Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

T here were many gentlemen’s clubs in London, of course. Only a handful were respectable, and naturally, those handful were crammed full to the brim more often than not with every man who could claim to be a gentleman desperate to get a membership.

Theodore kept memberships to them all—White’s, Tattersall’s, and more—but his favorite remained Clara’s Heart. In the middle of the day, it was generally very quiet, and he could fully relax.

Stephen waited for him there, at their usual table, with two glasses of brandy waiting for them. He grinned wolfishly as Theodore approached.

“Aha, here is the man of the hour. Our blushing groom—the married man.”

“Enough with the jokes, Stephen. Marriage won’t change my life one jot.”

“You can think that if you like.”

“I do think that. Be quiet and drink your brandy.”

Stephen chuckled, a smooth, slightly unhinged laugh that was considered unseemly for a man and was often to be found echoing in a ballroom or a card room. Not that anyone would dare to mock Stephen for his unusual laugh. Not if they wished to remain whole and alive. It generally preceded something shocking, like the besmirching of a lady’s reputation or an act of violence. The Blackheart nickname had been well-earned.

“So very harsh,” Stephen sighed, taking a long sip of his drink. “Why do I feel as if your wedding night was less than satisfying?”

“That,” Theodore said brusquely, “is none of your business. Now, speaking of business, let’s get down to it. Have any of your informants found anything new to tell me?”

Stephen shook his head. “Not a word. Wherever your brother has gone, he has covered his tracks well.”

“He can’t have done. Henry is an airhead.”

“Are you sure? I always got the impression he was cleverer than he looked. Besides, Henry knows you well. He knows me well, and he knows you’ll be on his trail. This carelessness about your own blood might fool the world in general, but Henry knows that you won’t simply let him disappear.”

A headache was building between Theodore’s temples, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. The brandy was not helping, but he swigged it back anyway.

He had slept poorly last night and had been greeted by piles of work in his study, things that had accumulated over the past week, when he’d been occupied with looking for Henry and planning his wedding.

Where had the wretched boy gone? He’d taken a good deal of his money, so there was no worry about him starving in the streets, but that was quite beside the point. The whole of Society was talking about his disappearance, to say nothing of his jilting his unfortunate bride.

Theodore’s marriage to the said bride had, of course, clawed back some of their respectability there, but the question remained: where was Lord Henry Stanley?

“So am I to believe there’s nothing?” Theodore repeated after a long pause. “All those eyes and ears of yours, and none of them can catch a whisper of gossip about the whereabouts of one young man?”

Stephen did not seem offended, although he eyed his friend over his glass with glittering eyes. “Careful, Theodore. I don’t take kindly to harsh words. I’m doing my best, and so are my informants. This isn’t gossip, you know. It’s a proper investigation, and whether you believe he’s capable of it or not, your brother has covered his tracks well.”

There was more silence after that.

Stephen eyed Theodore for a long time, then let out a long sigh, setting aside his glass and leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

“There’s something you aren’t telling me. Come on, man. Out with it.”

“Stephen…”

“No, I mean it. How can I help you if you won’t tell me everything?”

Theodore rolled back his shoulders. “Fine, fine. Well, I told you that we hadn’t had any correspondence from Henry, didn’t I? Beyond the note he sent to his poor bride-to-be at the church. That was not true, although I did not know it at the time.”

“He has communicated?”

Theodore nodded. “He sent a letter. Not to me, I might add. To Anna. To my wife.”

That had gotten the other man’s attention.

Stephen’s cold eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. “I see. Well, that’s unusual.”

Theodore sighed again. The day was wearing on, and Clara’s Heart was filling up slowly but surely. In another hour or two, it would be packed to the rafters, full of laughing, hiccuping drunks filling the place with noise and heat. Theodore generally preferred to leave before then if he could.

“I suppose I’d better tell you the whole story.”

Stephen leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “I suppose you’d better.”

