Devil of a Duke by Kathleen Ayers
6
“Tally,” William Manning said to his best friend and manservant. “Stop fussing and do as I ask.” William lay on his bed under the mosquito netting. He wiggled his toes, glad to be free of his stockings and boots. He'd felt excessively tired after the dinner at Corbett's house. Something he ate hadn't agreed with him. Or rather, someone he met did not agree with him.
“Aye, Willie. The armoire you say?” Tally addressed him in private by his first name as if they were still the children they once were, and not the wealthy gentleman and servant all of Bermuda took them to be. Tall and lean, with a thatch of stark white hair, William thought Tally had begun to resemble a stork or perhaps a crane.
“Something funny, Willie?” Tally’s hand touched the side of the tall cherry armoire in the corner of the room. He opened the armoire door and waited patiently, plucking absently at a loose bit of thread on his breeches.
“The panel. Feel for it with your fingers. It's all the way in the back. There's a latch on the left you'll trigger, and it will slide open.” William made a motion with his hand, almost too exhausted to keep his arm aloft. His hand quivered as he instructed Tally. Unable to keep his arm up, William let his hand drop to his chest just as he felt another sharp pain.
The pains in his chest along with the sensation of being suffocated occurred nearly every day. His stomach troubled him after his meals. He tossed and turned nightly, never really resting. That's when he saw Maureen.
His dead wife haunted his dreams—her round, pretty face wreathed in disappointment. The same way she'd looked after he confessed how they came to be in Bermuda. How he'd paid for the finery she wore and the large house they lived in.
“Foolish,” he muttered under his breath. “So foolish.”
“What's that, Willie?” Tally's head was deep inside the armoire.
“Nothing.” William winced, thinking of his stupidity. He should have gone to a minister or spoken to God himself if he wished absolution. Not his pregnant wife. The confession of his sins did not absolve him as he hoped, instead Maureen went into early labor, killing both she and the son she carried. There had been so much blood. The bed and mattress had been soaked with it. He took Maureen's hand in his, holding it to his heart, willing her to live.
She didn't of course. Maureen, his lovely Irish lass, who he'd given up everything to have, never opened her eyes again. Prostrate with guilt and grief, William decided he must confess to the authorities. He must pay for his crimes. Maureen would wish him to. He explained this all to George Corbett.
But George would have none of it. He sat William down, poured rum for the both of them and looked William square in the eye.
“I am sorry, truly sorry about Maureen, but you cannot confess. It is too late. I have a wife and two children. Your family, in England, believes you dead. If you will not keep your mouth shut for yourself, think of what your confession will do to me, to your family, and to Jane Emily. The Dunbars will destroy us. They will destroy your family in England. You can do nothing now but repent in silence. To do otherwise will doom us all."
William, sobbing, had agreed. George was right. He was always right. George and William were bound together for the remainder of their days, tied by the horrible crime committed. It was George who arranged Maureen’s funeral while William grieved. June Corbett tended Jane Emily and allowed William to cry on her shoulder. He devoted himself to becoming even more prosperous and raising Jane Emily while George Corbett grew fat from his partnership with William. They spoke no more of treason. William pushed aside all thoughts of the Devils of Dunbar, choosing not to think of his crime or the innocents who suffered.
Until now.
“Maureen,” he whispered.
God, how he missed his wife.He felt her loss just as keenly now as he had nearly twenty years ago. But he would see Maureen soon. He was unwell, and William knew he would not see another Christmas. The guilt he carried surfaced, bubbling up to poison him. Worry, not for himself, but for his only child, made him anxious. He once thought that giving Jane Emily and Sea Cliff to Augustus Corbett would bring him peace, but the decision brought only more worry. He did not insist she set a date to wed Augustus, thinking that the young man’s affections were more for Sea Cliff than Jane Emily. Then, the final harbinger of William's impending demise arrived in the form of Nick Shepherd.
When he saw the man at the end of George Corbett’s dinner table, William felt a surge of dread unlike any he’d ever known since Maureen’s death.
“George,” he whispered to Lord Corbett. “Who is that man?”
George shoved a bit of cheese in his mouth and shrugged. “Who, Willie? You mean June’s newest pet? Some failed gentleman with a proper letter of introduction. June’s invited him to stay.” George rolled his eyes. “As she does them all. She seeks to further Dorthea’s fortunes though I must remind her endlessly that Dorthea is quite happy in Yorkshire with her barrister. God help Dorthea if her husband’s elder brother dies and he inherits. June will have us on their doorstep in a thrice.”
