Page 15 of The Duke’s Indecent Scandal (Indecent Dukes #1)

Chapter Fourteen

G regory

“Why did you not tell us before?”

“Who was sending the letters?”

“What was the threat?”

“When did you find them?”

Everyone was shouting, it seemed, except himself, Nathanial, and Sebastian. When Sebastian did begin to shout, it was to quell the others.

“Stop! We cannot talk to everyone at once.” Sebastian held up his hands, managing to be heard over the others loudly enough that they subsided, though Christian continued to grumble. Nathanial was staring across the table at Gregory in relief, and he understood the emotion. He felt a bit ashamed that he had not had Nathanial’s courage in coming forward.

Yet, he also could not help but wonder… had Nathanial considered that one of them might be the culprit? Was he just more trusting than Gregory? Or had he considered the possibility and discarded it? If so, what had convinced him to trust them all?

Now that no one was shouting, Sebastian turned toward the table where Gregory, Nathanial, Zachary, and Matthew were sitting. Matthew was rubbing his pocket where his coin was, his expression extremely blank, as if he was trying to figure out a way to make his luck work for him under these circumstances… but there was nothing to flip for.

Zachary had gone from red in the face over the topic of his baroness to very pale as he looked back and forth between Nathanial and Gregory. He’d truly mourned the passing of his father, if Gregory was any judge.

In some ways, the topics of a bride and women were a good distraction from the harsh reality of the mystery of their fathers’ deaths.

“What kind of threats was your father receiving?” Sebastian asked Nathanial, with a glance at Gregory so he would know it was his turn next. Sebastian already had seen the letters to Gregory’s father, of course, but he was right… the contents needed to be shared with everyone.

“He was not paying his gambling debts.” Nathanial shrugged, turning up his hands helplessly. “We did not have the money. Not that it stopped him from gambling. He had letters from several hells and from gentlemen of our set for personal loans. I also found a small stack of debts from others who did not send him a letter.”

“But if he is dead, he cannot pay them,” Matthew pointed out. Though his luck always ran true—or turned true at some point—he was the most familiar of them all with the hells and the ways gentlemen worked out their debts. He had enough of them who owed him.

“Several of the letters intimated that perhaps his heir would be more likely to pay what he owed,” Nathanial said grimly. “I have not heard from any of them… yet. It is possible they are waiting to see if I find a wife with a dowry before they approach.”

Which would be the most sensible tack. Poor Nathanial.

“If you would just—” Matthew started to say, but Nathanial cut him off with a sharp gesture.

“It is my estate and my inheritance, and I will fix it myself,” he snapped. Matthew sighed, a sound echoed by several of them around the room. “But you have my gratitude for wanting to help. I promise I will come to you before allowing my sisters to be thrown into the streets, but you must allow me to fix this my way.”

His way, which would mean marriage to a lady with a massive dowry that she—or, more to the point, her father—was willing to trade for the title.

“I still have time,” Nathanial muttered. He took a deep breath.

“You still have time.” Drake walked around to the back of Nathanial and dropped a comforting hand on his shoulder. “But we are here if you need us.”

Nathanial was doing his best to clean up a mess that was not his. All of them wanted to help him. All of them knew they’d be likely to react the same way in his position. It might not be his mess, but it was his father’s mess, and he’d inherited it along with his title. Allowing the others to help him without doing everything in his power to fix things himself would be massively damaging to his pride… which was about the only thing he had left. Gregory did not envy him.

“My father’s letters were all vague, though I suspect that at least several have to do with my half-sisters,” Gregory said grimly, taking charge of his part of the conversation rather than being pressed into it. He glanced at Sebastian. “Sebastian has looked them over and we think there might be a few written by the same hand, though efforts were taken to disguise the handwriting.”

“You knew about his letters, too?” Christian scowled at Sebastian. “Why did no one say anything? Why did you keep them to yourself?”

“Think about it, man. Would you want to admit that your father might be the reason all your friends’ fathers are dead?” Matthew retorted, shaking his head. “I would not want to admit to such a thing.”

“You must also have wondered if sharing the letters with the possible murderer was wise,” Drake commented. Everyone looked at him, but he was unperturbed by the implication he’d made. “If none of you have at least had the thought that all of us have motive, you are not the men I took you to be.”

The truth was hard to hear, but it was necessary to face it. They all looked at each other with similarly drawn faces, nodding in acknowledgment of the truth that they had all had the thought.

“It is hard to trust, but I feel as though I have gotten to know all of you well enough to measure your character,” Sebastian said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “While there are a few of you that might have occasionally thought about killing your father, I do not believe any of you capable of doing so… and certainly not of doing so in a manner that might injure, much less kill, others around him.”

A few chuckles, despite the darkness of the jest, escaped. Gregory was one of those because Sebastian spoke truly.

