Page 37 of My Secret Duke
Ivo glared at him while his mind galloped like a runaway horse. Lord Ralph was the magistrate in the Portside area, and he was not a friend of the Fitzsimmonses. He had longbemoaned the illegal behavior that went on in the Kent marshes and, several times in Ivo’s hearing, had declared that one day he would put a stop to it. Ivo didn’t think his lordship knew for certain that the Fitzsimmonses were involved, but anyone who lived in this part of Kent must have their suspicions.
Carlyon was shuffling a few steps behind the lieutenant, and Ivo met the butler’s gaze. It was hard to tell in the fading light, but he thought the old man looked paler than usual, and there was an unease in his eyes that worried Ivo. This was Carlyon, who had been a rock throughout Ivo’s childhood, and a dependable retainer over many years’ service. That he looked anxious was a concern.
“Indeed,” Ivo said, his voice icy, turning back to Harrison. “Show me this order, Lieutenant, andIwill decide whether or not it is valid.”
Harrison undid a couple of the buttons on his jacket and reached inside. He took out a crisp fold of papers and handed them to Ivo. But by now, the evening had turned to near darkness and he could not read whatever was on the documents, or even recognize the signature. With a huff of frustration, he took the stairs two at a time and strode into his house, aware of the others trailing behind him.
“Get me a light!” he roared as he made his way to his study.
One was produced—he noted that Carlyon did it himself, and the old man’s hands were shaking. He gave the butler a sharp glance, and Carlyon straightened, his expression reverting to its usual impassiveness. Satisfied, Ivo turned to the order.
Lord Ralph had signed it. A quick scan of the wording showed that the revenue men were allowed to be at Whitmont. They were also allowed to search the house for any “items of contraband,” and then there was a listthat included spirits, wine, tea, chocolate, soap, etcetera, etcetera.
“What makes you think I have any of this?” he asked, maintaining his anger.
Harrison was staring at Charles with a frown, but now he turned back to Ivo again. “We have credible information from a witness that you are involved in the smuggling trade, sir.”
Ivo huffed a laugh and shook his head. “Apart from the complete preposterousness of anyone saying such a thing, and of you believing them, have you found any of these items in my house?”
Harrison nodded, a glint of satisfaction in his eye. “A bottle of brandy, sir. French brandy.”
Ivo stared, and then he laughed. “Show me any house in England, and I will show you some French spirits! That was a gift, I’ll have you know. You have searched my house, dragged me home from my visit to Grantham, and all for this?” He dropped his voice into a low growl. “I am seriously angry, Lieutenant.”
“Our witness is credible, sir.” Harrison seemed unmoved. “And you offered me a glass of this same brandy one evening when I was here. You offered smuggled goods to an officer of the crown.”
“And very pleased with it you were, if I recall,” he mocked.
Harrison’s eyes narrowed. He did not like to be made a fool of.
Ivo turned to Charles but saw that Wickley was staring over his shoulder. Something about the man’s rigid stance made Ivo turn, and he realized Charles’s gaze was fixed on the portrait of the late duke in his younger days. Ivo was aware he looked very like his father… but so did Charles.
Harrison was watching them both, and perhaps he had seen the resemblance too. He asked, with a nod at Charles, “Who is this?”
Charles turned to him, and Ivo was relieved to see he was his usual affable self, as if nothing was the matter, though Ivo didn’t think that was true. “Charles Wickley, at your service. I accompanied Northam here from the house party at Grantham. I am on my way home to London.”
Harrison frowned and opened his mouth to question him further, but Ivo intervened. “You have searched my house and found nothing of consequence. I think it is time you left.”
But again, the lieutenant was unfazed, as if his belief that he was in the right trumped all else. “I believe you are involved in smuggling along this coast—our informant has told us so, and he has nothing to gain by denouncing you. Indeed, he has much to lose.”
“You arrogant fellow!” Ivo growled. “Who is this informant? Have you a name?”
“He does not wish his name known. He tells me Portside is a hive of miscreants, and if his identity were known, his business would suffer, as well as himself.”
“No name, and yet you would believe this liar over me, a duke?”
Harrison continued, though he was speaking more quickly now, aware Ivo had reached the limit of his patience. “You should not expect to escape the full force of the law just because you are a peer. I intend to do my duty without fear or favor. Good evening, sir.” And with another glance at Charles, he turned and marched out, chivvying his men before him. Carlyon, whom Ivo saw was also gazing at the portrait, gave a start and hurried after them, probably to make sure they hadn’t pocketed anything valuable.
With the door closed, Ivo took a breath and stared down atthe order, now clenched in his fist. “Damn him,” he said. “Damn the man to hell.” Anger rippled through him, but concern followed soon after. In all his years as master of Whitmont, and his father’s before him, nothing like this had ever happened. Why now? Was his family’s luck finally running out?
When he looked up, he found Charles was watching him, and his urbane persona had been shed like a cloak.
“Who is this informer?” Ivo asked, not expecting an answer. “Who would inform on me?”
Charles appeared to give it some serious thought. “I know you expect absolute loyalty from your people, but could it be one of them? They might need to make some money in a hurry, or they might feel you’re not treating them with the proper respect. They might hold a secret grudge against you or your family. There are many reasons a person might turn to informing on you.”
“A grudge?”
“These are but a few possibilities, Northam.”
