The Duke's
Hidden Scandal
Preview
Chapter One
Charlotte Wentworth sat on a stone bench among the roses. The tree above her head cast a small shadow, protecting her from the day’s heat, and bathing the grass about her feet in dappled sunlight.
She often came into the garden to write. It was pleasant to listen to the chirp of the birds in the trees and the rustle of wind about the branches while she scribbled in her journal. She rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, the ink staining their tips. The sight of it had been a constant companion over the past few years.
Rotating her wrist, she briefly paused in her writing, having filled almost five pages of her journal with her thoughts for the day. As usual, her musings led to poetry, and she read through the few lines she had created with a critical eye. She was rather proud of the little sonnet, finishing the final stanza with a flourish.
Charlotte was grateful for the moment of stillness amongst the flowers; it was one of the few times of late that she had felt any semblance of peace. As she watched a swallow flit in a darting line above her head, the quiet calm was fractured by the approaching sound of footsteps on gravel.
Charlotte swiftly secreted her journal in the folds of her dress as the familiar form of Sarah Gilmore, her governess-turned-companion, walked toward her. Charlotte’s heart sank when she saw the expression on Sarah’s face.
“What is it?” she asked mournfully, already knowing the answer.
“Your father has requested your presence at dinner,” Sarah said solemnly, her expression carefully blank. She stood primly in the gardens, her dark dress contrasting against the bobbing heads of the pale flowers.
“How is his mood today?” Charlotte asked, watching the familiar look of furtive worry cross her friend’s face as Sarah glanced back toward the house. “He is not so bad,” she said carefully. “He was rather anxious as to your whereabouts.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “And where should I be but, in the house, and grounds?”
“You know he worries about you.”
“He does not worry; he likes to be obeyed.”
Sarah stepped forward, her head on one side, giving her a look of admonishment. “He has had a difficult year. We all have.”
Charlotte sighed, rising from the cool bench and walking out into the sunshine to join her friend. Sarah was right; of course, they had all had a terrible year.
Her eyes strayed to the far walls of the house, where the ivy cascaded over the bricks and mortar beneath her mother’s window. Sarah had grown intimately familiar with that view over the past three and a half years. The curtains covering the pane were a painful reminder that no candle would be visible inside the room that night, or any night, now that her mother had left them.
She hooked her arm in Sarah’s, sighing heavily. “I am only saying that Papa does not worry about me. He worries for the sake of the estate. If I should vanish into the winds, who would he have to ensure an advantageous marriage?”
“Charlotte, you are being unfair.”
“I am being realistic.”
Sarah squeezed her arm. “Your father loves you in his way. Have you not considered that perhaps his mind is elsewhere these last few months?”
“I know he misses Mama. We all do.”
Sarah remained quiet for a long time as they walked toward the house through the grasses. The lawn had been left to grow, and the stems brushed their feet as they made their way inside.
“I know how difficult it has been for you. But provoking your father will lead to nothing but pain.”
Charlotte felt the weight of those words more keenly than ever as she glanced at Sarah. Their long friendship had been forged over the years, both with Sarah as her tutor and guide and her closest confidante. Charlotte often needed Sarah’s steady sensibilities when her own hot-headedness ruled her, and now was no exception. It occurred to Charlotte that placating her father was in both of their best interests.
“I have heard you,” she said softly. “I shall behave. I know he means well.”
Sarah laughed. “That has never been in question; I hope you know that. You are the easiest pupil who ever lived.”
“Such praise!” Charlotte said with a wry smile. “I wish I could list the benefits in my character; I could hand a card out to suitors to recommend me when I eventually return to society.”
“Did I say easy? You are quite impossible,” Sarah said good-naturedly as they reached the door to the house. It was opened by a footman, and Charlotte nodded to him gratefully as she went to prepare for another interminable meal with her father.
***
Lord Richard Wentworth, the Marquess of Wensingdale, was an imposing figure. His greying, slightly curling hair was swept away from his face, making his bushy eyebrows all the more pronounced. Since her mother’s death, his mouth had been set in a perpetually stern line, his cheeks hollowed out and sunken from lack of sleep.
Charlotte took a seat opposite him, her fingers trembling slightly in his presence. Although she had been eating meals with him all her life, his demeanour and general temper had changed a great deal since her mother’s death. His stern exterior was even more pronounced, and he rarely acknowledged any comments his daughter might make when he asked for her opinion.
Charlotte increasingly felt like a ghost in her own home. Sarah was the only person who truly listened to her, so Charlotte always wrote her thoughts down in her journal. At least on paper, no one could deny that she had said or thought something.
She cleared her throat as the starter of chicken soup was served. Her father’s eyes were fixed on his bowl, the dark circles around them heavy in the dim lighting of the room. The long-case clock in the corner was the only accompanying sound, save for the crackle of the fire, the atmosphere thick with tension.
She longed to share her poetry with her father, to see the warmth and pride in his eyes that he used to have in her earlier years. But those times were long gone. If she ever mentioned any whiff of creativity now, she could see his eyes glaze over. That had been her mother’s love, too, and he was neither ready nor willing to discuss such things.
Having decided she might mention the beauty of the garden to try and coax him out of his dark mood, Charlotte opened her mouth to speak. However, before she could utter a syllable, Lord Wentworth cleared his throat and laid his cutlery down in a deliberate movement that made fear spike through her heart.
She knew that expression, it always preceded an important announcement of some kind. Charlotte knew this would not bode well for her quiet existence of solitude and calm.
