Chapter 7

 

 

 

Eleanora insides were fluttering like mad.

It was an entirely inappropriate response when one holds a question-and-answer summit with a client. But after her brief encounter with the Duke of Allenby at the ball the previous night, and her heated reaction to being held in his arms, a little vigilance would not go amiss.

What a magnificent dancer.

Being in his arms had given her a decided thrill. One she was not used to experiencing with a man in any situation. That brief moment, when Allenby had brought her in tight against the solidness of him, there was no mistaking his arousal. It had stoked her passion to higher heights. The man was wonderfully put together, never mind his fine eyes and handsome face.

Her hands trailed across her middle, hoping to calm the wobbles in her stomach. Eleanora wore one of her best afternoon tea gowns and also managed to style her hair. Was it obvious what she was doing? That she wished to make a good impression on Allenby?

Eleanora had spent the morning in the kitchen—baking. It was one of her favorite hobbies. She could barely boil water for tea, let alone make a full meal, but she was a proficient baker. Baking was calming, allowing her to compartmentalize her thoughts concerning various questions or clues.

One question occupying her mind this morning?

The dark duke and all the deliciously wicked things she wanted to do to him—and with him.

The truth? Eleanora was not a virgin.

Along with her independent mind, she concluded early on that she would probably never marry, so why deny herself the pleasure of physical relations? To date, she had two—she would not call them affairs exactly, dalliances?

Yes, that fit.

As she surmised, she had enjoyed carnal relations and equally appreciated that there were no deeper emotions to complicate matters.

Yet, Allenby stirred up a maelstrom of confusing feelings she had never experienced before. All from a dance and harmless flirting? How strange that she was experiencing a slight case of nerves as if she were a young lady of society waiting for her suitor.

Utter bollocks.

“There you are,” Althea called out, pulling her from her thoughts. “What is all the to-do? Baking? Mother’s tea service? Your best afternoon dress?”

“We’ve never had a duke on the premises before,” Eleanora replied, trying to keep the emotion from her voice.

“Hmm. You have yet to inform me on what transpired at the ball.” Althea plopped into one of the chairs and picked up the wildflower-patterned china, giving it a close inspection. Sybil entered the room and joined them.

Eleanora snatched the plate from her sister’s hand and placed it on the table. “Allenby showed up.”

“At the ball?” Sybil’s eyes widened. “What did you do?”

“I played my role, and he went along with the deception. We danced. A waltz. The duke left soon after. I managed to find out a little information from a third party.”

Eleanora sat at the table and relayed the conversation with the chatty Lady Lillian. “After the waltz, she clamped on to me. I downplayed the dance, and over a glass of punch, she revealed that although the rakes were sought after as possible matches, deep down, they were resented by certain peers. How much of the dislike translates to sending a severed leg to their club, it’s hard to gauge?”

“I cannot picture some stuffy old marquess sending a body part as a prank,” Sybil stated.

“Neither can I. Which leaves the possibility of a younger peer? One of their acquaintances from school or later,” Eleanora replied. “Or former members of the club.”

Althea shrugged. “Could be anyone, even current members of the club. How many people have they slighted through the years—or worse? We are all aware these aristocrats believe that they’re above the law. How many times had Da and Uncle Reece stated their frustration about how these privileged few get away with the lot, no matter how serious? The manner in which they blatantly and smugly lie, how will we know if these stuffy aristos will even tell us the truth of any worrisome encounters? Remember the Cleveland Street Scandal?”

Althea had the right of it, and Eleanora nodded in agreement. “Exactly. It is why we are gathering information on them. And yes, I remember the scandal. Point taken.”

At the opposite end of their street, some distance away, a post office was identified as a front for a brothel, and the messenger boys were male prostitutes. It was quite a scandal and in the papers most of 1889, with peers of all ranks right up to royalty accused as customers. But no convictions arose since it was swept under the rug because of the privileged men involved.

Typical.

“Before we continue, I have a letter from Mother.” Sybil held up the open envelope. “I feel terrible for doing this to you, but I have to leave for Yorkshire immediately.”

“Oh, no. It’s not bad news?” Althea said.

“Father is unwell. Nothing too serious; the doctor there says it is mild pneumonia. I haven’t been home in months; I want to assist my mother. I shouldn’t be gone more than ten days to two weeks. I don’t like leaving while we are working a case.” Sybil frowned, clearly torn.

