Page 30 of The Dark Duke’s Cinderella (The Untamed Ladies #1)

Eammon climbed the steps to his sister Hazel’s townhouse two at a time. He knocked once, and almost immediately, his sister’s butler, Mr. Jackson, opened the door.

“Your Grace,” he said with a smile.

“Jackson, how is the duchess this evening?”

Eammon momentarily closed his eyes and scolded himself for not having called her the dowager duchess, as was her title now. His father had been dead for nine months, and he was still not quite used to the new terms.

Before Jackson had a chance to reply, a familiar voice called out from the drawing room.

“Anxiously awaiting you, dear nephew,” his aunt Louisa said, joined shortly by her younger sister, Cressida.

“Louisa, Cressida,” he said warmly and embraced one, then the other.

He adored both of his aunts, but he and Cressida had always been closest. They were the same age, just a few months apart, and when he had first joined the family, she had been the one he had gravitated toward the most. Now she was married, and he hardly ever saw her, which was a great shame. However, their reunions were all the sweeter. As for Louisa, she and his mother had always been like twins, and as such, she was almost a third mother to him.

“I did not know you were here,” he said.

“Lord Clarke has business in town,” his aunt informed him, “so I have come to join him. I could not pass up a chance to see both Louisa and Lydia.” Then she dropped her voice. “I am glad you are here. Lydia is always so much happier when you are.”

“And yet she would not stay at Hayward, where she could have had the pleasure of my company every day of her life,” he said.

“You know how she is. She does not want to be a burden,” Louisa said gently.

“How would she be a burden in a house with fifteen servants? But I know—she did not want to stay because it reminded her too much of Father.” It was a truth they had to acknowledge for his mother’s departure had nothing to do with being a burden and they all knew it.

Louisa nodded. “You are not wrong,” she suggested. “But she misses you dreadfully.”

“I am here now.”

“Is that you, Eammon?” his mother called from the drawing room.

His aunts each placed a kiss on his cheek. “We will leave you to it,” Louisa said.

“You need not go on my account,” he said quickly.

“But we should. Marjorie has invited us to dine with her at Grosvenor Square, and Hazel is already there, so we shall go,” Cressida explained. “Do not be a stranger.”

With that, they disappeared into the London evening, leaving him alone with his mother.

He made his way into the drawing room, where he found her seated by the fire. She looked old—much older than her fifty years. Was she fifty? No, not quite yet. And yet she looked as though she might be sixty.

He walked up to her and kissed her on each cheek. As he did, he caught sight of her gown. It was an old-fashioned style, something that might have been popular twenty years ago. In an age of wide, puffy dresses made out of simple materials but with elaborate accessories, the gown she wore was the opposite—an empire-line gown, gathered under the bust, made of what might have been muslin, with an assortment of stars etched on it.

“You look different,” he said. “Lovely, but different. Is this a new gown?”

“Faith, no,” she said with a girlish chuckle. “This is one of the gowns your father loved most when we first met.”

“I did not know you still had gowns from when you first met.”

She chuckled. “I did not. Marjorie did. She brought a trunk full of old treasures a few days ago, and I spent hours going through them. Can you believe it still fits?”

She got up and modeled the dress, making him smile.

“It does fit splendidly,” he said, and for a moment, he could imagine what his mother had looked like when she was still a young girl.

She waved a hand. “It does now. Marjorie had her lady make alterations. Anyhow, it makes me feel young.”

“It is not as though you are old,” he said and sat across from her.

“No, perhaps not. Old enough to be a grandmother, I dare say,” she said.

“If you wish for a grandchild, you should bother Hazel and Marjorie. At least they are both married already.”

“You do not think it is time that you got married?” she asked.

She had always wanted him to marry and have children of his own, and of course, he knew that he ought to do that at some point. But he had never been terribly interested in the matter. However, since his father’s death, there had been a relentless stream of demands from his mother that he get on with the business of finding a wife and securing the line.

“You should go to the ball at Stafford House instead of visiting your old mama,” she said. “Stafford House is supposed to be full of ladies looking to make a match.”

“Stafford House again? I think not,” he said and shook his head. “I happen to know that a proposal may take place there this evening, so I doubt there will be much attention paid to anything else.” He paused. “Not that I would want to be paid attention to,” he added.

His mother smiled. Her hair, once flaming red, had grayed over the last few months, but it was still radiant. As was her smile—when she chose to smile. For the moment, however, she kept her lips pressed together tightly.

