Page 3 of The Duke’s Indecent Scandal (Indecent Dukes #1)

Chapter Two

T iffany

The library was cold, the hearth dark, but slipping into the room still felt like finding sanctuary. As a child, she’d rarely seen her father except at night when he was in the library, reading. She’d sneak out of bed and join him there. He’d look up and smile, then pointedly look down again and pretend he did not see her rather than sending her back to her bed.

She would pick out a book and hide under the table closest to him, using the same light to read. At some point, she would fall asleep, and when she woke again, she would be back in her room, tucked safely into her bed. As she’d gotten older, the library had often been unoccupied at night. Then her mother had found her sneaking out of her room one night and boxed her ears, and that had been that.

It was not worth the risk when there was no guarantee of her father being there.

After his death, she’d found herself returning to the library in the dark. She was now old enough that if her mother found her out of bed, she could claim an inability to sleep, fetch a book, and return to her room with very little consequence. Perhaps some grumbling from her mother about how she read too much.

Her mother was distracted with other things right now, anyway, like the start of the Season. The Duchess of Richmond’s ball was almost upon them, and she was still not satisfied with how Tiffany comported herself in company. Not that Tiffany understood what her mother wanted her to do.

She was trying; she really was.

Sighing, she made her way over to the shelves and ran her fingers along the spines of the books, inhaling the rich scent of leather and paper. If only there were some pipe smoke in the air and a fire to warm the room, it would take her right back to her childhood with her father. But just like the fire in the hearth, her father was gone.

If only he were here… He had just begun to take an interest in her again when he’d realized she was only a couple of years away from her debut, then, just as suddenly, he was gone. Killed in a tragic, horrific accident involving gunpowder and some kind of carousing at a hunting lodge. Tiffany did not know the details. She assumed everyone thought she was too delicate to know. That or that they were not suited to a young lady’s ears.

As if she did not know that her father had had a mistress, her mother a lover, and her brother was bedding married ladies across the length and breadth of the ton . And she knew exactly what all of that meant and what they were doing. Her mother and her mother’s friends had very loose tongues when they were gossiping with each other over tea, and very few of them noticed when a young lady might be within earshot.

What she had not been able to glean from her mother’s conversation, she’d learned through the lessons of animal husbandry that she’d been given while they were trapped out in the country during their mourning period. In a bid for freedom from her mother’s attention, Tiffany had pointed out that many gentlemen among the ton had an interest in dogs and horses and that learning about them could help her land a suitor.

Her mother, always eager to find attributes to help make up for Tiffany’s lack of beauty, had given permission for her to learn from their Master of the Hunt. Her feigned interest eventually led to a true interest rather than an escape to the stables or kennels.

Though, of course, the rest from her mother’s incessant critiques was also welcome. She’d found peace and affection with the animals and learned quite a bit more about breeding than either her mother or brother likely intended. A few etchings, hidden away on the top shelves of her father’s library, had completed her education.

Tiffany wandered over to the window overlooking the front of the house and peered out. Her brother was still at Clarence House with his friend, the Duke of Clarence. He was only supposed to be there for a meal, which had left her alone with her mother at Lady Teasingdale’s supper party. It had been an interminable evening. She had not been able to say anything right, as evidenced by the number of bruises her mother had left on her thigh from pinching her every time she said something her mother found objectionable.

Thankfully, her shorter and shorter answers had finally ceased the questions directed to her and the pinching had stopped. Though she’d had to listen to a lecture on the way home about how she would never find a husband if she could not form a coherent sentence, she preferred that over the pinches.

Her hand drifted down to rub her sore thigh, and she sighed.

Then stiffened as the door behind her creaked, pushing all the way open, and she turned to see her mother in the doorway. The light from the candle she’d left on the table was not very bright, but certainly bright enough that her mother could see her as well. The moonlight coming in from the window outlined her silhouette in case the candle was not enough.

“Tiffany.” Her mother’s sharp, high tone made her hunch inward, ducking slightly, even though her mother was not beside her. “What are you doing?”

