Chapter 5
Chapter Five
“Finally, Hawksford!” Jonathan exclaimed, sitting upright. “By all that is sacred, I was wondering when you’d ever leave the country for civilization.”
Finally, Richard met with his friend Jonathan in a private room at The White’s Club. The club was known for being a citadel of masculine privilege, one that the duke did not feel grateful for at the moment.
Still, the place served as a momentary refuge. The heavy draperies served as a shield against the world outside. Here, there was relative silence, although he would have to deal with his friend’s teasing. Jonathan Trupleigh, Marquess of Cotswell, had a favorite hobby: making fun of himself.
There was a time Richard did not mind it. He and his friend complemented each other. Jonathan always looked at ease, with his tousled hair and relaxed demeanor. He’d carry around a volume of poetry he was, in no way, reading. It was part of his charm. The ladies loved it.
“Hawksford Hall is civilized,” Richard grumbled.
“Ah, but still, it is not London, and it isn’t where your wife lives. I hope you have truly come to your senses. Tell me that you have finally decided to stay here to enjoy your wife. It’s a shame, too! She is, after all, the most beautiful woman of the season!”
Jonathan was exaggerating. No such determinations were made.
However, Richard had to admit there was some truth to it.
His wife was beautiful, and she stood above many other young women with her wit and audacity.
She was not afraid to speak her mind, and she was certainly not out in society to impress.
It also made her call for help even more alarming.
For her to be afraid of what the ton would say meant one thing: she knew just how grave the consequences could be.
“This is not merely a social call, Cotswold,” Richard said, ignoring the teasing as much as he could. “I am here to seek your assistance.”
“Oh. A crisis?” Jonathan asked, setting his glass of brandy down. He looked slightly more serious, sensing Richard’s serious edge. “Is it a failing investment? A tenant uprising? A debtor?”
“No. While those are certainly unsavory, I admit that it is something more serious than that,” Richard admitted. “It’s a baby. Someone has left a female infant at our doorstep here in London.”
“A baby. At Hawksford House,” Jonathan said, almost reverently. However, it was clear that he understood how serious things were.
“Yes, precisely. It sounds like an impossibility,” Richard confirmed bitterly.
“The baby is only a few weeks old but seems to be healthy. Somebody left it and ran off, leaving her with only the clothes she was wearing and an anonymous note. I want to know if you have heard of any recent, illicit affair that may have ended with a child about her age. I want to know her parentage.”
Jonathan narrowed his eyes and rubbed his chin. He looked deep in thought. He always flirted with the edge of scandal and was known for observing other people’s behavior closely.
“I will see what I can do. I will ask around in various drawing rooms and gaming halls. Listen to conversations. Share my own adventures to elicit similar responses. However, affairs are quite plentiful. Illegitimate children are often handled with discretion, though,” he said thoughtfully.
“You’ll hear about the usual people, mostly cads like Lord Selkirk, who has had affairs with several opera singers.
The Earl of Denby’s second son might be a little young, but someone said that he had compromised his governess.
But why would anyone leave a baby at your doorstep?
There are other ways to have a child passed on to somebody else.
The child’s parent is certainly desperate. ”
“So, have you not yet heard of any recent rumor that may match Melody’s story? Have you not heard of any pregnant woman being discreetly removed from her home or place of work?”
“You know me, Hawksford. I am good at listening, and sometimes, er, eavesdropping, and I have not heard anything that matches the baby’s circumstances.
However, you must act now, even before you discover the child’s parentage, which may be next to impossible.
The ton will feast on the story when given the chance.
The ambiguity of the baby’s identity will raise the court of public opinion.
They will assume the worst. Some may think the child is yours, even if you deny it.
If they have not seen the duchess as often as of late, they may even think it is hers.
The foundling story may be thought of as a means to hide a great folly. ”
A scandal would certainly be inconvenient.
He had already taken a dangerous turn, separating physically from his wife for a year.
The year felt like an insult to her, but it was preservation.
Preservation meant for her. At least, he managed to persuade himself to believe this.
It was not acceptable for many. Add a story of apparent infidelity, and Hawksford would be ruined.
“I have a cousin who was recently widowed,” Richard began, an idea forming in his head.
He felt strange about having to come up with a cover story in such a short period.
He didn’t like the idea of lying, but he didn’t have a choice.
“Her husband died suddenly in the summer, and has just passed on herself. It is a sad story, but one that we can exploit. We can claim that the child is hers and that I was given the responsibility of caring for the baby as her closest relative.”
Jonathan’s face broke into a smile. “You thought of that quickly. And here you are, hoping I could be of help. You solve the problem yourself! A widow’s child with a recently deceased mother and father.
Then, you come swooping in because of your sense of duty.
It is perfect. You will come across as a responsible cousin, not an immoral father.
There will be no infidelities mentioned, no mistresses to be hunted.
Everything will be clean and honorable. The story must be implemented as soon as possible! ”
“I intend to use this story immediately,” Richard said, feeling even more determined.
“What about the duchess? How is she handling this possible scandal?” Jonathan asked, his eyes sparkling with barely concealed mischief.
“She is upset, understandably so,” Richard said stiffly. “Unfortunately, she still thinks Melody is mine. She finds it suspicious that of all the doors in London, the mother chose ours.”
“Well, you are imaginative enough. You can persuade your wife that you have not been with any other woman since you wed with methods that can be, uh, quite persuasive,” Jonathan said with raised eyebrows before he looked down to take another sip of his drink.
Richard gave him a warning glare. Jonathan would always be Jonathan. It could be an exasperating relief.
Jonathan sighed, raising his hands in mock defeat, but the words that flowed from him were grave. “My apologies. She is your wife, after all. Perhaps the foundling was a means for the two of you to reconnect. Perhaps it was a blessing.”
Richard shook his head, dismissing the thought. Yet, a strong image of Victoria flashed in his mind as he rose to leave White’s. This Victoria was not the one the ton knew well, the one with the sharp tongue and boyish ways.
The truth was that Jonathan’s suggestion stung. It touched a nerve the duke had not even realized was raw. Was he obsessed with keeping his wife safe?
When Richard reached the door, Jonathan called out, “We must not forget that if Penwike is behind this, he won’t stop at merely ruining you through a scandal. He will find more cracks in the foundation in your household.”
“The household will be stronger now that I am moving in,” Richard retorted as he paused in front of the door.
His statement was firm and confident, and yet, as he walked out into the chilly London air, his mind raced.
He had a story to present to the ton now, but had no defense against Victoria’s suspicions.
He had to find out the truth about Melody, and he must do it before his temporary shields fall apart.
However, as he sauntered toward his carriage, his thoughts went dark once more.
He could not bring himself to leave Victoria and Melody now, but he was bringing them closer to a deadly feud.
And one thing was for certain: Penwike was already watching. He had always been.