“And who is getting married? It is such a lovely time—the period before one gets married. Well, as long as one marries by choice.”

His mother liked to remind him that she had not married his father by choice. She had been tricked into it. However, she had ended up adoring her husband, which had made up for the somewhat unorthodox way they had found each other.

“Charity Pembroke. The late Lord Pembroke’s daughter.”

His mother sat up at once. “Pembroke’s daughter is getting married? But they are barely out of?—”

“They are in half-mourning,” he confirmed. “But apparently, there is some clause in his will that states she must marry before she can inherit whatever she stands to inherit. And whatever it is…”

“Oh no.” His mother stood abruptly, walked to the fireplace, and placed one hand on it. “This cannot be. This is dreadful.”

“Mama,” he said, rising. He was worried whenever she acted in such a strange manner.

She turned then, her face pale as she clutched the little cross necklace she sometimes wore. “Who is she marrying?”

“Gabriel Marting, Viscount Markham,” he said.

His mother’s eyes grew wide. “No, no, no! You cannot let this happen. You must—no, no, no…You must go there and stop this. You must.”

He frowned, trying to understand why his mother was suddenly so distressed.

“Mama, please sit down. You are being?—”

“I am being hysterical? Yes, I am. But you must stop this marriage. You cannot allow him to get his hands on the book.”

He took a step back. “The Book of Confidence? Is that what you speak of? Are you telling me it is real—and that whoever marries Lady Charity will get his hands on it?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice firm. “And it cannot be Markham. It must be you. You must marry her.”

“Marry her?” he exclaimed, certain he had not heard right. “Mother, do not be ridiculous.”

“Listen to me, son. You must protect Lady Charity from men like Lord Markham, for he will not be the last. I would be surprised if he is the first. Ever since Lord Pembroke died, I have heard of all manner of men looking to marry her. Some of low standing. It cannot be permitted.” His mother sounded adamant, but Eammon was just as determined to rebuff this sudden demand. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if his mother was not engaged in some sort of scheme to get him to marry.

“I do not care about Lady Charity, nor about whom she weds,” he replied. At once, his mother clasped her hands.

“Lord Markham is a dreadful man. He has a woman in every town in England, he gambles. He would be an awful match for her.”

“Many young women must wed men they do not like. You were one of them. In fact, so were Aunt Arabella, Aunt Emma, and Aunt Hanna. And all turned out happy enough,” he argued.

“That is not the point I am making, Eammon and you know this well. It is not about happiness, it is about danger. These men seek to take advantage of her and you must prevent it. Your father promised hers that he would be the one to ensure she is looked after, as well as her sister,” she continued.

“I made no such promise,” he said, though in the back of his mind, he knew this was not entirely true. He hadn’t meant to make such a promise but …he had. Hadn’t he?

“But you did. It is a matter of honor. Besides, it is not just about Lady Charity. It is about her inheritance. And what is contained therein. If it falls into the wrong hands, it would be unconscionable.

“It cannot be allowed…It would be a disaster. I do not know what Pembroke was thinking making such a stipulation. Everyone has been talking about this wretched book for years and many would wish to marry one of his daughters on the chance that it is real and contains damaging information one could use for blackmail.”

He shook his head and placed a hand on his mother’s shoulder. “Mama, you do not make any sense, this book has been talked about like the holy grail and now you are telling me it is real and—I still do not understand why we must stop the marriage. Why should I wed Lady Charity over some book full of gossip?”

“It is not a book full of gossip. It contains proof, evidence that could bring down great houses. You must wed Charity to prevent this.”

“Prevent other houses from falling?” he asked, for the truth was, he was well aware many dukes held secrets. Everyone in their society did. Down to the last stable hand. But why should he be made to marry Lady Charity to protect these people from having some lowly viscount get this evidence?

Why did Lady Charity matter so much? Yes, it was sad she’d be wed to a man less than ideal, but such was life. He himself might one day have to wed for convenience rather than love. Still, his mother was adamant. Her eyes burned with a fire he’d thought extinct. Yet, there it was again. She was determined, and he knew he would not be allowed to leave her before he heard her out.

“Sit down,” she commanded in a tone she had not used with him since he was a schoolboy. “Sit down and let me explain. And when I am done, you will understand why it is of the utmost importance that we protect Lady Charity and the secret she holds. Not for the sake of others but for ours.”

Eammon sat beside his mother as she’d ordered and waited with bated breath for her to tell him what he already suspected—a truth that would shake his life to the very core for the second time in his life.