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The words nagged at him, gnawed at his insides all the way back to Sheffield House. Was it possible? Was there the slightest chance?
First thing the following morning, he sent a note to Jonas McPhee, the Bow Street runner he and his friends had used over the years whenever they needed information. McPhee was discreet and extremely good at his job, and he promptly arrived at Sheffield House at two o’clock that afternoon.
“Good day, Jonas. Thank you for coming.”
“I am happy to assist you, Your Grace, in any way I can.” The runner was short and balding, and wore small, wire-rimmed spectacles. He was an unimpressive man whose muscular shoulders and knotted hands were the only indication of the sort of work he did.
Rafe stepped back from the doorway, allowing McPhee into his study, then turned and led the man over to his desk and indicated that he should take a seat in one of the dark green leather chairs in front.
“I’d like to hire you, Jonas.” Rafe sat down behind his massive rosewood desk. The room was two stories high, with book-lined walls and an elegant molded ceiling. A long mahogany table sat in the middle of the room, lit by green glass lamps that hung down from above, and surrounded by a dozen carved, high-backed chairs. “I’d like you to investigate an incident that happened five years ago.”
“Five years is quite a while, Your Grace.”
“Yes, it is, and I realize it won’t be easy.” He settled back in his chair. “The incident involved a woman named Danielle Duval and a man named Oliver Randall. Miss Duval is the daughter of the late Viscount Drummond, who passed away some years back. Lady Drummond died just last year. Oliver Randall is the third son of the Marquess of Caverly.”
“I’ll need to make some notes, Your Grace.”
Rafe held up a sheet of foolscap. “I have all the information written down for you right here.”
“Excellent.”
Rafe set the paper down on his desk. “At one time, Miss Duval and I were betrothed. That ended five years ago.”
Rafe went on to tell the ugly story of what had happened the evening he found the note Danielle had sent to Oliver. He explained how at midnight he had gone into Danielle’s room and found the two of them together. As the tale unfolded, Rafe did his best to relay the information without revealing any of the emotions he had felt back then.
“Is there any chance you kept the note?” Jonas asked.
Rafe had anticipated the question. “Oddly enough, I did, though I can’t begin to tell you why.” Opening the bottom drawer of his desk, he moved the pistol he kept there aside and pulled out a small metal box, then fished out a key he kept on a ring in another drawer to open it. The note inside was yellowed and faded, the creases where it had been folded wearing thin. Still, it had the power to make a knot form in his stomach.
He handed the note to McPhee. “As I said, I have no idea why I kept it. Perhaps as a reminder never to be so ridiculously trusting again.”
McPhee took the note from his hand and Rafe handed him the list he had made of places and names, people somehow involved in The Scandal, however remotely.
“This may take some time,” McPhee said.
Rafe stood up from his chair. “I’ve waited five years. I don’t suppose a few more weeks will matter.” And yet he was strangely anxious to know what McPhee would find. Perhaps he merely wanted the affair resolved, as it never really had been.
Perhaps he was thinking of the future, of his upcoming marriage. Perhaps he merely wanted the past dead and buried—once and for all.
With Caro’s help, Danielle packed the last of her belongings into her traveling bags, taking special care with the garments she would need on board the ship during the two-month voyage to America.
Dani couldn’t wait to leave.
“It looks as if we are done,” Caro said, always cheerful. “Are you ready to go?”
“More than ready. How about you?”
Caro laughed, a joyous sound. “I have been packed and ready for days.”
“What about Aunt Flora? Is she completely packed?”
Dani’s robust aunt bustled into the room just then, strands of silver hair, loose from its pins, floating around her pudgy face. “I am ready to leave whenever you are, my dears.”
Like Dani, Aunt Flora considered Caroline Loon almost a member of the family. At one time, Danielle had suggested Caro no longer needed to work as her lady’s maid, but could continue instead as Dani’s companion.
Caro had been mortified. “I don’t want your charity, Danielle. I never have. I am happy to work for whatever I receive. Besides, you and Lady Wycombe have always been extremely kind and generous to me.”
Dani had never brought up the subject again. Caro was happy to earn her way and Dani was happy for their friendship.
“Well, then, if all of us are ready,” Aunt Flora said, “I will send down for the carriage.” Which would take them to the dock, then head back to Wycombe Park. Lady Wycombe would eventually be returning to England, but Dani and Caro would be staying in America, making their home with Dani’s future husband, Richard Clemens.
“Oh, this is all so exciting!” Flora bustled off to make the final arrangements and Dani looked over at Caro, who also looked excited.
“Well, I guess we’re on our way,” Dani said.
Caro grinned. “Just think—soon you will be a married woman.”
Danielle just nodded. She couldn’t help thinking of the last man she was supposed to wed and his terrible betrayal.
