Birdie and the Beastly Duke by Sofi Laporte

Chapter 22

“There’s a young woman here to see you, Madam.” Sally, the maid, stood in the doorway awaiting a reply.

Eleonore Hilversham looked up from her papers. She was in her early thirties, but the severity with which she pulled back her fine silver-blonde hair made her look older than she was.

She pursed her lips. “Name?”

“She wouldn’t say.” Sally was new and did not yet recognise the parents of pupils.

“Send her in, then.”

Miss Hilversham jumped out of her chair when a bedraggled figure staggered into the room.

“I didn’t know where else to go.” Her lips trembled.

“Birdie!” As Miss Hilversham embraced her, the girl burst into noisy sobs.

“There, there.” Miss Hilversham patted her head. “Calm yourself. Surely things are not as bad as that?” She gave her a handkerchief, and Birdie blew her nose noisily.

“You’re meant to be teaching at the Willowburys. Did something happen?” She drew Birdie to a chair. Birdie collapsed into it with a sigh.

“So much happened. I scarce know where to begin.”

Miss Hilversham sat behind her desk and steepled her fingers. “One best begins at the beginning, child.”

And so Birdie told her the entire tale.

After concluding the tale with her retreat from the castle, Birdie fell silent. Miss Hilversham took off her spectacles and rubbed her eyes tiredly. “I am, honestly, at a loss for words. You’ve always been my most sensible student. How you managed to get yourself into this fix is beyond me. But what is done is done. You’ve ruined your reputation hopelessly.”

Birdie blinked. “Reputation? To be fair, Miss Hilversham, that is the last thing on my mind.”

Miss Hilversham sighed. “You married under a false name. Did you think that marriage would be valid?”

“I didn’t think,” Birdie replied with a shaky voice. “At first, it was an adventure. A gorgeous adventure. And then, you know, I really enjoyed being married. I am good at being married. I was good at being a duchess, too. The people started trusting in me. Well, that is, the women and children. The men are a different matter, what with their smuggling and all that. But, Miss Hilversham, I thought I could have a future there. I could bring about change, improve their lives for the better… You must believe me. I completely forgot that it was all based on a deception, a lie. I—” Her shoulders shook, and she brought forth between sobs. “I love him so.” She wiped her cheek with the handkerchief. “And he despises me, which he has every right to.”

Miss Hilversham looked at her with a worried frown. “You need to rest, child. And then we will have to think about what path remains open to you. If you do not enjoy teaching, you will find little joy teaching at my school.”

Birdie smiled a wan smile. “I did not enjoy being a governess, working and living with the genteel families. But I very much enjoyed teaching the little ones from the village. They were unspoiled and hungry for learning and so grateful for everything I offered.”

“Yet I am not entirely convinced that teaching is your vocation.” Miss Hilversham tapped the tip of her quill on a sheet of paper. “We shall have to see. For now, Sally will show you a room. Go have a long nap.”

“Yes, Miss Hilversham.” Birdie curtsied, as they had been taught to do as students. Then she impulsively hugged her former teacher. Miss Hilversham patted her back gently.

After Birdie had left, the schoolmistress sighed. Then she stared at the paper in front of her.

With some resolve, she dipped her quill into the inkstand.

To the Duchess of Ashmore, Oxfordshire.

“Dear Duchess. My dearest Lucy…”

If he heardone more word about whisky, types of whisky, whisky distillation, whisky ageing, and the general history of whisky, he would scream.

Gabriel threw an irritated look at Freddie, who was now waxing poetic on the topic of whisky caskets. The fop had been making himself home in his castle since the moment he’d arrived and showed no sign of leaving. Given the dandy he was, he’d acquired a tiresome amount of knowledge about everything concerning whisky, which he insisted on sharing with Gabriel.

What astounded him even more was that he’d forged a close relationship with Higgins, of all people. The old man fairly doted on the fop. It turned out that Higgins was as much of a whisky lover as he was. That he’d recently point-blank shot a black-hearted scoundrel impressed him even more. Apparently, they were kindred souls.

Gabriel massaged his temples.

Birdie had been gone for a fortnight already, and he hadn’t gone after her. He felt helpless, angry, and confused.

The moment they realised she’d gone, Freddie had clapped him on the shoulders and said, “The old girl probably ran all the way home. Give her time, she’ll come around. Trust me, I know my sister.” Gabe thought that maybe there was a word of wisdom in there.

Freddie was dressed in a pink waistcoat and striped, yellow pantaloons. His waist was cinched, the shoulders padded, the coat sleeves puffed. Gabriel guessed he must wear a corset. The starched shirt points nearly poked him into his cheeks. His pale blonde hair was elegantly styled and protruded over his forehead in an elaborate wave. He seemed like a veritable pink of the fashion, but Gabriel couldn’t say for sure, since he hadn’t been in society the last seven years. Possibly longer.

“I say. Did you hear at all what I was saying?”

Gabriel jerked to attention. “Something about grains.”

“These barrels of barley beg to be put to good use! It would be a crime not to!”

“Where on earth have you acquired all this knowledge?”

Freddie smirked. “You wouldn’t believe the kinds of people one meets in the gaming halls of London. Oh, the information they are willing to share!”

Ah.

“So, you are a gambler. Instead of helping your mother and sisters, you’re gambling their dowries away.” Gabriel wasn’t born yesterday; he’d put two and two together. A baron’s daughter who became a governess only did so if she found herself in strained circumstances.

