Page 63 of The Duke of Deceit

She lifted her hand to knock again, then stopped. Questioning the butler would get her nowhere. No, she had to find out the truth for herself, and she would start by finding Lucien.

Chapter Nineteen

Night had fallenby the time the hackney stopped at the end of a lane just outside the country village of Ealing.

“I’m stopping here,” the jarvey called down to her and rapped his knuckles against the side of the old carriage. “Ain’t drivin’ down that lane in the dark.”

Jess stepped to the ground and handed up the exorbitant fare for the two-hour ride from Mayfair. “You’ll wait for me?”

“Aye.”

She wasn’t at all confident in that answer. But she had no choice. “Thank you. I won’t be gone longer than an hour.” She added enticingly, “I’ll pay you even more for the return trip.”

But the driver only hunched down beneath his large hat and coat.

Jess hitched up her skirt and hurried down the dark lane. The sun had slipped below the horizon, and the last of the orange streaks decorating the sky had melted against the purple clouds until they were all nearly gone. But despite the growing shadows, she could see a large stone farmhouse standing at the end of the lane, its windows lit with the soft glow of candlelight.

The farm wasn’t anything like what she would have associated with Lucien. Quiet and secluded, with an old-fashioned feel to the gables and wooden shutters, the place could have come straight out of a fairytale, right down to its littlewooden front door and climbing rose bushes framing the lead-paned windows on both sides. Trees lined the lane leading to the foreyard, and Jess was certain she could see several barns and other outbuildings behind the main house, including what might have been a kitchen garden. It was absolutely bucolic and quaint in every way, two adjectives she never would have associated with Lucien Grenier.

She paused at the door. Muffled noises came from the house—loud shouts and cries followed by hushed voices. She strained to listen but couldn’t distinguish Lucien’s voice, if he were here at all. There was no brass knocker, so she knocked against the thick wood, then waited.

A loud crash reverberated through the house, the weight of a heavy object falling and what sounded like the shattering of pottery.

Jess reached for the door handle. It turned, unlocked, and the door opened. She stepped inside without thinking about anything except providing help.

A sitting room led off the small entry hall, and Jess paused in the doorway to stare inside, dumbfounded, at the unfolding scene.

A distraught man sat in the middle of the room, the lashes on his almond-shaped eyes spiked with tears and his round face red. All of him seemed to be round, in fact, with his short, overweight body drawn up into a ball, knees to chest, as he rocked himself back and forth. His small chin trembled with emotion. Although his face looked a bit flattened, especially the bridge of his nose, there was no mistake in Jess’s mind as she looked at him—

This man was a Grenier.

Lucien was crouched down next to him on his boot heels, attempting to calm him with soft words and a soothing voice. His manner was slow and patient as he reached toward the manbut had his hand swatted away, only to calmly reach out again. This time, he was able to rest his hand on the man’s shoulder and lean in to speak privately to him, which the distressed man answered with a jerking nod.

Behind them, a side table lay overturned with the remnants of a broken clay vase and its yellow flowers scattered around it. A wet puddle soaked the carpet. An older woman knelt down on the rug to pick up the pieces and dab at the water with a towel. Behind her, a gray-haired man stood at the side of the room, looking harried and exhausted.

Then, the man on the floor looked up. He saw Jess and stilled instantly, silencing his cries.

Lucien looked over his shoulder, and his expression instantly turned stony as he, too, froze in part of the bizarre tableau manifesting before her. Stunned surprise flashed in his eyes as he stared at her, as if he couldn’t quite recognize her in this place where she shouldn’t be.

Lucien leaned in to the man sitting on the floor next to him and said calmly, “Phillip, this is my good friend Miss St. Claire. She’s very nice and loving, and you can trust her. She won’t hurt you, I promise.”

“She’s pretty,” Phillip replied in a muffled, slightly slurred speech. Then he sniffed loudly with a swipe of the back of his hand across his eyes.

“Yes, she is,” Lucien agreed. “Jessamyn, this is Phillip.” He paused before adding, “My brother.”

With a smile, Jess stepped forward into the room and knelt down beside Phillip. She held out her hand in greeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. And your brother is right.” She slid a look at Lucien before returning her eyes to Phillip. “I would never hurt you.”

Phillip’s face softened, and he calmed down enough to take her hand in greeting. But he didn’t release it, and Jess didn’tpull away. Instead, she curled her fingers around his to give an affectionate and accepting squeeze.

“I’ve come to visit the farm,” she said, her attention fixed on Phillip. “I hope that’s all right with you.”

He nodded. He was much calmer than before, yet Jess could sense a trepidation about her lingering inside him. “Who are you?” he asked, clearly not meaning her name.

“I’m an artist,” she told him, giving his hand another friendly squeeze. “I draw pictures with colored pencils and paints.”

“Of horses and cows and sheep?” His interest was pricked.

“Flowers, mostly. But also kittens and puppies sometimes.”