Ash knew very well how to run a gaming hell. It would be a more thorny challenge to convince Lady Henrietta to accept his claim.
She’d find out that he’d be a better duke than most.
A better duke than her father. He’d restore her family fortune. He already had investors lined up for his new schemes. He was expanding into breeding Thoroughbred racehorses.
He’d replace her paste diamonds with real ones, soon enough.
She’d be thanking him when this was all said and done.
“Why do men hold all the power in this world, Viola?” Hetty asked as their carriage traveled back to Mayfair. “Does he think I was born yesterday?”
“Not after that speech,” Viola replied. “You were unequivocal in your denunciation. You made your opinions crystal clear.”
“As our friend the Duchess of Ravenwood is constantly reminding us, there have always been powerful women throughout history. Matriarchal societies, female rulers, women who were the decision-makers. I’m not going to sit idly by and do needlepoint while Mr. Ellis ruins my life. He’s utterly unsuitable to be my father’s heir. Anyone can see that.”
“I agree. But what can we do about it? He wouldn’t accept your bribe. If he’s proved to be the heir, by fair means or foul, he’ll eventually own Rosehill Park, Granville House, and your father’s other holdings. He’ll have a vast amount of control over your life.”
“He would practically own me. He would decide my fate. The land is entailed, thank goodness, and he can’t sell it off piece by piece, but he could make my life miserable. And he could gamble away our other assets.”
“I’m beginning to think that Mr. Ellis, blast him, might find a way to win. You may have to accept that.”
“I simply won’t allow myself to believe that a man like him is anything other than what he appears on the surface. A scoundrel who’s trying to steal our fortune.”
“Hetty, don’t be cross with me for making this suggestion, but I was wondering if perhaps your vehement reaction to Mr. Ellis’s claim might have something to do with what happened on the balcony?”
“You mean our kiss?”
“It occurs to me that you feel that you let your guard down, that you acted against character.”
“I suppose it plays a role. He knows how attractive he is, and he uses that advantage to manipulate people. I succumbed to his charm once. I shall never do it again.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. We all have our moments of weakness.” Her gaze traveled to the dark carriage window. “I more than most.”
Hetty suspected, and several of their friends agreed, that Viola nursed a secret and doomed amour for her employer, the dissipated Duke of Westbury.
“How is Westbury?” Hetty asked gently.
“Searching for an American heiress to marry,” Viola said brightly. “It’s to be the answer to his financial woes. The girls are very excited about it. They can’t wait to live in style again. Soon they will have dowries to entice husbands.”
“Oh, Viola. I’m so—”
“Don’t.” Viola held up a hand. “I’m his music instructor, nothing more. I don’t know why he still goes gambling when he knows he’ll only court further ruin. He’s always stumbling home in the early hours of the morning, and his clothing smells of gin and cigar smoke . . . and perfume.”
“Just like my father.” Her words struck Hetty. “How do you know what Westbury smells like in the early morning?”
A guilty expression crept over Viola’s face. “Sometimes I sleep over in one of the spare bedrooms because the girls’ governess quit. And the cook is threatening to leave, as well.”
“Is he paying you enough for all the duties you’re performing in his household?”
“He hasn’t paid me in months.”
“That’s terrible! Leave his employ immediately.”
“I couldn’t do that. He’ll pay me eventually. And I’ve grown fond of those girls as if they were my own sisters.”
That’s not all she cared about, Hetty feared. And Westbury was not a worthy recipient of the affections of her dear, sweet friend.
“But we’re speaking of your trials, not mine. Don’t worry, Hetty. We’ll weather this storm together.”
“Thank you. It’s good to have friends to rely upon.”
“What’s the next plan?”
“I’ll find a way to convince my father that Mr. Ellis is not the solution to his financial problems, if it’s true that he’s driven the dukedom to near destitution.”
“You think your father might overlook a lack of evidence?”
“I wouldn’t put anything past my father and that crooked Mr. Higginbottom. I’ll need to uncover irrefutable proof that Mr. Ellis is lying. I’m not sure how, but I’ll find a way.”
“You won’t put yourself in harm’s way, will you? Promise me you won’t do anything foolish or dangerous.”
“I must save Rosehill,” she said with grim determination. She must find a way to disprove Mr. Ellis’s preposterous claim. He would never own the estate.
He would never own her.
Chapter Six
This was both foolish and dangerous, Hetty reflected. But she’d come too far to turn back now.
It hadn’t been difficult to bribe Mr. Ellis’s landlady to let her into his rooms after he’d gone out for the day. In fact, Hetty probably could have offered her less than a sovereign.
The frowsy matron had snatched the gold coin from Hetty’s fingers, bit down on it with what was left of her teeth, and handed a key to Hetty, giving her instructions to find the right door. As easy as that.
Hetty stood outside the door, listening for any sounds from within. She’d been lurking in a doorway across the street when Mr. Ellis had departed the building, but one never knew what one might find in the chambers of a notorious scoundrel.
There could be a mistress inside the rooms, just waking after a long night of debauchery. Hetty was vague on the specific details of said debauchery, but she knew the gist of what occurred in the bedchambers of rogues. Which she would not waste precious time imagining. What Mr. Ellis did with his mistresses was no concern of hers.
She pressed her ear to the keyhole. All was silent.
Her heartbeat quickened as she fit the brass key into the lock and turned it until the door clicked open.
Never having stolen into anyone’s chambers before, she was naturally trepidatious, but she must set aside any missishness in pursuit of her urgent goal: to find evidence that Mr. Ellis was knowingly conspiring to dupe her father into acknowledging him as the heir to the dukedom.
And find it she would.
She wasn’t going to sit meekly by while Mr. Ellis assumed control over her life and her vineyards.
Squaring her shoulders, she pushed the door open and slipped through, closing it quietly behind her. She’d keep one ear cocked for any noises in the hallway. If he happened to return, she needed an escape route.
She’d learned that much from her friend and fellow member of the Boadicea Club, Mina, Duchess of Thorndon.
When entering any new room, always take note of the location of all doors and windows. Be aware of your situation, and of your potential avenues for escape.