“It’s him. The Devil of Dunbar. They have finally found us."
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll admit there’s something I don’t like about the man, but he calls himself Nick Shepherd.” George tore into a piece of bread. “It's been twenty years, Willie. The Dunbars have forgotten about us. Why the current duke must be near eighty if he’s a day.”
“They won’t have forgotten, George.” William swallowed the lump down that formed in his throat as he watched the Sinclair sisters throw themselves at the man. “That cursed family never forgets.”
Just then, Shepherd turned his head towards William, striking him with an assessing, brilliant blue gaze.
"It’s him. I know it," William said.
George pursed his lips and waved for more rum punch while he chewed on an oyster. “We’ll see.”
“Are you sure there’s something back here Willie? Perhaps you only thought there was.”
“Yes.” Tally's voice snapped William back to the moment. “Must I come help?” William winced at the pain lancing through his chest. Time was of the essence, he knew. Tally must be convinced of the rightness of William’s decision. William trusted no one else with Jane Emily.
Tally shooed him away with a hand and went back to reaching through shirts and underclothes in the armoire, the sounds of his fumbling the only noise in the room.
I am tired. Tired of living with my guilt. Tired of waiting to be discovered.
William remembered the Duke of Dunbar, the Old Spider, a man who terrified nearly everyone at that doomed house party, especially William. Stealing from the Tremaine family was the act of a desperate man, which William had been. He’d only stolen the papers, it was George who sold them to the French. He didn’t even know what the papers actually contained, until later.
Yet I stayed silent, even after I knew that George made it look like the duke’s wastrel of a son committed the crime. Even after I knew that men died because of me. That the heir to Dunbar killed himself because of me.
“But I need not stay silent much longer,” William whispered.
He reached to his nightstand to clutch at the miniature of Maureen he kept there. “He’s found me, Maureen, just as I always thought he would.” William saw the bit of pewter Nick Shepherd wore on his thumb and knew what the ring meant, even if George did not. Nick Shepherd was the heir to Dunbar, the son of the unfortunate viscount who killed himself over the scandal of treason. George wasn’t ready to accept the truth, that the Devil of Dunbar was on Bermuda. But William knew. He would make his own preparations.
A popping sound in the room, along with Tally's exclamation of surprise, heralded the discovery of the hidden drawer in the armoire.
William watched as Tally removed a small leather packet, holding it carefully out to William.
“This what yer lookin’ for Willie?”
William nodded wearily and rubbed at his chest again. “It is, indeed.” He waved Tally forward. “Bring it here.”
William cared not what would happen to him, he deserved the wrath of the Dunbar family, but Jane Emily was innocent. He must take measures to protect her from the Devil of Dunbar. And, George Corbett.
“I need to show you what's inside.” He waved at Tally again. “I’m tired, do hurry.”
Tally nodded solemnly and placed the packet on the bed. “You’ve decided then? You’re sure?”
William smiled. Tally was his dearest, closest friend in all the world. Growing up together, Tally the son of the head groom, William the second son of an earl, they were inseparable. Tally loved Jane Emily as if she were his own. William counted on that.
“It’s all there?” Tally nodded towards the packet on the bed, the trepidation on his craggy features clear even in the dim light of the room.
“Yes. Bring me a quill and ink.” William sat up. “There is something I need you to do.”
* * *
Governor Lord Corbettwiped a napkin across the bacon grease on his lips and waved for a servant to bring more tea. Not typically an early riser, he had been unable to sleep last night. His hand shook slightly as he sipped at his tea, the hot liquid searing the tip of his tongue.
That man. William seemed certain Nick Shepherd was not some fortune hunter but the heir to Dunbar, come to Bermuda to punish them both. George was not quite convinced. Twenty years was a very long time for anyone, even the Duke of Dunbar to wait out his revenge. He thought it much more likely that William's regret and guilt had mushroomed over the years causing his imagination to run wild. Sometimes, he claimed to see his dead wife.
But William seemed sure.
Lady Corbett insisted Shepherd stay at the Governor’s home until he purchased property of his own, chattering on about the man's connections and how those connections could help Dorthea. George, for once, agreed with his wife, though not for the reasons she assumed. If the man was indeed the spawn of Dunbar, George thought it best to keep Shepherd nearby. If he wasn’t, well, he could not afford to anger a relation of the Marquess of Cambourne.