There were certainly times he’d thought about killing his father, especially when his father was mistreating his mother. Now, knowing what he did about his half-sisters and the way his father had treated them and their mothers, there were times when he wished he’d had the stones to carry out the thought.

“I thought about it more than occasionally once I understood what my father was doing to our family,” Nathanial admitted. “There have even been times I have felt relief. Things are bad now, but they could have been even worse if he’d lived longer.” He grimaced. “I am sure that makes me sound even guiltier.”

“You are not the only one,” Gregory reassured him. “I have felt the same.”

“And I,” Matthew said. “I admit, I thought about it when I was younger and rasher.”

“The coin never told you to do it?” Christian joked, going for a spot of levity amidst the admitted dark discussion.

“I never flipped for it,” Matthew laughed, though there was no amusement in the sound. “I was too afraid of what it might say.”

Gregory could not blame him. It was one thing to choose an evening’s entertainment with the flip of a coin, or even what funds to invest in, whether or not to bet on a certain horse… patricide was something altogether different.

“We should gather again and compare the notes,” Sebastian said, looking between them.

“Yes, because we all have so much time with the social demands pressing down on us,” Christian replied with a grimace. “I was lucky to get away for this meeting, and I have to leave soon to escort my mother to the Colfax ball.”

“If you give your actress her congé, you’ll have more time, even with your mother’s demands,” Zachary replied, a bit snidely, causing Christian to glare at him.

“Should we consider bringing… Seymour in on this discovery?” Nathanial grimaced as he referenced the current Duke of Northumberland. Eventually, they would all have to move past Sinclair’s death, but at the moment, it still felt wrong to use the title when referring to William Seymour. “At the very least, ask him if he’s discovered any letters.”

From the reluctance in every single expression, no one liked the idea very much.

“We should,” Drake finally declared with an air of supreme resignation. “At least I will try to discover if he’s found any threatening letters toward Sinclair or his father.” He made a face. “Since I already have a fiancé, I suppose I have more time than the rest of you.”

“Gregory has one now, too,” Matthew pointed out.

“Yes, which means all the planning that goes into a wedding and even more events where I escort her around,” Gregory replied. “Unlike Drake, I intend to marry quickly rather than continuing to dance around the parson’s trap.”

Drake waved his hand, dismissing Gregory’s words. “Time enough for that at the end of the Season. As I said, I intend to enjoy myself before I’m leg-shackled. And since it gives me the advantage of having more time to do things like speak with… Seymour, you should all be grateful for me. Unless someone else wishes to take on the duty of approaching him.”

“No, no, I am sure you have it well in hand,” Gregory said hastily. “I was just pointing out how busy I am in comparison.”

Sebastian snorted but did not comment. He was going to be even busier than Gregory, helping with the wedding plans while also looking for his own bride. And on top of that, the mystery of their fathers’ deaths lurked in the background.

Bloody hell, what a Season.

At least he’d managed the task of finding his own bride already. A pretty, biddable one. Once he was leg-shackled, he could focus more of his efforts on the mystery of the dead dukes and leave his new wife to tend to the household.

Tiffany

Consternation stirred in Tiffany’s breast as she struggled to recover from Lady Astrid’s revelations, all while facing down the onslaught of debutantes and their mothers now crowding into the conservatory with them. Her own mother was among them, frowning at Tiffany as she often did. Likely, she would disapprove of Tiffany leaving the drawing room and all the guests assembled there, even though none of them had been speaking with Tiffany. At least she would have the excuse that Lady Astrid had specifically asked her for a tour and to speak with her alone. Her mother could not blame Tiffany for another lady’s request.

She raised her hand to her temple as her head began to throb.

Did her mother suspect that her late husband’s death had been anything but an accident?

If she did, she certainly had not confided in Tiffany. But then, would she? Or would she speak with Sebastian about it? Were the two of them speaking of it and leaving Tiffany out?

Lady Astrid seemed sure that Sebastian suspected. Tiffany thought it likely, when she thought about her brother’s behavior. But she was unsure of her mother.

“There you are, Tiffany,” Lady Tremaine said, sailing up to her and Lady Astrid. She beamed down at Tiffany. They had not actually spoken since Tiffany greeted her. Lady Louisa and Tiffany’s mother followed along in Lady Tremaine’s wake. “I did not have the opportunity to tell you earlier how lovely you look in mint. You are turning into quite the beauty, is she not, Susan?”

Lady Tremaine turned back toward Tiffany’s mother, who smiled widely at her, making Tiffany stare in shock as her mother nodded in agreement.

“Oh, yes, the mint is much better for her coloring. You were right, Alice.” Tiffany’s mother laughed lightly. “But young ladies always have their own opinions about what looks best on them.”

“Of course, but that is why you must listen to your mother for guidance, my dear,” Lady Tremaine said, turning back to Tiffany, who stared back at her, uncertain of what was happening. Was her mother implying that she was the one who wanted to wear that awful apricot? Tiffany always wore what her mother told her to, today included. “Though, you did catch a duke despite your preference for that awful orange-y color.”

