Prologue
London, 1886
“The Honorable Mrs. George Shaw,” announced the Duke of Northwich’s butler in the firm, staid tones of an impeccable retainer.
Pippa tried to ignore the pounding in her heart and the heaviness in her belly as she crossed the threshold. Her palms were damp. She had been summoned to the duke’s townhome. Under any other circumstance, she would have ignored the note which had been sent round to her.
Heavens. She would have been outraged and tossed it into the dustbin or the flames. George would have been outraged along with her, for no one knew better than he how dreadful a scoundrel the Duke of Northwich was, how close she had come to binding herself to him.
But George was gone, forever lost to her. And the request had not come from the duke himself. Rather, it had been issued by her dear friend Tilly, once the Duchess of Longleigh and the now happily remarried Mrs. Adrian Hastings.
Confusion warred with irritation as her gaze settled upon Tilly, Tilly’s husband Mr. Hastings, and Northwich. They all rose in deference, Tilly crossing the chamber to greet her.
“Pippa,” she said, folding her into a sudden embrace.
She clutched her friend in return, the ill feeling which had first begun when she had received the summons becoming far more severe. Although she was aware, thanks to the wedding between Mr. Hastings and Tilly, that the Duke of Northwich was Hastings’ good friend, she could not think of a possible reason for her presence here or the suddenness of the request.
“Why would you ask me to come here?” Pippa asked Tilly,sotto voce, moving away from her friend’s embrace. “You know I dislike the duke immensely.”
“I am sorry,” Tilly whispered, her expressive eyes pleading. “I saw no other way around this. Come.”
No other way? The grim set of Tilly’s countenance could not be denied. Nor could the aura of doom invading the chamber. Tilly led her to a seating area where a tea tray had been assembled, but looked largely untouched.
“Lady Philippa,” Northwich greeted, his voice stilted and cool, dipped in formality.
“I prefer Mrs. Shaw,” Pippa told him.
“I prefer Lady Philippa,” he countered, with an equal amount of ice.
The tension in the room could have been cut with a knife.
“I do not expect you have invited me to take tea,” she said, her glance once more flicking to the abandoned service.
“You will want to sit down, my dear,” Tilly said then, guiding her to the seat which was farthest from Northwich.
A small mercy.
Pippa could not find a seat far enough away from him to suit her.
When the four of them were seated, Tilly spoke once more. “Pippa, the reason we have asked you here is that earlier today, Adrian and I came upon a stack of correspondence between Mr. Shaw and Longleigh. Longleigh had hidden the letters inside a locked drawer in his study desk. The letters suggest Longleigh paid Mr. Shaw a great deal of money to arrange for Adrian to be arrested for theft and sent to prison.”
Pippa felt as if all the air had been robbed from her lungs.
George? Her wonderful, handsome, charming, beloved George? Tilly’s former husband, the despicable Duke of Longleigh, had paidGeorgeto arrange for Mr. Hastings to be arrested under false charges and sent away to prison?
No.
No, no, no.
The room was spinning, and all she could think of was a resounding denial. “I do not believe it. George was scarcely an acquaintance of Longleigh.”
“The letters do not lie, I am afraid,” Mr. Hastings said gently, pity lining his countenance, tingeing his voice.
“Examine them if it pleases you,” Northwich said, passing one of the epistles to Tilly, who in turn gave it to Pippa. “You shall no doubt recognize the handwriting. He signed his name quite plainly, and there is no other way to read this series of letters without understanding your husband was engaged in criminal activities on behalf of the Duke of Longleigh.”
With shaking hands, Pippa scrutinized the letter, disbelief turning into something else, bile climbing up her throat to choke.
Another chorus of denials broke free within. The letter swam before her, and she could not read any more words.
