The previous night’s excesses had been swept away in anticipation of the new day. Hastily erected wooden buildings and vendor’s tents were covered with frost and looked like strings of pearls. Music drifted on an icy breeze from farther down the shore, a sign the Frost Fair was awakening. Soon entertainers would emerge and shops would open. He understood the attraction. The Frost Fair was open to everyone, not just members of the privilegedton. People would mingle and let down their guard.
A fertile hunting ground for a thief of Devonshire’s skills.
Memories of his cousin rolled through his thoughts as he tried to reconcile the teenage boy who had lived with them for a time after his father’s death. Even then, Devonshire had seemed distant, and easily sent into a temper, but Robert and his brothers believed it understandable. Devonshire had never had siblings or close family relations to ease the grief of losing first his mother and then his father.
Could Robert and his family have done more to help Devonshire adjust to his new life? The answer was that of course they could have. But looking back with regret never changed the past. It could, however, reconcile the present.
Yet Devonshire had killed, not in self-defense or defending his family or country but to satisfy his greed for power and wealth.
Robert vowed he would not let his own rage over Devonshire’s murder of his brother and father cloud his actions for revenge. Devonshire must be captured and face judgment for his crimes.
“Be on the watch,” Robert said as Jeremy mounted his horse. “Devonshire might not be working alone.”
Jeremy nodded toward a grove of trees a short distance away, from which they could hear music. People already gathered, dancing to the music of a three-piece band.
“The celebrations start early,” Jeremy said.
“I believe this is a continuation from last night. Come. Perhaps someone has seen Devonshire.”
The people in the small group had, indeed, been celebrating all night, and although they had not seen anyone fitting Devonshire’s appearance join them in their merriment, someone from their group suggested a tavern known for gambling.
Robert and Jeremy missed Devonshire at the tavern, but upon interviewing the owner, they learned that a customer believed her necklace had been stolen by a man fitting Devonshire’s description. The incident had been reported, but Devonshire had not been found.
“I am surprised Devonshire has not left yet,” Jeremy said, as they drew near the establishment that had been suggested by the owner of the last tavern they had visited. “Surely, he has the money he needs by now to pay his passage. He risks being discovered.”
“Perhaps,” Robert said as he dismounted. “But I do not believe it is only about the money. You and I have witnessed members of thetonwager sums of money in our clubs we knew they could not afford. I saw the same when I was in the military. For some, and I believe Devonshire is in that category, gambling and thievery is an addictive vice that is not easily quenched.”
Robert opened the door to the tavern, ducking when a metal platter was thrown in his direction. It clattered against the far wall.
A fight had broken out in the compact tavern. A chair was smashed over one man’s head, tables were overturned. A bald-headed man with a thick mustache shouted for everyone to stop. His words were ignored as the fight continued.
“Thief!” someone yelled.
“Cheat!” shouted another.
Robert nodded to the corner of the room where the shouting came from. It looked as though a card game had been in progress. Cards, coins, and jewelry were scattered over the table and chairs overturned. The men who had shouted joined others as they attacked Devonshire. Devonshire looked as though he were fighting for his life. Two men had him pinned to the ground while others pummeled his face and upper body.
“It appears Devonshire’s sins have caught up with him,” Jeremy said. “They will kill him if we don’t stop them.”
Robert knew what Jeremy suggested was true, but Robert did not want revenge. He wanted justice. He withdrew his father’s pistol, pointed it to the ceiling, cocked the hammer, and fired.
Silence dropped over the tavern as the sulfur smell of smoke from the pistol filled the air.
“Stand aside,” Robert said. “I am the Duke of Conclarton and am here to take this man to the authorities.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
It was late afternoon and Madeline was once again inside the carriage, jostling over an uneven road as the caravan made its way toward London Bridge and the River Thames. She had dressed in her green brocade travel dress and matching coat, hoping to see the duke, only to be informed that he had left in the middle of the night with his friend Lord Dumont. Lady Montgomery had also bid everyone farewell, announcing publicly that she had ended her engagement with the duke and wanted nothing more than to return to her own estates.
As a result, Madeline had a carriage all to herself. She had time to work on her sketches, but they lay in her lap untouched. Normally, she was comfortable with her own thoughts. Today was not one of those days, and she knew it had everything to do with the duke.
She was still troubled by her exchange with Lord Conclarton, but her fury had taken another form. How could she have fallen in love with a man who couldn’t respect the type of drawings she wished to sketch? But was she being unreasonable? They were just sketches, after all. Or was this part of a larger concern? Would he expand his objections to the type of clothes she wore, the friends she kept, the books she read? She had overheard such things were possible once a woman was under the control of her husband.
Her mother said that a person’s core values and opinions were difficult to alter once they had reached their majority. Her opinion was that, although change was possible, it was more a gentle rounding of the corners than a changing of the mind. In Robert’s case, Madeline surmised, she would need a hammer and chisel.
Madeline should have heeded her mother’s advice and set her cap for a gentleman for whom she wasn’t attracted. If that were the case, she would be less likely to acquiesce to her husband’s wishes if they conflicted with her own. But was that a realistic option? If a man did not compromise before marriage, there was little to support a view that he would do so afterward.
What she did know was that, if she wasn’t careful, she was in danger of following in her mother’s footsteps and getting her heart broken. She could not envision a life with him that didn’t end in heartache.