“I fear we have been in the country too long.” Her father’s rumbling voice moved through the space like thundering hooves. “It is time that we returned to society. It has been many years since you should have had your debut, and you must take your place among the ton.”
Charlotte tried to keep the horror from her face as she slowly lowered her spoon into her bowl.
“Did you have a particular event in mind, Papa?”
He looked up at her, his brow furrowed. “Event? We will be returning to London. There will be a plethora of events and balls as there always are at this time of year.”
Charlotte’s blood ran cold at his words. Although she had known she would have to return to society eventually, she had anticipated a gradual increase in her engagements over time. They were already halfway through the season, and it seemed preposterous that he was contemplating quitting the country altogether.
“Papa, I am still in mourning.”
He waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “You are only in mourning for another month at most. Our decision to end it early will be understood. If we wait any longer, the season will be all but over.”
Charlotte swallowed nervously, wishing Sarah was with her to argue on her behalf. Sarah was always polite and reverent with her father but could get her point across without triggering his ire.
“I am very content here, Papa,” she attempted, her voice rising in agitation. She felt close to panic. “I am able to write here, to go about my days gently. It has been a tumultuous year and difficult for everyone. I had not expected that we would return to London so quickly.”
Her father looked up at her, and his eyes narrowed, making Charlotte’s nerves bubble to the surface again. He had little time for excuses or notions of comfort. She knew that well. He had lost the only thing in his life that had ever brought him any comfort, and he did not expect anyone else to indulge in it now.
“My decision is final, my girl, and you will thank me for it. You are already nineteen and have missed many educational years of how one must move amongst the ton. Without some exposure to the season, I can never hope that you will make a good match.”
A dark flicker of something passed across his face, and Charlotte’s unease grew. The conversation felt weighted, as though there was far more to his desire to return than he was telling her.
“Could we not—”
“I have told you what we shall do. That is the end of it.”
Lord Wentworth never raised his voice but could win any argument with his steely gaze alone. It was at times like this that she missed her mother the most. Lady Wentworth had known exactly when and how to push her husband in the right direction, and her actions were always in Charlotte’s best interests. Her father saw her as a problem he needed to fix rather than a woman in her own right. Her marriage would only take place with her father’s approval; she had no doubt of that, and with the whirlwind of society before her, she felt nothing but misery at the prospect of who he would see as acceptable.
“Very well, Papa,” she bit back, placing her spoon against the side of her bowl as her father gestured for the plates to be removed. She had barely touched her food; her appetite entirely gone.
Her father said nothing else throughout the main course, barking at the assembled servants that he was in no mood for dessert before he left the room entirely.
Charlotte remained in the room alone, with nothing but silence and the weight of his expectations for her company.
Later, when she was finally alone in her bedchamber, Charlotte allowed herself a moment of intense grief that she had been holding off all evening. She sat on her bed, curled in on herself with her journal clutched against her chest, allowing the tears to fall in earnest.
London was somewhere that she had longed for when she was younger. At the age of sixteen, with a bright future ahead, she yearned to see the brightness of the city, spend time amongst the elite of society, and meet her peers on an even playing field.
Her mother’s illness had been a creeping and protracted affair, something that none of them recognized as serious when it first began.
Occasionally, over a period of months, her mother might say she felt too exhausted to get out of bed, and her father would call for a physician, believing it to be some malady of the mind. But after a while, those disparate days became more frequent, and in the latter months of her life, her mother had barely left her room, Charlotte acting as her principal carer and nursemaid.
She stared at the walls around her. They were covered in bright paper which seemed to laugh at her as her melancholy set in.
The pale greens and bright gold of the willow branches etched into the surface created a picture of the natural world that she so loved. The only solace she had had over the past year was her walks in the gardens and the surrounding areas. She had walked for miles with Sarah by her side as her mother’s illness had truly taken hold. The vast vistas of the English countryside and the endless rolling hills had reminded her of beauty when all her mind could feel was despair.
Now, she could not prevent the same feeling from overwhelming her. The thought of socializing amongst the ton, a world she was unfamiliar with and had been so absent from, was terrifying. She would be paraded before the bachelors of high society for them to judge if she was worthy.
Charlotte knew she was already considered beyond her prime, having missed her true debut at seventeen and now almost twenty. It was a dreadful thought. She could practically see the condescending expressions on the faces of those about the ball as she walked through the room—judged by so many who did not know her.
The fact that she had tirelessly chosen to care for her mother for three long years, giving up her chances at marriage and happiness, would not matter to the gossip-mongers. She would be judged for who she was now, not who she could have been.
Charlotte closed her eyes rising from her prone position and walking to her desk. In times of strife, she always turned to her journal. The act of writing by hand and allowing her mind to spill her innermost thoughts and feelings onto the page had always calmed her busy head. At least she could truly be herself, allowing her honest thoughts to manifest without fear of judgment and derision.
Chapter Two
Colin Ludlow, the Duke of Lindenbrook, looked over his desk, trying to make sense of the papers laid out before him.
It seemed that all he had done lately was search through reams of paper and sheets of crumpled bills and missives from his father. The ledgers and financial documents he had searched through seemed never-ending and he could make head nor tail of them.
He rubbed his temples, fighting off the throb of a severe headache as he tried to calculate the correct total from an endless stream of figures. The numbers were beginning to swirl before him now and he was none the wiser about where any of it might lead.
What he was sure of was that something about his father’s business dealings did not add up. What had begun as a gnawing uncertainty at the back of his mind had manifested into a rumbling undercurrent every time he read through his father’s effects. It seemed exceedingly strange to Colin that the late duke’s investments had been so successful throughout his life but then should take a steep dive toward the end of it.
