Miranda had no doubt that her parents would visit the Duke of Chalgrove’s mother. Her father’s wife wouldn’t risk offending anyone of the peerage, and few in London would be able to resist any request from a duchess. It just wasn’t done.
Two different trays of food had been brought to her, along with two volumes of poetry, and she’d been asked what sort of book she preferred reading, or if she would like another letter posted.
Another knock sounded. The maid, her head bowed, raised her eyes as she entered. ‘Miss,’ she whispered in her excitement. ‘The magistrate has left, but he’s sent his best constable and he wishes to speak with you.’
‘I— Are you sure?’
‘Yes, miss. The master and the constable have been speaking in the library for some time now. They requested you.’
‘Oh.’ Miranda stood and smoothed the skirt of the borrowed dress. She moved carefully, trying to calm her breathing, and her hands. She wanted to run for the door, yet she had done nothing wrong.
And the one person who had been devious, Miranda didn’t have the heart to have her captured.
The only mother Miranda had ever known, the woman who’d found her beside the road, had always told Miranda that her arrival might not have been in the preferred method, but that a blessing didn’t always travel the conventional route.
She’d claimed the fortune-teller had been so wise. The woman had told her that a child would come into her household and she must love it as her own. She’d said she’d known then it would happen and she’d prepared herself for Miranda’s arrival.
Miranda’s mother had smiled and hugged her, telling her how pitiful her new daughter had looked sitting beside the road, with tear-stained cheeks, and together the world had shone brighter for both of them.
Her mother had called her an angel, a gift, but Manwaring had always distanced himself, as if he saw her as nothing more than a bit of refuse that his wife had brought home. Knowing him, she found it surprising he’d allowed her into the household. But it would have taken a colder man than he was to have left a child to starve.
She pulled at the bodice of her dress, trying to make it more sedate. A governess would never wear such a revealing gown and with gold threads. The sleeves fluttered as she walked, reminding her of little wings. The corset she wore had been borrowed from a maid. The shoes, her own, had been cleaned, but were still damp.
The dress suddenly felt too ornate for her. She felt like a child wearing a mother’s ball gown.
She would have slipped out the back door and made her way to her employer’s house, and the servants would have welcomed her with open arms. But she doubted she’d have been able to get to the front door without someone noticing, questioning and reporting her activity to Chalgrove.
And he would have followed her, or sent a constable.
She paused, knowing he wouldn’t send a constable. He would arrive himself. A tiny spark of happiness nestled in her because a bond had grown between them enough she could believe he would have to see for himself where she was. She could believe him when he said she wouldn’t be harmed. He meant it.
But he’d not promised anything about her grandmother. Except justice.
Miranda couldn’t leave without arousing his suspicion, or without the awareness that the moments between them would never be the same again.
As soon as her governess dress dried, she intended to put it back on. Perhaps then she would be able to have the strength to find a way to convince him to forget about the abduction, then walk out the door and say goodbye to the moments she’d spent with Chalgrove.
She followed the maid to a door, waited as she knocked and entered after the girl opened it for her.
The library had few books, but if a room could have a learned air without books, this one did.
Rays of light filtered through the oversized windows and the scent of cleaning oils hit her. Oak wood gleamed. The pieces of furniture more solid and designed to last longer than the trees that had been felled for their construction would have lived had they been left to the elements.
The room had no hint of a woman’s presence except for the solemn painting above the fireplace of two children. The boy had a book tucked under his arm. The girl sat in a small chair, her doll at her side, dressed in the same perfect dress as her owner. The children were being trained to take their roles in life, or the artist had been advised to paint them such.
Chalgrove stood in the room, more than a mere duke in this house, more a sovereign of the residence. Gone was the stubble, the rumpled clothes and the man she’d first known. This man took up space in a room the same as he had at the cottage, but he could command a bigger room. In the little house, he was out of his element. In his world, he ruled. He knew it. Every thread of his clothes knew it. Less emotion was showing on his face than would have shown from a portrait.
Her eyes wouldn’t turn away. This stranger was the same man she’d seen only hours before. She searched for the bond they’d had, but she didn’t know if it still existed or if he’d shaken it off with his bathing water.
Her heartbeat chugged along, but she had to remind herself to breathe easily. She had been captured and was innocent. And she should want the culprit caught—only she didn’t.
She gave a curtsy to Chalgrove. Her first for him.
A shuffling movement at the side of the room caught her eye. The spindly man eyed her more closely than she’d watched Chalgrove.
The constable’s clothing was sombre except for a checked waistcoat. If she’d seen him on the street, with his drooping eyelids and his thin, tilted nose, she would not have judged him friendly, even with the curling hair framing his face, and would have given him wide berth.
But he smiled at her, his teeth almost too big to fit inside his mouth, and waved a hand for her to be seated.
She took a chair across from him.
‘I wish we could have prevented your ordeal, Miss Manwaring,’ the constable intoned as he sat and gave a quick snap at the hem of his waistcoat to put it in place.
Chalgrove strode to the window, as if he were more interested in the scene outside than any happenings in the room. His movements alerted her more than if he’d casually sat. The coat he wore contrasted with the shirt underneath. She wondered if he wore the almost mismatched colours to state his power. To tell others he could wear what he wished and to speak of it with him might be unsettling for the speaker.
