Page 44 of Surrender to the Earl (Brides of Redemption #2)

Adam Chamberlin sat alone in his London study, preoccupied once again by the astonishing realization that he was now the Duke of Rothford—he, the youngest of three sons, who’d been called a scoundrel and a rake and worse by his own brothers.

For many years he’d taken great pleasure in living up to that.

He and his younger sister were the offspring of his father’s second marriage to a much younger woman who’d brought little but beauty to the family, not property or connections.

Adam’s brothers had never let him forget it, although always out of earshot of their father.

He’d deserved Society’s scorn once upon a time; he’d even reveled in it—anything to prove to his brothers that their threats and their condemnation didn’t matter to him.

Before joining the army, he’d never been responsible for anything or anyone.

But the Eighth Dragoon Guards had shown him that a man could be judged on his honorable deeds, not his ancestors or his money.

He’d been able to start over, to support himself instead of holding his breath waiting for his father to die and his brothers to make good on their threats of cutting him off.

But that hadn’t happened. Fate had intervened in a way impossible to predict, and he’d had to resign his commission.

And now he, who’d never once even been allowed to know the responsibilities of a duke, was saddled with all of it, homes and estates and servants who all depended on him not to make a mistake.

He was very good at making mistakes.

Suddenly, he heard a sound, something tipping over on a shelf. He stilled, thinking that although Rothford Court, a palatial pile of rocks on Belgrave Square, was so cold as to be a cave in winter, it would hardly be permitted to have rats.

And then he heard a sneeze.

He relaxed back in his father’s big chair. “Would you like a handkerchief?”

After a long moment, he saw her little head first, dark hair in a braid, face pale at her discovery.

It could only be Lady Frances Chamberlin, his eldest brother’s child, hiding underneath the long table behind his sofa.

She was ten and had been away in the country on his return to England a few months back.

Now she stared at him with the wide blue eyes of the Chamberlins, and it was like looking into his brother’s eyes.

But instead of condemnation, he saw innocence and wariness and curiosity.

He stood up and gave her an exaggerated bow, hand sweeping across his stomach. “Lady Frances, it is so nice to see you again.”

She bit her lip, and if possible her eyes went larger. But there was a hint of humor there, as if she found it silly that an adult would bow to her.

“I barely remember you,” she said at last, voice hesitant and quiet.

He seated himself behind his desk slowly, not wanting to frighten her off. “You were four when I left. What do you remember of me?”

She was holding something clutched in her hand, working it between her fingers nervously. “Mother says you did bad things and that I should not em—emu?—”

“Emulate me?” he finished for her.

She nodded. “How could I be like you? I’m a girl.”

“Very wise. I certainly made mistakes when I was younger, but I hope I’ve grown up and learned my lesson.”

She took several steps around the sofa and stopped. “You were grown up when you left.”

“Some people don’t think so,” he said dryly. “Even I don’t think so. I could be foolish. But not to you, I hope.”

She shrugged. “I remember you putting me on your shoulders once and romping around like a horse.”

He grinned. “I remember that, too.”

“And Father caught us and scolded me.”

Adam’s smile faded. “He was scolding me, child, not you.”

“You sent me a letter when he died. My governess, Miss Hervey, said I should keep it hidden from Mother, and I do so although I don’t know why. It was quite nice.”

How could Adam tell her that her mother believed every word of the hatred her husband, the ducal heir, had harbored for Adam?

For no other reason than that he hated Adam’s mother, that he feared Adam was their father’s favorite as a child, until the two older brothers had conspired to turn their father’s approval to dismay and then terrible disappointment.

Like so many people, Frances’s mother thought he was worthless. He’d never felt that way about himself, had done his best to become a better man. He had so far to go.

“I had the fever, too, you know,” Frances said solemnly, running her finger along the bookshelves that lined one wall.

“I didn’t know. I am so glad you returned to health.”

“Not my father or Uncle Godfrey or Grandfather. They all died.”

“I’m so sorry, Frances.” Adam nodded, not knowing what else to say.

It still seemed so unreal that he was now the duke, the man with the power and the wealth, who’d once thought his army career the only thing that would keep him from genteel poverty when his brother inherited the dukedom.