A knock at the door pulled him out of his musings as his mother swept into the room without waiting for an answer. She looked effortlessly elegant as usual, her tall figure accentuated by the deep green gown that perfectly complimented her silver hair.
Colin hurriedly shuffled the papers on his desk out of sight. He did not need the duchess to see him pouring over old accounts held by the late duke. She would not understand his interest in such matters, and he was as yet unprepared to answer any probing questions on the subject.
She approached his desk, wafting a piece of paper under his nose, an expression of vague irritation on her face.
“Constance has finally managed to get her invitations out,” she muttered, rereading the lines within. “I do not understand why it takes her such an age to send these things, I have had the date held for weeks now, and it arrives only a week prior. No one will be able to attend, I mark you.”
Colin said nothing, knowing full well that Lady Constance threw the type of soiree that would have people dropping their engagements far and wide. Colin, for his part, could not think of anything he would rather avoid.
His shoulders tensed as his mother’s eyes met his over the top of the letter, her gaze somewhat hopeful as she read it aloud.
“There will be many there with whom we are acquainted. Lady Sterling and Mortimer will be in attendance. Lady Brentwhistle too, which is mildly vexing given her propensity to flirt with every man in a room, but I have faith that you shall enjoy yourself, nonetheless.”
“Mama, I am most busy here at present,” Colin protested. “Aunt Constance cannot possibly want for eligible gentlemen to attend.”
“You will always have business to see to, dearest; that is who you are. But it has been several weeks since you attended a ball with your family.”
“It has been three weeks, Mama, and may I remind you that I stayed interminably late at that event for your own pleasure.”
His mother’s cheeks pinked slightly at the reminder of that particular ball. She had, quite by accident, drunk a great deal of punch she had believed to be fruit cordial, and Colin had spent a long evening in the study of the house waiting for her to wake up. In truth, it had been a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the ballroom, and he had spent a happy hour reading The Mysteries of Udolpho before he was summoned to take her home.
“I was most grateful to you, as I said at the time,” his mother said briskly. “But you do need to meet and dance with some ladies this season, no matter how disagreeable you find it.”
Colin’s fingers tightened on the arm of his chair. His mother’s constant needling about the line of succession was becoming more tiresome by the day. He knew she was right, but with everything else he had to contend with, he needed to get to the bottom of his father’s estate before he could even think of matrimony.
“Will you at least consider it dearest?” she said pleadingly.
Colin sighed. “Of course, mother.”
“Would it alter your decision if I were to tell you that I very much want you to be there? You know how proud I am to see you uphold the honour of the title as the Duke of Lindenbrook.”
Her praise warmed Colin’s heart, but it was not without its history. He had inherited the title prematurely on his father’s death, and although his mother supported him now, that had not been the case in the early days. She had struggled with his father’s absence, and he knew if she discovered his investigation, she would be very displeased indeed.
“Thank you, Mama.” he said evenly, keeping his expression carefully blank with practised ease. He had learned at a young age not to wear his emotions on his sleeve.
The duchess hesitated; her gaze fixed on him for another few minutes. After a quick nod of approval, she placed the invitation on the edge of his desk and left the room. As soon as the door closed behind her, Colin slumped back in his chair, running a hand through his hair.
His eyes moved without conscious thought to the picture above the wide fireplace. His father’s stern countenance looked all the more disapproving today, bushy eyebrows furrowed, his mouth firm and angry, as it had always been in life.
“Take heart, young man. Maintain a proper posture. Your duty is to this estate, not yourself. When you are duke, your feelings and wishes no longer matter; is that clear?”
His father’s voice echoed in his head at least a dozen times a day. The late duke had been a strict and unforgiving role model to his young son. Colin was an only child, though his parents had wished for more. His mother had lost several children, and Colin was the only one who survived.
He stared at his father’s deep blue eyes, wishing he were here to explain himself. The strange thing was that so much of his father’s estate had been managed properly. The late duke was meticulous with his reports from his tenants, and his man of business was a competent and organized man.
But it was the duke’s investments later in life that Colin could not fathom. After a lifetime of securing the estate, his father had seemed to become somewhat reckless. He had placed a great deal of money into several volatile shipping companies overseas. Even Colin could see that it was unwise, looking back at the sketchy reports he had found, and when he eventually discovered a substantial sum had been lost, he was hardly surprised.
Then there were the withdrawals. Sums of money had been removed from the estate’s accounts, and assets liquidated without correspondence with his solicitors. No return had ever been recorded. The amounts were not exorbitant, but Colin’s nervousness grew at every one he discovered. His father was not a rash man, but his dealings toward the end of his life had all the hallmarks of someone who had lost his way.
Colin turned back to the papers littering his desk. He would get to the bottom of it. He owed it to his father’s memory and the estate’s future—at least the late duke would support him in that.
***
Later that evening, Colin arrived at his club and spotted Lord Edward Hayesworth at their usual table. Edward’s dark blonde hair was swept back from his face, his spectacles perched on the end of his nose, and he was frowning at the newspaper as though it had personally insulted him.
Colin felt a loosening in his chest at the sight of his old friend and made his way toward him.
Edward glanced up as Colin reached him, and a broad grin spread across his face.
“Ludlow!” he said happily standing up and shaking Colin by the hand before indicating the chair in front of him. “You look like you need a drink.”
