Page 75 of Truly, Madly, Daring

“Is there, by Jove,” Wrexham said, taking a sip from the pint he held before raising his voice to the room. “Good evening, your grace. How good of you to join us.”

“Wrexham, my boy!” the duke said, and Wrexham heard the insincere note of relief in his exclamation. “I’m glad so glad to discover you are unharmed. We have been searching high and low for you?”

“Really? How strange. Surely Cecil knew where I was, as he’s been following me like a little lamb since I left Holbrook House.”

“I’m no lamb, Wrexham!” retorted an angry voice, and Wrexham only smiled, aware his title irked his half-brother enormously.

“No, more a snake in the grass, by my reckoning,” Wrexham replied mildly, as a ripple of laughter moved through the room. Cecil was not popular in these parts. As a boy, he’d forever been getting the local lads into trouble by tattling on them, and no young woman was safe in his company. Not that the duke had ever taken him to task for his vile behaviour, and no one in the village could risk displeasing his father, but Wrexham had punished him more than once, and everyone here knew it.

“Now, I don’t want you to make a scene, but it is past time you came home where there are people who can look after you as you ought to be cared for.”

“You mean by leaving knives in unexpected places and moving furniture, or by leaving items for me to trip over at the top of the stairs? Are those your means of caring for your son, to arrange a fatal accident?”

Angry murmuring reached his ears, but Wrexham tuned it out, aware of movement around him.

“His men are moving to either side of us,” Humboldt said in an undertone.

“You see, doctor?” his father said, his tone one of apparent regret. “I’m afraid his paranoia is worse than I feared, when all we have done is to try our utmost to keep him safe.”

“Yes, yes. I do see. A tragic case,” came a heavily accented voice.

“Doctor?” demanded a suspicious voice. “From where did you acquire your medical degree, sir?”

Wrexham frowned, leaning towards Humboldt. “Is that Dr Boniface?”

“Yes, my lord,” Humboldt said. “When he discovered our plans for this afternoon, he insisted on playing his part in it.”

“Well, bless the fellow,” Wrexham said, quite taken aback.

This was turning out to be an entertaining afternoon. Folding his arms, he sat back to listen, and he was determined to enjoy every moment of it.

Chapter 21

Dear Lady K,

I have been your husband’s secretary for almost seven years. Much as I would like to admit to being a patient fellow, it is not in the least true. I have, however, learned that walking briskly away from the house for a duration of at least ten minutes, and then screaming at the top of my lungs, is a useful and efficacious way of venting my frustration. Feel free to try it for yourself. It is most invigorating.

I am so delighted to be considered your ally, I have been in excellent humour all day. With this has come the added benefit that my cheerfully smiling countenance drove Lord Kilbane into an apoplexy, and he’s taken himself off for a long ride. The house is blissfully quiet.

From the short correspondence we have shared, and the little I know of you, I do not find it the least bit surprising that Mr Bright is putty in your hands. Furthermore, I can think of no better use of the title of Marchioness of Kilbane than to scandalise society. After all, what is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, or vice-versa.

As for your letters, I sorely wish I could give you an answer, but the truth is, I do not know. I ensure to deliver your letters directly to your husband. So far, he has received them with everything from frigid glares to explosions of temper. However, I am always dismissed before he touches them, and I do not see them again. I cannot tell you more than this, but I will endeavour to discover the truth for you.

Your friend and ally,

G. Berrycloth.

―Excerpt of a letter from Lord Kilbane’s private secretary, Mr Gilbert Berrycloth to The Most Hon’ble Lady Catherine ‘Cat’ St Just, Marchioness of Kilbane (daughter of The Most Hon’ble Lucian and Matilda Barrington, Marquess and Marchioness of Montagu)

23rd of February 1845, Cawston Hall, Cawston. Norfolk.

Emmeline stalked past the gleaming carriage and the four elegant greys to the front door of the public house. It would be terribly shocking for ladies to enter the main room, especially unchaperoned.

“We’ll cause the most awful scandal,” she said to her mother as they stood on the steps.

“One can only hope,” Mama said with a smirk.

On impulse, Emmeline hugged her mother tightly. “I adore you. I hope you know that.”