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Fellows passed him a piece of paper with an address on Henrietta Street. “As you wish. This is the address, Your Grace.”
“Henrietta Street? Interesting. That makes it easier, especially if I am in a hackney,” he acknowledged to both. Slade tucked the address in his waistcoat pocket.
Fellows nodded. “We call ithiding in plain sight. It is a boarding house occupied by several agents.”
Graham’s apartments were on the front of the manor, allowing them to hear a carriage roll to a stop in the front.
“That sounds like it could be Mother and Tabetha. Perhaps you could leave us for a little while. I will ask Conners to do some preliminary preparations on Graham. We need to let people know my brother has . . . expired.” Slade’s voice was dry. His nerves were frayed, and he could scarce say the words. He wanted to cry on principle.
Small footsteps rushing up the stairs told him that his mother and sister were on their way to see his brother. Positioning himself in front of Graham’s body to hide his face, Slade stood there, waiting for the door to open and hating everything about this moment—except that his brother still lived, thankfully.
The door opened and his mother whished in. “Graham, I have a package for you . . .” Her voice died in her throat and the package dropped to the floor. “What has happened?” she breathed.
His sister stopped in her tracks.
“Please sit down, Mother, Sister. I need to tell you both about Graham.” He lowered his voice. “It is not as it seems, but we have precious little time. So please listen to me.”
His mother’s eyes welled up with tears that toppled over the rims and ran in rivulets to her chin. “My son . . .”
“Mother, Tabetha,” he began, his voice a whisper. “Graham is not dead. However, you must act as if he had suddenly left us. There are notes,” he said, tapping his pocket, “that I will give you both when you are alone. But the servants—everyone, must believe him gone.” He explained what his brother had done and took large fortifying breaths as he watched their reactions.
Both women gave curt nods, their faces streaming with tears. “Why?” his mother whispered.
“Father was murdered, and I know you are both aware, Graham worked for the Crown,” he whispered—his words hurried. “Graham believes he needs to fake his death and draw out the murderer. No one outside of the three of us can know. I have told you both, believing it best.No one else can know. Do I have both of your words to maintain this?”
His mother and sister both nodded slowly.
“It is the only way. I knew he was contemplating it. But never thought Graham would do this today. They plan to take him to London today. He changed his will so there will be no viewing and a quick burial. We want to hurry because they need to give him an antidote to the drug they administered.”
“That was to be my question,” his mother said, her voice quivering.
“His injuries are so bad,” Tabetha whispered through tears. “Can this go wrong?”
“This is a risk. We must pray for Graham,” Slade said. “And no one—no one—can know.”
“Know what?” A high-pitched female voice said as Graham’s betrothed walked through the door to the room, pulling off her gloves and handing them to a small woman trying to follow her. “Graham, darling, I have arrived.”
Slade stepped aside, showing Graham’s seemingly dead body. He narrowed his gaze upon the woman who had just intruded.
The obtrusive woman gave a short gasp and put the back of her hand over her mouth. His mother stepped protectively toward her son. “Lady Evers,” the dowager duchess said, the acid in her voice undisguised by grief. “You are too late. My son, the duke, has just . . . passed.”
“What are you talking about?” she said, with a haughty laugh. “Graham survived the accident.”
Slade arched a brow and carefully regarded the woman. “Are you saying you were not told he was gravely injured?” he asked sardonically, trying to control a threatening surge of fury.
The dowager tearfully stepped aside. “He never recovered.”
Pain etched on his mother’s and sister’s faces tore at his heart. This deception could be the hardest thing they had ever done.Had telling them been wrong?
Lady Evers eyed each of them before turning toward the bed. Seeing the duke laying lifeless, she gave a large gasp and threw her body against his bedside, gripping his outstretched hand, and wailed.
Slade remained quiet for several minutes to allow the woman to display her grief. He considered his mother and Tabetha, who both turned from the bed in apparent disgust.They dislike the woman.Was there more, besides her reticence to leave Brighton after Graham was injured?That would have alienated her from most mothers and sisters.
His brother’s betrothed suddenly stopped the wailing and, except for loud sniffles, she had become quiet. Summoning his patience and taking advantage of the timing, he leaned down and laid his hand upon Lady Evers’ shoulder. Her exaggerated display fooled no one. Graham, himself, had revealed it had not been a love match.It was convenient, and I did it for Father,he had told him.“Lady Evers, my mother has consented to have my brother’s body . . . prepared for his funeral. The doctor and his valet will be here in a matter of minutes for him.”
“Iam his betrothed,” she retorted sharply, before looking up at him with almost dry eyes.
“That was true,” he said carefully. “However, you were not wed.” He paused. “My family will oversee my brother’s arrangements.”