Eleanora clasped Sybil’s hand. “Dear Cousin. Don’t concern yourself. Take care of Uncle James, and hug him for us. Of course, we understand. You must go at once.”

The frown turned into a sunny smile. “You both are absolutely lovely. Thank you. I’ll start packing right away. Unless you want me to remain for the meeting and take notes?”

“No, Althea can do it,” Eleanora said as she released Sybil’s hand.

Sybil stood. “Then I’ll slip out before the duke arrives. I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

Their cousin departed, and Eleanora exhaled.

“Well, guess we will have to carry on,” Althea muttered.

“Sybil will be back before we know it. Besides, I cannot see this case concluding before she returns.”

“True. It will be next to impossible to discover who did this—if it is indeed a hoax or something more sinister, “Althea said. “Unless this becomes a pattern.”

Eleanora arched an eyebrow. “More body parts? How morbid. But you may have the right of it. We will know soon enough. In the meantime, we continue to explore all paths. Tomorrow, Brookton will be here at three o’clock, and I want you to take the lead in the interview.”

“Why me?” Althea shook her head. “I doubt I can remain impartial. His attitude—”

Eleanora held up her hand. “Something sparked between you, and we should use it to our advantage.”

“Yes, Ellie, something sparked. It’s called revulsion. He is everything I loathe in a man. Besides, he’s far too pretty; no man should be that flawless. It isn’t normal,” Althea exclaimed, her voice rising in irritation.

“Well, you could classify Allenby as pretty, too.”

“And since when do we conduct such probing interviews with those that have hired us?” Althea continued, ignoring Eleanora’s statement. “Usually, we do a brief inquiry about our clients before jumping feet first into a case. You are steaming full ahead here. It’s not like you.”

“I am, but we have to approach this case differently than others we’ve had. These men are of the peerage: two dukes, a marquess, a baron, and two viscounts, along with a rich businessman of the gentry class. We cannot approach other peers to make queries. They all protect each other. Besides, something Lady Lillian said at the ball has been nagging me: that these rakes have caused resentment in certain circles. I want to see what they have to say about it.”

“And if they are not truthful?”

“Then we hold firm to our rules. We do not take the case of anyone who is not upfront with us.”

Althea considered it and nodded. “Why not interview them all at the same time?”

“The men will open up more if we interview them individually. At the least with the two main rakes, Allenby and Brookton.”

“What about the older duke, Watford?” Althea asked.

“Did you notice he stood back from the rest, hardly spoke or offered any opinion? I have the distinct feeling he is removed from most doings.”

Althea nodded. “Yes, I did notice. Mr. Knight was near Watford as well. The rest looked to Allenby.”

“If we need to interview the others, we will. I will conduct the conference here in the parlor instead of the office; it will put the duke more at ease. Hence the tea service. You will take notes. I will do the same for you tomorrow.”

Althea rubbed her temple absently. “I’m still not certain that this is wise. However, we will do as you suggest. Where is Mrs. Bartle, by the way?”

Their esteemed housekeeper-cook. In her mid-forties and almost as tall as Eleanora, Mrs. Bartle would not hesitate to bash someone on the noggin with her broom if they stepped out of line. Mrs. Bartle was not a live-in employee; she came each day, except Sundays, to do general household cleaning. Mrs. Bartle prepared meals in bulk so they could heat them at their leisure. It meant they lived mostly on meat pies and stews, but that suited Eleanora.

“I sent her home early. She roasted a nice chicken with vegetables, so we will have enough to eat for the next several meals. I also made rolls this morning. Don’t forget tomorrow night is dinner with Uncle Reece and Aunt Wilhelmina.” Eleanora paused. “I had best send word Sybil will not be accompanying us.”

Althea’s eyes lit up. “I cannot wait; Aunt is a wonderful cook. And I smelled the rolls baking earlier, cannot wait for those either.” She grabbed the handle of the covered cake platter. “And what’s in here?”

The bell clanged loudly in the hallway.

“He’s here, sooner than I expected,” Eleanora said breathlessly. “Quick, make ready. Fetch the pen, ink, and paper. Promise that you will take copious notes.”

“I will.” Althea jumped to her feet and hurried into the hall toward the study.

