Chapter 33

CHAPTER33

The carriage came to a standstill outside the Mayfair townhouse that Adam had spoken of so often but Nancy had never visited. It seemed a shame that she had to see it for the first time under such unpleasant circumstances, but perhaps there would be happier occasions, once all of this was behind them.

A footman came to the door and helped her out.

“Thank you,” Nancy said quietly, the street deathly silent. It was long past midnight, after all.

Indeed, Dorothea had refused to allow Nancy to take the carriage until the plan had been thoroughly mapped out, the four ladies—Marina, Mrs. Holloway, Nancy, and Dorothea—covering every possible situation over the course of several animated hours, Nancy’s departure ending up closer to dinner than breakfast.

Nevertheless, it had been enlightening for Nancy to see how his mother and the housekeeper he had known since he had been a child had rallied to his aid, trusting in him entirely.

I must have faith in him, too.

However, a small doubt lingered in the back of Nancy’s mind. She had also come to realize that Miss Eastleigh’s child could not be Adam’s, but the fact that he had gone to London, presumably with the belief that it was his, gave her pause for thought. It meant he had lied to her. The new Adam, the Adam she could see herself spending the rest of her life with, had lied, and that lodged like a fishbone in her heart.

Drawing in a deep breath, Nancy approached the house. She glanced up and realized that there were no lights at the front porch.

Did he venture out to meet with Miss Eastleigh?

She knocked lightly on the door, her heart in her throat.

It opened a moment later, but the figure was not the one she had hoped to see. And he was half turned, staring down the long entrance hall, where soft, sultry laughter tinkled in the near distance.

“I thought I told you to go around the—” Harry halted sharply, his face twisting into a scowl as he finally turned and saw whom he was talking to. “Your Grace, this is an unexpected surprise. Might I be of service?”

Nancy frowned at him, wondering who it was he had thought she was. “I should like to see my husband, so if you might stand aside, that would be greatly appreciated.”

“I am afraid I cannot do that,” Harry replied, closing the door slightly so only his face showed in the gap. “Your husband is not here. He has gone to Smithson’s for the evening.”

That high-pitched, grating laughter echoed down the hallway once more, sparking a memory in Nancy’s mind. She knew that laughter. She had heard it in the gardens. It was one of the sounds that had torn her husband away from her after their first kiss.

“I do not believe you,” Nancy said coldly, her heart thundering in her chest.

Why was Miss Eastleigh laughing like that? If Adam was seeking to resolve the situation, she would not be laughing. Indeed, she should be crying or wailing or screaming, doing everything in her power to demand financial support from him.

Harry shrugged. “Nevertheless, you cannot enter. I have guests, and, as I said, your husband is not here.”

“As the Duchess of Stapleton, you cannot deny me entry,” Nancy said, surprised by the authority in her voice.

Harry smiled. “I have been asked to deny you entry by the Duke of Stapleton, so I am afraid I can deny you, and I am doing exactly that.”

He closed the door without another word, leaving her fuming on the porch step, her hands curling into fists that she dearly wished to punch into his smug face. She had never much cared for the fellow, and once this was over, she hoped she never had to see him again.

Perhaps I shall see neither again.

Her ears were ringing with the sound of that awful, shrill laughter. It made no sense for Miss Eastleigh to be there so late, and it made even less sense for her to be in high spirits.

Maybe Nancy had misjudged the entire relationship between Adam and Miss Eastleigh. Maybe Mrs. Holloway and Dorothea were mistaken about Adam never entertaining a woman’s company for longer than a fortnight. Maybe Miss Eastleigh had been the exception, and now that she was with child, he had made his choice—a choice that put Nancy back where she had begun, as a wife in name only.

There was every chance that he wished to be a father more than he wished to be a husband.

Nancy made her way down the steps and was about to admit defeat, stepping back into the carriage, when something made her stop.

“I thought I told you to go around the—”

How was that sentence supposed to end?

“I thought I told you to go around the… back?” Nancy whispered to herself, her suspicions rising.

She turned and observed the townhouse, spotting a narrow alleyway to the left. There was a gate at the mouth of it, but even from a distance, she could see that it was slightly ajar.

I will not be sent away as if I were no one. If my husband has abandoned me, I will be told directly. I will not wait to be heartbroken like my mother before me.