As quickly and bluntly as he could, removing the more untoward details, Theodore recounted the events of the previous night. To his own shock, he felt anger well in his chest when he described how the letter had fallen out of Anna’s sleeve, of all places, and how she’d scrambled to snatch it up, as if it were precious to her.

Stephen listened to it all with his usual impassive expression, never reacting in any way. It was one of the reasons why Theodore appreciated his friend so much—he could keep a cool head, listen evenly, and offer good, measured advice.

Of course, if one wanted an emotional reaction, one would be disappointed, but Theodore did not. That was one of the reasons why their friendship was so valuable and had lasted for quite so long. Generally speaking, Duke Blackheart wore through his friends at an alarming rate.

“I see,” Stephen said neutrally when Theodore finished recounting the story. “Why don’t you tell me what you suspect, and I shall listen some more.”

It was a typical Stephen answer. He was never forthright when one wanted him to be.

“I believe she was fond of my brother,” Theodore answered grimly. “I think perhaps she was in love with him. If he knew that, I know he would be softhearted enough to send her a letter. And why else would she keep it safe in that way if she was not in love with him? A woman in that position might be expected to be angry, hurt, and eager for revenge. From what I know of my new wife, she’s no shrinking violet. I cannot understand why she is not angry with him.”

“You sound impressed.”

Theodore blinked. “Well, I am. She’s a fearsome young woman, and that is exactly what I want in a duchess.”

“In the duchess that you do not intend to talk to or spend any time with?” Stephen prompted, and Theodore scowled.

“Yes, that duchess. You know why this worries me, Stephen. Don’t make light of it. I was taken for a fool once before, and I never will again.”

Stephen considered this for a moment. “You mean Isabella?”

Even her name made Theodore tense up, even though she had been dead for seven years.

“Yes,” he said tightly. “Isabella.”

Stephen glanced around, leaning forward and dropping his voice in a rare display of discretion. “What happened with Isabella was… was unusual.”

“She played me like one of her harps,” Theodore snapped back bitterly. “The whole of the ton must have been laughing at me.”

“You know quite well it was not that bad. You and Isabella might not have had a great deal in common, but you shared a desire for secrecy.”

In an instant, Theodore was no longer in the grimy front room of Clara’s Heart, sipping watery brandy, but back in The Hyacinth Room.

The air stank of blood, worse than anything he’d ever imagined. Childbed, it seemed, was far worse than Theodore could have understood. In the clubs, gentlemen made light of the children they had—and their bastards—and never seemed to give a second thought to the women who birthed them. Theodore had never given it a second thought.

It was impossible not to think of it now.

Isabella was stretched out on the bed, white as the sheets underneath her. At least, as white as the sheets had been before her labor began. He stood at her side, stiff-backed, and tried not to look at the mess of bloody sheets and cloths the grim-faced midwives were shoveling into baskets and carrying away. To be burned, no doubt. The entire mattress would have to be burned.

“Theo?” she rasped, her voice sounding like that of an old woman.

He swallowed hard, trying to wrap his head around what his wife had just told him.

“We will discuss this later,” he said, desperate to get out of the hot room that stank of death and copper.

Isabella made an odd, rasping sound, and he realized that she was laughing. Or trying to laugh, at least.

“Later? There won’t be a later for me. I’m dying.”

He tried not to look at the blood. There was a great deal of it. He focused on his wife’s pale, gaunt face instead.

“Nonsense. You’re strong. I’m sure you’ll pull through.”

She didn’t bother to contradict him. “You must keep it a secret, Theodore.”

The scent of blood was almost unbearable. “I cannot. I won’t.”

Isabella’s eyes, red-rimmed and sunken, widened. “You must. You must! I’m dying, Theo! I won’t see another dawn! Please promise me. Please! I am begging you. Will you do this last thing for me?”

He closed his eyes momentarily. There were a thousand things he wanted to say, but he had no idea how to say any of them, and he almost certainly did not have the time. In the end, he settled for a single word.