Smoothing her light green cotton and silk gown, Eleanora exhaled as she headed toward the front door. When she opened it, the sight of Allenby caused her breath to hitch in her throat.

Wearing a tight-fighting long black coat, gray trousers, black Homburg hat, and silver ascot, he looked utterly appealing. He gave her a crooked grin as he tapped his leather gloves in his palm. Tucked under his arm was a newspaper.

He tugged on the brim of his hat. “Good afternoon, Miss Galway. I hope I am not too early?”

Eleanora stepped aside. “Not at all. Please, come in.”

Once he did, she took the proffered hat, gloves, and coat; and arranged them on the mirrored hall tree. Catching a glimpse in the mirror, she was appalled to observe her cheeks were flushed. Already she was losing control of this meeting.

Concentrate. Gain control.

Taking another cleansing breath, she led Allenby to the parlor. He nodded as he gave the room a thorough inspection.

“I like this room; it’s cozy. You have a gramophone.” Allenby laid the paper on the table and walked over to it. “HMV, the latest model. I have a variation of the same, except my horn is metal, not wood. Have you many discs?”

Eleanora came to stand beside him. “Only a few, mostly classical arrangements. I like to play it when I read.”

He turned and gave her a dazzling smile, causing her heart to stutter in her chest.

“I do the same as I find it relaxing. One would think it would interfere with concentrating on the written word, but it does not. Have you made the switch to electricity?” Christian asked.

“No, far too pricey. Have you?”

Allenby ran his finger along the wood surface of the gramophone. “Only a few rooms at the townhouse. The main parlor and my study. One day I will convert the entire place, but there is no rush. It is not catching on as rapidly as the telephone.”

Eleanora clapped her hands together. “Isn’t it a wonderful modern age we live in? So many innovations, it is hard to keep up.”

“That is quite true. Mark my words; I predict motorized automobiles will become more common on roads and streets as we move into the new century. The Locomotives on Highway Act passed last year. Three years before that, I bought into a new enterprise, now known The Daimler Motor Company.”

“How forward thinking of you,” Eleanora said, impressed that a duke would be interested in such developments in the industry.

“We will soon see if my prediction bears out. We’ve recently bought an old cotton mill for engine and chassis manufacture.”

“I would love to see a motor car in production,” she enthused.

“Then we shall arrange it soon.”

Eleanora gave him a warm smile. “An automobile may be out of my immediate reach, but I will obtain a telephone before electricity. The device will be useful for my business. Speaking of: the exact foundation of our meeting. Please do take a seat, Allenby.”

Althea entered the room, carrying a tray with the writing implements. “Good afternoon, Your Grace. Or Allenby, as you prefer.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Galway.” The duke pulled out a chair for Althea, then did the same for her. Independent, she may be, but Eleanora had to admit she enjoyed it when a man used proper etiquette.

Once they were seated, he handed her the newspaper. “Look about halfway down. The society page.”

Eleanora read: “‘London Society was all atwitter with speculation of the reappearance of the Duke of Allenby at a fête at the Earl of Pembroke’s stately townhouse. The darkly-handsome duke danced with only one young lady. Witnesses report they were talking and laughing intimately. This column has learned the statuesque heiress is Constance Baxendale, widowed niece of Sir Reginald Ramsay recently returned from a journey to the Canadian wilderness—’”

Eleanora’s voice trailed off.

Blast it all.

She knew better. In the past, when she had attended these social events to gather any information, she had kept a low profile, talked to a small select number of attendees. Eleanora certainly did not interact with any men except for the occasional flirtatious remark before moving off to complete her mission. But when Allenby had asked her to dance, all caution disappeared.

“Oh, Ellie. The society column of all things,” Althea snorted. “This is a first, even if it is under a false name.”

“Widow?” Allenby looked amused, and it annoyed her further. “Why were you introduced as miss?”

“I explained to Lady Lillian at a previous meeting that I wanted to be referred by my maiden name. Saying I’m a widow makes it easier to attend these events alone. Well, I cannot use that persona again. What a blasted aggravation. And we can surmise the talkative Lady Lillian was the witness mentioned.” Her brows knotted in frustration.

“Read on,” he urged, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Sighing, Eleanora glanced at the paper again. “There’s more?”

 Althea’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, do go on, Ellie.”

