“If I could request an audience with Her Grace I would be most obliged.”
The butler took his hat, gloves, and greatcoat before leading him into the blue drawing room. “I will inform Her Grace that you have returned.”
“Thank you, Wilcox.”
The butler pulled the doors closed; leaving Leopold alone with the grandeur that was the Romsey’s formal drawing room. Leopold hated the chamber. Last time he’d stood here in near darkness he’d made a bargain with the devil himself. A bargain that, despite the sweetness of the moment, had sickened him for the deception he’d become a party to.
He glanced up at the walls and let his gaze rest on the old Duke of Romsey. The portrait of his father’s cousin held pride of place above the grand hearth, smiling with deceptive smugness. How often had he seen that self-same smile aimed at him?
More times than he cared to remember.
At the far end of the room hung another portrait, a new addition to the chamber since his last visit. His second cousin, the late Edwin Randall, sat in regal splendor, the very image of health and vigor. A pity reality hadn’t matched the portrait. Edwin, the fifth Duke of Romsey, had not enjoyed a long tenure as duke or the best of health. In fact, given the precarious strength of his heart, it surprised him that he’d lasted until his heir arrived. But, since he’d not produced another son before his early death, that meant Leopold was next in line for the title.
The thought didn’t please him. He wanted none of the pomp and certainly none of the intrigue that went hand in hand with the title. He had wealth enough to last a lifetime and wanted nothing from this place but answers.
He shifted his gaze to the woman holding an expressionless newborn child across her knees. The current duchess appeared a formidable woman. Dark haired, and grave in features. He hoped the child, named Edwin after his father, received a glimmer of parental affection from her. Or perhaps, as often was the case with the Duchess’ of Romsey, she left the care of her child in the hands of capable servants.
Poor child.
Edwin Randall, the sixth Duke of Romsey, had Leopold’s pity.
He’d never be as free to laugh as Leopold and his brothers and sister had been. Perhaps that was the benefit of not being the heir. Leopold’s childhood had been a happy one. Loud and rough, rather than refined and sequestered in this place. But Leopold was incredibly curious about young Edwin’s health. Did he have a weak heart like his father, too?
Rapid footsteps sounded in the hall and he turned toward the door. After a moment or two of hushed consultation outside a woman swept in—flanked by two footmen and a darkly dressed attendant.
The Duchess of Romsey shocked Leopold to his core. Where he had expected haughty civility, he sensed uncertainty. Where he expected grave regard, he sensed youth and unease. This was the Duchess of Romsey?
He risked a quick glance at the portrait. The artist had only captured the tiniest portion of the real woman and Leopold hastily produced a courtly bow to cover his surprise.
When he took a step forward, her two footmen moved to stand between him and the duchess. The action told him all he needed to know. The old duke had poisoned her mind toward him and his family. Getting what he wanted from her might take some time. “Your Grace, forgive me for not calling on you sooner. My affairs have kept me abroad much longer than I anticipated. Please accept my condolences on the loss of your husband and his father. It is a great loss to the family to lose both of them in so short a time.”
Actually, Leopold didn’t believe their deaths a tragedy for the family. His cousin Edwin may have been as much a pawn as Leopold had been in the old duke’s intrigues, but there had been no love between them. There was nothing about the fifth Duke of Romsey to miss. But to this day he did not know if his cousin had a hand in the fate of his family. The loss of the old duke pained Leopold only because he was the one behind it all. He needed answers as much as he needed to breathe.
“Thank you,” Her Grace murmured softly. “I had not expected visitors at Romsey today. Your arrival is a surprise and has caught us unprepared. I am sorry to have kept you waiting so long.”
Blunt. Leopold preferred
plain speaking to honey coated pleasantries. Perhaps he and the duchess could deal well with each other. “It was hardly any time to wait at all. My return is a temporary diversion on a much longer journey. I’ll not be a burden on the estate if that is what you fear.” He glanced at both footmen to show he recognized the attempt at protection. He hoped the duchess could see it was unnecessary. He wanted nothing from her but information.
The duchess frowned and, after a moment of hesitation, signaled her footmen to step aside. Her attendant, a dour woman of indeterminate age, moved to flank her as she swept forward in a rustle of burgundy silk to sit on a wide chair. “Please, do be seated.”
The duchess’ soft melodious voice was another shock to his senses. She was certainly not the woman he had expected to meet. Her voice brought to mind sweaty midnight pleasures. Panting, grasping ecstasy. Leopold brutally pushed those thoughts from his head as he sank into an opposite chair.
A commotion occurred at the door and he turned, noticing the appearance of tea. Such considerations were rare in his presence, but very much appreciated. If the duchess relaxed enough, she might be more amenable to his request. The duchess’ companion poured the tea without uttering a word and he took his cup, taking a sip while he considered how best to deal with her.
The duchess set her teacup upon the saucer with exquisite care and looked at him expectantly. “You mentioned you’d been abroad, Mr. Randall. Might we know how you occupied your time while away from Romsey?”
Leopold glanced at her hands. Despite her calm words, her tense fingers hinted she wasn’t altogether certain he was not about to mount an immediate attack on her person. Blast the Dukes of Romsey to hell and back. “I’ve just returned from India. I earn my way as a silk merchant.”
Her Grace’s pretty green eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yes, since I left England ten years ago.”
Perhaps unconsciously, the duchess’ palm slid over the silk of her gown. A silk that he’d purchased and sent directly here, if memory served. Only the best for Romsey. The old duke had demanded it as part of their bargain and had kept a strict accounting of their transactions.
Noticing the direction of his gaze, her hands stilled. “You?”
Leopold nodded, but he was uncertain what to make of her interest. By rights she should disdain a member of the family who sullied his hands in trade. But he’d had little choice in the matter. He’d had to survive. He’d had to agree to the old duke’s bargain to ensure his siblings had a similar chance for a good life.