by Kate Archer
Prologue
White’s, London 1818
The six old dukes had settled themselves round a roaring fire in their favored room of the club, each man aiming his feet toward the flames. The rain had come down in buckets since dawn, the morning no brighter than twilight. To a man, they were uncomfortably damp, despite expensive greatcoats and finely-made umbrellas. At their time of life, the wet was a cold serpent twisting round their arms and legs and slithering through their bones.
Still, they had all roused themselves and ventured out into the wretched weather to meet with one another. These gatherings had become usual to discuss the pact between them meant to spur their sons on to marriage and heirs. So long a time had they met in this manner that the Duke of Carlisle already had a grandson, by way of his daughter-in-law, Lady Hampton.
The pact between the dukes, conceived and launched in desperation, had cut funds and made things very uncomfortable for these errant sons. The strategy had seen success after success. To be sure, there had been bumpy roads and twisting byways to that success, but most of them had now had the pleasure to sit at a wedding breakfast.
Yet, at this moment, the men were strangely silent. As footmen silently swirled round them, handing out cups of warmed wine and setting up trays of meats, cheeses, and hot rolls, the gentlemen looked everywhere but in the direction of the Duke of Bainbridge. This should have been that gentleman’s moment for congratulations. But was it? They’d all read of the upcoming nuptials between Lord Grayson and Miss Dell in the newspapers. But had it really come off?
The Duke of Bainbridge suddenly laughed. “Gentlemen,” he said, “you look as though you attend a funeral. Yes, I know the cause of it—recent events seem most improbable. You may ease your minds, my friends. My son is married, I watched the ceremony with my own eyes.”
The dukes breathed a collective sigh of relief. The Duke of Wentworth, who now found himself the unfortunate owner of two gouty feet as opposed to one, stared at those swollen appendages that just now rested together on a stool.
“Penderton’s daughter, though,” he said with a note of incredulity. “I only say…that is, I had heard, I think it was hinted at, that she is rather, how shall I say…bookish.”
“Yes,” the Duke of Gravesley said, “I heard so, too. A veritable scholar just like her father. And of course, your boy is…well, how would one describe it? I suppose one might say, that is, he is generally understood to have…an aversion to books.”
“I do not claim to comprehend it,” the Duke of Bainbridge said, “but they appear delighted with one another. I expect they share eccentricity as a common trait, as they have gone off to Sweden of all places for their wedding trip.”
“We congratulate you, Bainbridge,” the Duke of Carlisle said. “Perhaps there is a lesson in this. We must understand that there are any number of ways a couple may find they prefer one another. At least, we must hope so, as we approach the end of the road regarding this pact between us.”
“A most difficult end,” Gravesley said.
The gentlemen round the fire all nodded, as if they had been dreading this day for some time.
“Well all right,” the Duke of Glastonburg said. “He’s the last holdout. How do we get that devil’s spawn of mine married?”
“Dalton? God knows,” the Duke of Carlisle said. “I fear it will take extraordinary measures.”
“Then extraordinary measures it shall be,” Glastonburg said. “I will not be left behind on this matter. I will not sit idly by while the rest of you bounce grandsons on your knees. By God, that rogue will come to heel!”
“Hear, hear,” the gentlemen murmured, though it was not particularly rousing or imbued with the confidence one might have wished for.
Chapter One
Miss Daisy Danworth clutched Mrs. Jellops’ hand. They stood in Daisy’s bedchamber in the house on Grosvenor Square, a rather sad affair of dull furnishings, worn carpets, and old curtains. Her father, Viscount Childress, never cared to spend money on anything a visitor would not see and so, above stairs, they lived in whatever the owner of the house had left for their use. Daisy might be dressed in all manner of silk and fine lace, but behind closed doors was decidedly shabby. It was also decidedly uncomfortable—the fires might roar in the drawing room and dining room, but they only sputtered in her own.
Though she and Mrs. Jellops had often bemoaned the discomfort of the sparse and cold chamber, the two ladies had not a care about the state of the room at that moment. They were at the window, watching for signs of anyone arriving to the house. The news had been coming in fits and starts all morning and they had been on tenterhooks to discover what was to be the end of it.
A cart pulled up to the front gate, driven by a gruff old farmer from the countryside. Surrounding the cart on horseback were her father’s particular cronies, none of which Daisy would allow into the house had it been her right to bar them from it. They were the worst sort of men—heartless and careless, crude and loud, and usually drunk.
As Mr. Gringer dismounted, Daisy glimpsed into the cart. Her father laid there, just as she expected. What she had not known was in what condition he would arrive.
“A sheet covers his face,” Daisy said quietly. “He is dead. My father is finally dead.”
Mrs. Jellops peered down and whispered, “I can hardly believe it. Can he really be dead? I half expect him to suddenly sit up and punish us for being at the window.”
Both ladies shivered at the thought and Daisy was shaken from her confidence. Mrs. Jellops was right, nothing was yet proved. It seemed impossible that anything could kill such a man. How could a horse and a fence kill the beast that had been the bane of her existence?
