Chapter 26 #2
As the older woman bustled the boy out, Ellie stirred the pot; the fragrant smell of vegetable stew sparked a memory she couldn’t quite recall. It simply made her chest warm.
When Missus Thorpe returned with a bandaged Westley, Ellie relinquished the pot to the lady. “What can I do for ye, Yer Grace?”
Notching her head up, Ellie asked, “You are one of the oldest tenants we have around. Were you here when the former Duke was still alive?”
“Er, yes, Yer Grace,” Missus Thorpe scraped the carrots into the pot, shaking her head with sympathy.
“Such a sad story. The lad was in his prime, and he got cut down before ‘is time.
His head, ye know. He lost ‘is head for a while.
I think the pressure of taking care of so many people at the same time got to ‘im.”
Ellie felt her heart sink at hearing it from another person, but she asked the question she needed to ask: “Did you know his son at that time?”
“Oh aye, aye,” Missus Thorpe replied, “such a sweet boy.
I remember ‘is bright smile an’ happy eyes.
He luvved ‘is mother to pieces and was forced to become a man sooner than he ‘ad to. I remember his uncle too—” she shuddered.
“—Ooh, what a horrible, horrible man. There was something…
oily about him. He ‘ad this greedy look in ‘is eye.”
That does sound like the man Dorian keeps telling me about.
“And what happened after?”
“He just… vanished,” Missus Thorpe furrowed her brows.
“Him and ‘is father too. The uncle took over the ducal post and almost ‘mmediately the rents went up.
I ‘ave to admit, Yer Grace, it was hard for me those years and I almost had to leave, but then His Grace took over again and gave me reprieve.”
“I see,” Ellie nodded slowly. “And what happened to his mother?”
“Sadly, she passed away long before,” Missus Thorpe sighed. “She ‘ad a weak constitution, ye see.”
Ellie bit her lip.
She had come to see old lady Missus Thorpe for a multitude of reasons, including making her presence as Duchess finally known more formally to the townfolk, and in case the old lady who appeared to be struggling at times according to the ledgers, required any help.
But chief among all those reasons, there had been something that had been brewing on Ellie’s mind over the past weeks. Perhaps even the past months, if she were being true to herself.
A niggling feeling that she had not quite placed, nor ever considered to entertain until this very moment she was standing before someone who could provide her an answer and settle all her lingering doubts.
She asked the one question she really needed to ask. “Do you… do you happen to remember the color of the little boy’s hair?”
Returning to his home, Dorian was not sure if he should feel relieved or apprehensive about Sterling’s words. He arrived to find Evelina… gone.
“She had mentioned a bookstore, Your Grace,” Baxter, the Somerton butler, bowed. “Also, there is an Inspector Teller who arrived a little while earlier and seeks your attendance.”
Dorian’s teeth ground at the mention of the inspector. Why had he not dissuaded the man from digging into this Ash’s existence? He understood his wife’s need to close a chapter in her life, but he could do without the distraction at the moment.
“He is in your study, Your Grace,” the butler added into the silence.
Removing his coat, Dorian headed for his study while shedding his jacket as well. As he entered the now strangely tidied room, he was momentarily taken aback by the organization of the place. Had Ellie been working on this while he was away all day yesterday and today?
A trace of guilt curdled in his chest, but he shook his head, breaking from the musings. Finally, he asked, “What can I do for you, inspector?”
The inspector turned from a window, his expression unreadable. “The last time we spoke, I recall speaking of a Mr. Marcus Herring, and Tabitha Clark, and… Jacobson, yes, the once gang leader.”
Dorian tensed. “Impeccable memory.”
“I traced as best as I could,” Teller continued. “By most accounts, it seems the boy is dead, Your Grace.”
A sigh left him. “That is what I expected.”
“I do regret giving you this message,” Teller offered.
“I won’t have any of it. Thank you for your industrious work,” Dorian declared, while extending a hand for a shake. “I’ll settle the rest of the account by this evening.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Teller replied while heading to the doorway. “I hope you have a good evening.”
Dorian nodded. “Safe journey.”
As he fell sprawled in his chair, his neck itched with consternation. Finally, one unresolved matter had been put to rest.
Now, he had to deal with Sterling—but how?
