The Duchess War
Page 73
That, Robert decided, was his cue to vanish. He had to be gone before the rest of Oliver’s family appeared.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he promised and slipped out before he could burden Mrs. Marshall more than he already had.
There was a cabstand in the square down the street. He was on his way there when soft feet pounded up behind him.
“Wait,” a woman’s voice called. “Your Grace.”
Robert blinked in surprise and turned. A cloaked figure raced toward him and threw back her hood.
“Miss Charingford,” Robert said in surprise.
“Listen to me,” the woman said urgently, “and listen well. Stevens threw Mr. Marshall in gaol to embarrass you.”
“He succeeded. In that and more.”
“He thinks you’ll be in Paris throughout the trial. That he’ll have your man of business—”
“He’s not my man of business,” Robert spat.
“Whatever he is. Stevens thinks he can prove that the man was involved, that he can insinuate that he worked on your orders.”
Robert looked at her. “He can’t prove that,” he finally said. “It isn’t true, and I should know. He can’t prove it unless he’s suborned testimony from someone.”
Miss Charingford shook her head. “He can prove that Mr. Marshall was involved,” she said. “At least, he’s going to try.”
“He can’t possibly do any such thing,” Robert repeated.
Miss Charingford blinked. “I know,” she finally said, more quietly. “But you…you need to know how he’s planning to prove it. There’s a phrase in one of those pamphlets, a quote from some book on obscure chess strategy. It’s well known that you take no interest in the game. But there’s a witness coming who will testify that he discussed strategy with Marshall, that he loaned him the volume in question.”
“Oh.” Robert let out a drawn-out breath, recalling Minnie’s anger the next day. “I know…I know exactly which phrase you are referring to. I know exactly how I knew it, too.”
Dread rose up in him. He remembered how angry Minnie had been at him for using her words, how sure she had been that they would cast blame on her. He felt sick to his stomach.
“Precisely,” Miss Charingford said. “Minnie sent me a letter explaining everything. I had to let you know. Stevens doesn’t know about her past. Just her name.” She shook her head. “He thinks there’s nothing to her but a name. It never occurred to him to ask what she might have done.”
“How did you find out what they planned?”
She was silent for a moment, then sighed. “My father told me. He was the magistrate who swore out the warrant for Marshall’s arrest. He didn’t have any choice, you see.”
“Didn’t he?” Robert asked dangerously.
“No,” she replied. “Stevens is good at breaking strikes. The best there is. But he helps those who help him, and since I refused him, he’s insisted that my father must do more.”
“I see,” Robert said quietly. And he did. No matter what happened with Oliver, Stevens would not continue to serve the militia. “Do you suppose your father would talk with me, if I came by?”
She gave him a short nod and then turned to go.
“Wait, Miss Charingford. There’s one last thing.”
She hadn’t come to their wedding. He remembered those few hours on the train from Leicester to London, when Minnie had looked almost lost for mourning this woman.
He looked her in the eyes. “Minnie misses you.”
As if she could hear the accusation in his words, Miss Charingford shrank away. “I miss her, too,” she whispered. “No. I don’t. I don’t know. I’m still angry with her. It doesn’t mean I want her hurt.” She shook her head. “I had better go, before someone realizes I’ve gone out. I just—I had to tell someone, and I can’t face her yet. Please don’t tell her it was me. Not until I’m ready.”
So saying, she turned away.
They were going to present proof that Oliver was involved. Robert started walking again, but this time, he passed the square where a solitary cabriolet driver nodded off with his hands on the reins.
He could do his best to quash the investigation—and leave his brother under a cloud of suspicion. Or he could speak. When speaking had entailed taking all the scandal on himself, there had been no question. But now he would have to explain how it was that His Grace, the Duke of Clermont, came to quote from an obscure volume of chess strategy.
He’d promised Minnie that he would protect her secrets. He’d promised his brother that he would see him free and clear. He could not do both those things.
Some devil in him made him imagine precisely how Minnie would react to hearing him admit the truth. It was even worse than anything he could imagine doing to her—putting her in a courtroom, watching someone she cared for give her up without hesitation. He couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t.
But Oliver… Oliver was his brother. The man who had accepted him without question, despite the fact that his father had done nothing but harm to his family. He was his brother. His brother, the only thing he had known of family for years.
That image in his head of the courtroom—of Minnie turning white as he betrayed her—played itself over and over in his mind. The worse it was for her, the more it would strengthen the public belief that he spoke the truth. It made Robert feel ill to think of it. It would utterly destroy their marriage. She really would leave him—and he wouldn’t even be able to voice a protest.
Because she would be right. He would deserve it.
Robert walked on the streets a very long time, until his feet ached and his hands turned to ice, until he could scarcely think for the turmoil in his head. He walked, and he decided.
Chapter Twenty-four
WHEN HE FINALLY RETURNED TO HIS HOME, he was sure Minnie would see what he intended to do. She’d seen everything else about him so easily. But she was waiting for him with tea and a late supper, and whatever she saw in his expression, she must have attributed to unhappiness over his brother’s situation.
“I don’t think a conviction will stick,” Robert told her over a warm cup.
“That sounds like good news.”
