Page 48 of Duke of Emeralds (Dukes of Decadence #2)

PROLOGUE

“ W hat do ye think he will be like?”

“What do you think he will be like,” Catriona corrected without a moment’s hesitation, barely looking up at her book.

Despite the constant movement of the carriage along the cobblestone roads of London, she did not feel sick though she couldn’t fathom how anyone could concentrate in a place as noisy as London.

She’d been on the same page for quite some time now.

Ava let out a sound of frustration. Catriona glanced up at her, and Ava quickly straightened, smoothing out her exasperated expression.

“What do you think he will be like?” she repeated, this time speaking slowly through her thick Scottish accent.

It would not go away, Catriona knew. They’d lived all their lives in Scotland, after all.

But she doubted the London populace would appreciate her slouchy and unladylike sister speaking with a lack of primness.

Her father and English governess had taught her all the manners and speech of a proper lady in England, especially since her father had been an Englishman. But Ava, being the second of the Wallace daughters and the far rowdiest of the bunch, did not take well to the teachings.

“I think he’ll be an old crabby man,” said Maisie, her soft tone almost masking her excitement. “He has never married, after all. And he usually lives on the outskirts of London.”

“I don’t see why those two points would make him a crabby man,” Catriona pointed out.

“Well, why has nae he married?” Ava insisted. She was practically bouncing in her seat, getting more and more energetic the deeper they got into the heart of London. “I thought it was mandatory for English gentlemen to marry and pass on their titles.”

“Perhaps not mandatory, but it’s certainly expected,” Maisie explained with all the wiseness of a ten-and-five year old girl who thought she knew the world. “Do you think we should ask him when we meet him?”

“You will not ask him anything,” Catriona stated. She’d given up on reading, so she put the book aside.

“Why not?” Ava protested, pouting. Unsurprisingly, brown curls were popping free from their hold as unruly as she was. “He’s our uncle. He’s family. We should be able to ask him anything.”

“You’ve never met him before, Ava. Do you not think it best to ensure you are more comfortable? Or rather, that he is more comfortable with you?”

“Catriona is trying to say that he might not like you,” Maisie observed, and Ava gasped in offense while Catriona rolled her eyes.

“That is not what I’m saying.”

Ava crossed her arms, raising her chin. “He’s Father’s uncle, so surely we need not concern ourselves with such formalities.”

Catriona raised a brow at how perfectly those words had left her sister’s lips. It seems her Scottish tongue fell to the wayside when she was upset. “He’s Father’s distant uncle. Even more distant from us.”

“He agreed to take us in,” Maisie pointed out.

“Likely because he felt duty bound to do so.”

“So, you think he will not like us?”

Catriona sighed. Unsurprisingly, the conversation was swiftly getting out of hand.

She looked at Maisie, who was quickly growing into a beautiful young lady with a heart of gold and a soft demeanor that made Catriona fear for the fragility of her heart.

Then she looked at Ava, her bubbly sister who was yet to grow out of her mischievous nature and never failed to say the first thing that came to her mind.

And when she thought of the quiet home of the unmarried, elderly relative they did not know, she feared what their presence might cause.

“All I am saying is that we must remember to be polite and proper,” Catriona said, choosing her words carefully. “Lord Heaton graciously decided to take us in after Father died, even though he does not know us, and the last thing we want to do is give him a reason to regret that decision.”

Silence met her words. She’d always been able to rein her sisters in whenever they got too ahead of themselves. She only hoped that it would last for longer than a day this time.

Unsurprisingly, Ava was the first to break the quiet with a squeal of excitement. “We’re here!”

Catriona straightened. The Earl of Heaton did own a house on the outskirts of London where he preferred to reside, but he had chosen to move to his house in Mayfair, deeming it a more appropriate residence for the three girls he’d chosen to take in.

At least, that was what he’d said in his letter a few weeks before Catriona and her sister left their family home in Scotland.

It was to help them integrate into English society, preparing them for when they would one day take part in the London Season.

But the sight of the house churned Catriona’s stomach instead.

She held her emotions in check, especially since her apprehension was at odds with her sisters’ excitement.

They were eager to start a new life in London, to experience the place they’d only heard about through their father’s stories.

Catriona didn’t want to think about how much they would stand out next to the fair-skinned, gently bred ladies of the ton.

Footmen swarmed the driveway as their carriage pulled in, led by a stately man wearing all black.

Catriona immediately knew him to be the butler.

He clasped his hands and waited until one of the footmen opened the door of their carriage before he greeted them.

She tried not to look back at the carriage that arrived behind them, bearing their luggage and her cocker spaniel that she could not bear to leave behind.

“Good evening, Misses,” he greeted, his lined face softening slightly. “Welcome to Heaton Manor. My name is Francis, and I am the butler of this residence.”

“It is nice to meet you, Francis,” Catriona greeted, smiling politely. “I am Catriona, and these are my sisters, Ava and Maisie.”