“Very well. ‘Sir Reginald informed the author of this column that his niece does not reside with him. He would not reveal where she is staying, only to say she frequently travels out of the country.’ My God, they went to Sir Reginald’s? Oh, he will not like that at all. ‘Fear not, dear reader, for we will ascertain the location of His Grace’s paramour.’” She looked up from the paper. “Paramour? What do these reporters do, follow you about?”

Allenby gave a slight shrug. “It happens now and then.”

Eleanora slammed the paper on the table. “Well, hang it all; they could have followed you here!”

“I am well aware when I’m being followed, I took precautions,” he replied matter-of-factly.

Eleanora arched a dubious eyebrow at him. “Perhaps I should hire you for my agency.”

“Perhaps you should,” Allenby responded. “Why no men on your payroll?”

“I don’t require any. We are all capable. My late father was a chief inspector with D Division, and he trained us well. My uncle is an inspector with J Division in Bethnal Green. He is supportive and assists us when able. And I have my Canadian, and one or two others when needs must.”

“Yes, your police surgeon. Before we begin, here is the rest of your fee.” Allenby reached in his pocket and placed a small roll of pound notes on the table. “Have you made any discoveries?”

“A few. But I want us to conduct the interview first.” Eleanora held up the teapot. “Tea? Or would you prefer coffee?”

“I drink both, but prefer tea in the afternoon. Milk, if you have it, and no sugar.”

Exactly how she preferred hers, though she didn’t care for coffee at all. She passed the cup and saucer to Allenby. Then she did the same for Althea, who gave her a sly smile.

Ignoring her sister, Eleanora lifted the cover off the platter. “I made cake, care for a slice?”

Allenby leaned in to inspect it. “You bake?”

“Frequently. Cannot cook worth a farthing, but I do love to bake.”

“Ellie is a skilled baker. It’s a wonder we have not gained weight over the years,” Althea interjected.

Eleanora basked in the praise, and because of it, a little bragging would not go amiss. “Scones are my specialty.”

The duke chuckled, and the masculine sound rumbled from his chest and reverberated in hers. How shameless of her, but the ease in which they conversed only made him even more attractive.

“I adore them. Scones-that is. Apple and cinnamon are my favorite. Hot from the oven and served with clotted cream and apple jelly. And what is this masterpiece?” he smiled, the corner of his eyes crinkling. He did have the most attractive light blue eyes.

“Butterscotch sponge cake with chocolate ganache, of course.” The exact cake he’d mentioned at the ball last night. Eleanora couldn’t resist baking it.

Allenby threw back his head and laughed heartily. It was the first time Eleanora had heard him laugh so deeply, and heat traveled all through her at the joyous sound. This smiling and talkative duke was far removed from the one Lady Lillian had described, and from the one she had met that first night at his club. What a discovery.

Allenby laugh turned into a bracing smile. “Wonderful. I will take a large slice, if you please.”

Althea, not in on the private joke, glanced between them with a puzzled look. Eleanora would explain it to her sister later in the evening.

After passing him the plate, Allenby plunged his fork across the corner. “Look how easily the fork moves through the sponge. It is light and airy; the ganache is shiny with just the right amount of thickness,” he placed the forkful in his mouth and groaned. “Absolutely delicious.”

“Your Grace, you sound like a judge at a country fair cake baking contest,” Eleanora teased.

“I cannot conceive of a better occupation. And do me a favor, Eleanora, when we’re alone like this, call me Christian. Allenby, in public, if you like. Miss Galway, if you will permit me to address you as Althea.”

Her sister smiled. “Of course, Christian.”

Who is this charming man?

What had happened to the dark, brooding duke? Not that he was all that brooding. Again, Eleanora recalled how he had been described to her at the ball. ‘Unapproachable, cold in his countenance, remote.’

He turned out to be none of those things, not deep down where it counted.

Christian. 

She had liked the name from the first time she’d heard it. From this moment forward, she would think of him as Christian. It wasn’t exactly proper, but to hell with it. 

For the next several minutes, they all ate quietly. Although, Eleanora exchanged the occasional heated look with the duke. At last, he pushed his plate aside.

“Another slice?” she asked.

“Perhaps later. Let us begin the inquisition. I assume that you will be questioning me about my private life. I also assume it’s to ascertain as to why a body part was delivered to my club.”

How astute of him.

Eleanora nodded. “You have the right of it. Althea will be taking notes. Why form a club? What is its exact purpose?”