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PROLOGUE

A sudden crash made Phillip jump, the glass of brandy almost slipping from his hands. Setting it down on the table, he spun around and made for the door just as quickly as he could.

Already, he knew what this was.

“Oh, Phillip!”

Catching his mother’s hands, Phillip looked straight into her eyes, the candlelight sending flickering shadows across her features. “Where is he?”

“The study,” the Marchioness answered, her eyes red-ringed but her face pale. “There is already a great mess on the hallway floor. What am I to say to the servants? There are already whispers all over the county because of your father, and now there are sure to be even more!”

Phillip pressed her hands and tried to keep himself calm, despising his father for the pain and suffering he caused others by his selfishness.

“I will manage this. Why don't you retire to bed?” Another crash made him wince, but he did not raise his voice.

“Have Hannah bring you something to calm your nerves so you can sleep.”

As though she had known she would be needed, the maid made her way towards them both, though she was dressed in her night-things, given the hour and the fact they had already been dismissed. “I am here, my lord, my lady.”

Knowing that his mother’s maid would take good care of her mistress and grateful that she had come to make sure all was as well as might be, Phillip ushered his mother towards her. “Go with Hannah, Mother. I will take care of the rest.”

Hannah, who had been the Marchioness’ maid for some years, led her away, and Phillip, relieved that his mother had gone without a fuss, turned his attention to his father.

Shame began to build a fire in his chest as he walked along the hallway, noticing the smashed vase, the upturned table, and the ruined painting lying in pieces on the floor.

The Marquess of Waverley was becoming well known for not only his foolishness with his wealth but also his dark temper and, though Phillip prayed his mother never heard of them, his dark deeds in shadowy places.

This was the gentleman he called father, this was the man he ought to respect?

It did not seem possible for Phillip to be able to do such a thing, not when his father led with such a poor example.

When it comes my turn to carry the title, he determined, I shall never behave in such a way.

“Father?” Pushing open the study door carefully, Phillip was forced to duck as something struck the wall beside him, sending smithereens all about him. Something sliced at his cheek. Instinctively, he raised his hand to his face, and the cuff of his shirt came back smeared with blood.

An indistinct roar of some sort of speech came from the figure that was Phillip’s father.

The Marquess was staggering this way and then that, picking up various objects and either flinging them hard against the wall or, after a moment’s thought, replacing them back into their position.

He did not even seem to be aware of Phillip’s presence as he muttered one thing after another, anger threading through each exclamation.

Phillip’s stomach twisted sharply and he sucked in a breath, keeping the door ajar so that he might escape if he needed.

Lord Waverley had been known, in his anger, to attack a servant who had come to be of assistance to him, and thus, Phillip knew to be careful.

It was also the reason he had instructed the household staff to stay far from the Marquess when he was in such a temper.

Though Phillip did not have the authority to make such statements, it had been immediately accepted by those in the house.

Clearly they did not want to have anything to do with the master of the house when he behaved in such a way, and Phillip could not blame them for that.

“Father!” he said again, more loudly this time. “This must stop at once!”

He winced inwardly as he said this, hearing an authority in his voice that he knew he did not possess and, truth be told, a little afraid of what the reaction would be to it.

All the same, he drew himself up as tall as he could and tried to fill as much of the space in the room as he could in an attempt to appear as strong as possible.

“Why are you here?” The slurring of his father’s words told Phillip everything he needed to know about his present state.

“Are you come to make sure I am not spending all of your inheritance?” A shuddering sigh and a slamming down of one fist on the study table followed these words, making Phillip start with the vehemence of it.

“I think it might be a good time to retire, Father,” he said, as calmly as he could despite the tension in the air. “Do you not think that – ”

“The trouble is, my son, I am spending your inheritance.” Lord Waverley tilted his head, though one hand lay flat on the study table now for balance.

“A good deal of it, in fact.” A faint smile lifted the edges of his mouth though it soon turned ugly.

“Some of it now lines Lord Richardson’s pockets, however, though I am sure he is nothing but a cheat and a scoundrel!

” Walking away from Phillip, the Marquess lurched towards the small table in the corner, picking up the decanter with both hands and managing, somehow, to pour a full glass of whisky.

Phillip did not know what he ought to do, hearing his father shout various wicked insinuations about Lord Richardson, glad that, at the very least, none of the servants could hear what was being said. The fewer rumors that were spread, the better.

“It is just as well I stopped on my return home,” Lord Waverley said, swinging around and then staggering so badly, he ended up half falling, half slumping against the wall, though the glass of whisky in his hand remained secure. “I would have had nothing but displeasure otherwise.”