“I could not sleep, so I came to find a book. I thought I heard a noise outside and wondered if Sebastian was home.” Tiffany kept her voice as meekly unobjectionable as possible while also raising it enough that her mother would be able to hear her from across the room. Her mother detested mumbling.

“He is not.” Her mother’s tone seemed sharper than usual as she pulled the sides of her wrapper together in front of her body, as if she were cold. “You need to be abed. We have a busy day tomorrow, and you need as much sleep as you can to rid yourself of those dark circles under your eyes. We will start tomorrow with some cold compresses to keep you from being too puffy. No man wants a puffy wife with a marred complexion.”

“Yes, Mother.” Tiffany turned and quickly reached out to snatch a book off the shelf, holding it to her chest as she hurried to the table to pick up her candle and retreat from the room. At least with the open flame in hand, her mother would not pinch or slap at her as she passed.

Shoulders hunched, she hurried out of the door, past her mother. Just in case.

Moving as quickly as she could, she was up the stairs and just into the hall when she heard the front door open. She paused. Was that Sebastian? There was a masculine voice, then her mother’s voice answering, though her tone was no longer sharp but a melodic coo.

Not her brother, just her mother’s lover.

Wrinkling her nose, Tiffany hurried back to her room. She was not supposed to know about her mother’s lover, and she did not like to think how her mother would react if she knew Tiffany was still about.

Perhaps she would see Sebastian in the morning. Her mother was always in a better temper when he was present.

Gregory

Waiting for Sebastian to get through the letters meant being patient, which was not one of Gregory’s strong suits. He’d known that about himself for a while and accepted it, but it did not make the waiting any easier. Eventually, rather than sitting still, he got up and started pacing the room, aware of Sebastian’s gaze flicking to him, then back to the letters.

Finally, Sebastian finished. Rather than saying anything, he sat back in the chair, staring into the fire, much the same way Gregory had. Pausing in his pacing, Gregory watched his friend looking at the fire.

It took less than a minute before he could not stand the silence anymore.

“Well?” he asked. “What do you think?”

Sebastian turned his head toward Gregory, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“I think several people were very angry at your father, but one in particular.”

“One?” Gregory frowned. “The handwriting is all different.”

“Mostly.” Sebastian shuffled through the letters, pulling out several as Gregory came over and sat down again to look at them. “See here? The very distinctive loop and slant on the capital P. They realize their handwriting is recognizable and take pains to change it, to make every letter look different, but when they become particularly emotional, they forget themselves.”

“Damn.” Gregory stared down at the letters. Some of the capital Ps were different, but several were the same throughout the letters. “I have stared at these letters almost every day since I found them, and I never noticed that.” Though, to be fair, he had been looking at the content, not at the handwriting. It was different enough at a glance that he had not thought to look more closely.

That and it had been easy enough to believe that so many different people would threaten his father.

He flipped through the letters, though he practically had the contents memorized, just to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

“They are all the ones about my half-sisters.”

The ones that accused his father of neglecting his bastard daughters, of not providing for them and their mothers, and of rape. Considering the first two were true, Gregory had no problem believing the last.

“Yes. What do you know about them?” Sebastian asked seriously.

Not a topic that Gregory liked to dwell on, but considering someone might have killed Sebastian’s father to get to Gregory’s… he felt as though he owed his friend. Hell, he felt as though he was lucky Sebastian had not gone storming out the door. It was not normally in Sebatian’s nature to blame one person for another’s misdeeds, but the fear had still been there.

It was his father, and, unlike Gregory, Sebastian had been close with his.

“Quite a bit, but very little that is pertinent to this. Clara is the oldest at six, Priscilla the youngest at two. Elizabeth is five, and her fondness for peppermints reaches unholy heights. Loretta is three and, so far, the most serious of the four.” Gregory sighed. None of that was particularly helpful, and he knew it. “All of their mothers were on my father’s estates in some capacity. Loretta’s mother has a husband, and he’s very protective of her, so I do not know her well. Agatha, Clara’s mother, and Maggie, Elizabeth’s mother, both married after… well, after. They seem happy enough with their husbands. I have barely heard Priscilla’s mother put two words together. She’s the youngest.” As was her daughter.

