Chapter 22

22

Later that afternoon,Joanna got another surprise when she called on her aunt during the at-home hours. The butler went in to see if the duchess was at home and came back to say that she was not.

Joanna nodded and had no choice but to leave. Saying that one was not home was standard code for when a visitor was not welcome. The butler knew exactly when his mistress was indeed out and when she was in.

Either her aunt didn’t want to see her, or she was ill…or perhaps she had another visitor.

When Joanna descended the stairs to leave, she turned around and saw her aunt looking at her from the window of her sitting room. And when their eyes locked, she quickly retreated behind the curtain. Joanna’s stomach twitched with the suspicion that her aunt was, perhaps, afraid to talk to Joanna after her questions about America.

Or had her uncle insisted his wife keep the relationship cold and distant?

Either way, Joanna had no choice but to retreat. The next day, she returned only to be rejected again. The day after, as well.

With only three days left before the date the prince had given to Charlotte to come to dinner and become his lover, they were desperately running out of time. Joanna’s already taut nerves were further strained when Charlotte received a lavish ruby bracelet from the prince. Attached to it was a key and an invitation to a clandestine address for a private audience with him.

To add to her concerns, she hadn’t heard anything from Spencer since he’d given her the deed to the building. Her uncle must have done something…tried something in the days after he found out about Spencer’s snooping in Tilbury. The threat Pottinger had warned them of was not a jest!

Ashton could learn Pottinger had betrayed him. He’d already tried to kill Spencer and Joanna once; he could strike again at any moment. No one would have recognized her in Tilbury, but they would have a description. Had he already deduced that the woman helping Spencer was his own niece? If so, her life was in danger along with Spencer’s.

It was a miracle Joanna had kept her affair with him secret at all. She certainly couldn’t write him a letter or show up at his door. Any attempt to contact him directly would compromise her.

On top of her concern for his well-being, she missed him. She felt a physical need he had awakened, like a constant ache within her only he could soothe.

Besides, they had to talk about next steps, discuss the fact that now Ashton could be tried for high treason, and what it meant for their alliance.

There was only one way she could think of to contact Spencer without destroying her reputation…but it was the one thing she really, really didn’t want to do.

She had been introduced to Penelope…so she could call on her and ask discreetly about Spencer. But she’d rather bathe in boiling oil than call on Penelope.

Then she remembered that Penelope was not her only option. She called on the dowager on the third day after Spencer gave her the newspaper building. But she was told the duchess was out at the art soirée of Penelope, the Duchess of Grandhampton, which was open to everyone. So if Joanna wanted to see the dowager, she could visit her grandson’s home.

Joanna sighed deeply and inquired about the address of the Duke and Duchess of Grandhampton and set off. It wasn’t far. When she climbed the steps to a very modern and elegant Mayfair town house, she thought she noticed a man leaning against a tree and watching the house. But when she turned to fully look at him, he was gone. She brushed off an uneasy sensation as a shiver ran through her.

She tapped with the knocker, and a pleasant butler opened the door.

“Are you here for the art reception, miss?”

She cleared her throat. “Yes, yes I am.”

He nodded. “Follow me, please. Miss…?”

“Miss Joanna Digby.”

“Very good.”

She followed the butler through the tastefully decorated hallway and into a large salon where there must have been twenty or so people. Ladies and gentlemen talked, drank tea, and looked at various paintings hanging on three walls.

“Miss Joanna Digby,” announced the butler, and several heads turned to Joanna.

She cleared her throat. Previously, she’d have been uncomfortable and would wish to hide, but she didn’t anymore. She was brave, resourceful, determined, and would do anything to help her family. And she was a popular writer, even though under a pen name. Moreover, she had defeated a thug to save Spencer.

She had no reason to hide. Perhaps she never had.

With astonishment, she saw her aunt in the farther corner of the room, talking to a woman with dark hair. Her aunt’s eyes were on her—large, and full of guilt.

In the next moment, Joanna’s eyes fell on the man she had been missing so much. He stood very close to the Duchess of Grandhampton, leaning over to her with such familiarity! Right in front of everyone.

Jealousy hit Joanna like a wall of fire. Penelope was so incredibly beautiful, with her dark blond hair in an impeccable chignon and her face glowing with health, her eyes glistening, her cheeks perfectly rosy. She was flushed, talking to him, and when her gaze fell on Joanna, shock widened her eyes.

Joanna was like an overstuffed pillow compared to the stately, elegant, and beautiful Duchess of Grandhampton. She couldn’t feel more like an intruder. Like she should never have come.

No matter what Spencer said, how intensely he made love to her, how many buildings he gave her… He’d never be hers.