He turned and summoned a waiter, ordering them both a brandy. Edward made a performance of folding up the paper as Colin settled into the high-backed chair opposite and Edward eyed him with a knowing look.
“What news?” Hayesworth asked, “You look positively maudlin.”
“So do you,” Colin said, glancing at the paper. “Whatever were you reading?”
“Pray, what is it with the broadsheets, dear fellow? One cannot seem to escape this incessant drivel. It is but a great deal of folly being circulated regarding my brother, as is oft the case. You would think that a peer of the realm would command a modicum of respect.”
Colin huffed out a low laugh as Edward’s infectious grin returned. He was a man who was rarely melancholy. With five brothers, Colin often wondered how Edward kept track of their comings and goings. Yet, they were all fine men, well-liked in society. Edward, the youngest and his mother’s baby, was doted on from every quarter. Despite this, he remained humble and understated—a perfect antithesis to Colin’s rather severe countenance.
“What pursuits has Berty engaged in of late?” Colin asked.
“Oh, the type of thing my brother adores above everything else—making a nuisance of himself in the House of Lords. Even with a proxy vote, he has created enemies left, right, and centre this week.”
“Well, that should please him.”
“Quiet. He will be thrilled.”
Their drinks arrived shortly afterward, and both men settled back in their seats, the gentle rustling of papers and the murmur of voices settling Colin’s fractured nerves. The long room in which they sat was mostly empty, with the occasional gentleman wandering through or speaking to an acquaintance. The heavy drapes over the windows kept the smog out, allowing a hazy darkness to settle over the company.
“So, what has you so unhappy, my dear fellow? I declare each time I see you, the frown lines between your brows have deepened.”
Colin followed the groove of the cut glass in his hand with his thumbnail as he leaned it from side to side, watching the amber liquid roll pleasantly in the glass.
“Do you remember when we saw one another at the garden party in May, and I mentioned that strange loan my father had taken out?”
Edward’s face puckered slightly as he sipped his drink, and then he nodded.
“I do. You said you had some paperwork to look through. Surely you cannot still be working on it now; it’s almost July.”
“I fear it will take a great deal longer even than that.”
Edward’s gaze turned serious, and he leaned forward in his chair, his eyes darting behind them to ensure they were not overheard.
“Are you concerned?”
Colin’s fingers tightened on his glass. He trusted Edward implicitly, but uttering his fears aloud made them seem all the more real.
“I am afraid so—the search for one begets another. There have been several unusual withdrawals that have the same pattern. I cannot understand them without going deeper.”
Edward set down his glass and clasped his hands together.
“Is there anything I can do? I would be happy to assist you if you would be willing to share your concerns. Your estate is vast; it will take you an age to do it alone.”
“In truth, I had hoped you might offer such assistance. You have always had a good head for numbers, ever since Oxford.”
“Well, we can’t all be linguists like you, after all,” Edward said cheerfully, the weight of his gaze easing. “I am surprised you agreed. I rather thought you’d want to do it all alone.”
“Yes, I can imagine you might. But you’re right. It’s too big a task for just one man. I feel as though I have been dreaming of ledgers for months.”
“Give me some of it, at least. I can come by next week, and we can go through it together.”
“Discretion is essential. My mother knows nothing of it. I just hope to God I will uncover the reason soon, and all of this will be quite overblown.”
Colin opened his mouth to speak on the matter further when there was a great roar from the far side of the room.
He turned, noting the card tables along one side. It seemed a rather sedate game of whist had taken a turn for the worse. Two men had been sitting opposite one another in the midst of a game, but they were now on their feet, an atmosphere of fury rising between them. The room around them fell silent in seconds.
Colin recognized one as Lord Percy Kilby, the Earl of Kenthurst. He was well-respected, handsome, and the epitome of charm on most occasions, but now his face was aghast as the other man threw his cards at him in disgust.
“You are a cheat, my Lord! This is not to be born!” the playing cards fluttered to the dark green carpet about their feet as Colin and Edward both rose, watching the exchange with concern.
Lord Percy’s opponent, a man whose name Colin could not recollect, was certainly a lower-ranking lord and much younger than Percy’s five and thirty. He was puce with rage, breathing heavily, and as he angrily moved around the table to get at the other man, Colin and Edward stepped forward hurriedly, hoping to break up the fray.
“You must think me quite the fool, Kilby, if you believe you can flagrantly flaunt your tricks like this.” Caldwell, Colin thought suddenly, that’s the man’s name. He looks ready to call Kilby out.
“Tricks?” Percy said steadily. He was a pillar of calm in the face of the other man’s rage, and it was not doing Caldwell any favors. “I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head. If your faculties fail you at the card table, I suggest you direct your blame inwardly, not upon me.”
“You’ve had a run of luck that borders on the miraculous. Am I to believe you truly held four trumps three hands running?”
“You may believe as you like,” Percy replied. “I need not resort to such low play to best you. If you cannot pronounce your vowels, just say so.”
The space around them was suddenly filled with people. Men appeared from other rooms to see what the fuss was about, and suddenly, a crowd had formed, and many began to take sides.
Kilby was a long-standing member of the club and had many loyal supporters in the room. Caldwell also had a group forming behind him, but many of them looked only a few years older than eighteen and half terrified with it.
Colin watched Caldwell carefully. It was the type of argument that could escalate quickly, and when honor was at stake, there was no telling what would come about. He recognized the signs immediately as Caldwell stepped forward, his chest puffing out, his eyes flashing.
“I will not pay because I do not fill the coffers of a cheat, my Lord!”