He eyed Freddie’s clothes critically. Nothing about the way he dressed implied he was in dire straits. He thought of the state of Birdie’s clothes. Simple. Plain. Obviously refashioned from old gowns. Not that he knew too much about it. She certainly didn’t parade about in the finest of silks and velvets. No. She said she had to work as a governess … to pay Freddie’s gaming debts?

His knuckles tightened. What about the sisters? He suddenly had a vision of them garbed in the finest gowns in London.

“Dowries? No. My father did that. Shortly before he gave the crows a pudding.”

Gabriel looked at him blankly. “I beg your pardon?”

“Dropped his leaf? Kicked the bucket?” He folded down three fingers in imitation of a pistol and tipped the forefinger against his temple.

Gabriel uttered an oath.

“Before that, he gambled away our entire fortune and estate, save the house in which we now live.” Freddie shrugged. “Been trying to gamble it all back. Alas, Lady Fortuna hasn’t been in a cooperative mood lately.”

“Gambling would not rectify your situation in any manner. It would only make it worse.”

“What else am I to do? It’s the only thing I’m good at. Say, do you play?” Freddie pulled out a pack of cards from his inner coat pocket.

Gabriel warded off with both hands. “No.”

“Shame.”

“No gambling under my roof. If I catch you as much as playing for a farthing, I’ll throw you out.”

“No need for a tiff, Your Grace. I won’t gamble. I daresay I’ve lost my taste for it. There are other, better ways of making money.”

“Such as making your sister work as a governess.”

“That’s one way. Turned out to be unreliable because she ran off and married a duke, see. But I was meaning something else.” Freddie lifted his whisky glass to his lips. “We have all the material we need stored in your cellar. Save for a copper still and some piping, which no doubt we can have made by some local.”

“Since when has this become ‘we’?”

Freddie clapped him on his shoulder. “Of course, it is ‘we,’ brother-in-law. You and I will brew a whisky like the world had never seen, or rather, tasted before. And we’ll grow filthily rich in the process.”

“You know that would be illegal.”

“Pouf. Illegal. You are a duke. Make it legal.” Freddie leaned forward, an eager look on his face. “You have the manpower, don’t you? The water from the loch. There’s got to be a loch somewhere? They’re littered all over Scotland. Need lots of water for whisky.”

There was, indeed, Loch Drumdross nearby. Gabriel had an entire village full of eager manpower. His estates were in shambles and needed drastic financial overhaul that his captain’s pension would not cover. Gabriel stroked his chin. Maybe the tulip had a point.

“You can chuck out caskets and caskets of whisky. Single malt whisky. Blended malt whisky. Vatted malt whisky. Mind you, it’ll take a while, at best three years or longer. But until then you have the lovely, bootlegged booze over there.” Freddie patted the whisky bottle lovingly. “And brandy, too What are you going to do with it all? Surely not send it back to the frogs? They don’t deserve it. Best is you drink it yourself.” Freddie grinned at him so charmingly that Gabriel felt a return smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Very well, Tottingham. It is worth a try. Under one condition: it’s going to be legal.”

“There’s no profit in it if we go legal—” Freddie started, but Gabriel raised his hand.

“That is my condition. Or we forget the entire enterprise.”

Freddie grumbled. Then held out his hand. “Deal. Legal. You will take care of the paperwork, and I will take care of the ins and outs of whisky making. You need not worry a thing over it.” He cracked his fingers.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“Of course you can trust me!” Freddie placed a manicured hand over his heart. “You wound me to the quick. A Talbot is eminently trustable. You’ve married my sis’ after all. Not that I blame you.”

“Your sister is not here, in case you haven’t noticed. She has deceived me rather grossly.”

“So she has! Inconceivable, really. One wouldn’t have thought that she had it in her.”

Gabriel shook his head. “You really are a terrible brother, Freddie.”

Freddie grew serious. “I suppose I am. But you know what. Whatever she’s done, for whatever motivation, I know one thing. My sister is gold. She’s worth three times the likes of me. Maybe four. It pains me to say it, but she’s the only sensible person in the family. As good as a man. Better.” His face grew grim. “She held everyone together after father bit the grass. Do you know who found him in the study, after he’d done the deed?”

A feeling of horror overcame Gabriel. “No.”

“Yes.”

Gabriel closed his eyes.

“I may be a wastrel, but I know my sister’s worth.” Freddie leaned forward. “The question is: do you?”

Freddie suddenly seemed ages older than his youthful self as he stared into Gabriel’s eyes.

“I love your sister as I’ve loved no one ever before,” Gabriel said hoarsely.

Freddie quirked his lips into a quick grin. “Prime. That’s a bit over the top for my taste, but it’ll do. I suppose she’ll be back. Unless you decide to fetch her back, which might be the thing to do. ‘Til then, there is work to do. I will document everything, every design, and inform you of every move I make. Nothing underhand, I assure you. I will inform Higgins. He will be delighted.”

Freddie got up and walked away, whistling a tune to himself. At the bottom of the stairs, he paused and turned.

“Oh, and brother-in-law. Your Grace. Forgive me, but it must be said. If by chance you intend to seek her out personally, which may not be such a terrible idea, I would consider a change of linen. An entire overhaul of Your Grace’s wardrobe would be recommended. You look like you emerged directly from the bowels of a pirate ship from the previous century. If advice is needed”––he bowed––“this body will be more than happy to provide it. I tend to be somewhat of a connoisseur of fashion. And whisky,” he added, lest Gabriel forgot that crucial piece of information.

With those words, he minced down the servants’ stairs in search of Higgins.

Gabriel sighed. Maybe his brother-in-law had a point. It was time for him to leave his tower and re-enter the world.

He had to go after Birdie.