Chapter Two
Jane had settled into a chair by the fire, resting her feet on a hassock. After the day’s adventures, she felt she deserved a break. She’d meant to rest for only a few minutes, but she was more than half asleep when a stranger invaded the room.
Martha gasped. “Excuse me, sir, but this is a private parlor.”
The uncharacteristically tart edge in Martha’s voice woke Jane in—well, not a snap, but something close. She blinked, shook her head, and squinted at the figure in the doorway.
At first, she only noticed the stranger’s height.
He was taller than any of her sons, and nearly as slender as Peregrine.
He looked vaguely familiar, but she could not put a name to his face.
It was, she supposed, an attractive face: lean, ascetic, and intellectual-looking.
(That might have been the effect of his spectacles.) Most of his hair had silvered, but there were still traces of its original brown.
“Oh, my apologies!” A flush rose up his neck. “I am very sorry to have disturbed you. I thought you were someone else. That is, I expected to find someone else here—a relative of mine. I must have the wrong room.” He bowed, then turned to leave.
“But there isn’t any other room. This is the only private parlor in the inn.” Martha sounded confused rather than quarrelsome.
The stranger glanced back over his shoulder.
“I must have misunderstood, then. You see, I am looking for my niece. I thought she might have stopped here, but I suppose I was mistaken.” His expression brightened.
“Perhaps you’ve seen her? A girl of only sixteen, with dark hair and dark eyes?
She might be traveling under the name Pinkerton, or Smythe, or Pinkerton-Smythe. ”
A cold weight filled Jane’s stomach. Was this the wicked uncle Miss Smythe had warned her about? She glanced at her young companion, whose wide-eyed stare suggested she shared Jane’s suspicions.
“What did you say your name was?” Jane asked, though she knew perfectly well that he had not introduced himself.
“Ah.” He shuffled in place, looking embarrassed. “I am Belmont.”
Belmont! Fear and dismay momentarily silenced Jane. Miss Smythe had warned them that her cruel guardian might be in pursuit, but Jane hadn’t really expected to encounter him. How had he caught up with Miss Smythe? She was supposed to be protected by a concealment spell!
Meanwhile, Martha had started picking at her cuticles. She darted anxious looks at Jane, as if silently beseeching her guardian to protect her from the wicked duke.
At that sight, Jane steeled herself. No one could be allowed to upset her family! She lifted her chin and straightened her back as cold fear shifted into iron determination.
“There is no young lady by that description here.” Miss Smythe had shared a meal with them, then continued her journey. Jane hoped the poor girl had found some obscure bolt-hole in a town where the duke would never think to look.
“Your quarry has escaped you, so you had best be on your way.” She did not want to waste more time speaking to Belmont. Bad enough that he had ruined her after-dinner nap!
“My quarry?” He met her glare with wide-eyed confusion. “As I said, I am looking for my niece. My ward. I assure you, I am no predator.”
Jane raised her eyebrows. “Your lies will not fly with me, sir. I may not circulate much in high society, but I happen to know a good deal about your past misdeeds. Dora Rossini is my daughter-in-law, and I have known Lord Valance all his life. Unfortunately for you, I have heard their story right from the source.”
“Dora who?” He scrunched up his face.
Her jaw dropped. “Have you already forgotten about the Grantly family?”
Last year, the Duke of Belmont had purchased the mortgage on Grantly Manor and tried to pressure Honora Grantly into marrying him, despite being twice her age.
When that failed, he threatened Honora’s sister, Dora.
Surely even a man as wicked as Belmont could not have forgotten his sins so quickly—especially since Belmont’s quarrel with the Grantlys had ended with him fleeing England in disgrace. How could anyone forget that?
Belmont continued to stare blankly at her. “What on earth are you—oh!” Understanding swept across his face. “Madam, I believe you have the wrong man. You are thinking of my cousin Anthony, the third Duke of Belmont. I am the fourth duke, Lawrence Galliard.”
Jane’s mouth fell ajar. “Do you mean Belmont has died?” She quickly collected herself. Obviously, he must have died, or there could not be a new duke standing before her. Assuming he really was the new duke. “I had not heard that.”
“I do not believe it has been publicly announced yet. I only learned of his death a few days ago, myself.” He shrugged. “I must admit, my accession to the title has been a bit of a shock.”
“You did not know that you were his heir?” Most men in line for a dukedom would have been well aware of it. Some would have watched their titled relative closely, looking for signs of mortality.
But the new duke shook his head. “At one point, there were two or three cousins between me and the title. I never expected to inherit.” The right side of his mouth tipped up, creating a surprisingly engaging smile.
“I might have made some different choices if I’d known I would someday become a duke. ”
The last of Jane’s anger faded. How could she have mistaken this gentleman for the wicked Duke of Belmont? Apart from his intrusion into their room, he seemed entirely unthreatening. Almost likable, even.
Why, then, had Miss Smythe been so frightened of him? Either he was an excellent actor, or the situation was more complicated than it originally seemed. If forced to wager, Jane would bet on the latter.
“Why don’t you take a seat,” she suggested, “and we can discuss matters.”
