Secrets of a Duke's Daughter (The Duchess's Investigative Society Book 1)

by Samantha Holt

  “Nonsense.”

  If he looked at her it was only because he had some misguided notion she needed looking after. Nearly everyone she met thought that. Something about her age combined with being the duke’s youngest daughter and unmarried brought it out in people. Her ability to be a little on the accident-prone side did not help either she supposed.

  Of course, she should not be surprised Eleanor had noticed him follow her. Eleanor noticed everything.

  “Are you going to stand there forever?” demanded Aunt Sarah. “Take a seat next to me.”

  Cassie eyed the chaise, uncertain quite how she was meant to perch on the chaise next to her aunt’s sprawled legs and Simon so opted for the armchair by the fireplace. The parlor room had been decorated by her mother when Cassie had been younger and she still recalled marveling over the beautiful silk wallpaper, the shimmering gold curtains with its generous tassels that were so soft to the touch, and the plush furnishings in gold and green. Whenever she set foot in this room, she could not help but feel her mother’s essence. If there was ever a time she needed it, it was now. Once she admitted she had failed to see the will, surely her sisters would banish her from the group.

  “So did you find it?” Eleanor asked.

  Cassie shouldn’t have been surprised at her sister’s bluntness. Eleanor was not known for being subtle or delicate. Many put that down to her parentage, however, Cassie knew better—Eleanor simply did not care for the delicacies of Society, especially given many members of the ton did not care for her. Only two years separated them, and they had grown up together after her father brought her over from Jamaica and claimed her as his own at the insistence of Cassie’s mother.

  “I did not,” Cassie admitted.

  “Blast,” murmured Chastity. “I wasted all that time talking with Mr. Harding and now everyone will think I am desperate to marry him for no reason.”

  “Everyone thinks we are all desperate to marry anyway,” Demeter pointed out. “Four unmarried daughters? I’d wager every man who even w-went near us was noted.”

  Chastity held up a finger. “Speak for yourselves. I was married once and that was enough for me.”

  Aunt Sarah gave a lengthy sigh and rubbed Simon’s head vigorously. “We had a wonderful marriage, did we not?” she asked the cat. “I can only hope the same for you girls one day.”

  Cassie shook her head. They were getting distracted by all this marriage talk. Not surprising, really. They were only saved from being pressed into engagements by their father’s lack of involvement in their lives.

  Cassie would not complain. If it had been up to their brother, they would all have accepted the first proposal that had come along, and she would have ended up on the arm of old Lord Sotheby with his strange gait and propensity for drinking too much. Frankly, she had plenty of time to marry and little inclination to rush into the matter. She was a duke’s daughter after all with a fine dowry.

  Eleanor nodded. “It is a fine job no one noticed Cassie slip out but I.” She leaned forward. “I hope you are being cautious. Your mother did not want you part of this group until you were married.”

  “The same for all of us,” Chastity pointed out. “She would not believe I had given in already and let you all join.”

  Cassie shared a smile with Eleanor, recalling the days when they had sat outside this very room, ears pressed to the door, and tried to listen to what Mother and her friends were investigating next. Then they would beg and beg for details and beg further to join. The answer had always been the same.

  Husbands first. Then you may join.

  She rubbed the end of her nose and grimaced. Sorry, Mama.

  “We are all getting distracted.” Demeter tweaked one of the flowers woven in and out of her raven hair. Today it was blue violets which meant something, but Cassie could not for the life of her recall what. Despite Demeter having few problems communicating after temporary deafness as a child, her sister had adopted using flowers to communicate her moods when she was little, and the habit had remained somehow.

  Eleanor gestured for Cassie to continue. “So what happened?”

  “I tried but…” She sighed. “I could not gain access to the safe.”

  “The chances of it being there were rather remote I suppose.” Eleanor brushed down a stray strand of curly dark hair with a huff.