That power couldn’t bring back the dead, couldn’t absolve him of the guilt that lingered on the edges of his dreams. He still lived with the memory of unexpected battle, the emotions of fighting for his life, the triumph of winning—and then the vivid images of his men dead and dying.

He was trying to put it in his past. The investigator he’d hired was due to arrive any moment with the details that would, hopefully, give Adam some measure of peace.

Frances now stood at the edge of his desk. “You look sad, Uncle Adam. Father died last year. Great-Aunt Theodosia says we mustn’t worry about him, that he’s at rest.”

“You’re a brave girl,” he answered, smiling at her.

There was a polite knock on the door. Frances stiffened and looked over her shoulder warily.

“I can’t let you hide,” he said with regret, “but if anyone asks, I will say I requested your visit.”

She brightened.

“Come in,” he called.

Seabrook, thin white hair combed meticulously across his pink scalp, bowed his head after he entered. “A Mr. Raikes to see you, Your Grace.” He glanced at Frances, and if he was curious, he’d long ago learned not to show it.

“Thank you for answering my questions, Frances,” Adam said. “You may go now.”

She gave him a brilliant smile that Seabrook couldn’t see, then skipped from the room.

Raikes stepped in after she’d gone. A private investigator, he was plump and bald, with a neatly trimmed beard—a man who looked so normal no one would give him a second glance. Adam assumed he was very good at using that to his advantage.

“Your Grace,” he said, bowing his head.

Seabrook closed the door behind him.

“Sit down, Raikes.” Adam leaned forward. “Did you find Miss Cooper?”

Raikes allowed himself a small, pleased grin as he sat. “I did, sir.”

Adam let out his breath, then said mildly, “It took you long enough.”

The man smiled, unperturbed. “That it did. It wasn’t easy to find her.”

“But I told you her brother’s name and shire.”

“Given that you served with him, it’s a shame you couldn’t come up with more, Your Grace.”

Adam arched a brow at the man standing up for himself, letting his amusement show. “Yes, well, we were comrades, not close friends.”

“And it would have helped if the lady would have stayed put. But she couldn’t, Your Grace.” Raikes cleared his throat, his frown marking his uneasiness. “She had to work to support herself and her mother after Sergeant Cooper’s death.”

Adam felt a stillness inside him, a disbelief and a gaping hole of guilt. It was his fault a gentlewoman had had to lower herself to earn her living. “What is her position?” he asked, trying not to imagine the worst. A desperate young woman could sink so far…

“She is a lady’s companion, sir, hired earlier this year by Lord Warburton of Durham for his daughter.”

Adam understood the plight of a lady’s companion, the endless hours at the whim of another person.

More than once his Aunt Theodosia had spoken of her disdain at the way some of her friends treated the unfortunate women they employed.

He eased his stiff fingers, surprised to find he’d been clutching the arms of his chair.

“That is not the worst employment a young lady can have.”

“No, sir. And you’re in luck. Her family has come to London for the Season.”

At last, something was finally going his way.

“Tell me where she lives.”

Miss Faith Cooper, unusually young for a lady’s companion at twenty and five, was dressed in her usual dowdy, bulky clothes designed to hide that fact.

But today she was feeling conspicuous; in fact, had been feeling followed from the moment she’d entered the curving pathways of Hyde Park.

Pulling her cloak tight about her to combat the chilly temperature of the early Season in London, her entire focus was on her eagerness to be with the Society of Ladies’ Companions and Chaperones, as they’d laughingly called themselves.

Who else could understand and commiserate better than others who had to endure the whims of elderly ladies who could never be too warm, or the whims of selfish young girls who believed the search for the proper husband was the worst dilemma a woman could face? Sometimes one just had to laugh.

Faith had once known all about real dilemmas: dwindling money without dowry or the handsome features that might make up for it.

All of this she’d overcome on her own, by means both scandalous and necessary.

And though it was hard work helping a self-centered young woman during her first London Season, Faith relished the challenge of guiding the girl to maturity and happiness.

Sometimes she felt like she was guiding the baron and his wife, too.

They had been social leaders in their quiet village, and were now at sixes and sevens in Town.