She marched toward the open gate and slipped down the side of the house, stalking through the dark like a cat until she reached a second gate. That, too, had been left ajar, opening out into a long rear garden where cherry blossoms shed their snowy petals and boxwoods bordered the back terrace, to prevent prying eyes from seeing through the windows.

Finding a gap in the boxwoods, Nancy crept through, the fronds scratching at her face and arms as if to hold her back. A narrow strip of flagstones sat between the boxwoods and the only window that spilled light out into the darkness.

Ducking down, she approached the pane, peering over the sill like a creature that had scented a cooling pie.

Her heart dropped into her stomach.

Adam was sitting in an armchair, angled away from the window. Miss Eastleigh was draped in his lap, his arms around her, laughing as if she had not just stolen the world from Nancy.

Miss Eastleigh held a glass of wine in her hand and brought it to Adam’s lips before taking a sip for herself, and though Nancy could only see the back of Adam’s head, it seemed fairly clear that he was enjoying himself and not thinking at all of his wife.

Her heart cracked.

No… You told me you were falling in love with me. You… lay with me!

Tears blurred her vision as she watched Miss Eastleigh extricate herself from Adam’s arms and saunter off toward a side table stocked with decanters of all kinds of liquor and wines. But Nancy wiped her eyes and squinted at Miss Eastleigh’s belly, noting the obvious roundness.

Indeed, Miss Eastleigh must have been several months into her pregnancy, or had eaten an exceptionally large meal, to have a belly like that.

This has been going on for months?

Nancy should have felt crushed, but a voice in the back of her head whispered, “Even you know that is unlikely.”

It was at that moment that Nancy noticed Adam’s arm hanging limply past the armrest, his head lolling back against the top of the armchair as if Miss Eastleigh’s arm around his shoulders had been the only thing holding it up.

Puzzled, Nancy edged further along the windowsill, craning her neck to get a better view. Sure enough, Adam’s eyes were closed, his mouth slack. He was asleep… or unconscious.

It is a charade!

Nancy’s hopes soared, bringing forth a sudden spike of rage toward Miss Eastleigh and Harry. But before she could hammer her fist against the glass to let Miss Eastleigh know she had been caught, a loud gasp whispered up from a nearby cluster of boxwoods. A rustle followed, and in the darkness, Nancy saw a blur darting past, heading for the gates of the garden.

Without thinking, she gave chase, pursuing the figure down the alleyway. Up ahead, the figure skidded to a halt, grappling frantically with the gate that must have closed shut behind Nancy when she had passed through it. Hands rattled at the locking mechanism, panting breaths filling the air.

“Who are you?” Nancy demanded to know, catching up.

The figure froze. “Uh… a thief.”

“A thief in a fine greatcoat?” Nancy snorted, noting the excellent tailoring. “I think not.”

From the other side of the gate, a shadow moved, stepping out from behind a short pillar that ended the dividing wall between Adam’s townhouse and the next. Swathed in a hooded cloak, the figure walked right up to the gate, wrapped their hands around the iron bars, and stared down at the supposed thief.

A grim expression wrinkled the nose of the cloaked figure. “I know who you are,” she said as another person emerged from the opposite pillar. “Your Grace, I think we ought to take this gentleman into our carriage to have a few words with him.”

“Who is he?” Nancy asked.

The lady dropped her hood, revealing herself to be Mrs. Holloway. “This is Mr. Kingston, Miss Eastleigh’s former betrothed. Or do you prefer Mr. White, the infamous writer for the scandal sheets?” She caught hold of the man by the wrist. “I am right, am I not?”

“How do you know that?” the man hissed.

“I watch and hear everything,” Mrs. Holloway replied. “You were at Stapleton Court the night young Harold decided to have a party. Hiding in the bushes like a Peeping Tom. Do you remember me?”

The man frowned. “You… came outside.”

“I did, and you fled,” Mrs. Holloway said, chuckling grimly. “But you left your satchel behind. Were you aware of that?”

The man paled, even in the faint light of the moon. “You have it? That is my property. I demand its immediate return.”

“Oh, I torched it all, Mr. White, Mr. Kingston—whoever you are.” Mrs. Holloway grinned. “But not before reading every page and discovering your identity. Rather cruel of you, though, to write a story about a woman you professed to have loved since you were a boy. It was an ugly piece. I much preferred the one that was published—less vindictive, I feel. A simple severing of an engagement. Did you have someone else write it?”