He’d always be Penelope’s.

“Miss Digby…” Penelope murmured as she approached Joanna. “You’re very welcome.”

Joanna glanced at Spencer, whose dark eyes had fastened to her with intensity. A tall, dark-haired man who resembled Spencer in the way that he was as dark-haired and handsome, but even taller and with a less muscular, more athletic figure, came to stand next to Penelope.

“Thank you,” murmured Joanna.

“Allow me to introduce my husband and Spencer’s brother Preston. The Duke of Grandhampton.”

Joanna studied him, remembering all the things Spencer had told her about him. This was the man who had stolen the love of Spencer’s life. Who had taken his title, his position, his lands, and his woman.

He was all angles, too, but different than Spencer. Somehow, he was more distant, more aloof, and yet there was kindness in his eyes.

“Pleased to meet you, Duke,” said Joanna.

“The pleasure is mine.” He gave her a small ceremonial bow. “Please, do come in.”

“Thank you,” she said again as she slowly made her way into the room, feeling Spencer’s gaze on her like a red-hot vise.

“I’m glad you came,” said Penelope, her voice sweet and friendly. “This is the first little art show that I’m organizing with the help of your aunt. These are all paintings made by female artists.”

Joanna stopped walking and looked at the wall. Almost every inch of it was covered with paintings. They were magnificent…flowers…landscapes…portraits… All painted by women.

“There are more in two adjacent rooms,” said Penelope, her voice shaking a little. Why did Joanna think Penelope sounded nervous? Surely someone as elegant and collected as the duchess couldn’t be nervous. “And all the artists are here. There are only five of us today. Miss de Luca is here, too. She’s my mentor. And Mr. Turner. Allow me to introduce you…”

Damnation, Joanna liked this woman! Like Joanna, she seemed to want to empower women and do something to allow women to have more chances and opportunities in this world. It was little wonder Spencer could not imagine a future with Joanna when he’d once hoped to marry such a beautiful and lovely woman as Penelope.

And the famous artist William Turner was here? Joanna had heard about him from her aunt during the time when she’d lived in Neverton Place. Her aunt admired Mr. Turner and his work very much.

“I’d love to, Duchess, but perhaps later?” said Joanna. “May I talk to my aunt first? I didn’t mean to intrude on your art event. I was looking for her,” Joanna lied.

Her glance darted again to Spencer, who slowly made his way towards her.

“Oh, please, Miss Digby,” said the duke, “you’re not intruding. My brother talked about you, and I know my wife spoke highly of you from when you met at your aunt’s. Besides, you may not be aware, but I witnessed your dramatic fall and my brother rescuing you at the opera.”

Joanna chuckled. That seemed so long ago. She had been a different woman then.

“Did he?” Penelope inquired, a twinkle of humor in her gaze as she regarded Spencer, who stood next to them.

“Miss Digby,” he said in greeting. “Lovely to see you here. How is your sister?”

Joanna swallowed. “She’s well. Just nervous because her royal…invitation…expires in only three days.”

Spencer’s eyes grew concerned. Penelope and Preston both frowned and exchanged a confused gaze.

“Oh,” said Spencer. “Then something must be done…and soon.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Joanna. “I was hoping to get my aunt’s advice.”

“Good idea.” He nodded.

“And have you seen more of your Tilbury friends?” she asked after quickly glancing him over, trying to see any signs of injury, new bruises or scars. Fortunately, there were none.

“Who are your Tilbury friends?” asked Preston, looking baffled. “Is that a new gentlemen’s club I don’t know about?”

“They tried to see me,” Spencer said, ignoring his brother. “Invited me to a boxing match. But I was not feeling up to it. I’m sure they’ll be back.”

A sharp stab of worry had Joanna catching her breath. So the man outside, watching the house, was probably one of Ashton’s men, sent to follow or harm Spencer.

“What are you talking about, Spencer?” demanded Penelope. “You are not fit to box!”

“I agree,” said Preston. “Next time your Tilbury friends come, send them to me.”

“Perhaps it’s best to convey a firm message of disinterest,” suggested Joanna. “Especially to the person coordinating the match.”

“Most definitely,” Spencer concurred with a knowing grin. “Their organizer must be discouraged from further attempts.”

Joanna nodded, and her glance returned to her aunt, who stood in the corner of the room, looking at a painting of peonies that was hung above her.

“Excuse me, I must speak with my aunt,” she said.

“Of course,” said Penelope. “It’s lovely to have you here, Miss Digby. I do hope we can be friends!”

Joanna nodded and pressed out a smile. She appreciated the sentiment but doubted she could ever be a big enough person to be friends with the woman who occupied Spencer’s heart.