Perhaps he only pretended as some cruel joke? Or worse, perhaps he pretended so he might glean what her feelings would be on hearing of his demise? She had been careful, always, to hide her enmity. But might it not have been unmasked somehow and now he sought proof of it?
He had always been vengeful and spiteful, finding slights in everything and punishing those perceived slights from whatever direction they came. He’d been in more than a few duels and men stayed well clear of him when he was in a temper, lest they be forced to meet him at dawn over some ridiculous matter. He was unhappy with the world and went through it with his sword raised.
Lord Childress had been convinced, long ago, that Penny’s mother, Lady Childress, had been unfaithful. He had tormented the woman into a sickbed, and then harangued her into a grave. It had taken years to do it, but Lord Childress was nothing if not determined.
As a girl, Daisy had listened to it all from around doorways, through open windows, and sometimes in the very room she cowered in. She’d heard the insults and threats, and she’d seen the bruises her mother tried so hard to hide.
She’d dreamed up so many plans to rescue her mother from the beast. One fond imagining was that she would save her pin money, hire a carriage, and take them both far north. They might live in a forest with kind faeries and if her father ever came for them, the faeries would beat him about the head and drive him out. They would live in peace and her dear delicate mother would rest and recover under the cool shade of greenery.
Her mother was dead before Daisy could enact any kind of escape. She was ten, and told it at breakfast by a governess, as if she were being told the weather. Weeks later, that same governess left abruptly. Daisy always suspected her father had meddled with the woman. Mrs. Jellops arrived in her place and it was Daisy’s understanding that she’d been sent by a concerned cousin, Lord Mayton. She was certainly not a lady her father would have hired, but she was installed all the same.
; In those days, Daisy had clung to Mrs. Jellops like she was a lone buoy in the midst of an Atlantic storm. When she was too old for the schoolroom, the lady had become her companion. Mrs. Jellops might have been driven out like all the rest, but she was a distant poor relation and even for Lord Childress, that might have been a step too far. He would not have cared for Daisy’s opinion on the matter, but he would not have liked to be whispered about in his wider family, or worse, in wider society. He held a great regard for titles and one’s place in the world and that regard was the only thing that kept him in check. In any case, Mrs. Jellops, though seeming a comfortable and round sort of person, had a determination to stay by Daisy and would not have been driven out anyway.
As for his daughter, Daisy was nothing more than a commodity on the market. She had been told, in no uncertain terms, that she’d better marry well, as her only use to him was for the connections she might bring. She was never left to forget how unfortunate it was that she’d been born a girl, and how her mother had failed in producing a son and heir.
It was also supposed Daisy’s fault that her grandmother, Lady Alicia Polworth, had settled a great deal of money on her, cleverly locked up and overseen by trustees. It was a source of near constant aggravation that he could not get his hands on it and he was determined to at least find a way to claw back her dowry in some distant future.
She and Mrs. Jellops had gone on in such a house, always careful not to aggravate and to stay out of the way as much as possible. The house was like a tomb and had never seen laughter. The only servants who ever stayed more than a month were those who did not mind being constantly berated. She had sometimes dared to tell people that her at-home day was on Wednesdays. There were some, from time to time, who even ventured to come. They were those who did not know and had not heard of the awful Lord Childress. Always, Daisy listened for footsteps, fearing her father would arrive and say something scathing to a person he did not feel was suitably elevated.
Just now, though, Daisy began to hope her father had been silenced forever. Mr. Gringer had looked up to their window and shaken his head sadly.
The other men began to haul Lord Childress from the cart to carry him inside. Daisy could see now that the sheet that covered his face was tied securely around the neck. The men did not have a care for how the head lolled to one side as they dragged it off the wagon. A person alive would never be carried in such a manner. Not even as a ruse would they dare it.
“He is truly dead!” Daisy whispered. “My mother rejoices in heaven, while he travels in the opposite direction to pay in eternity for his crimes against her.”
“And against you, my dear,” Mrs. Jellops said.
“Yes, and you too,” Daisy said. “But we have outlived him. In a year, I will be twenty-one and have access to my grandmother’s money. I will have three thousand per annum and you and I can go and live somewhere in peace.”
“By the seaside,” Mrs. Jellops said, “as you have always spoken of.”
“Yes, though not Ramsgate. Not anywhere near that house, or any other that my father ever called home.”
“Agreed,” Mrs. Jellops said. “We will go somewhere that does not contain the taint of him. Brighton, perhaps?”
“Yes, it must be Brighton, I think. We shall swim every fine day and be as free as dolphins,” Daisy said, the relief of shaking off her father’s yoke coming upon her in waves, just like the sea she yearned for.
Mrs. Jellops staggered back over the suggestion that she would one day find herself bobbing in the sea. She was a very circular person, her waist belying her fondness of cakes, but though there was little doubt she would float sufficiently, she did not seek out exercise of any sort.
“Never mind it, then,” Daisy said, laughing. “I will swim and you will wave to me from the shore.”
“As has ever been my habit.”
“And I shall give you your own money,” Daisy said. “I am certain my father has been stingy with you. You will have no household expenses and I will settle on you three hundred pounds a year to spend of fripperies. I know how fond you are of pretty things—you can fill our house with them.”