Mr. Kingston curled his lip. “I made those notes to protect myself. What was published was all I had the stomach to write, in the end.” His breath caught. “I knew of her pregnancy. I told her I would raise the child as my own if she would swear her loyalty to me and love me as I have loved her all these years. She promised to, but then I followed her to Stapleton Court and watched her cavort with him, betraying me, though I would have moved heaven and Earth to save her from scorn.”

“She did not cavort with my husband! I saw him shun her with my own eyes,” Nancy shot back.

Mr. Kingston whipped around, glowering at her. “She was not cavorting with your husband, you dolt! She was cavorting with Harry, the blasted father of her child! The one man I was insistent upon her never seeing again!” He sucked in a breath. “Your husband was merely meant to be the scapegoat—the man to fund my Catherine and that wretched Harry’s life, henceforth.”

“Then why were you in the bushes just now?” Nancy pressed a hand to her chest, realizing that the situation was far more twisted than she had thought.

“Harry does not know that I am Mr. Kingston. He knows me only as Mr. White—the infamous writer, as this lady just said. He asked me to come to the townhouse tonight to witness something sordid, and to write about it for the next scandal sheets,” Mr. Kingston explained, tears in his eyes. “He mentioned that my Catherine would be here, not realizing my attachment, and I wanted to see how far she would stoop, but… I intended to write the truth.”

Nancy nodded slowly. “You mean to write of Miss Eastleigh and Harry?”

“But then I saw you. You were so close to me, and I did not wish to be caught, in case you knew who I was, so I ran,” Mr. Kingston said. “I am sorry for calling you a dolt. I am… rather upset, as you can imagine. I would have saved that girl from ruin, and she… betrayed me.”

Nancy put her hand on his shoulder. “Write what you intended to write. Expose everything about Harry and Miss Eastleigh. Be as vindictive as you please, as long as you paint my husband in a benevolent light. Tell the world that my husband rejected her, that he had no involvement with her, and he was merely her chosen target for blackmail. Ensure you use the words, ‘Who would believe him, given his reputation.’ But ensure you write that he has changed, that he is beloved and in love with his wife.”

“They… drugged him. I saw it,” Mr. Kingston added sheepishly. “Harry did, at least. My Catherine arrived soon after.”

Nancy nodded. “I know. Make sure you write about that, too.”

“My boy has been drugged?” Dorothea gasped, throwing back her hood.

“He will not come to any harm,” Mr. Kingston hurried to say. “It is for the deception, nothing more. I suppose Harry wanted me to think it was real, not realizing who I am, but I was already here waiting when he put the powder into His Grace’s drink.”

Nancy looked at her mother-in-law and the housekeeper. “We must force our way inside, immediately.” She glanced back at Mr. Kingston. “As for you, you are free to leave and write the most damning piece of base literature that has ever been written. But if you should betray meand my generosity this evening, I shall find you, and it will not be pretty when I do. Am I understood?”

“You are,” Mr. Kingston replied, nodding vigorously. “I am… terribly sorry that you have been dragged into this mess. Indeed, I had heard that you and His Grace were exceedingly happy. I hope that you may continue to be and that I shall play a small part in that. I will not betray you. I will not allow you to suffer as I have done—as I am suffering, I suppose.”

Nancy reached past him and lifted the locking mechanism, pulling the gate open. “Then you may leave.”

“I swear, I will not defy your wishes,” Mr. Kingston assured, ducking through the gate. He tipped his hat, bowing his head for a moment, before darting off down the street and into the darkness.

As Nancy watched him go, she prayed she had not just made a grave mistake by believing him.

“He is inside,” she said, beckoning for Dorothea and Mrs. Holloway to follow her. “I think we shall stand a greater chance of getting in if we use the rear entrance.”

Mrs. Holloway put her fingers to her lips and whistled. Almost immediately, Marina appeared, running fast and nearly missing the spot where the three other women were standing. She veered at the last moment, bumping into the pillar, and as she held her bruised arm, she whispered, “Sorry. I was keeping watch. There was a man. He just ran away from here.”

“We know,” Nancy said softly. “Now, let us save my husband.”

Dorothea pulled a grim face. “I never did like that Harold fellow.”

“Neither did I,” Mrs. Holloway agreed as the quartet marched down the alleyway in single file, each fully prepared to batter down the door if they could not gain entry any other way.