“Matters?” His eyes narrowed. “Ah. You do know something about my niece.”
“I might,” she admitted. “But craning my neck to look up at you becomes wearisome. Please sit down, sir. You may as well tell me your story in comfort.” She gestured to one of the empty chairs.
His Grace, the Duke of Belmont pulled a chair away from the table, turned it to face the ladies, and plumped himself down. He drew a deep breath and straightened his spectacles before he began his explanation.
“I understand your confusion, ma’am. Naturally, you would want to protect a young girl from someone like Anthony Galliard.” He scrunched up his face in distaste. “But I promise you, I mean no harm to Miss Pinkerton-Smythe. I am merely trying to prevent her from making a grave mistake.”
Ah, now they were getting to the heart of the matter. Jane had listened sympathetically to Miss Smythe’s tale of woe because she thought the girl was fleeing a dangerous enemy. Now she wondered if she’d been duped.
She rose from her seat and poured the last of the wine into an empty glass. She handed it to the duke and returned to her chair. It might be more polite to allow the duke to warm himself by the fire, but she was not in the mood to pamper a stranger.
“Tell us about this grave mistake, Your Grace. I have heard Miss Smythe’s story. I would like to hear yours.”
The duke gulped down half the glass before putting it aside. “My niece is a sweet, intelligent girl, but she is also very imaginative. Last fall, she fell in love with a particularly unprincipled fortune hunter. I intervened to protect her, but she believes she is being persecuted.”
“Ah.” Jane nodded. It was a familiar story, and a plausible one. But precisely because it was a familiar story, it might be a convenient lie.
Fortunately, Jane had a means of testing his story. She drew her quizzing glass out of her reticule. Its enchanted lens would illuminate a speaker as long as he or she told the truth, but the light dimmed if the speaker lied.
The not-so-evil-Belmont leaned forward in his chair. “That is a gorgeous enchantment. Where on earth did you get it?”
“It was a gift from one of my sons. And his wife. They are partners in magic.” Peregrine had always been a gifted wizard, but he could work even more complicated magic when he collaborated with Dora.
“Would I know them?” Belmont asked. “I work in the field of magical property law. Or at least, I did.” He made a face. “I suppose my days as a barrister are over now.”
“I should think so,” Jane agreed. “You will have other matters to occupy your time now. Rent rolls, Parliamentary sessions, and so on.” It was reassuring to know he’d had a profession, though. If he’d had to work for his bread, he might not be as spoiled as others of his rank.
She peered through her glass at him. “Tell me exactly why Miss Smythe ran away from home, if you please.”
“You don’t believe me?” A hurt puppy could not have looked more pitiful.
“I desire accurate information. This is the best way of ensuring that.” If she’d used the quizzing glass throughout her whole conversation with Miss Smythe, instead of putting it away after her initial questions had been answered, Jane might not have been so quick to believe the girl.
Belmont leaned back in his chair and loosened his cravat.
“To begin with, I should explain that my brother-in-law, Sir Horace Pinkerton-Smythe, died unexpectedly two years ago. Since then, I have served as guardian to his children. My nephew, Harvey, is currently at Oxford, and he has given me little trouble. My niece, Sally, on the other hand. . .” He sighed and shook his head.
“She has given you more trouble?” Jane suggested.
“Not on purpose!” he said quickly. “Sally does not have a malicious bone in her body. But she has strong feelings and strong opinions, and she has taken a dislike to my guardianship. First, she complained about the boarding school I picked. Now she is furious because I will not allow her to marry a wastrel ten years older than her.”
“You said she was only sixteen?” That certainly fit with the fresh-faced girl Jane had met. When the duke nodded, Jane’s frown deepened. “That would be too young to marry even if she’d found the perfect partner.”
He threw his hands in the air. “Precisely! Her mother and I both tried to explain that. But Sally is convinced she will be miserable if she does not marry Captain Craven.”
“A betrothal is more easily broken than a marriage-bond,” Jane pointed out. “Why not allow an engagement, but require a few years’ wait? When she is a little older, she may think better of her choice.”
He pulled a face. “I do not like the fellow, but I could have consented to that if she agreed to stay in school another year. Sally, however, claims it is cruel of me to make her wait to marry.”
“And cruel of you to make her stay in school when she thinks herself too grown-up for it,” Jane guessed. When Miss Smythe told her version of the tale, that had been her chief complaint. She didn’t want to stay in school when other girls her age had completed their educations.
“That too,” he said sourly. “When I saw her at Christmas time, I offered to let her finish her education at home if she agreed to break things off with Craven. She refused, but she at least agreed to go back to school for the spring term.”
He rubbed his eyes. “I thought we had managed to shelve the issue for now. But yesterday a messenger showed up with the news that she’d run away from school and was believed to be headed to Scotland. Naturally, I had to pursue the runaways. And here I am. That is the honest truth, ma’am.”
Throughout the entire story, the quizzing glass revealed a steady glow of truth around his face. It was possible that he’d concealed some important details, but he had not told any outright lies.
Jane put down her glass and came to a decision. “Very well, sir. I will help you recover your niece.”