“Thank you, Duchess,” she said, and with a smile to Preston and Spencer, she walked to her aunt, her heart drumming in her chest.

When she stood next to the Duchess of Ashton, she looked up at the painting. “Hello, Aunt.”

“Joanna, how are you?” the duchess asked, turning around to her with a polite, tense smile.

“I am well. I came to inquire after you three days in a row…but you weren’t home,” said Joanna.

“Yes. I am sorry, dear,” she said, her voice soft. Joanna sensed her aunt was genuinely sorry. “I was occupied with the duke.”

So Joanna was right. It must be her uncle’s influence. Perhaps he did, indeed, suspect her of working with Spencer. Or perhaps he just didn’t want Joanna to try to get the duchess involved in the affair with Charlotte.

“That is all right, Aunt,” said Joanna. “I worry about you, that is all.”

The duchess’s eyes watered, and her lower lip trembled slightly. Her eyes filled with tenderness. “Oh, Joanna.” She inhaled sharply. “You’re so sweet, my darling.”

Joanna smiled at her aunt and looked at the paintings. “I wish there were no one standing between us. I truly want to keep our friendship. And I am so very impressed at you supporting such talented artists.”

The duchess nodded sadly. “It always had been my ambition to do art, but I was never given an opportunity to better myself. The duke found it…unfeminine.”

Joanna nodded in understanding. “My uncle can be quite strict with his views.”

The duchess sighed and started to walk into another room; it was very spacious and, Joanna guessed, was used as a reception room for balls and events. The doors were just next to them.

“Let me show you one particular painting—it is my favorite.” They went into the room, and there were more paintings hanging on the walls. Unlike in the other room, there was no one else here. They stopped before a portrait of three children—an older boy and two girls. All three were under ten years old. “Miss de Luca painted it. She’s a master of portraits… Just look at the light, at the children’s innocence and happiness, and the joy in their eyes… But that is not the reason it’s my favorite. Why I love it so much…it reminds me of you three. Your sister, your brother…and you, darling.”

Joanna smiled, a bittersweet feeling surging in her heart. “I can see that.”

Her aunt smiled and looked at the portrait again. “I never had children,” she added sadly. “All I was my entire life was a pretty accessory to a powerful man. Our attempts to have children failed in the beginning, and then the duke stopped coming to me completely.” She chuckled. “Forgive me for such details. You probably don’t want to hear about it.”

“No, no,” said Joanna. “I want to know about you and your life.”

“But you…” The duchess gently cupped Joanna’s cheek. “You’ve always been my favorite. I never understood why your mama and papa overlooked you. Maybe I could relate to the same feeling you had…being insignificant for someone…and yet, unlike me, you kept your strength and your kindness.”

Joanna’s chest melted, and she cupped the duchess’s hand with her own. “Aunt, this means so much to me…”

The duchess smiled and removed her hand, looking back at the portrait. Something had changed about her aunt, too, Joanna thought. She had always been such a perfect duchess—polite, well-bred, beautiful, strong, an absolute master of conversations.

Yet, she seemed tired. Almost exhausted. Not too far away from a breaking point… What had her uncle done in the past few days? Or was it the accumulated effect of years of marriage to him?

“He lost almost all interest in me a long time ago,” the duchess said. “I did hear rumors of his affair with the Duchess of Loxchester… She’s the dowager duchess now, as her son, the duke, married last year. If I’m honest, I didn’t mind. If Ashton had given me children, I would have lived for them. It seemed, he didn’t notice anything beyond his own life, and it didn’t matter to him what happened after he’d be gone. Most dukes want an heir. Most dukes would blame their wives for being barren. He never even criticized me for it. But he…it was as though he simply…forgot.”

“You would have been a wonderful mother,” said Joanna, squeezing the duchess’s hand. “You’re a wonderful aunt.”

“Oh, darling. I am sorry for what the duke has done to his own kin. Taking away Gideon’s inheritance…your and Charlotte’s dowries… That had always been very hard for me to see.”

Joanna swallowed. She wouldn’t have a better moment than this.

“Perhaps there is a way for you to change that,” said Joanna.

The duchess sighed and frowned. “Me? What can I do?”

“I know about America, Aunt,” said Joanna very quietly. “My uncle and America, that is.”

Her aunt swallowed, paling a little. Her chest rose and fell very quickly. “I cannot imagine what you mean.”

“I mean, he’s involved in bad business.”

Her aunt scoffed softly and walked to the next painting, her hand clutching at her neck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dear. Look at the fur of this dog…how realistic, isn’t it?”

