Chapter 17 #2
The reckless visit had infuriated him. It was there he’d learned the Duchess of Fournier would prove to be a thorn lodged just under his skin.
“What did the earbob show you?” he asked. Then again, if an object revealed memories of the one who possessed it…
The duchess’s flushed cheeks paled. “The murderer,” she said tremulously.
Hugh tightened his jaw. “You saw his face?”
“It was shadowed, and the image was blurred, panicked. But…yes.”
Had it been anyone other than a duchess of the realm seated across from him, telling him that they could see an object’s memories, he’d have stood up and walked out. However, he’d spent too much time in her presence not to know she was firm minded and anything but fanciful.
“So, if I could access something belonging to Lady Wimbly—”
“No,” Hugh barked. He checked his voice—eyes and heads turned in their direction.
“If you think this footman is involved, you’re not to go near him,” he finished in a near hiss. “I don’t like where this is going. There are too many connections to Wimbly.”
She frowned. “The marquess or the marchioness?”
“The heir as well,” he replied. Then, because it no longer felt as enormous a secret as the one the duchess had parted with, the one he was still struggling to understand, he explained. “Miss Lovejoy was also mistress to young Augustus.”
“Auggie?”
“Do you know him?”
She peered out the window, nibbling her lower lip again, as if thinking. “No, but the ladies were speaking of him today. He’s just out of university.”
“Porter said he attended many of Miss Lovejoy’s performances. Father and son shared a lover.” His gut twisted at the thought. “Though, I don’t believe either of them was aware of it.”
“I’m curious where Auggie was the night of the murder,” she said, her eyes still hinged on the window. She seemed to be musing to herself, her fingertips tapping rhythmically on the table. They drummed to a stop. Audrey looked to him. “You could question him.”
It couldn’t be done, no matter how much he did wish to question St. John. “On what grounds? The inquiry isn’t warranted—I’ve already arrested someone for the crime, and the grand jury is sending it to the House of Lords.”
If word spread that the arresting officer was now chasing down other leads, he’d be a laughingstock.
It was damaging enough that there would be talk of his meeting with the duchess at the Brown Bear.
He could say she was disgruntled; that she followed him inside, begging to see her husband.
He could pretend to be vexed by her persistence—it wouldn’t entirely be false.
But Hugh knew his honor wouldn’t allow it.
“Then I will speak to him,” she said. “I’m certain I could find out where he is—”
“Absolutely not.”
“Please stop interrupting me.”
“Please stop suggesting ludicrous situations.”
She slanted a brow at him. “What is so ludicrous about a duchess speaking to the heir of a marquessate?”
“Your very situation does—His Grace stands accused of murdering the man’s lover,” Hugh replied.
She hinged her jaw shut and took in a breath, rather than make another comment. Hopefully, she could see the wisdom in what he’d pointed out.
“Young Augustus has a penchant for the theatre?” she finally asked after a momentary silence.
“Apparently so.” He could sense another plan forming in that crafty, belligerent mind of hers.
“I could finagle a chance encounter with him at the opera. If I happen to bump into him there, he could hardly snub me so publicly.”
Hugh’s immediate reaction was to say no again, but reluctantly, he recognized the possibility of such an encounter working in their favor. St. John’s whereabouts the night of the murder would be illuminating. Even more important, though, was the letter St. John’s mother had wanted burned.
“How do we know which performance he will be attending next?” Hugh asked.
The fact that he did not immediately trample her idea seemed to surprise her. The duchess was speechless for a few seconds.
“I can have my lady’s maid make some inquiries. She has a cousin in Wimbly’s employ.”
“Servants chatter like magpies; if he is informed of your interest, he’ll do what he must to avoid you.”
“Greer is careful. I trust she’ll know how to proceed.”
He shook his head. “It’s a bold move, attending the opera while the duke sits in custody.”
A fine blush rose and fell from her cheeks, quick as clouds racing across an autumn sky. “I suppose society might regard it as callous.”
“And you don’t mind the gossip?”
She suddenly appeared weary, her confident glow fading. “Mr. Marsden, I am already ruined in the eyes of society, no matter what the outcome is. My only desire is to save my husband from the noose.” She stood from her chair. “A little more gossip can’t hurt me now.”
She was right; scandal would stay attached to the Fournier title for at least another generation, perhaps longer. However, by all appearances, the duchess didn’t seem distressed by that in the least. Her sole concern was for her husband.
“Admirable, Your Grace,” he commented, ignoring an odd and quick pang in the center of his chest.
“Some would call it reckless and shortsighted,” she replied with a sad grin.
Many would. He kept the thought to himself. “You’ll let me know what your lady’s maid discovers? Send word to my home, 19 Bedford Street, not Bow Street.” He frowned. This meeting was not going to go overlooked and neither would a missive from the duchess.
She gave a tight nod. “I’ll send word. Good afternoon, Mr. Marsden,” she said primly.
The back of her green spencer jacket and the skirt of her day dress were his to admire as she turned.
But then she paused and spun to meet his eyes again.
She hesitated before taking a step closer to his side of the table.
“I thank you,” she said softly. The words were so unexpected, he held his breath as she continued. “For not treating me terribly when I told you my secret.”
Hugh sat back in his chair, uncertain how to reply. Uncertain about all of what she’d told him and demonstrated. He knew one thing, however: someone, at some time, had treated her terribly for it. He flexed his hands into fists and rapped the wood of the table.
“I can’t say that I understand it. But you certainly have my attention, duchess.”
A spark of surprise lit her eyes and she nodded daintily before turning to finish her exit. Through the window, Hugh watched a girlish grin stretch her lips as she walked away. He rubbed his chin, suppressing his own smile, before taking his leave.
If he was going to be attending the opera, he had some arrangements to see to.