The lady gently sighed, no doubt thinking of all the pretty little trinkets and gewgaws she’d seen in this or that shop that she’d not had the means to pay for. She smoothed her skirt, as if to dismiss that pleasant reverie. “Until then, though,” Mrs. Jellops said, “I wonder what will happen to us?”
Daisy could not care less. Whatever it was, it would only be a twelvemonth.
“You don’t suppose,” Mrs. Jellops said, peering down to the street, “that he’d name a guardian from that group of scoundrels?”
“Oh no, I do not think so,” Daisy said. “You know how he was always such a stickler for titles. It’s bound to be some cousin or other with as lofty a title as he could wrangle. I am certain he approached the Duke of Glastonburg, he is the entailed heir. But he would not have found success there, for the duke never liked him. I think it must be Lord Mayton, he is a cousin and an earl.”
“Ah yes, Lord Mayton, he sent me here to begin, very pleasant fellow. I suppose we will do very well under his roof. Though, it is just like your father that he would not have ever informed you of the circumstances,” Mrs. Jellops said.
“Oh, but why would he? What man like my father would believe he would ever die or care what happened to me if he did?”
Mrs. Jellops breathed a sigh. “And yet, he has died, and thank goodness for it. Now, I think we’d better go downstairs and see what must be done.”
Daisy turned and grasped Mrs. Jellops’ hands. “We must appear suitably devastated, though. I am not certain either of us is that talented of an actress, but we must try. It would be unseemly to appear relieved.”
Mrs. Jellops nodded and attempted an expression that might indicate her sorrow upon discovering Lord Childress had perished. It was wholly unsuccessful and only ended up appearing absurd and sending Daisy into fits of giggles.
It was near a half hour before they could compose themselves, go down, and claim that they had been crying too heartily to attend the men below.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Charles Battersea, Earl of Dalton and heir to the Duke of Glastonburg, had been stewing for weeks. He’d not much choice, as far as he could see. All of his friends but for Burke had been reckless in the extreme and now found themselves in the marital yoke. His funds had been cut off, his creditors were no longer as awed as they once had been and came knocking whenever it suited them, he was reduced to attending tedious dinners just to get a good dinner, and the season was coming to a close. Even Marty Destin from his club was beginning to inquire when he might get paid. He could not afford to open his house in Brighton and would not dignify his ridiculous married friends with his presence at their country houses.
He might go to Burke, of course. But then, he could not spend the whole summer there without looking like a charity case. And what was he to do with his staff? He supposed he’d leave them here, and they might scrounge whatever they could for food. Bellamy could go further afield to find a butcher who would extend credit or he could sell off some silver for ready money. He would not feel sorry for them, as he knew full well that Bellamy would help himself to the wine cellar, as he always did. As for his stable, what little money he had left was put aside to pay for it. People might starve, himself included, but as long as he breathed, his horseflesh would never have a hint of anything gone wrong.
That old scoundrel of a butler opened the door softly and said, “Lord Burke to see you, my lord.”
Charles waved his acquiescence. He did not particularly want to see anybody, but if he were going to decamp to Burke’s house, he’d better not bar the door to him now.
Lord Burke walked in and Charles noted him surveying the chaos of his library. Opened books and strewn papers littered every surface.
“I fail to see why you employ servants,” Burke said. “I have yet to enter this room and find it at all in order.”
&nb
sp; “As that is in no way a surprise, why do you bother to mention it?” Dalton said.
“Very well,” Burke said, “I will say why I have come. I wondered how you got on now that Grayson has married Miss Dell. I know you quite counted on him to remain a bachelor holdout with you.”
“Grayson,” Charles said bitterly. “Do you know where he’s gone with the little minx? Sweden. A wedding trip to Sweden. Who ever heard of anything so ridiculous?”
“Lady Grayson is not a minx and I do not think it is Sweden that has put you out of sorts.”
Charles shrugged. Burke had known the lady a very long time and was unlikely to be swayed by all he could say against Miss Dell. Or, Lady Grayson, as she had somehow made herself.
Still, she was a minx. She must be. How else had the lady librarian seduced Grayson? Giles Grayson, who never opened a book? It was unaccountable, and therefore, her fault.
“Really, Dalton,” Burke said, “if you intend on living in poverty rather than marry, that is certainly your purview. I simply do not understand why you are so irate over your friends’ marriages.”
“Oh, I see,” Charles said. “You are to be next. Who is the lady?”
“There is nobody,” Burke said hurriedly.
Charles looked at his friend critically. There was something odd in his tone. “I am glad to hear it,” he said.
“I am not certain I am,” Burke said mysteriously.
Charles decided not to pursue the matter. No doubt Burke had been disappointed in love. He only wished his other friends had found such luck. Unfortunately, those other fools had met with endless successes—one after the other had willingly trotted into the parson’s noose.
“In any case,” Charles said, “I will need to force myself upon your hospitality this summer, as I do not have the funds to open my house in Brighton.”
Burke looked up in surprise. “Oh no, my good fellow, I won’t open the house in Somerset until the shooting. I have been invited to stay at Ramsgate with the Minkertons.”
“Ramsgate? Who stays at Ramsgate?”