“I know you all, Miss Wallace,” Francis stated, not unkindly. “Lord Heaton has already briefed me of everything he thought it prudent that I know.”

That caught Ava’s attention, distracting her from openly admiring the stately house. “Everything?” she asked. “And what would ‘everything’ entail?”

“Your names, physical description, background, and circumstances,” Francis stated.

Catriona blinked, masking her surprise as best as she could. “I see. I suppose that could entail everything indeed.”

“It certainly does.” Francis swiveled on the balls of his feet and began making his way up to the front door. “If you would follow me, I will take you to Lord Heaton. He is waiting for you in his study.”

Catriona followed, grateful that Ava did not make any comment as she did the same.

She’d expected Maisie not to act too out of line upon her arrival, seeing that the youngest Wallace sister was rather soft-spoken, but Ava was a different story entirely.

She held her tongue, however, as they were led into the pristine, ornately furnished foyer and down a long hallway before coming to a stop in front of a mahogany door. Francis knocked once.

“Come,” came a gravelly voice from within.

Catriona’s heart thudded against her chest as Francis opened the door and gestured that they enter. She did so first, eyes falling on leather chair with its back turned to them. She could see a head of white hair peeking over the top of the chair.

“Your guests have arrived, My Lord,” Francis informed.

A beat of silence went by with no movement, and then the person rose, standing far taller than Catriona expected.

The Earl of Heaton turned to face them, and Catriona couldn’t hide her look of surprise.

He was certainly old. The white hair and thick white beard said as much.

Even from the distance, she saw the deep wrinkles that lined his face.

But despite his obvious age, he stood like a man twice his size with broad shoulders and a commanding presence.

He didn’t smile, but Catriona could easily imagine that if he did, he would charm any lady he wished.

She recovered quickly, sinking into a curtsy just like her mother had taught her. “It is nice to meet you, Lord Heaton.”

At her sides, she saw her sisters do the same though they were a beat behind.

Lord Heaton said nothing, even when they straightened.

He only stared at them, eyes narrowed, gaze running up and down their length.

Catriona tried not to show her discomfort, ignoring that tiny piece of fear rising up her throat.

Was this it? Did he already find their presence so displeasing that he no longer cared to take them in?

Her father was Lord Heaton’s closest heir, after all, which was what she assumed led him to reach out to them in the first place.

But had he realized he’d made a mistake?

“You look like your father.”

She blinked. The words were directed at her, but she couldn’t tell if he meant it in a good way. She stared at him for a few seconds, trying to determine the best way to respond.

Finally, she settled on, “I do.”

Lord Heaton shifted his eyes to Maisie, on Catriona’s left, then Ava, who stood on her right. “And you two look like your mother.”

“Only Maisie is not quite as beautiful as I,” Ava stated, and Catriona stiffened.

Maisie, so easily riled up when provoked by Ava, quickly shot back, “I am far more beautiful than you. And smarter.”

“But I’m quicker.”

“Not with numbers.”

“Who cares about numbers? Physical prowess has always been far more impressive.”

“Ava—” Catriona hissed.

“Can you ride a horse?”

She tucked her tongue in her cheek at her uncle’s question. He was looking at Ava, and yet her sister still pointed at herself and asked, “Are ye askin’ me?”

A piece of Catriona shriveled and died at the Scottish accent. This was it. He would cast them out, thinking them ill-suited for London society.

Lord Heaton raised a white brow and nodded.

Ava clasped her hands behind her, nodding proudly. “I can. I am the best of the three of us.”

“It isn’t a competition,” Maisie murmured under her breath, and Catriona prayed their uncle didn’t overhear.

Lord Heaton continued staring at Ava, his brows lowering slowly into a frown. And then, just when Catriona thought they were about to be shoved back into their carriage and sent back to Scotland, he burst out into laughter.

She blinked, sharing looks of confusion with her sisters.

“You might look like your mother,” he observed, “but you are your father’s daughter. You all are. I can see Edward in every one of you.”

Catriona didn’t allow herself to breathe just yet, didn’t give in to the relief coursing through her body. “I was not under the impression that you knew our father very well, My Lord, even when I wrote to you.”

“I knew him well enough for him to have left an impression,” Lord Heaton explained as he approached. “And please, call me Frederic. I don’t care for the title enough to have my three nieces speaking it so formally to me.”

He came to stop in front of Catriona. She stared up at him, not knowing what to say. He was so unlike what she’d expected that?—

He pulled her into an embrace. Catriona stiffened in his arms, eyes growing wide.

“Welcome to Heaton Manor, girls,” Frederic said. She felt him reach out, and then her sisters were there, enveloping him as well. It was warm. The last time she’d felt the warmth of a fatherly embrace was days before her father had succumbed to his fever. Tears rushed to her eyes.

“Welcome to your new home.”