He held his hand out, let it wobble from side to side. “It’s not the worst news. There’s not enough evidence to convict him, but there…there may not be enough to vindicate him, either. Not unless I explain my involvement.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he promised and slipped out before he could burden Mrs. Marshall more than he already had.
There was a cabstand in the square down the street. He was on his way there when soft feet pounded up behind him.
“Wait,” a woman’s voice called. “Your Grace.”
Robert blinked in surprise and turned. A cloaked figure raced toward him and threw back her hood.
“Miss Charingford,” Robert said in surprise.
“Listen to me,” the woman said urgently, “and listen well. Stevens threw Mr. Marshall in gaol to embarrass you.”
“He succeeded. In that and more.”
“He thinks you’ll be in Paris throughout the trial. That he’ll have your man of business—”
“He’s not my man of business,” Robert spat.
“Whatever he is. Stevens thinks he can prove that the man was involved, that he can insinuate that he worked on your orders.”
Robert looked at her. “He can’t prove that,” he finally said. “It isn’t true, and I should know. He can’t prove it unless he’s suborned testimony from someone.”
Miss Charingford shook her head. “He can prove that Mr. Marshall was involved,” she said. “At least, he’s going to try.”
“He can’t possibly do any such thing,” Robert repeated.
Miss Charingford blinked. “I know,” she finally said, more quietly. “But you…you need to know how he’s planning to prove it. There’s a phrase in one of those pamphlets, a quote from some book on obscure chess strategy. It’s well known that you take no interest in the game. But there’s a witness coming who will testify that he discussed strategy with Marshall, that he loaned him the volume in question.”
“Oh.” Robert let out a drawn-out breath, recalling Minnie’s anger the next day. “I know…I know exactly which phrase you are referring to. I know exactly how I knew it, too.”
Dread rose up in him. He remembered how angry Minnie had been at him for using her words, how sure she had been that they would cast blame on her. He felt sick to his stomach.
“Precisely,” Miss Charingford said. “Minnie sent me a letter explaining everything. I had to let you know. Stevens doesn’t know about her past. Just her name.” She shook her head. “He thinks there’s nothing to her but a name. It never occurred to him to ask what she might have done.”
“How did you find out what they planned?”
She was silent for a moment, then sighed. “My father told me. He was the magistrate who swore out the warrant for Marshall’s arrest. He didn’t have any choice, you see.”
“Didn’t he?” Robert asked dangerously.
“No,” she replied. “Stevens is good at breaking strikes. The best there is. But he helps those who help him, and since I refused him, he’s insisted that my father must do more.”
“I see,” Robert said quietly. And he did. No matter what happened with Oliver, Stevens would not continue to serve the militia. “Do you suppose your father would talk with me, if I came by?”
She gave him a short nod and then turned to go.
“Wait, Miss Charingford. There’s one last thing.”
She hadn’t come to their wedding. He remembered those few hours on the train from Leicester to London, when Minnie had looked almost lost for mourning this woman.
He looked her in the eyes. “Minnie misses you.”
As if she could hear the accusation in his words, Miss Charingford shrank away. “I miss her, too,” she whispered. “No. I don’t. I don’t know. I’m still angry with her. It doesn’t mean I want her hurt.” She shook her head. “I had better go, before someone realizes I’ve gone out. I just—I had to tell someone, and I can’t face her yet. Please don’t tell her it was me. Not until I’m ready.”
So saying, she turned away.
They were going to present proof that Oliver was involved. Robert started walking again, but this time, he passed the square where a solitary cabriolet driver nodded off with his hands on the reins.
He could do his best to quash the investigation—and leave his brother under a cloud of suspicion. Or he could speak. When speaking had entailed taking all the scandal on himself, there had been no question. But now he would have to explain how it was that His Grace, the Duke of Clermont, came to quote from an obscure volume of chess strategy.
He’d promised Minnie that he would protect her secrets. He’d promised his brother that he would see him free and clear. He could not do both those things.
Some devil in him made him imagine precisely how Minnie would react to hearing him admit the truth. It was even worse than anything he could imagine doing to her—putting her in a courtroom, watching someone she cared for give her up without hesitation. He couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t.
But Oliver… Oliver was his brother. The man who had accepted him without question, despite the fact that his father had done nothing but harm to his family. He was his brother. His brother, the only thing he had known of family for years.
That image in his head of the courtroom—of Minnie turning white as he betrayed her—played itself over and over in his mind. The worse it was for her, the more it would strengthen the public belief that he spoke the truth. It made Robert feel ill to think of it. It would utterly destroy their marriage. She really would leave him—and he wouldn’t even be able to voice a protest.
Because she would be right. He would deserve it.
Robert walked on the streets a very long time, until his feet ached and his hands turned to ice, until he could scarcely think for the turmoil in his head. He walked, and he decided.
Chapter Twenty-four
WHEN HE FINALLY RETURNED TO HIS HOME, he was sure Minnie would see what he intended to do. She’d seen everything else about him so easily. But she was waiting for him with tea and a late supper, and whatever she saw in his expression, she must have attributed to unhappiness over his brother’s situation.
“I don’t think a conviction will stick,” Robert told her over a warm cup.
“That sounds like good news.”
He held his hand out, let it wobble from side to side. “It’s not the worst news. There’s not enough evidence to convict him, but there…there may not be enough to vindicate him, either. Not unless I explain my involvement.”