‘Please recount for me the happenings of the day you were taken,’ the constable interrupted her reflections.
She told him her story, only mentioning that she’d expected to find a dying person who could tell her the circumstances of her birth.
He chewed the inside of his lip as she talked.
‘Do you know who might have done this?’
She swallowed. She glanced at Chalgrove. He’d not altered his movement. ‘At first, I deduced, erroneously, I’d been abducted by the Duke, although I didn’t recognise him as such. He was dishevelled from the circumstance and I perceived him to be of a criminal sort.’
Chalgrove’s lips tilted in amusement.
‘Continue.’ The constable leaned back, giving the appearance of someone more befuddled than proficient. But she doubted the magistrate would assign anyone to help the Duke who wasn’t the best.
Her eyes returned to the older man. ‘I was obviously wrong and I understood it was possible that I had been captured in expectation that my parents might pay a ransom. I am not wealthy, but with my father’s estate, it could have been assumed he would disburse funds to have me safe. And my position as a governess made me an easy target. It wouldn’t be obvious that I normally travel with one of the other servants from the house.’
‘I see.’
‘And the Duke, he would have easily been assumed to be worth a large sum of money. A criminal could think holding two might be no more risk than one.’
‘Go on.’
‘Go on?’ She raised her shoulders. ‘I’m a governess. I don’t know the workings of a criminal mind. I was hoping you might shed some light on this situation. What is your conclusion?’
She saw a glimpse of more teeth. ‘I don’t have one.’
She raised a brow.
‘Too early. I don’t draw conclusions, anyway. I draw solutions.’
Chalgrove took a small step and the movement signalled his entrance into the conversation. ‘I have men visiting the small cottage to see if anyone reappears. If they do, they are to be brought here.’
She touched her throat. She could imagine her grandmother in the Duke’s house, screaming curses, blaming everything on Miranda and causing a ruckus suitable to Drury Lane.
‘Let me ask—do you know of anyone who might wish you ill?’ The constable’s teeth appeared to grow larger as his eyes grew smaller.
‘I can’t think of anyone who might dislike me enough to kidnap me.’
‘Do you have anyone who dislikes you at all?’ His features took on the expression of a clergyman ready to start collecting names of the purgatory bound. Then he grinned, and he might as well have sprouted horns.
‘Well...’ she gave him a pointed blink to let him know she didn’t appreciate his probing ‘...I would hope I am well liked by all who meet me. My stepmother and I have no great love for each other, but I assure you, she is not a kidnapper.’
‘So, what’s the verdict on His Lordship? He bear up well under pressure?’ the constable asked.
She stiffened her back and heard a laughing snort from Chalgrove before he spoke. ‘I am deeply offended. And do not answer, Miss Manwaring. It’s not pertinent to the crime.’
He nodded.
‘Shouldn’t you be taking notes?’
He scratched his head. ‘I have an amazing memory, Miss Littlemore.’
Her frown let him know she didn’t appreciate his jest regarding her name.
‘Ah, Miss Manwaring, I find a little humour makes my task easier. Particularly if it is at the expense of others. An irritated person says more.’
‘Does it help you catch the culprit?’ she challenged, temporarily forgetting her wish.
‘Not at all. But we have no shortage of the criminally minded so I am always in demand.’
He stood. ‘Every crime is not solved in a day. And with one of this magnitude, we can’t make a mistake, not that I feel it is possible.’
She waited.
‘And what is your employer’s name?’ he asked. ‘I wish to see if he noted anything out of the ordinary.’
‘I would rather he not know of this.’
The constable’s brows rose. ‘And I would rather him not have anything to know of. His name, please. If you do not give it, I will merely ask the Manwarings.’
She gulped, but tried to hide everything she felt. ‘His name is Carlton Trevor. He is such a reticent man. But please...’ She heard the pleading in her voice. ‘Please do not worry him more than you can possibly help. He upsets easily when something varies from the usual and he cares greatly for his children. I fear I will lose my position if he knows of this.’
He waved a hand. ‘Don’t worry about that. I can be subtle. I have never been up until now, but I’m sure I can be.’
‘Be subtle,’ the Duke commanded. ‘I would not want Miss Manwaring to lose her job for no reason.’
‘I will,’ the constable said. ‘He’ll never even know he’s being questioned.’
‘Please don’t upset him.’
The constable grimaced. ‘Perhaps it would have been easier if you’d been taken alone. It’s not every day someone nabs a duke. Word is sure to spread, what with it being an abduction crime. Capital offence. No choice but to make an example.’
‘Let’s see that it doesn’t,’ Chalgrove said. ‘It would be easy enough to say Miss Manwaring was merely led into a trap by a cutpurse who convinced her a friend was dying and, when no funds were to be had, locked her in a cottage.’
The constable gave her a bow, spoke with the Duke, assuring him that he would personally oversee the other constables who would be dispatched to solve the crime and they would bring this to a quick end. Then he took his leave.
Crime. This was a crime. Of abduction. A capital offence.
No matter how much she’d hated her grandmother for leaving her beside the road, her grandmother had given her treacle, taught her to spit and braided her hair much more gently than even Miss Cuthbert had.
She rose. She didn’t want her grandmother hanged. She touched her neck. Nor did she want to be standing at her side.