Richard is different, she told herself.
And Dani prayed that she was right.
The ship prepared to set sail with the tide the following morning, a big, square-rigged passenger ship, the Wyndham, with the most modern accommodations available. The captain had personally greeted the women and promised he would look out for their well-being during the journey, since they were traveling without the protection of a man.
Dani tried to imagine a man who had ever protected her from anything. Certainly not her father, who had died when she was so young. Not her cousin, Nathaniel, who had made lecherous advances when she was only twelve years old.
Definitely not Rafael, the man who was to be her husband, the man she had loved with all her heart.
She wondered about Richard Clemens, but thought that it really didn’t matter. She had learned to take care of herself and she would continue to do so, even after they were wed.
Danielle stood between Aunt Flora and Caro at the rail, looking out over the water as the ship prepared to sail. A late May wind chilled the air and whipped Dani’s pelisse around her shoulders.
“I can scarcely believe it,” Caro said as they watched the London dock disappear in the distance. “We are truly on our way to America!”
“What an adventure we are going to have!” Aunt Flora said brightly.
Though Dani was nearly as excited as they, she wished she could be more certain she was doing the right thing. She barely knew Richard Clemens. And after Rafael, she was far more wary of men. Still, Richard was giving her the chance at happiness she had given up ever having.
She leaned over and hugged each of the women, her dearest friends in all the world. “I am just so glad the two of you are coming with me.”
But she knew the women wouldn’t have it any other way. They were family. The only real family she’d ever had.
Now a new family awaited her in America. Richard and his son and daughter, children she wouldn’t have if she had never met him. She tried to remember his face, got an image of a man with thick blond hair and brown eyes. An attractive man, intelligent and generous.
They had met at Wycombe Park. Richard was in the textile manufacturing business and had come to England hoping to increase his accounts. He was a guest of Squire Donner, one of Aunt Flora’s friends who lived nearby. The squire and his wife, Prudence, along with their houseguest, Mr. Clemens, had been invited to dinner at Wycombe Park.
That night, after an evening of cards and pleasant conversation, along with an hour of Dani and Prudence entertaining on the pianoforte, Richard had asked if he might call on her again. Dani had surprised herself by saying yes.
In the days that followed, they hadn’t spent a great deal of time together, yet they seemed to get on very well. And even after she had told him about The Scandal, Richard had wanted to marry her.
Unlike Rafael, he had actually believed her when she told him she was innocent of any wrongdoing in the affair.
Standing on the deck of the Wyndham, Dani felt the wind in her face as her gaze moved farther out to sea. She was lucky. So very lucky. God had given her a second chance at happiness and she intended to grab hold of it and hang on with both hands.
Four
Ten days passed with only a few brief communications with Jonas McPhee. As Rafe waited for answers, he conducted his life as he had before, attending the usual soirées and house parties, spending most of his evenings at White’s, his gentlemen’s club, making an occasional stop of a more private nature, at Madame Fontaneau’s House of Pleasure.
In the old days, his best friends, Ethan Sharpe and Cord Easton, would have accompanied him, drinking and gaming, paying a visit to the ladies, though Cord had usually preferred the company of his mistress.
But Ethan and Cord were married now, happily so, each of them devoted husbands, and each with a son. Rafe intended his future would be the same. Though his marriage to Mary Rose wouldn’t be a love match, it was imperative that Rafe produce an heir. The Sheffield fortune was large, its land and holdings vast and complex.
Since he had no brothers, if he died without a son to carry on the name, the fortune and title would pass to his cousin, Arthur Bartholomew. Artie was a wastrel of the very worst sort, a dedicated rake whose main objective in life was to spend every guinea that passed into his hands. He whored, drank and gambled in excess, and seemed determined to debauch his way into an early grave.
Arthur was the reason Rafe’s mother had been so persistent in her efforts to see her son wed, and in truth, he couldn’t blame her. Like his aunts and cousins, his mother was dependent on an income from the vast Sheffield fortune to take care of her and the rest of the family. It was Rafe’s responsibility to see that the fortune passed into hands that would insure its existence for present and future generations.
To make sure that happened, Rafe was determined to marry and set up his nursery. He needed sons—more than one—to fulfill his duty. Beyond that, he looked forward to having a family of his own. He was ready for that to happen. Had been ready, he supposed, since his betrothal to Danielle, though after her betrayal, for a number of years the notion had been nearly abhorrent.
The memory sent his mind in that direction. He was still thinking of Danielle an hour later when he received a message from Jonas McPhee requesting a meeting that evening. From the tone of the note, Rafe believed he had uncovered important information.
It was almost nine o’clock when the butler showed McPhee into the study, where Rafe prowled impatiently in front of his big rosewood desk.
