“May I present to you, the Master of the Dance, Mr. Higgins.”
The portly man stepped forward and bowed, waiting for the duchess to make the next introduction.
“And this is his accompanist, Mr. Wallaby. These gentlemen are well-versed in the current dance steps and etiquette. I leave you all in their capable care.”
Mr. Wallaby followed Mr. Higgins’ example and bowed as well.
Mr. Higgins bowed again. “Thank you, Your Grace, for your generous recommendation. Will you join us?”
“My days of dancing are long past, and I have other matters that need my attention.”
When the duchess had gone to her various duties, Mr. Higgins clapped his hands. “Let us begin. Please form two rows. Women on one side and the men on the other. Be quick about it. We do not have all day!”
Mr. Wallaby removed sheets of music from his leather satchel and positioned it on the pianoforte and began playing.
Chapter Seventeen
The telltale sounds of the pianoforte intermixed with the shouted orders of Dance Master Higgins brought back memories as Robert headed toward the assembly room. He did not need lessons, but—God help him—he knew Madeline would be in attendance and he wanted the excuse to spend time with her. He caught himself up short and revised his assessment for attending the lessons. As the Duke of Conclarton, it was his obligation to ensure all his guests were comfortable. And if he found himself enjoying her company, what was the harm? They shared the same belief that romantic love was reserved for novels. In life, it did not exist.
As he drew closer, he heard Mr. Higgins’ commanding voice shouting out orders.
“Hop, step-step and jump. No. No. No! Not step, jump, step! You are doing it all wrong! Let us begin again. Mr. Wallaby, from the beginning, if you please.”
Robert grinned. Time had not softened the dance master’s demeanor. Robert had chafed at the need to learn to dance. He had preferred hunting and learning to fence and box. His appeal to his father had been countermanded by his mother’s intervention. “A gentleman must learn to dance,” she had said, ending the matter.
His mother’s will prevailed, as it had in most areas, and a portion of Robert’s days were devoted to learning the minuet, quadrille, cotillion, country dances, and the waltz, some with such nonsensical dance names as the Porcupine, Bloom of the Pea, and Merry Cobblers. As he grew older, he preferred the waltz. It gained him the opportunity to hold a woman in his arms, a heady experience for a young man on the verge of manhood.
With his hand on the doorknob of the assembly room, he encountered Lady Montgomery as she rushed to block his path. “A moment of your time, Your Grace.”
The sight of Lady Montgomery brought back the scene of her in the arms of Devonshire. She had told him during their ride with Jeremy that she had an explanation, and she had asked him to be patient, as all would be revealed as soon as it was possible. The problem was that he was not a patient man. He had agreed with his mother that he would honor his brother’s dying wish that he marry Lady Montgomery, even going so far as to set a date for their wedding.
He was having second thoughts, however, and he knew it was due to his growing affection toward Miss Mercer. As a gentleman he would not back out of his agreement with Lady Montgomery. But after seeing her with his cousin, he wondered if perhaps she was reluctant to marry Robert, if her affections lay elsewhere and she felt as trapped as he did.
She fidgeted with a lock of hair that had fallen from a carefully constructed hairstyle that included silk flowers and diamond hairpins. “You are most kind to agree to these few moments. More kind than I deserve. But it is urgent that I speak with you.”
Something in the tone of her voice drew his interest. Had he detected sadness, despair, panic? Or a combination of all three?
His reply was measured. “I am also pleased we will have a private opportunity to speak to one another. My father’s study is not far. Please follow me.”
As he led the way down a hallway, he realized his father’s study now belonged to him. In such cases, when a father died, the heir would redecorate the study, obliterating traces of its original owner. Robert had no intention of following that trend. He had fond memories of his father and wished to keep his memory alive, not bury it.
He had always found his father’s study a quiet place for reflection and contemplation. It might prove to be the perfect setting to broach the subject of calling off their engagement.
He opened the door and allowed Lady Montgomery to enter.
“I was only in this room once,” she said, taking the chair in front of the desk as Robert offered.
“I am surprised you were here at all,” Robert said, moving toward the seat behind the desk. “What business did you have with my father?”
“You are direct. Very like your father. However, it was not your father whom I met but your brother Donald. We believed your father’s study was the most secure place in the castle. As you know, this old castle has many hidden corridors behind the walls, where servants can listen in on conversations and then relay gossip to the highest bidder. Your father made sure the ones behind these walls were boarded up.”
Her lips quivered. “You must know the whole of it.” Lady Montgomery retrieved a letter from her reticule and handed it to Robert. “Donald had learned that Devonshire was deeply in debt. Although not unusual these days, what was unusual were the rumors that Devonshire bragged that he was well positioned to inherit the Conclarton title. Perhaps he thought of it as a way to keep his creditors at bay. When I met Donald here, he did not tell me the whole of his findings, however. According to the letter you hold in your hands, the Crown had their concerns as well but regarding another matter. They suspected Devonshire of stealing jewels while attending last year’s society events. I discovered this letter from the Crown, and Donald’s notes regarding Devonshire, after Donald died. It is my belief that your father’s and brother’s deaths were not accidents.”
Feeling drained, Robert sat down in the chair behind the desk. It was one thing to suspect that his father and brother had not died accidentally, but another matter to have that suspicion confirmed. He had witnessed evil on the battlefield, and part of him had not wanted to believe it existed so close to home. Devonshire had planned to wipe out all the male heirs of Conclarton. If Robert hadn’t returned, likely William would have been next.
“Their deaths were not accidents,” he said more to himself, to confirm his darkest thoughts, than to Elizabeth.
“Your brother was an accomplished hunter and equestrian,” she said. “When he died, I decided to find proof against Devonshire myself. I contacted the Queen and persuaded her to grant me an audience on the pretext of discussing my forthcoming nuptials with you, the now Duke of Conclarton. It was an easy ruse. Your father and brother were well respected, and all were devastated when they heard of their deaths. I confess I fabricated that your brother’s dying wish was for us to wed, but that helped in securing an audience with the Queen. She found it very touching. I will, of course, have to confess to her of its falsehood. Once secluded with the Queen, I shared my concerns about Devonshire and offered to find proof of his guilt.”