  “Did I ever tell you about the Prince of Prussia’s ball?” Aunt Sarah piped up as she straightened and gave a long, languid stretch. “I stood up with him twice. Everyone thought he intended to propose but—”

  “But we must concentrate, Aunt Sarah,” her sister continued. “If we are to find out why Jane was not given the house as her dowry or if her brother is even really dead, then we must not get distracted by princes.”

  “Who was talking about princes?” Aunt Sarah said. “I do not know if I ever told you—”

  Chastity pressed a hand to her lips to mask a giggle. They all adored Aunt Sarah but to say she had embraced eccentricity as she had aged was putting it mildly. Apparently, however, Aunt Sarah’s widowed status and her propensity for not giving a fig could be useful. Cassie rather looked forward to the day she could see her aunt put to work.

  “Should I see if I can charm my way in, Little Sister?” Chastity suggested.

  The oldest of them all and blessed with ravishing dark looks, Chastity offered a sultry look. Despite her generous lips and dark eyes that always looked as though they were beckoning a man to bed, Chastity dressed, well, chastely with high fichus and gowns that did little justice to the generous figure beneath. It did not seem to matter, however. Their older sister never struggled in getting her own way.

  Eleanor looked to Cassie as she made a face. Why did everyone have to remind her she was the youngest all the time?

  “What do you think?” Eleanor asked.

  Cassie offered her sister a grateful smile. If anyone knew how much this opportunity to prove herself her mother’s daughter meant, it was Eleanor. She had joined their family at the age of eight and claimed her as his own at the behest of Cassie’s mother. She was under no illusions that her parent’s marriage had been perfect or entirely faithful and Eleanor was evidence of that. But Cassie and Eleanor adored each other from the start, even if they did always seem to be on opposite sides of whatever the latest argument was.

  “I will try again. I have a better way of finding that will in mind.”

  “We must act fast,” Demeter said. “If Jane is correct and her brother isn’t really dead, he could be in danger.”

  Nodding, Cassie straightened her shoulders. “I will visit with her tomorrow, to ensure we have our facts entirely straight, but I shall not delay on my plans.” She set her sisters with a firm look. “I can do this, I promise.”

  There was no chance she would mess this up again. All she ever wanted in life was to investigate mysteries and here they had a potentially missing earl and some sort of fraud. A far cry from the little delicate matters that started her mother’s investigative group in the first place.

  No, she would leave nothing to chance this time, and no annoying viscount would get in the way again.

  ***

  “WHATEVER DID THAT toast do to you?”

  Luke peered up to see his younger brother stroll into the breakfast room. Noel shared his dark hair and eyes but had suffered a broken nose a few years ago, marring the hereditary Fitzwilliam profile. He glanced down at the food in question, realizing he had indeed massacred the food into a pile of crumbs.

  Noel slid onto a chair opposite Luke and nodded to the letter in his hand. “Bad news?”

  “Not really.” Luke folded the letter and set it down on the table. “It’s from Anton.”

  “Enjoying his honeymoon?”

  “It appears so.”

  “Do not tell mother. She shall only use his happiness as evidence as to why you should find yourself a wife this Season.” Noel plucked a slice of toast from the center of the table and proceeded to chew on it.


  Luke rolled his eyes. The only reason Noel would eat dry toast is because he had indulged too much at the ball yesterday. Though hardly an innocent himself, he feared his brother might follow the path he once had, drinking and gambling himself into oblivion. He supposed the only difference was, Noel had Luke to help him out of a bind. If it had not been for Anton fishing him out of his self-imposed stupor of drink and debauchery, the family name might well have gone to wrack and ruin.

  “It’s not like you to rise so early.” Noel smothered a yawn with the back of his hand.

  “Someone, dear Brother, must attend to the family business.”

  He shoved the letter from Anton farther away, the careful hand of his friend plucking at his insides. He did not need a reminder that many of the thoughts of last night should never have entered his head. He did, however, need to find out what Little Cassie Fallon was up to.