There were cries of “shame!” and “insolence!” from behind him. Meanwhile, Kilby straightened a cuff on his sleeve and fixed Caldwell with a cool stare.
“If you cannot pay, I am sure we can come to some agreement,” he said quietly, and Colin saw Caldwell’s countenance change. The fire in his eyes turned to hatred and suddenly, he lunged toward the other man, his fists clenched.
For reasons he could not entirely explain, Colin found himself leaping in between them in the next moment. His arms came up to push Caldwell back, and he took a glancing blow to the jaw for his trouble.
Soon, chaos reigned as Kilby’s supporters jostled with Caldwell’s, and there was a great deal of shouting and hollering, which Colin took no part in. All he was focused on was getting Caldwell away from the other man, and somewhere he could calm down in his own time.
Club staff poured into the room, burly men Colin had never seen before arriving in seconds and wrenching Caldwell away. Colin was shoved back none too gently when one of them thought he was the instigator, and he backed off as quickly as he could as the men all about them did the same, watching an incensed Caldwell be dragged from the room.
Once the excitement had waned and onlookers had seen their fill, Colin straightened his shirt cuffs and cravat, which had come undone in the fray. Turning, he found Lord Percy Kilby watching him beside the card table. Save for the cards littered about his feet he looked utterly unruffled by the experience, a slight smile at the corner of his mouth.
“I am most grateful to you, your Grace,” he said sincerely, bowing to Colin as he did so. “I had not anticipated that he would actually try to attack me. I have no notion of where he got the idea I was cheating. These cards were provided by the club, and I have been playing whist for twenty years. I assure you, my words were true. I have no need to cheat to beat him; It is scarcely of my concern if the gentleman cannot reckon the trumps to save his life.”
Colin heard Edward chuckle behind him and turned to find his friend unscathed and looking between the two of them with interest.
“You are welcome, my Lord,” Colin replied to Lord Kilby. “I have not seen behaviour like that for many years. Certainly not at Whites.”
“No indeed. You have my apologies for disturbing your evening. Are you injured?”
“No harm done,” Edward chipped in, looking at Colin with a wry smile. “Indeed, my blood is quite invigorated after such a scuffle. It has been far too long since I engaged in a bout. I daresay we ought to indulge in fisticuffs more frequently, Ludlow.” Colin offered a disapproving shake of his head, but Edward merely returned his grin, unperturbed by the situation. “Indeed, I must admit it has somewhat diminished my appetite. May I escort you home, old friend?”
“Thank you,” Colin replied, “I think I have had enough excitement for one evening.”
“Thank you again, your Grace;” Lord Kilby said once more. “I am in your debt.”
Lord Kilby took his leave as Colin and Edward went down to the carriage, but as Colin climbed inside, something was nagging at the back of his mind that he could not shake. He had heard Kilby’s name or seen it somewhere recently. He could not think where, but it bothered him. Lord Kilby was very well connected and attended many of the same events as Colin, but they had never had much occasion to speak before today.
Colin felt as though he was standing on the edge of something significant, like a half-forgotten memory, but when he tried to grasp it, it was like trying to catch smoke. He had a feeling that the memory was not a pleasant one.
***
As Colin and Edward left their club, another carriage was on its way to London, but a gloomier party there had never been.
Charlotte sat opposite her father, flanked by Sarah, and stared sullenly out of the window as the countryside changed from green to brown and finally to the black smoke and towering buildings of the city.
Charlotte hated London. She was convinced spending time in this city had caused her mother to fall ill, and she was far happier with movement around her. London was all stillness, stone, and haste. She wanted the green of a hillside and leisure to write her poems.
Her father was also staring out of the window at the other side of the carriage and had barely spoken a word since they set off. Sarah had attempted light conversation for a little time, but the Marquess had been in no mood to entertain it.
Charlotte longed to write in her journal. It rested beneath her gloved hands on her lap, and she could already think of thousands of words to fill it with. She felt like she was in a race against time to get all of her creative thoughts down on paper, before they were stifled by the sprawling city.
The carriage ambled on, the dirt roads turning to the mud and filth of the streets. Charlotte could smell the stench of too many people packed into the confines of too small a space. She clutched her journal more tightly to her, her one anchor amidst a storm of emotions she could give no voice to.
The city grew larger in her vision as the country disappeared behind. Everything was going to change now, and the grief and solitude she had clung to would have to be brushed aside. She was here for the end of the season, and her father had made it very clear that she would do her duty and find a husband in the fray.
Chapter Three
Colin stood before the fire in his study, uncertain what course to take next.
In his hand, he held an import agreement that bore his father’s signature. The details of it had confused him to such a degree that he was now paralyzed by indecision. His father had made a series of transactions relating to exotic imports—luxuries like silks, rare spices, and even delicate porcelain items from the Orient. Many of the goods had a high yield but were also incredibly unpredictable, subject to demand and the risks of long journeys across the sea.
The duke had agreed to import the items on consignment, taking on liability without guaranteed returns. It was a substantial risk and entirely at odds with the man he knew. His father had once told him that speculation was for fools. He had always made tangible investments in stable commodities such as grain or timber. The document in his hand contradicted everything he thought he knew of his father’s nature.
When he was eighteen the late duke had sat him down and proudly explained the family business to him. Little by little, he had given his son more responsibility over the years, but now that Colin was in control, he realized just how much his father had concealed. Whether the duke felt it was not Colin’s place to know or simply did not think to tell him, Colin wasn’t sure.
