers that he straightened before handing them to Lucas. “These notes accompanied these documents, Your Grace.”
“I appreciate your careful handling,” Lucas muttered sarcastically.
“My apologies, Your Grace. I came in haste. Still, everything of importance is here. I am attempting to match the notes to the transactions, but one line in particular stands out.” He pointed to a section he had circled.
If Redley does not agree to my demands, I will expose everything. This entire operation ends with me. September 9.
“And if you notice,” Frederick continued, “that date coincides with the withdrawal—only three days apart. What do you suppose this ‘operation’ refers to?”
“I have no notion,” Lucas said curtly.
“Well, it is a riddle I mean to solve,” Frederick declared, planting his hands on his hips, a glint of purpose in his eye. “It suggests the late duke discovered something unsavoury about the investment and, when his demands went unheeded, withdrew—only to meet his end soon after—”
“Enough.”
Frederick blinked, taken aback. “Have I said something amiss?”
He often did. Usually, Lucas tolerated his lack of tact, but not today. He did not need a reminder of his father’s sudden and violent passing.
Gathering the papers, Lucas thrust them back across the desk. “You seem to be making fine progress, Frederick. I trust you will report back when you have something more substantial.”
“You may depend upon it, Your Grace!” said Frederick, his earlier blunder forgotten as he packed the papers into his satchel.
Lucas barely heard him. Heat prickled behind his temples. The name Redley echoed in his mind—Lord Redley, one of his father’s old associates. Lucas had never trusted the man. Now it seemed he had reason not to.
But had his father truly been the innocent party? Had he entered the arrangement unaware of its corruption, or had he simply chosen to abandon it once it turned inconvenient?
He wanted to believe the former. Yet he knew the kind of man his father had been—unyielding, ambitious, and far from gentle. Eric Tremaine had always seemed his opposite: steady, honourable, guided by principle rather than pride. It was little wonder Lucas had once looked to him for counsel.
Still, he had loved his father, in his way. And he wanted—needed—to believe that the late duke of Beaushire had possessed at least a spark of conscience.
“I shall set to work at once, Your Grace!” Frederick announced, swinging his satchel over his shoulder, far too cheerful for the gravity of the subject.
Just as he reached the door, it opened to admit Catherine. Her eyes lit with surprise, and a sly smile touched her lips.
“Mr Wells! How delightful to see you.”
Frederick stiffened. He had met Catherine only a handful of times, and Lucas was convinced he liked her even less than he liked the butler. Catherine, for her part, delighted in teasing him, which Frederick decidedly did not appreciate.
“Miss Beaumont,” he said stiffly.
“Are you leaving already? Had I known you were here, I would have invited you to take tea with Aunt Charlotte and me.”
“Regrettably, Miss Beaumont, I must be going. His Grace has entrusted me with something quite pressing.”
Catherine ignored him entirely and slipped her arm through his, unfazed by his discomfort. “Oh, I am certain it can wait a little longer. Can it not, Your Grace?”
Lucas replaced his spectacles and returned his gaze to the ledger, though concentration was now hopeless. “Catherine, leave Frederick be.”
“I am not bothering him. Am I, Mr Wells?”
“As a matter of fact, you—”
“See?” she interrupted brightly, flashing a grin at Lucas. “He quite enjoys my company—almost as much as I enjoy his. A pity we have already finished tea, but you are always welcome to accompany us on our promenade through Hyde Park.”
“Promenade?” Lucas and Frederick echoed in unison.
Catherine frowned. “Did you not remember that you had agreed to go on a promenade with Aunt Charlotte and me through Hyde Park this afternoon, Lucas?”
Lucas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He'd completely forgotten, and right now, that was the last thing he wanted to do. “Perhaps we can do it another day.”
Catherine whipped around to face him, releasing Frederick in the process. Frederick took the chance to escape, basically running out the door. Lucas watched him go, but Catherine’s attention was on her cousin instead, her arms crossed.
“We cannot do it another day, Lucas,” she protested. “We must do it today.”
“Why?”
“Because... I want to.”
He sighed. “And Mother insists you are not spoiled.”
She thinned her lips, scowling at him. “I have been looking forward to it all morning, Lucas. Now that I am out in society, I must be seen about the town at least a few times a week or else I will be forgotten!”
“After the ball, I doubt you stand the slightest danger of being forgotten, Catherine.”
“The ball was three days ago!”
“And in those three days you have received half the gentlemen of London calling upon you—not to mention the hordes of flowers coming to our door every hour.”
“None of which included your friend, might I add.”
Lucas removed his spectacles, resigning himself to the fact that he would accomplish no work today. “Henry?”
“Yes, Henry.” She marched to the nearest armchair and dropped into it with dramatic flair. “I thought he was interested in me that evening, but clearly I was mistaken.”
“I doubt that. I have never seen Henry so besotted.”
“Besotted?” A tiny smile curved her lips. “If he is so besotted, then why has he not called upon me?”
“Perhaps he is busy? How am I to know, Catherine? I’m not the man’s keeper.”
“You are of no help whatsoever,” she said, pouting again. “Very well—then we shall go for our promenade so that I may forget this slight.”
“Am I to suffer for my friend’s neglect?”
“Yes.” Catherine leapt to her feet, her good humour instantly restored. “I am so pleased you understand. Now, I must fetch my gloves and parasol.”