  “It’s all well and good for you. You sleep like a bloody baby. I’ve never known anyone like it.”

  Luke gave his brother a smug smile. “It’s an easy answer, Noel. Avoid the drink.”

  His brother made a dismissive noise. “That sounds utterly miserable and you sound like a puritan. Besides which, I saw you with a glass of merlot in your hand yesterday.”

  “I did not say I do not drink. I just do not drink in vast quantities.”

  And the merlot had been needed after his encounter with Cassie—a little something in a bid to forget her. Or more to the point, forget his attraction to her. Being Anton’s little sister was only part of the problem. His lowly title of viscount added another strong reason why he could never pursue her. A duke’s daughter would expect much more in life and if Anton was correct, that much more would be happening upon his return from his honeymoon.

  “You’re becoming a damned bore in your old age, Luke.”

  Luke lifted a shoulder. Perhaps. Since inheriting the title two years ago, he could not deny duty had been predominantly on his mind. The marriage bit he would worry about later. For now, he wanted to concentrate on ensuring the smooth running of the estates and keeping life as simple as it could possibly be. The addition of a wife would not aid things in that matter. While Anton might have married happily, Luke had seen few such marriages within the ton. He was content with being in the arms of the occasional beautiful widow for now.

  The door flung open abruptly and Lily swept into the room to set herself down next to Noel. “I heard you curse.”

  “You heard no such thing,” Noel replied through a mouthful of toast to their sister.

  “You said it so loud I heard it from the hallway.”

  “Good morning, Lily,” Luke said wryly.

  “He’s not wrong, though. You are becoming a bore.” His sister offered a wide grin. At seventeen, she was beginning to flourish into an elegant young woman—her hair just as dark as the rest of them but her features petite. He imagined many a man found her attractive—something of which he did not wish to dwell upon.

  “Well, forgive me for wishing to ensure you all have a roof over your heads.”

  “We have several houses,” Noel pointed out.

  “Yes, and only because of my careful management of the budget.”

  Luke winced inwardly. Perhaps they were right. He was becoming a bore.

  His sister’s grin widened. “You are sounding frightfully old, Luke. I would be careful if I were you. No woman shall want a dry old stick.”

  “Don’t you start,” Noel cautioned. “Mother is already determined to find him a bride this Season and we scarcely have two months left.”

  “As she well should. It is time you married, Luke.” Lily cocked her head. “You are not going to get any more handsome and you are losing your charm.”

  “I am so grateful for my loving family,” Luke muttered.

  “I only say this to be helpful,” Lily protested.

  “Yes, how helpful. Now I know I am old, ugly, and lacking in charm.”

  Lily leaned across the table and patted his arm. “We do still love you really, and I would not worry. Society still thinks you a consummate rake.”

  He fixed his sister with a stare. He didn’t like the idea of her knowing of his deeds. Or misdeeds as they were—which, quite frankly, were becoming few and far between since becoming Viscount Whitehurst.

  Lily pressed a hand to his chest. “What? I read the scandal sheets too!”

  “Well, you should not.”

  “Perhaps you should not be in them,” she shot back.

  The door opened again, and Mabel skipped in, ribbons bouncing in her raven hair. She threw herself onto a chair and boldly snatched up a piece of toast to slather it in jam. “I heard you curse too,” his sister said. “I am certainly going to tell Mama.”

  Luke groaned and peered at his twelve-year-old sister. “I am going to have to buy you more sweetmeats, am I not?”

  She grinned, jam smeared around her mouth. “Absolutely.”

  “That’s bribery, Mabel,” Noel scolded.

  “Why does everyone call you a rake?” his youngest sister asked, ignoring Noel.

  Luke shared a look with his brother and sister and shook his head slowly. This was not a discussion he wanted to be having with his youngest sister.

  “Tell you what, I’ll buy you double the number of sweetmeats if you can sit in silence for the entire meal.”

  Her grin expanded. “Deal!”

