Page 59 of Only Pleasure Will Do

Chapter 25

The brisk traffic on Piccadilly Street had not deterred Duncan and Amiable in the least as their carriage arrived at the townhouse belonging to Lady Fitch, widow of Sir Peter. The prosperous-looking property darkened Duncan’s already dour mood. The dire straits to which Fitch and his wife had condemned Maddy were abominable, and the whole while she had been toiling at the House of Pleasure, they’d been living a comfortable and well-to-do life with not a care for anyone other than themselves. Well, after he’d finished speaking to her, Lady Fitch would be considerably more uncomfortable. He’d make certain of it.

“Follow my lead, if you would, Morley,” he said as he and Amiable approached the door.

“Of course. I’m ready to help in any way I can, as always.” His brother-in-law grinned as Duncan let the knocker fall several times. “I just hope the woman is not a crier. I cannot stand the weeping of women, no matter who they are.”

“I suspect Juliet has used that weakness to her advantage more than once.” Duncan chuckled then resumed his staid countenance when the butler opened the door. “The Marquess of Dalbury and Mr. Morley to pay our condolences to Lady Fitch.” He handed their cards to the man who bowed and showed them into a foyer lavishly decorated in green and gold.

When the man had gone, Duncan tapped his foot impatiently and adjusted the case containing the documents that had arrived just that morning at Dunham House. He’d scarcely expected the papers to be so damning. Fitch had been a fool, but one with an enormous streak of luck. Well, that luck had run out for him this past March and would continue to do so for his grieving widow.

The butler reappeared. “If you will follow me, my lord. Lady Fitch will see you in the morning room.” He led them down the wide corridor and showed them into an unusually bright room considering the lady should still be prostrate with grief for her husband. Lady Fitch was indeed attired in deepest black, although her glittering diamond jewelry detracted from the somber effect. She rose and came forward, a younger woman at her side.

“Good afternoon, my lord, Mr. Morley.” Her veil had been lifted and pinned back so her face was fully visible, along with evidence of her liberal use of the rouge pot.

“My lady.”

“Good afternoon, Lady Fitch.”

The lady smiled at them, a practiced, tragic smile. “It is exceedingly kind of you to condole with me, gentlemen. Dear Sir Peter would be so pleased. May I present you to Miss Mary Samuels? She is my cousin and present companion. My dear, this is the Marquess of Dalbury and Mr. Morley.”

The girl, perhaps the age of twenty, dipped a curtsey. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

“Lady Fitch,” Duncan began, cutting his gaze over to Morley and hoping he would take the hint, “while I do wish to express my condolences on the death of your late husband, I fear I must put before you some unfinished business of a rather delicate nature between Sir Peter and myself.” He glanced from Lady Fitch to Miss Samuels. “Perhaps Miss Samuels would like to take Mr. Morley to see the gardens. I have heard they are not to be rivaled in this part of London.”

“Yes, Miss Samuels, would you be so kind?” His brother-in-law, formerly a captain in His Majesty’s army, still had the habit of command about him. Amiable smiled charmingly and offered his arm.

To give the girl credit, she looked to her mistress, who nodded her assent.

“That will be fine, Mary. Take Thomas, the first footman with you.”

“Yes, my lady.” Miss Samuels curtsied then placed a timid hand on Morley’s sleeve. “Sir, if you will follow me?”

The pair moved into the corridor and Duncan turned to Lady Fitch. “Now I hope we can speak candidly, madam. I would not have wanted your innocent companion’s ears besmirched by the matter I must bring before you.”

A wary look flickered in Lady Fitch’s eyes, but she nodded and resumed her seat on the costly Chippendale sofa covered with green jacquard cut-silk velvet. “And what matter is that, my lord?”

“That of your ward, Miss Aimée Forrester.”

The woman’s face drained of color as though she’d applied thick white paint to herself. She clenched her handkerchief. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, but I’m sure you do.” Would the woman try to swear ignorance of Amorina? Damnit, of Maddy. He must think of her that way now. She could only be Maddy or Miss Forrester from here on out. Anyway, if Lady Fitch would try to deny Maddy, he’d foreseen that possibility and come prepared. He reached into the case and removed a sheaf of papers. Sorting through them, he finally plucked out two pages and held them up to Lady Fitch. “This is a copy of the will signed by Lord Forrester, appointing Sir Peter Fitch and Margaret, Lady Fitch as the legal guardians of Miss Forrester should his lordship die before she married or attained the age of one and twenty. The lady in question, having been left a considerable sum by her father and now having attained her majority, is anxious to have the inheritance settled on her.”

Hectic spots of color rose in Lady Fitch’s previously chalk-like cheeks. Her mouth moved but no sound came out and her bosom heaved alarmingly.

If the sorry wench fainted, Duncan would be damned if he would try to revive her.

At last, the lady managed to squawk, “But she’s dead, my lord.”

Duncan blinked. Damn Sir Peter to the hottest spit in hell. “I assure you, madam, she is very much alive and sitting with my wife at my home in Mayfair this very moment. No matter what lie your husband may have told you, Miss Forrester is alive.” And now for the coup de grâce. “As is her child.”

“No!” Lady Fitch’s voice rose to a shriek.

As Duncan had feared, the lady’s eyes rolled back in her head and she toppled onto the sofa.

“Damnation.” Regretting sending Morley off at this moment—his brother-in-law had more patience for feminine hysterics than he did—Duncan glanced about for something with which to revive the woman. If he wanted this business over and done with, he’d have to bring her around, much as he hated to do so.

As he rose, intending to fetch the brandy decanter from the sideboard, the door opened, admitting Miss Samuels and Morley. “Thank God, Miss Samuels. Lady Fitch has fainted. Can you perhaps—”