Page 28 of The Dark Duke’s Cinderella (The Untamed Ladies #1)

CHAPTER 1

H ayward House,

March 1840

“Cousin Thomas,” Eammon exclaimed as he rose from his seat and rushed around the oak desk that had belonged to his father and his grandfather before him. He embraced his cousin and noted the salty scent of the ocean that still clung to him. He also took note of the slightly green hue Thomas tended to carry whenever he had been out at sea—or in a fast-moving carriage. Or anything with substantial locomotion, in fact.

“You look dreadful,” he said. “Have a seat. I shall call for some tea.”

“I would care for something a little stronger, cousin,” Thomas said, but Eammon shook his head.

“I think not. Peppermint tea will do you much better. I do recall the last time you returned from Ireland. I had to have my entire carpet taken up because you thought you could soothe your anxious stomach with brandy. And whiskey before that, if I recall correctly.”

“Perhaps you ought to stop sending me to Ireland then, Eammon,” Thomas said as Eammon pulled the cord that would summon his maid.

“I should hope I will not have to. Not after this last trip,” he said, and Eammon’s eyes grew wide.

“You have found out something? At last? You know what killed John and Maebh Keane?” He sat across from his cousin, who leaned heavily to one side of the armchair.

“I do. And it is just as your father said, Eammon. They were killed in a carriage accident. It was tragic, but it is what happened. I’ve spoken to the constable who investigated, their neighbor who tended to their home after it happened, and the man who drove the curricle that caused them to go off the road. There is nothing more to discover. It was an accident,” Thomas said as he leaned back.

“I can’t believe it. There must be more to it. It can’t have been so silly a thing, surely? An accident? How ordinary. I…I can’t accept it. Something more must have happened. Something…someone…”

“Do you wish for it to have been a murder?” Thomas asked, exasperated now. “Can you not be happy that nobody wished them ill? That nobody wanted them dead? Can you not be happy that you need not waste your time lollygagging over what happened to them anymore?”

“I am not lollygagging. How can you say such a thing? These people were my…They…Without them, I would not be here. It is bad enough my father did not want me to look into their deaths all these years and now you tell me I am wasting my time?”

He ran a hand through his hair. Ever since he’d arrived at Hayward at age 5, he’d thought of John and Maebh Keane, his first parents. Or as his mother always called them, his heavenly parents.

Their death had left a deep wound within his chest, and while he had found happiness with Alexander and Lydia, he’d never forgotten. Out of respect for Alexander, he hadn’t asked too many questions and accepted what he had been told by his parents and by the few people he’d had a chance to discreetly ask. John and Maebh had died on a rainy night in an accident.

That was it.

But he’d known in his gut there was more. There had to be. Fate was not that random. Surely? Or was it? Had he been lollygagging?

To be sure, there was much he had to do at Hayward and indeed the House of Lords. Since his father’s death a year ago, he’d taken on not only his title as Duke of Leith but also all responsibilities that came along with that—the estate, the tenants, the business, and his seat in the House of Lords. None of it had been easy.

Despite the fact that he had more aunts, uncles, and cousins than he could count, the transition had been vexing. Not just because he’d loved his father with all his heart. Or because he had seen how much his mother, Lydia Hayward, the Dowager Duchess of Leith, had suffered with his father’s passing. He’d done all he could for her too, but she’d withered away before his eyes and eventually decided to leave Hayward altogether, relocating to Eammon’s sister Hazel’s London townhouse.

“Eammon?” Thomas called, and he looked up.

“Yes?”

“Woolgathering, were we?”

Eammon shook his head. “I was just thinking of everything that has happened these last few months. I really thought that finding out what happened to John and Maebh would give me some sort of direction.”

“I should think you have plenty of direction, Eammon. You’re a duke, for heaven’s sake.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, the scuttlebutt around London would have that drawn into question.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “So let them. They say this is a new age and a new era under Queen Victoria, but the old guard never changes. They gossip and chatter and say whatever they like as long as it is entertaining; it does not matter if it is the truth or not. You know.”

Eammon looked down at his hands. He adored Thomas like a brother. In fact, he had often regarded him as such. They were first cousins after all, by way of Alexander’s sister Hanna. Though they were five years apart, they had always been close.

They’d spent their entire childhood together, from holidays to summers away at their respective estates. They were, in fact, as close as two people could be. And yet, there were things he knew he could never tell Thomas.

“Besides, you are not the main topic being talked about and haven’t been for some while. Evidently it is someone rather different who is.”

“And who, pray, might that be?” Eammon asked. He did not keep up with the broadsheets and scandals around town. Nor did he attend balls or social gatherings unless it could be avoided.

“Charity Pembroke, the daughter of the late Viscount Pembroke is the one who is talked about by anyone, I hear.”

“You just returned from Ireland, how can you know that? And what are they saying about her? She lives in the country and never comes into town, how can there be anything to talk about?”

Thomas cleared his throat. “Ireland is not out of this world, Eammon. People talk even there. And on the boat. And I had a rather talkative travel companion who attends Hanover Square Rooms regularly and was a fountain of information. As for Lady Charity, she no longer lives in the country seat. They relocated to London last month.”