  “What are your plans today, Luke?” Lily asked. “Do you have time to take me to Gunter’s? Mama said she has a headache and cannot go.”

  “First I have to buy sweetmeats, by the looks of it, and I need to visit with one person,” he said. One person whom he really did not wish to visit. But he had promised Cassie’s brother he would keep an eye on her, and he needed to ensure she was not sneaking into anymore private rooms and covering herself in dirt. Little Cassie Fallon was up to something and he had to discover what—before her brother returned.

  Chapter Three

  Cassie stepped smartly around the puddle forming on the pavement in front of Guildbury Hall then skipped past another, her skirts in one hand and the other doing a terrible job of shielding her from the abrupt downpour. She ducked gratefully into the carriage, settled against the plush cushions, and pushed a damp strand of hair from her face. She didn’t normally mind the rain, enjoying the patter of it on the windows or the shingle rooftop of her father’s Yorkshire cottage, but could it not wait until she no longer needed to venture outside?

  The footman shut the door and she worked off her damp gloves to lay them out on the seat opposite. Jane’s house sat on the junction between Bolton Row and Curzon Street. Not far away but between the rain and London traffic, her gloves would surely have time to dry.

  A light tap at the carriage door made her jolt and she grimaced when she spotted the face behind the rain-speckled window. Of course he would be here. Looking frightfully dashing too, despite the rain, and the blurred view she had of him. She inched open the door. “What do you want?”

  “What a lovely way to greet a friend.” Luke flashed a grin at her, revealing even white teeth that sat so perfectly in his equally even mouth.

  “You are my brother’s friend,” she pointed out with a frown.

  Why she always had to notice how attractive Luke was she did not know. It was something that occurred to her more and more frequently over the years. He had been a fixture in her life for as long as she could remember, mostly because he and Anton were rarely apart.

  When he had become something other than her brother’s friend, she did not know. At some point, she’d grown aware of his black hair and the way it fell perfectly across his forehead in little curls that should seem boyish yet on his strong features, begged for a woman’s touch.

  His strong build could not be ignored either. He rode and fenced regularly, affording him shoulders that filled his clothes to perfection. She could only imagine what lay beneath the elegant blue waistcoat and her imagination never failed to fill out the blank pictu
re as though he were some marble statue carved by Bernini.

  “I had rather thought we were friends too.” He gripped the side of the carriage and it rocked slightly as he climbed his way in and seated himself opposite her. He slammed the door shut with a finality that told her he had no intention of leaving anytime soon.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Coming with you.”

  She folded her arms. “You do not even know where I’m going.”

  Lord, he smelled lovely. Rain mixed with a little cologne. The scent filled the vehicle, cleaving through her own vanilla fragrance with a brutal swing of masculinity. As the daughter of a duke, men had been rather too involved in her life ever since her debut. If they were not angling for her hand, they were trying to manage her. Masculinity equaled a hindrance for the most part.

  Until it came to Luke it seemed. Here, masculinity offered little morsels of temptation, luring her in to drink in his scent for just a while longer.

  “Where are we going then?” He shifted her gloves over, removed his hat, and sprawled his arms over the back of the seat, as though he had all the time in the world to sit in her carriage and cause her delays.

  At this rate, she would be late to meet Jane and Eleanor had already cautioned her to be better with her timekeeping. Cassie had tried so hard to ensure she was on time, even rising far earlier than she usually liked, and now Luke was going to ruin it.

  “Nowhere. At least you are not.”

  “I can be your escort.”

  “I have the footmen!” Leaning forward, she narrowed her gaze to slits. “Besides, being seen with you is no better than being seen alone.”

  “I do believe I’m offended.”

  By the twitching smile on his lips, she doubted it. If she were not so frustrated with being late, she might enjoy their back and forth as he was one of the few men who spoke to her on an equal level. “You deny your rakish reputation?”

  “It has been a long time since I have been accused of being a rake.” He set his hat on the brocaded seat, securing his position in her carriage for good.