At this, Phillip turned away from his father, his stomach roiling.

This was no way for any gentleman of honor, and yet, his father appeared to have no qualms whatsoever.

Why did he choose to behave with such impropriety?

Did he care nothing for the rumors and the whispers which were being sent all through the county about him?

Did he not even think of the shame that was being brought to the Marchioness, as well as to Phillip himself?

“I need another drink.”

“I think you have had enough.” Phillip, forcing himself to take charge of the situation, turned back around and made his way directly towards his father. “You should retire, Father. The study and the hallway will need to be tidied before tomorrow morning.”

“Pah!” Yanking back his hand before Phillip could take the glass from him, Lord Waverley attempted to push him back with the other hand, though there was no strength in the action. “You are ashamed of me, are you?”

“Yes.” Phillip spoke directly, looking back at his father with steadiness.

“I am mortified by your behavior. You bring shame not only to yourself but also to your title and to this estate. What is worse, you shame your wife, my dear mother, by treating her as though she is of no worth to you.” Whether any of these words would mean anything to his father, whether he was even truly listening, Phillip could not tell for the Marquess’ eyes began to close and he swayed heavily on the spot, the anger visibly fading from him and instead, replaced with weariness.

His shoulders dropping, all hope going out of him, Phillip unwillingly put one arm around his father’s shoulders, relieved when the glass fell from his hand.

Yes, the whisky would be another mess to clean up but having the Marquess removed from this room and into his bedchamber was all that mattered at the present moment.

“I know I have spent a good deal of money,” his father muttered, leaning into Phillip as he made his way carefully to the door, silently praying that the Marquess would be this docile all the way to his rooms. “I care not. Nothing matters any longer, save whatever enjoyment I can eke out for myself.”

This made Phillip’s heart drop low, his gaze going from one disaster to the next as they walked along the hallway.

Over the last few years, the Marquess had been doing these things more and more, becoming more and more ill-conceived in his actions and, truth be told, becoming utterly selfish with it.

Phillip had always known, even from boyhood, that his father had a penchant for gambling, but now, it was as much a part of him as breathing.

Phillip dreaded to think just how much of his father’s fortune would be left when the time came for him to take on the title.

Grimacing, he ducked his head a little and continued slowly, bearing as much of his father’s weight as was required as they walked towards the staircase.

Quite how Phillip was going to heft his father up the stairs towards his bedchamber, he did not know.

The man was becoming a dead weight, his eyes now closed, his feet almost dragging along the floor.

“If I might, my lord?”

Relieved to see the butler moving out of the shadows towards him, Phillip nodded and, in only a few moments, the Marquess was being helped up the staircase with Phillip on one side and the butler on the other.

It took a few more minutes, and to Phillip, it certainly felt like an age, but eventually, the Marquess was in his room.

Much to Phillip’s disgust, the moment his father was placed upon the bed, he fell back, his eyes closed and his body sprawled out across the covers.

This was no way for any gentleman to behave.

“I shall take care of the master, my lord.” The butler, always loyal, dependable and, much to his credit, trustworthy, inclined his head. “If you would grant me that, my lord.”

Casting a disgusted glance in his father’s direction, Phillip made for the door. “Of course. I thank you.”

Once out into the hallway, he leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes, and took in a long, steady breath in the hope of calming his furiously thudding heart.

It was not only the exertion of taking his father up to his rooms that had caused it, but the upset and the anger at all his father had done.

No matter what Phillip said, no matter how much the Marchioness pleaded, it seemed as though the Marquess was set upon doing all that he could to ruin himself, and the family name with it.

I shall have nothing good to my name, Phillip thought to himself, running one hand over his face and squeezing his eyes tighter closed.

No young lady shall even wish to be in my company, let alone consider courtship!

For a moment, a face flashed in his mind, the face of a beautiful young lady of whom he had always taken note, but Phillip pushed it away at the very next moment.

He dared not let himself think of her, nor let himself imagine what such a future might be like.

With the family’s reputation already stained, Phillip knew he could not let himself hope. Not even for a single moment.

A sudden cry and the sound of running feet made Phillip’s heart lurch. The door to his father’s bedchamber was thrown open, and the butler rushed out, only to see Phillip. Grasping his arm, the man looked into his eyes, ashen-faced.

“The master!” he exclaimed, as fear caught the back of Phillip’s throat. “I went to him to see if I might waken him even a little but he would not wake.”

Phillip frowned. “His drunkenness has led to unconsciousness, that is all.”

The butler shook his head, swallowing hard. “No, my lord,” he whispered, his fingers boring into Phillip’s arm. “He is dead.”