Of all of them, Betty, Priscilla’s mother, was the most skittish around him. She was also the only unmarried of the mothers. Though she did not try to keep Priscilla from playing with him, she always held back in a way the others did not. He hoped, eventually, she realized that he was not anything like his father and that her duties to the lord of the manor were done with.

“If only the letters were dated…” Sebastian muttered, reaching out to take them from Gregory so he could look through them again. “I wish I knew when they were received.”

“You think one of the mothers…”

“I think a family member of one of the mothers. The handwriting seems masculine to me.” Sebastian looked up at Gregory and raised his eyebrow. “You said three of them are married, and one of them has a very protective husband?”

“Yes, but John would not…” Gregory’s voice trailed off. John was very protective of Rose and Loretta. He’d taken Loretta in as one of his own. A widower with two older children, they’d come together to make a happy family, and Loretta was currently pregnant with their first child. Bloody hell. He liked John, but if his father had threatened Loretta or Rose or any of John’s family… no, John would not have taken it well. “He would have targeted my father and just my father, not an entire cadre of dukes.”

“Are you sure?”

Gregory shook his head. “I can never be sure, but that’s not what I would expect from John. He is slow to anger, but once he is, it’s fast and furious. When someone insulted Loretta in front of him, he immediately punched the other man in the face and left him lying there in the street. If we’d found my father with his head bashed in, I would be more suspicious of John, but a long plot to kill my father that also risked hurting others? I cannot see it.”

“Very well,” Sebastian said, nodding slowly. It was a relief to know he still trusted Gregory’s judgment despite missing a clue. Even if it was not an obvious clue. “We should make a list, though, of who might have sent the letters about your sisters. There are some others here as well that stand out. Some of the handwriting seems very familiar, though I cannot place it.”

“I did not know you were such an expert on handwriting,” Gregory joked.

“I notice small details,” Sebastian said. “It is not exactly an accomplishment that one boasts of.”

“Well, you should. It is most impressive.”

That made Sebastian laugh, despite the topic of discussion.

“Thank you. I shall keep that in mind.” He handed the rest of the letters back to Gregory. “Perhaps we should see if any of the other dukes are secretly experts in handwriting or have received similar letters.”

Closing his fingers around the stack of papers, Gregory paused, grimacing.

“I…” His voice trailed off. It was hard to state a fear aloud, even to his closest friend.

“What?” Sebastian frowned at him. “They could help.”

“And what if we discover that my father is the reason for all of their father’s deaths?” he asked. A few of them, like Nathanial, might thank him. Sebastian had handled the revelation easily enough, but others, like Christian, might not.

“What makes you think your father is the only one with a grudge against him?” Sebastian leaned back in his chair, lifting his foot to rest the ankle of his boot on the opposite knee, his hands curved over his leg. “Nathanial, for instance. If his father was not receiving threats about his debts, I will eat that whole stack of letters.”

Which was a good point. Gregory snorted at the visual.

“Was your father receiving threats?” he asked.

“Other than from my mother?” Sebastian asked dryly, making Gregory laugh. The fights between the duchess and the deceased Duke of Bolton were legendary. “Not to my knowledge, but…”

“But?” Gregory prompted.

“I found a secret passageway from the library to the stable in the manor home,” Sebastian admitted. “My father never showed it to me. I never knew it was there. So, it makes me wonder what else I did not know about him.”

A secret passageway?

“I want to see it.”

Sebastian laughed. “Next time you visit the estate… which will require you actually visiting.”

“For a secret passageway, I will make the trip.”

“But not to visit me, of course.” Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Very well, if that’s what it takes to get you to travel to someone else’s home.”

Gregory shrugged. He preferred the comforts of his own space. Who did not? Besides, the fights between Sebastian’s parents had made him uncomfortable. He had not liked the shouting. Now, of course, that would not be a concern.

Though, if Sebastian did not get his sister married off this Season, he would have to watch himself while he was there. Sebastian had rejected his offer of marriage for her, but that did not mean that he and her mother would agree. He did not want to anger Sebastian if Sebastian’s mother and sister thought to make a match between him and Tiffany.