Or he was in such a terrible position he could not explain it to me because he was too ashamed to do so.
That thought had been running around his head all day. The idea that his father had left the estate in rack and ruin made his stomach clench unpleasantly. But Colin was determined to discover the truth. If nothing else, he had to understand if things were salvageable. So far, he had plenty of evidence of hasty or foolish decisions, but they alone would not destroy a fortune overnight.
He started violently as the door to his study opened, his mother striding into the room without knocking.
“Why are you still working?” she asked, her tone making Colin’s teeth clench tightly together. “You have not got long. You promised you would attend Lady Constance’s event this evening. Please do not let me down; she is relying on you.”
Colin hastily folded up the agreement and placed it in the drawer of his desk before turning to face his mother and trying to keep his temper in check.
“Emotion has no place in business, boy.”
If his father were standing before him now, he would simply command Colin to find a wife for himself and would expect a result before the night’s end. The late duke had been authoritarian and uncompromising in all areas of his life. Colin did not need his mother to remind him of his duty; he knew it very well.
“There are a few hours until the ball, Mama,” he said, forcing civility into his tone. “I will go and change directly.”
“Good, and I do not wish to see you wearing any of that casual nonsense your friend Lord Hayesworth employs. I want you there as the Duke of Lindenbrook.”
“I am the Duke of Lindenbrook.”
“Indeed, yet whenever you enter a room, you try to fade into the shadows. Your father would never have allowed that.”
Colin bit his tongue to prevent himself from shouting. That is simply not true. He wanted to scream at her, and make her realize how much effort he always made at every event he attended.
At the last ball, he had danced no less than five of the seven sets and had a blister on the sole of his foot for a week. It was beyond bearing that she would accuse him of hiding when all he had ever done was try to be like his father.
His mother was oblivious to his fury. She merrily counted on her fingers who would be there that evening.
“Lady Penrose will likely appear with her odious son. Her daughter has married very well indeed, however. I saw them promenading last weekend, and they are quite the most elegant couple. Lady Winterbourne has cancelled due to sickness. I do not believe I have ever seen her healthy…”
Colin remained where he was, nodding at intervals as he listened to his mother prattle on about the eligible women he would meet tonight.
In truth, the thought of marriage was something that filled him with dread. He had met plenty of very pleasant ladies in his time, but all of them had left him cold.
Colin was not good at expressing his feelings. He had never learned affection from those around him, after all. It often perplexed him that his parents had so longed for children yet when Colin eventually arrived, they had rarely shown him any warmth at all.
Perhaps I am simply impossible to care for. What kind of woman would choose a man like me?
“Colin, are you listening to me?”
“You have been listing women’s names for the past five minutes together, Mama. As far as I am aware I can only choose one wife, or do you wish for me to propose to them all?”
Colin snapped his mouth shut, but the damage had been done. He had allowed his temper to get the better of him, and his mother’s eyes widened comically for a moment before her cheeks heated in a violent blush.
“I see,” her voice was small and quiet now. “I was merely endeavouring to prepare you for the company you might need to entertain this evening. Clearly, you have matters well in hand.”
Colin came out from behind the desk and approached her. The guilt in his chest only grew as he saw the hint of tears at the back of her eyes as he took her hand.
“I am sorry. It has been a trying day. I am grateful to you for what you have told me, truly. I did not mean to lose my temper.”
His mother swallowed, pulling her hand from his and stepping away, her throat working as she fought with her emotions. Even a simple brush of a hand was rare between them.
I touch my valet more than I do my own mother.
“I am going to go and get ready for the ball. I shall instruct Carter that I must be dressed to impress,” he said.
That won him a faint smile, and he swiftly left the room before her unhappiness faded and she began speaking of eligible ladies all over again.
***
Charlotte stared at her reflection in astonishment.
While caring for her mother for the last three years, how she looked had become secondary. She needed practical clothing that would not matter if it became soiled and she had barely looked in a mirror once per day, always at her mother’s bedside or reading to her late into the night.
It was only when Sarah entered the room and audibly gasped at her appearance that Charlotte hurried to the full-length mirror to ensure she wasn’t wearing something entirely inappropriate. Quite the contrary. She looked like a lady.
When her father had told her he had ‘selected a gown’ for her, Charlotte’s heart sank to the floor. Although her father was well-versed in gentlemen’s fashion, a lady’s dress was very different from the right sort of waistcoat or fob watch.
The dress, however, was perfect—dark green in color and embroidered with gold stitching in a floral design. The sweeping silk of the skirt fit her perfectly, widening out from her narrow waist where a band of gold settled just below the corset. Delicate lace lined the bodice, and the capped sleeves were beautifully complimented by elegant white gloves that reached over her elbow.
“Oh, my Lady,” Sarah said, coming further into the room and smiling widely. “You look absolutely glorious.”
Charlotte tweaked the skirt, unsure what to do with such a compliment. She was not used to such attention, and Sarah’s eyes were full of something that looked like awe. It was unnerving.
“Sarah, I look the same as I always do, only in a finer dress.”
“No. None of that. You look beautiful. You look as you should for your debut. Your mother would be proud.”
Charlotte managed a strained smile, trying to hide how much those words cut to her soul. Her mother would have loved this dress. She had always been Charlotte’s biggest supporter and confidante. Not having her beside her today was a fresh pain she had not anticipated.
“You look very lovely, too,” Charlotte said, looking Sarah over. “Is that a new dress?”
“Your father told me I was to accompany you and not disgrace you. He purchased this at the same time as yours, I believe.”