“Your Grace,” Baxter’s voice chimed from the threshold of the study. “Mr. Sharpe, your solicitor, is here to see you.”
“Oh, what fresh hell is this,” Dorian rubbed his eyes. “Send up a pot of coffee, please. I sense that I will need it.”
Dorian barely managed to pull out his ledgers before Baxter returned with a pot of coffee on a tray with the solicitor behind him. The solicitor touched up his round spectacles and fixed his satchel.
He bowed, “Your Grace.”
“Sharpe,” Dorian nodded. “Forgive me for being in my shirtsleeves, but what was so urgent that it required anything more than a simple note?” he added, trying to keep the rising impatience from his tone.
“Yes, Sir,” the solicitor nodded. “For the first matter of the evening, the enterprise you have endeavored for months is coming through, Lord Harcourt has accepted your bid for the horse breeding business—”
Dorian wanted to shout in liberation. Finally, something good.
“—I need you to—” Sharpe searched for a paper, “—sign this contract I have drawn up. Upon filing, the money will be transferred, and so will be the title.”
Breathing out, Dorian mentally ticked off another item on his mental checklist. “Good.”
As he made a cup for himself, the solicitor pulled out various papers and shuffled them, “As for the second matter, I have the trust created for Her Grace, and the funds of her dowry are deposited inside from her father’s account.
“Though I should note, the Langfords have launched a petition to the courts to have the funds returned to them, on the grounds that they are owed renumeration for fostering Her Grace before her marriage,” Sharpe said.
Liberally rolling his eyes, Dorian scoffed. “I’ll have the judge throw that petition out by tomorrow. The paper, please.”
Setting the cup aside, Dorian reached for his quill and ink. He added his signature, date, and his seal, with relief flooding his heart. At least now, he could finally reveal to Ellie some of his secrets.
Just outside Dorian’s study, shock rammed into Evelina as the air escaped her lungs.
Dowry— what dowry?
Her father had died a pauper, not a rich man. Where had he left a dowry for her?
Her aunt and uncle had certainly not told her about that. Did they know? According to Dorian’s statement, they did know and were primed to steal it after her marriage.
Even if there was a dowry—was Dorian now taking it? Was that one of his many secrets? Was that the ultimate reason he had stolen her from Sterling, just to take her future for himself?
Suddenly, she felt the gnawing tendrils of heartache and despair curl at her chest… and realized that she may have jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire pit.
She had fallen in love with him… Was she only a pawn on the men’s boards?
Swallowing, Ellie turned and silently walked away to her chambers, unsure of how to deal with this new development. Who was truly lying to her? Her aunt and uncle? Or Dorian? Or all of them?
Dorian had been leaving out so many things, from the moment he abducted her on the eve of her wedding, to the true reasons behind his slapdash marriage proposal and ceremony.
And yet, the secrets continued bubbling to the surface unbidden, and she was not sure for how much longer she could trust anything he said anymore.
At one time, it would have hurt her pride to know she had been abducted and married for the sole purpose of having some lingering remnants of wealth taken from beneath her nose.
But now that she had fallen in love with the very man who may have orchestrated it all…
another shudder of fear and heartache swallowed her insides.
Turning in place, she looked around her chambers; she might not know what to do with Dorian, but she did feel that it was best to avoid him for a while.
Being away from him might help her straighten her mind out, and she felt guilty as well.
She should have been with Harriet from yesterday morning.
Her cousin had just had a traumatic night, she should have been there.
Instead, she had quite possibly thrown herself at a man who cared little for her and more for her purse, like some wanton, desperate lady, trapped in a fairytale.
After packing a bag, she headed to Dorian’s study. Hovering at the threshold, she steadied her nervous breaths, forced a blithe look on her face, then stepped in to find him in his shirtsleeves, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
Smiling weakly, she went to him and kissed his cheek. “I’m heading to Victoria’s to spend the night with Harriet. I think I need to be with her tonight, because I know if what happened at Vauxhall had happened to me, she would be right by my side.”
He canted his head to the left, his eyes narrowing. “Are you all right?”
“No,” she shook her head, half-lying. “I feel guilty about not being there for my cousin.”
His shoulders fell. “I understand. Safe journey, and send me notice when you’re ready to return.”
She rested a trembling palm on his jaw and whispered, “Get some rest, my love.”