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Chapter Twenty-Three
Charles sat down behind his desk, while the Duke of Tiverwell made himself comfortable in the armchair on the opposite side. Charles folded his hands. He’d planned out what he was going to say to the Duke.
“You mean to go through with it, then?” he asked.
“Yes. Why not? It’s mine to leave to whomever I wish,” the Duke stated. He was not a gentleman whose wants were ever questioned. He was scowling a little.
“Can I ask you a question, Your Grace?” Charles asked. He’d given the matter a lot of thought.
“Of course,” the Duke replied, nodding once.
“Are you fully prepared for the scandal that this may cause?” he asked, folding his hands in front of him on his desk blotter. “Bear with me, for a moment. Your cousin who is set to inherit is currently in possession of a title of his own. A lesser one, but he is likely looking forward to becoming a Duke, and coming into possession of Tiverwell Manor. He will fight it, if done behind his back.”
“Are you saying that you don’t want to bring it to court?” The Duke frowned thunderously while he waited for Charles’s response.
“What I’m saying is that we handle the matteroutsideof court—quietly and in a dignified manner,” Charles said. “And one which does not pit family against family.”
The Duke was silent for a moment. Charles waited, watching as a slow smile spread across the Duke’s face.
“What would I do without you, Mr. Conolly?” he asked. “How are you going to convince him, then? Lord Norton is as stubborn as a brick wall, and less intelligent, besides.”
“That’s where we’ll need to make some—” He was cut off at the sound of the door to his offices slamming open with a loud bang.
“Help!” a man yelled. Fear caused Charles to be up and running down the hall in moments. The Duke was right behind him.
The two footmen were helping Arabella and the Duchess through the door. All four of them were pale, their eyes wide in fear. Charles felt sick as he saw how terrified they were.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, taking Arabella by the arm, leading her to a chair. The Duke did the same for the Duchess.
“The—the Earl of Danbury,” Arabella said in a low voice as she sank down into the chair. “He’s been murdered. We found him, lying in the alleyway, just up the road.”
* * *
The two ladies had come upon the body when they cut through an alleyway on their way to the Duchess’s preferred millinery.
The Earl of Danbury was sprawled on his back, his eyes still opened. He had been stabbed in the chest, then left there. One of the footmen had gone to fetch the constable, under the Duke’s order.
Charles sat down beside Arabella. “Are you well?” he asked her. “Can I get you anything, My Lady?”
She shook her head. “No. I’ve just had a fright.” She looked around the front waiting room of the office. She had never been there before. It was filled with a few comfortable armchairs, with a fireplace.
When she glanced over at her father, he was frighteningly pale. He stood staunchly beside her mother, who was crying.
“Dear Lord Danbury!” the Duchess was saying as she dug about in her reticule for a handkerchief. “We’ve only just had the Earl of Diggar’s funeral! And Lord Drysdale’s is this week.” She was becoming even more hysterical. She grabbed at the Duke’s sleeve. “What if you’re next?” she asked, tearfully as she shook out her frilly handkerchief, clutching it to her lips.
Arabella watched her father’s face. He looked terrified. She had never, in her life, seen her father frightened of anything before. He caught her looking at him. Visibly, he relaxed, putting on a brave face. “Not to worry, my dear,” he told her mother. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen.”
Arabella wanted to ask him how he was sure of that, but the door opened.
One of the Constables peered inside the door. “We just wanted to let you know, that we’ve found the body. We will stop round your townhome later, to take your statements, Your Grace, and My Lady.”
“Do you really have no suspects?” Arabella’s father demanded.
The young constable paled, as he shook his head. “None, Your Grace.”
“I’ll have a word with the Prince Regent about this,” her father thundered. “The state of the London Constabulary is appalling!”
“Come,” Charles said, gently. “I’ll see you all out to your carriage.”