“Good evening, Your Grace. I had hoped to come earlier, but there were some last-minute details I needed to verify before I presented my information.”
“That’s quite all right, Jonas. I appreciate your being so thorough. I presume, then, that you have brought news.”
“I’m afraid so, Your Grace.”
At the words, Rafe’s stomach constricted. From the look on the runner’s face, he wasn’t going to like what Jonas had to say. He motioned for McPhee to sit down in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk, then took his usual place across from him.
“All right, let’s have it.”
“To put it simply, sir, on the evening in question five years ago, it appears you were duped.”
The words drew the knot in his stomach even tighter. “In what way?”
“This acquaintance of yours, Oliver Randall, who was involved in the events that transpired, had apparently been harboring a secret animosity against you for years.”
“Animosity is a very strong word. We were friends. Never all that close, but I never sensed any blatant dislike on his part.”
“Were you aware of his feelings for your betrothed?”
“Yes. I knew he was in love with Danielle, that he had been for years. Mostly I felt sorry for him.”
“Until you saw them together that night.”
“That is correct. I found them in Danielle’s bedchamber. I found him naked in her bed.”
“There is no question he was there. A number of the guests who were attending the weeklong house party verified the events of the evening…as far as they knew. A number of them heard the commotion and ran down the hall to Miss Duval’s bedchamber. They saw you there, saw Oliver Randall in Miss Duval’s bed. All of them, including you yourself, came to the same conclusion.”
“You seem to be suggesting that all of us were wrong.”
“Tell me again how it was you found the note.”
Rafe allowed his memory to return to the painful events of that night. “One of the footmen brought it to me after supper. He said he had found it on the floor of Lord Oliver’s study. He said that he knew Miss Duval and I were betrothed and he didn’t believe what was going on between Miss Duval and Lord Oliver was right.”
“Do you recall the name of the footman?”
“No, only that I rewarded him handsomely for his honesty and vowed to keep his involvement in the affair a secret.”
“The footman’s name was Willard Coote. He was also paid quite handsomely by Lord Oliver, who instructed him to bring you the note.”
Rafe frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would Oliver wish to be caught with Danielle?”
“It makes sense if you understand how determined Lord Oliver was to insure you and Danielle Duval never wed. I believe he hoped that eventually he might win her for himself but, of course, that never happened. Mostly, I think he wanted to hurt you as badly as he possibly could.”
Rafe mulled that over, his mind spinning, trying to fit the pieces together. “I’m afraid I still don’t understand. Why would Oliver wish to hurt me?”
“There is no doubt he was jealous. But that appears to be only one of the reasons for his animosity toward you. In time, I should be able to discover the balance of his motivations.”
Rafe straightened in his chair, his mind swarming with images of Oliver and Danielle together that night. “That won’t be necessary, at least not at present. For the moment, what I need to know is if you are certain—without the slightest doubt—that Danielle Duval was innocent of the accusations made against her that night.”
In answer, McPhee dug into the pocket of his rumpled, slightly frayed tailcoat. “There is a final bit of evidence I can give you.” He laid the note Rafe had given him out on the desk. “This is the message the footman gave you that evening.”
“Yes.”
McPhee unfolded a piece of foolscap and set it down next to the note. “And here is a letter written by Miss Duval. I believe it provides the final proof.” Jonas leaned over the papers. “As you can see, Your Grace, the handwriting is similar, but if you look closely, you will notice it is not exactly the same.”
Rafe followed each line, assessing the similarities and differences between the letter and the note. There was no denying the handwriting, though close, was not quite the same.
“Note the signature.”
Again Rafe compared the two. The signature was definitely a better forgery, the letters practiced more often, perhaps, but again, there were slight differences in the script.
“I don’t believe Miss Duval wrote the note to Oliver Randall,” Jonas said. “I believe Lord Oliver wrote it himself, wadded it up to look as if it had been read and discarded, then ordered his footman to bring the note to you later that evening.”
Rafe’s hand shook as he picked up the letter McPhee had brought. It was from Dani, addressed to her aunt. In it, she described the awful events of that night and begged her aunt to believe she was innocent of the accusations made against her.
“Where did you get this?”
“I paid a visit to Miss Duval’s aunt, Lady Wycombe. The countess wished to cooperate fully in the matter of proving her niece’s innocence. She arranged for several samples of her niece’s handwriting to be brought to me from Wycombe Park.”
Rafe set the letter down next to the note. “Danielle wrote to me again and again, but I never…I never opened any of her letters. I was so sure, so certain of what I had seen.”
“Considering how well the events of that night had been planned, that is understandable, Your Grace.”
Rafe clamped down on his jaw so hard an ache throbbed in the back of his neck. He shoved back his chair and stood up. “Where is he?”