Sarah’s dress was much more understated than Charlotte’s, made from muslin and pale in color, but it complimented her dark hair. Charlotte’s strawberry blonde hair was tied up nearly at the back of her head and secured with a green ribbon to match her dress. She did feel pretty when she looked at her reflection, and she was glad that her father would find her suitable.
Her fingers were trembling, and she had to keep them busy to hide her nerves.
She did not feel ready to walk back into society so soon. Charlotte had chosen to miss her debut—and everything that came after it—in order to care for her mother. If given the choice again, she would do exactly the same. Still, it did not help her feel any less worried for the night ahead.
Images stormed her mind of saying something utterly foolish to the wrong person or tripping over her feet during a dance and sending the entire ballroom into disarray. The worries ebbed and flowed through her mind, and no matter how she tried to dispel them, new scenarios kept coming.
She walked to her dressing table to retrieve her fan, only to hear hushed voices near the door. Charlotte recognized two of the maids speaking together just outside.
“But it’s so late in the season!”
“I know. She’s never been to a ball before. Lord knows what she must be feeling. I thought her father would never let her out in society. Not after all this time.”
“And with only her mother for company, too, she has become quite peculiar. She rarely speaks, spending all her time in the gardens these days—when she does address all of us, she always seems so pale and sad. His Lordship is terribly private, too. Nothing can have prepared her for that world. Nothing. I wouldn’t wish to be in her shoes; I’ll tell you that for nothing.”
Charlotte felt her ears grow hot at the rude commentary on her life and she was about to storm outside and confront them. With an effort, she stayed put, angry that such gossip was even present in her own home. She knew each maid by name, having run the household for much of her mother’s confinement, and didn’t appreciate them criticizing a decision they knew had been taken out of her hands.
Charlotte straightened as she turned to Sarah with a brave smile.
I am going to prove them wrong and show the world just how capable Charlotte Wentworth can be.
***
Colin kept a firm grip on his mother’s hand as they entered the ballroom. Lady Constance had an impressive home and a beautiful space for her dances.
The room was long and wide, with viewing balconies along the left-hand wall. On the right, large windows looked out on the torch-lit grounds with huge grey curtains sweeping to the floor. Two enormous chandeliers hung from the ceilings, adorned with candles and glittering beautifully.
The air was thick with perfume and chatter as the guests mingled and wandered about in sparse groups. Colin kept his face in a suitable mask of polite indifference as he escorted the dowager duchess through the crowds. He kept his head held high and exuded the authority that came with his station and title, but in his heart, he counted the minutes until he could leave.
Ahead of them, Colin recognized the twin blonde heads of his aunt and cousin. Lady Constance turned to them, smiling broadly, in a glittering white dress of sparkling satin. Elizabeth, Colin’s favorite cousin, and longtime friend, also looked very pleased to see them both.
“Oh, my dear, I am so glad you are here,” Lady Constance said hurriedly as the two ladies leaned in close. “I have been anticipating your arrival,” Constance whispered. “You know that Lady Templeton has come fresh from her sojourn at Loch Lomond, and I simply must find out the details.”
Colin caught Elizabeth’s meaningful look as their mothers exulted in the excitement of anyone going as far as Scotland for a portion of the season.
He edged his way around to Elizabeth’s side and found his nerves settled a little at her presence. Elizabeth was small, like her mother, petite with very pale blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She had a wicked sense of humor, and Colin had told her more than once that she was too clever for her own good.
“You look quite the thing this evening,” Elizabeth said, surprising him. “I have never seen you look so handsome, in fact. Are you trying to impress a mysterious lady?”
“Yes,” he answered sardonically. “However, there is no mystery to it. She is called ‘Mama’ and has been hounding me to look my best, so I do not send your mother into a fit of the vapors.”
Elizabeth snorted rather inelegantly and raised her fan to hide it. “Well, whatever she had convinced you of, you have excelled yourself.”
“Your earrings are very pretty,” Colin managed, never certain how to compliment a woman, and rolled his eyes when Elizabeth gave a gentle laugh at his expense. She seemed pleased, however.
“Thank you. They were my grandmother’s. She always told me they would bring me good fortune.”
“And have they?” he asked, interested despite himself.
“Do you know, I found a shilling on the ground on the way back from the modiste this morning.”
“Were you wearing them at the time?”
“No, but then, I imagine their influence spreads across half of London.”
Colin found himself smiling at that. Elizabeth had a dry wit that always improved his mood, but just as he was enjoying their discussion, she was called away to see to something her mother required, and Colin was left alone.
Mindful of his mother’s rather unpleasant comments earlier that day, he chose not to walk about the very edge of the room and began to make his way slowly through the crowds, mingling about the company and nodding to several acquaintances who he passed.
He noticed Edward on the other side of the room, engaged in an animated discussion with a group of gentlemen, but as soon as Edward noticed him, he bid farewell to the group and made his way over.
“Your Grace,” he said, bowing in a most ridiculous manner and making Colin sigh in exasperation. “An honour as ever.”
“Do be serious, you fool,” Colin replied with feeling. “You are making people stare.”
“As well they might with so esteemed a personage. I was concerned you might not attend at all. The hour is so late, I felt you might have managed to escape your mother’s clutches for once.”
He kept his voice low, but Colin gave him a warning glare. It would not do for people to think he was ruled by the whims of the duchess.
“Believe me,” he answered dryly, “it was not for lack of trying.”
***
Charlotte entered the ballroom with nerves so acute she thought she might swoon.