“Good morning, husband.” Lady Corbett strolled into the breakfast room, a brief smile for him about her thin lips. He found it the only thin thing about her. She sat her plump form across the table from him and asked a servant for toast and tea.
George’s stomach soured. He wished to be left in peace to finish his meal. If his wife appeared, it meant she wanted something.
Once the servants left, Lady Corbett took a small bite of toast. “We must impress upon William the urgency to announce Augustus and Jemma's betrothal.”
His wife rarely minced words, unlike most women who refused to state their concerns plainly. His annoyance grew. She constantly harped on the impending marriage of Augustus to Jane Emily. It seemed all she thought of.
“How do you propose we do that, my pet?” George spat sullenly, not pleased that his breakfast would go cold while she tried to force him to go again to William and set a date for the betrothal. He detested the nagging litany his wife forced on him. Regarding her across his breakfast plate, he supposed they got on well enough. Better than most. But on mornings like this, he was hard pressed to remember why he’d married her to begin with, except that his parents told him she possessed a fat dowry.
She raised a brow at him, making her forehead wrinkle in a most unattractive manner. Her hair once a glorious red, now hung in dull, faded curls about her temples.
The hair.
I once could not think of anything but the red of her hair. I thought the color magnificent, like newly minted copper.
“George?” She took another bite of toast. “Do you hear me?”
“I cannot help but hear you, June. As I told you, William does not wish to force Jane Emily. I personally think he has allowed the girl too much latitude in her opinions. Think where we would be if we had allowed Dorthea such freedom.” He took a bite of bacon. “The girl is temperamental and could do something reckless if forced. There is an understanding, June. We must be patient, pet.”
Lady Corbett said nothing. She took a sip of tea then proceeded to crunch her toast so forcefully crumbs flew from her mouth.
“Stop that, June. The sound grates on my ears and you're getting bits of toast all over the table.” As if it were a gauntlet, George threw down his napkin in disgust. “You are ruining my breakfast.”
“I do understand, George. Really I do.” Lady Corbett ceased destroying her toast and placed the remains carefully on her plate. “But I do worry.” Her eyes widened in a silent plea for understanding. “Our dear William isn't well. He could barely finish his plate at our dinner party earlier this week. I fear he is ill. What if something, something terrible, were to happen to William before Augustus and Jane Emily are officially betrothed? Why, she could fall victim to a fortune hunter or worse. Then what would happen to Sea Cliff? What would happen to her? She is like my own daughter. I promised Maureen I would care for her.” Tears formed in June's eyes. “I cannot break that promise.”
George sighed. He'd forgotten how close Maureen Manning and June had been. June was there when her friend died. Of course, June felt responsible for Jane Emily. “I would never allow that. I, rather we, are her guardians should anything happen.”
Lady Corbett sat back, lips pursed, wiping at her eyes with a napkin. “Truly?” She dabbed at her eyes again. “If anything were to happen to William, Jane Emily shall come to us?”
“Of course, June. I impressed upon William the need that provision be made for Jane Emily long ago. He saw the wisdom of establishing us as her guardians should something happen to him.” George must have forgotten to tell June, feeling it wasn't something she needed to know until necessary. “I thought I had mentioned this to you. An oversight on my part, I’m afraid.” He patted her hand clumsily. “Please don't give it another thought my dear, we shall take care of Jane Emily if need be.”
“Thank you, husband.” Lady Corbett stood. “You don't know how much that eases my mind. I have worried overmuch it seems. You have it all in hand.” She stood and walked over to where he sat. Leaning over, she pecked him on the cheek. “I should never have doubted you.”
“No indeed,” George sputtered under his breath, wishing her gone so he could finally breakfast in peace.
Lady Corbett walked sedately from his side to the open doors of the morning room. “I’ll have Cook prepare something special for dinner this evening.” She inclined her head. “Enjoy your day, husband.”
He gave her a brittle smile and waited until the sound of her footsteps faded. “More eggs,” George yelled. “Mine have gone cold.”
A footman popped his head through the door. “Immediately, my lord.”
“And more tea.” George grabbed another piece of bacon. He snorted in agitation. “Tedious woman.” Jane Emily would marry Augustus. More pressing matters required George's attention, namely the true identity of his unwanted houseguest.