Joanna licked her suddenly dry lips. She could lose her aunt at any moment. “It is very realistic! It’s also very realistic that my uncle is not just doing harm to Gideon by withholding the deed and inheritance. Did you know he made a deal with the prince regent to get Charlotte to become the prince’s mistress?”

The duchess gasped, turning to Joanna. “He did what?”

Joanna took her aunt’s cold hands in her own. “Charlotte is in love with someone who’s serving at the wars in the Baltics. He hasn’t proposed yet, but it’s implied. Even if she wasn’t in love, Aunt, she’d be ruined. Our Charlotte would be a royal whore! Your own niece!”

The duchess’s eyebrows crawled up in a saddened and angry expression. “I can’t believe that!”

“It’s true. The prince regent has requested Charlotte to attend him alone in three days. The duke won’t give us back the deed, won’t allow his title to pass on to Gideon, unless she agrees to be the prince’s lover.”

Her aunt shook her head in disbelief, her eyes looking somewhere in the distance. “No, that can’t be. He can’t have fallen so low as to prostitute his own niece!”

“I’m sorry, but he has. He must have a powerful motivation to do this, though. I can’t believe it’s only because he’s such a callous and selfish man.”

“How awful! I can’t let him do that to Charlotte. I certainly was such a bargain for my own father when he married me to the duke. I loved someone else…wanted to marry him…but my father wanted the duke’s connections and support. And so, here I am.”

Joanna’s heart swelled for her aunt. How ghastly and miserable that must have been for her.

“What if there was a way to set you free?”

“What are you talking about?” the duchess asked nervously.

“Imagine you were free from his control. What would you do? Paint portraits? Carve sculptures? What would your life look like if you could live the rest of your days the way you always wished to live? What if you could get rid of him?”

The duchess made big eyes at her. “Whatever do you mean by get rid of him? Surely not murder?”

Joanna shook her head. “Of course not. But my uncle must be punished for the crimes he has committed.”

The duchess tore her hands away from Joanna and put one on her stomach, breathing hard. “You know how dangerous it is. He’s already been so increasingly nervous in the past few days. He snaps at me more often. He has surrounded himself with some very questionable men. He even—”

She cut herself off, her hand wrapping around her stomach.

“What?” Joanna demanded, her skin growing cold. “Has he put his hands on you?”

The duchess straightened her back and let out a shaky breath. “It does not matter, Joanna. He is dangerous.”

“Yes. But we almost have him. We have already acquired evidence. All we need is you. Lord Spencer Seaton has been working on this, too. He will protect you if you need it.”

The duchess swallowed. “Joanna, you can’t imagine… If Ashton finds out…”

“I know. We’re all risking our lives and our families. We’re very close to our goal. But we can’t do it without you.”

The duchess shook her head, looking at her feet. “Joanna—”

“Would you live for the rest of your life with a guilty conscience? Knowing you could have stopped your niece’s ruin, the injustice against thousands of men fighting a war, and the misery in your own life?”

Her aunt’s face crumpled, and tears filled her eyes. She sniffled, and a tear fell on her shoe. Joanna hugged her by the shoulders.

Finally, the duchess nodded. “You’re right, dear. I can’t stand this anymore. If I can help, I will. What do you need?”

Joanna told the duchess everything they knew—what had happened to Spencer and the evidence they’d found, the testimony.

“But we don’t know why he’s doing it,” said Joanna.

The duchess sighed and shook her head. “When he was in America about thirty years ago, he bought property in Springfield, Massachusetts, and a gun manufacturer. The war is profitable for him because he can sell his guns to use against his own compatriots. And the information he supplies to the enemy helps them win and therefore protects his interests in America.”

Shock washed over Joanna. He was supplying guns to kill the men of his own country?

“Can you find the deeds to that property?” she asked. “And the names of his managers?”

The duchess frowned, thinking. “I could, yes,” she said. “I know where he keeps important documents. He doesn’t know that.”

“Can you get them tonight?” asked Joanna, her heart beating fast.

“I don’t know. Perhaps not, but I’ll do my best to get them in the next few days.”

“Please hurry, Aunt,” said Joanna. “So many people’s destinies are at stake. Including Charlotte’s, Gideon’s…and my own.”

And Spencer’s… God, please let no harm come to Spencer. He had suffered through enough.

“I will, Joanna. But don’t come to the mansion. I will send the documents to you with a loyal footman I know I can trust. To your home.”

“Thank you. Do hurry. We only have three days.”

“You will have it by then, darling.”

“And will you testify in court if it comes to it?”

The duchess paled, but nodded, resolved. “I will. My husband is a dangerous man. If he finds out, God help me, God help Lord Spencer, and God help you.”