“Yes.”

The strain faded from Isabella’s face. She let out a long sigh and let her head fall back against the pillow, her long black hair straggling out around her like seaweed.

“Name her after my mother,” Isabella said drowsily. “Call her Katherine. Mama would have liked that. She always wanted a granddaughter.”

“And what does the newest Duchess say about all of this?”

Stephen’s words roughly jerked Theodore back to the present. He cleared his throat, adjusting his position. He swore that he could still smell copper.

“She says that she and Henry are just friends. A likely story.”

Stephen shrugged. “It could be true. I never thought that Henry was the type to, er, seek out the affections of ladies.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean Anna is not in love with him, does it? My Duchess must be mine, Stephen, and so must my heir.”

“Well, that’s fair enough, I suppose. What do you intend to do?”

Theodore shrugged. “She wants us to spend time together.”

There was a brief pause, and then Stephen spluttered. “Time? She wants you to spend time together? Oh, heavens. She wants to be wooed.”

“It’s not like that at all.”

“Are you sure? That is what it sounds like.” Stephen paused, hesitating, then spoke again. “Considering the circumstances, is it a good idea to find Henry and bring him home?”

Theodore pressed his lips together. “He must be found. He cannot embarrass us like this. I am the head of this family, and perhaps I’ve given him too much free rein. That will stop. But first, I have to find him. At the very least, he owes Anna an apology. What would she have done if I hadn’t married her? Henry never thinks ahead. He is not cruel, never has been, but he can be thoughtless enough for it to seem like cruelty.”

“As opposed to you and I, who are straightforwardly cruel.”

“Don’t make a joke of all this.”

“I’m not. Truly, Theodore, I’m not.” Stephen hesitated for a moment, then reached out to pat Theodore’s knee. “Look. Listen to me, you miserable man. You have a chance at a new beginning. A fresh start. Regardless of what happened to you in the past, or how you have been hurt, tomorrow can always be different from today, do you understand?”

“Goodness,” Theodore said wryly. “What an inspiring phrase. Perhaps I’ll ask my new wife to stitch it into a sampler.”

“Don’t mock me, Theo. You know I’m right.”

“Listen. Anna and I have got it all worked out. Once there is an heir, we’ll go our separate ways. It’s really quite simple.”

Stephen narrowed his eyes. “Ah, yes. I forgot how famously simple life is. Silly me.”

He gestured elegantly for a waiter, who hurried over to take away their empty brandy glasses.

“Two more, then?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.

Theodore shook his head. “I’ll go home, I think. I’m not in the mood for too much drinking today. Thank you for your advice, though. I’ll choose which parts of it to take.”

Stephen chuckled. “You always do. But in all seriousness, think on what I said. A fresh start could do you good. Henry has gone off searching for one, so why can’t you step back and clear your head before you twist your life into a knot too tight to detangle?”

Theodore rose smoothly to his feet. “Because I am the Duke of Langdon, Stephen. There’s no room for me to step back . For now, continue looking for Henry if you will.”

He turned to go, but Stephen spoke again, stopping him. “What did the letter say?”

Theodore glanced back at him. “Hm?”

“The letter from Henry. What did it say?”

“I didn’t read it.”

Stephen pursed his lips. “Hm. Did she prevent you?”

“No.”

“Then don’t you think you should?”

“I think that is my business, Stephen, and none of yours.”

Stephen shrugged, not offended in the slightest. “As you like.”

“My aim is that by the time my brother returns—and he will return if I have to drag him home by the scruff of his neck—my wife will be mine .”

Stephen tilted his head to the side, an inquisitive bird. “You seem to care a great deal about possessing this woman, Theo. One would almost think that you were jealous of Henry.”

Theodore clenched his teeth. “I am many things, my friend, but I am not jealous of my brother, I can assure you of that.”

Stephen smiled brightly. “Well, I am entirely convinced.”