She laughed and turned to Lady Astrid, who was smiling cooly beside Tiffany.

“No insult to you, Lady Astrid. Orange is a color that suits you down to the ground, but I am afraid it is rather unfortunate on dear Tiffany here.” Lady Tremaine winked. “The mint is much more flattering. You know, dear, you should really try to wear more greens and perhaps some blues or violets.”

“I… thank you for your advice, Lady Tremaine,” Tiffany responded faintly. Then, bolstered by the opportunity she saw, her voice strengthened. Surely, her mother would not force her into more apricot dresses if her own closest friend had publicly advised Tiffany not to wear them, and Tiffany agreed. “I will certainly take your advice for the rest of the Season.”

“Good girl,” Lady Tremaine said approvingly. “Listen to your mother. She’ll steer you right.” Reaching up, she patted the underside of her curls as she turned back to Tiffany’s mother, whose smile now appeared a trifle strained.

Tiffany quailed to see it, but… she was only agreeing with Lady Tremaine.

“You must be so proud, Susan, your dear girl landing a duke and before the Season even began.”

“Very proud,” Tiffany’s mother said, echoing Lady Tremaine’s words. It sounded correct, yet something about the way she said it still made Tiffany want to shrink out of view.

“My own Louisa is going to be Tiffany’s maid of honor,” Lady Tremaine told Lady Astrid, gesturing at her daughter, who currently looked as though she was sucking on a lemon.

Tiffany finally understood what was going on. Lady Astrid had shown Tiffany favor, and now Lady Tremaine was hoping that her own daughter would be able to benefit from the connection. Yet… Lady Tremaine had sounded completely sincere in her compliments toward Tiffany.

“I am sure she is very honored,” Lady Astrid said, smiling. The way she made it sound like a jest seemed to take Lady Tremaine aback, yet there was nothing wrong with Lady Astrid’s statement. As if to take the sting out of the ambiguity of her statement, she turned to smile at Tiffany. “I agree with Lady Tremaine. I think blue would suit you perfectly. You should make it your signature color.”

Glancing at her mother, whose expression was still placid, but the look in her eyes was growing fiercer by the moment, Tiffany shrugged helplessly.

“I do not believe I have any blue… perhaps for my wedding trousseau…” She had an entire wardrobe of gowns made up for the Season, and not a one was blue.

“Of course,” Lady Tremaine said triumphantly, turning to Tiffany’s mother. “Susan, you must see to it that she has new gowns in blue for her trousseau. We must not let our young ladies run over our advice with their own preferences.” She laughed again, and Tiffany’s mother laughed with her.

“Yes, you are right, of course,” Tiffany’s mother said. She shook her head, leaning into Lady Tremaine. “If only Tiffany was as obedient as Louisa.” She shrugged helplessly, spreading her hands in front of her as a shocking flash of rage bolted through Tiffany.

She sat straight up, hands clenched in her lap. She was always obedient. She always did what her mother asked of her. But her mother was making it sound as if the apricot gown had been at Tiffany’s insistence. As if Tiffany had not wanted gowns that were less brightly colored. As if Tiffany was some wayward spoiled chit who only wore what she wanted and eschewed her mother’s advice.

“Well, she did land a duke without that,” Lady Tremaine pointed out again. “I am always telling Louisa that she needs to take her lead from Tiffany, and I am proven correct again.”

She what?

Tiffany could not help but stare at Louisa, who had suddenly averted her gaze to examine the bush beside her. The very green bush with nary a flower in sight. Lady Tremaine was giving the back of her daughter’s head a hard look, and she sniffed in a manner very reminiscent of Tiffany’s own mother.

Did Lady Tremaine constantly compare Louisa to Tiffany the way her own mother compared her to Louisa? The thought had never occurred to Tiffany. Louisa was so obviously everything a young lady ought to be, as well as possessing uncommon beauty. Yet she was quite sure she saw the sparkle of tears in Louisa’s eyes, as if her mother’s words cut her the same way Tiffany’s mother’s criticisms did her.

For the first time in her life, Tiffany wondered if perhaps she and Louisa had more in common than she’d realized.

As Lady Tremaine continued to expound on Tiffany’s virtues, something Tiffany would have very much liked to listen to under other circumstances, Lady Astrid leaned over.

“Send me a note when you go to the dressmakers for your trousseau, and I will come join you.” She winked at Tiffany, who looked at her with astonishment, then a surge of gratitude.

Tiffany did not trust her own judgment, and she now realized that she should not trust her mother’s, either. Perhaps she could trust Lady Astrid’s. Yes, she knew the only reason Lady Astrid was being helpful was because they were both to be duchesses and because Lady Astrid felt they might both be in danger, but it was still the closest thing to a gesture of friendship that she’d ever received.