Eammon’s eyes grew wide. In all the years his father and Lord Pembroke had been friends, he’d only met his daughters, Charity and Eleanor, a handful of times and not at all since …well, it had to have been ten years. Lord Pembroke had not liked venturing into town and had avoided it when possible. On the rare occasion he had been in town for important votes or matters he could not delegate, he’d come alone. Still, Eammon had heard of Charity and Eleanor from time to time, given his father’s close connection to them. He’d been surprised not to have met either daughter after their father’s funeral six months ago, but he’d assumed they were being hidden from the world due to their grief.

But now, Charity was here? In town? And the topic of conversation?

“She is to be married,” his cousin informed him. “Rumor has it that Gabriel Marting, Viscount of Markham will propose. My travel companion overheard him at Bootles talking about his intentions to propose. Today, in fact, at Stafford House.”

Eammon was stunned. Charity, married? It seemed rather fast.

“The mourning period for their father is hardly over, does that not seem hasty?”

“They’ve gone into half-mourning. I suppose they were rather in a rush.”

“I’ll say. It seems rather hasty,” Eammon said.

“I agree. But I suspect it has something to do with the will.”

“The will?” Emmett asked, feeling as though he had wandered into a play after intermission and had no idea of the plot.

“I’ve been back and forth to Ireland no less than three times in the last six months, and I know more about what’s going on in society than you do.”

“I’ve had to tend to my mother and my sisters,” Eammon said. This was not a lie. Nine months had passed since the death of his father, and his mother had struggled, and he had spent much of his time caring for her and settling family matters.

He had taken time to attend Lord Pembroke’s funeral up north because his father would have wanted him to, but otherwise he had been occupied with matters of the estate.

“Well, do not keep me in suspense. What is being said about the will?”

Thomas cleared his throat. “There is some clause in it stating that Lord Pembroke’s daughters must be married before they receive their inheritance. And that the inheritance might include Pembroke’s infamous Book of Confidences.”

Eammon rolled his eyes. He had heard of Pembroke’s Book of Confidences all of his life, a book that supposedly contained dirty secrets of various influential families which had afforded Pembroke the luxury to live a more comfortable life than most viscounts could afford. He supposedly blackmailed an assortment of people to get what he wanted be that business, or votes in the House of Lords, or favors. Whatever it was, his book could make it so.

Eammon knew this to be nothing but gammon.

“If such a book existed, why would Pembroke risk it getting into the hands of interlopers or those looking to marry up? He would not put his daughters in that position, surely,” he said.

“Unless he was being blackmailed. Someone might have blackmailed the blackmailer. Perhaps someone knew something about Pembroke and he agreed to add such a clause to the will. Or perhaps he had someone in mind to marry his daughter. Someone who has not yet come forward?”

“It is all rather peculiar,” he said and shook his head.

“Your father never mentioned anything? They were friends, he and Pembroke, were they not? Papa always says that Uncle Alexander did not keep friends outside the family outside of Pembroke,” Thomas said.

“Uncle Edwin is right; Father did not keep many friends. He and Pembroke were friends, but they did not see one another all that often. Sometimes only once a year, whenever Father went shooting with Pembroke in the highlands as they did every year. But he never mentioned anything about a will.” He narrowed his eyes. “Pembroke came to Father’s funeral, you remember, do you not?”

“I do, yes. He was one of the few who came back to the house after the funeral. A peculiar fellow,” Thomas said.

“He was. He spoke to me for a time. He …” he waved a hand, dismissing the thought. “He said nothing about a will or a demand that his daughter get married to receive her inheritance. But then, I was not in the mood for idle gossip.”

For a little while, the only sound was the grandfather clock in the corner, but then Thomas cleared his throat and rose.

“Anyhow, I shall go. Mama is awaiting me with a most delicious dinner, I am certain. Say, are you going to the ball at Stafford House this evening?”

“Do you not know me at all? When have I ever gone into London for a ball?” Eammon said with a laugh.

“You ought to go. Lady Charity will be there, as will Lord Markham. You might see their debut as a couple if you attend.”

“And why, pray, would I be interested in that?” Eammon asked as he rose.

“It might be the society wedding of the year, and you are one of the few who know that they might be there together for the very first time as a pair. In fact, I would not be surprised if he doesn’t propose right there. You know what a coxcomb he is.”

“I think not. I am going into London this night, but I am visiting my mother, not to be a spectator to some horrid display. But I do thank you for your information, you always know everything that is going on. I would have suspect you of being an author for The Age newspaper.”

Thomas let out a laugh. “Now that would be a scandal. Duke’s son revealed as secret scandal sheet writer.”

The two laughed as they walked to the door, but when Thomas was gone, Eammon could not help but think back once more to the very last time he’d seen Lord Pembroke—and the strange promise he’d elicited from Eammon. A promise he had made—but with no intention of keeping it.

Now, he realized, he might have to reconsider his choice.