Page 10 of Once Upon a Devilish Duke

Tony must have seen her smirk and said, “And not a place for a lady, so do not even ask.”

She picked up her wine. “The thought had not even entered my head.”

This made Edward and Tony laugh, though Cecil, being the new earl, was no laughing matter.

Tony speared some fish with his fork. “You had better keep an eye on him, make sure he does not give Rose a hard time.”

“Me?” Edward asked. Well, of course, him. He was the host after all, and the man of the house and head of the family. “Cecil I can handle. At least I do not have to contend with irate Frenchmen and double agents after her.”

Lucinda blushed. “I did cause a lot of trouble, didn’t I?”

“You did indeed, though I can safely say we have all forgiven you for it. Not that you knew at the time just how much was at stake.” He patted her hand to reassure her. He must be getting soft in his old age. “Did you manage to convince Elena Markham to come and help you with the birth?”

“No, she is too close to her own confinement to travel so far, but she has sent me a whole bunch of herbal teas, tinctures, and salves with instructions on how to use them. The midwife I spoke to yesterday seemed very experienced, and I felt comfortable around her, so that is all settled, at least.”

They served the next course, and this gave him a chance to breathe. The midwife Victoria had chosen had experience too, and still his wife had died giving birth to Maxine. He wondered whether Tony was prepared for the birth. Prepared for the worst in case it might happen to him. He changed the subject to more mundane topics and suddenly could not wait for them to leave.

Tony did not stay for port, thank goodness, so Edward had to assume that whatever problem his brother was stewing over was not of national importance. Just seeing Lucinda’s rounded belly made Edward want to ascend the stairs two at a time to the safety of his study, where he could dive into his work and forget about the outside world of women and babies and death.

*

When Edward received the strange message, it simply said, “There is a mole in the House of Lords, and he is making fools of us all.”

A mole? In the House of Lords? His first instinct was to talk to Anthony, but his brother did not have access to the House of Lords; he did. He may have to attend more regularly. He looked at the pile of work on his desk. He did not have time to go searching for moles in the House or anywhere, but someone sent him this message for a reason.

But…what if there were a mole? How was he making fools of us all, and by us did the author mean all of England? Or just the members of the House? He read the note again, and still it baffled him. He would have to make a list of all the members, keeping those who went regularly at the top. Should he discuss this with Tony? Was this the issue that had him so worried? He put the message in his pocket and took the next thing off his pile.

He read the next dispatch, but his mind kept returning to the message. How was he to get anything done? He tried again to focus on the report. He put his quill down and stood, strode to the door, and out into the hall. The footman at the top of the stairs jumped in surprise.

“Your Grace?”

“My hat and gloves,” he said as he descended the stairs. When he got to the bottom, his butler was there, his face confused.

“Shall I call for the carriage, Your Grace?”

“No. I’m going to walk.”

“Walk?”

He peered at the butler. “Was I not clear?”

The footman appeared then with his hat and gloves, and Edward nodded his thanks and went to the door. His butler scrambled to open it for him. Once on the front steps, he tapped his hat on his head and put on his gloves. The mid-morning sun was peeking out between the clouds, and for some reason this made him frown. The street was reasonably busy as he made his way south. He crossed the road and headed towards the main road. His destination was Anthony’s London office. The city was remarkably walkable if one watched where one put their feet.

He tipped his hat at some ladies coming out of the modiste on Bond Street and continued on his way.

He stopped to look at some Hogarth satire cartoons in the window of a small bookshop. He found them mildly amusing and went to walk on when he heard his name; turning, he saw that it was the Earl of Dunstan. Painter and ex-spy.

“Dunstan, keeping out of trouble I hope.”

“Very much retired, Your Grace. I keep to my painting now.”

“Excellent news. Actually, I have a mind to have Ashtonvale painted. There is a particularly nice aspect from the south that I’ve always admired. Interested?”

“Very much so. Lady Marianne talked of it most fondly.”

“Yes. My sister does seem to like the place.”

Dunstan looked surprised by Edward’s tone. “You do not?”