Her father’s arm comforted her, but she knew better than to expect him to be her guardian all night. As soon as he could, he would escape to the card room, and she would not see him again for hours.
The ballroom all around her was an overwhelming riot of color and people. Charlotte was not only contending with the fact that this was her debut in society—but also that she had never attended a ball before.
She felt on display and horribly isolated as they walked through the crowd, attempting to draw on her inner reserves of strength.
I suppose there is one benefit to experiencing the trauma of losing my mother so young—I have already faced many trials in life, and I know I am stronger than I feel.
“Ah,” came a voice from nearby, “now that is Lady Charlotte Wentworth, daughter of The Marchioness of Wensingdale… her mother passed away…no, she never had a debut…a pale little thing, isn’t she…”
And so, it went on as Charlotte attempted to keep her composure. She was clearly the subject of as much gossip as she had expected, but it did not make it any easier to bear. Her fingers tightened on her reticule, where her journal was hidden from view. It had once brought her strength when she needed it most, and she had kept it close for the same reason tonight.
She pasted on a smile as her father introduced her to several eligible men, who eyed her in a way that made her skin crawl. She was only nineteen, but some of them looked at her as though she were thirty, confused by her very existence.
To her horror, her father seemed to think he had done his duty and muttered something about refreshments before he walked away. She was left in a mixed group of men and women, none of whom she knew. She kept smiling, praying they would not see through the fragile façade. The judgment on their faces was a stark reminder of the life she had left behind. She could no longer hide in the country, not if she expected to live a normal life for a lady of her station.
The thoughts whirling around her head were calmed slightly at the sight of a familiar figure approaching her. She smiled at her cousin, Lord Malcolm Preston, who sidled swiftly through the crowd, his sights set on her and his smile firmly in place.
“My dear Lady Wentworth,” he said with more force than usual. “I am so pleased to see you.”
His expression was all sincerity, and Charlotte was even more relieved when he subtly drew her away from the mingling crowd to a patch of floor that seemed less crowded.
Malcolm assessed his cousin critically for a few moments. She looked very beautiful indeed and was putting a brave face on it, but she was far too pale for his liking.
As a servant passed them by, he picked up two glasses of wine from the tray and handed her one encouragingly.
“How are you faring?” he kept his voice low. “I was not sure if you would come tonight. I am thrilled to see you looking so well.”
Charlotte huffed a laugh as she took a healthy swallow of her drink. “Thank you. I did not know you would be here, and it is good to see a friendly face.”
“How has it been so far? Have you received any proposals?”
Charlotte snorted into her glass and Malcolm grinned as she recovered herself, a tinkling laugh escaping her as she shook her head.
“You are such a fool, Lord Preston. I do not know why I put up with you.”
In truth, Charlotte was thrilled to have a few moments alone with Malcolm. He was one of the few people who had written to her throughout her mother’s illness. As an only child, she had no siblings, but Malcolm was the closest thing to a brother she had. He was handsome, with thick blond hair and dark brown eyes that looked almost black in the candlelight.
“Are you here with your mother?” Charlotte asked, hoping her aunt was not in attendance. She was a waspish unpleasant sort of woman who her father loathed.
“Alas, no, she is in Bath for her health.”
Charlotte frowned, any mention of ill health flooding her mind with images of her mother. “Her health? Has she been ill?”
Malcolm’s eyes were gently amused as he looked at her. “Well, let us say she thinks she has been ill. And that is all I will say on the matter. But the waters are doing her good. I have told her she should stay for as long as needed, and I shall keep our beautifully quiet and calm townhouse safe until she returns.”
Charlotte hid a smile behind her glass as Malcolm took a sip of his own. As he did so, however, his eye seemed caught on the other side of the room. Trying not to appear too obvious, Charlotte looked in the direction of his gaze.
She recognized the lady in question. It was a Lady Elizabeth Ludlow. She was quite captivating now that Charlotte looked at her in detail. She had an enormous amount of curly blonde hair that was tied about her head with several silver ribbons, and she wore a deep blue gown that was one of the few of such a rich color in the room. She certainly stood out.
Turning back to her cousin, she found Malcolm still looking at Lady Ludlow and felt warmth fill her chest that he might have made an attachment.
“I have been gone a long time, it would seem,” she said with amusement and Malcolm, realizing he had been caught staring, actually blushed.
“Oh, I was not… that is to say,” he cleared his throat several times and sighed heavily. “Is it that evident?”
“I am afraid so, yes, but then, I have known you a terribly long time, and I have never seen you blush before.”
Malcolm glowered at her in mock outrage and Charlotte felt her nerves reduce even further at their teasing friendship.
“Are you sure you are alright? I can imagine this must be quite an adjustment from your life in the country.”
Charlotte thought of her mother’s weak hand held in hers night after night. The stories she would read to her, the slowly ebbing candle that seemed to echo the inevitable decline of her mother’s health. She mustered a half-hearted smile, gripping her reticule all the tighter.
“I have something to occupy myself at least,” she replied.
Malcolm frowned. “Oh yes? And what is that?”
“I am eager to see how long it will take you to ask Lady Ludlow to dance. I might even place a wager it will be fewer than ten minutes together.”
Malcolm ran a hand awkwardly through his hair and frowned at her as she laughed at him, but Charlotte was only half joking. She had never seen that look of intensity in her cousin’s eyes before, and it made her wonder what else she had missed while she had been away.
I hope you enjoyed the preview of my new novel“The Duke’s Hidden Scandal” It will be live on Amazon soon…
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