Martha Barwood
Regency Romance Author
A Duchess for
a Vengeful Duke
Chapter One – Chapter Two – Chapter Three
Chapter One
London was the last place Michael wanted to be…
He stared out of the bay window on the second floor of his stately London townhouse, surrounded by the recently refurbished and decorated private study. It had taken months of painstaking work to return the townhouse to its former glory and yet he was in no mood to enjoy the fruits of his labour. His mind was in a terrible state, all because of the city he had no choice but to return to.
The city wasn’t at fault, in truth. It was its occupants who bothered him. The people who traversed the cobblestoned street, parading in rouge and waistcoats, feigning respectability. The very same people who would willingly frame an innocent man for their own gain, destroying a family in the process. Those were the very individuals he would have to face now that he had returned to London, and he was not particularly keen on it.
But even though London was not where he wanted to be, it was where he had to be. In order to uncover the truth and clear his father’s name, he had to do whatever it took. Even if it meant diving into the den of snakes all over again.
Anger simmered deep in the pit of his stomach. It was never far from his grasp. In the past four years, he drew on it whenever he needed motivation to continue on his path of vengeance. And other times, it consumed him without thought, taking over every bit of his senses until he could focus on nothing else. The past reared its ugly head at the worst times and, on several occasions, he nearly turned from his path. The pain, anger, and sorrow were tearing him to shreds piece by piece.
But then he thought of his father and his dying moments.
He recalled his mother who withered away from grief after his father’s death.
He thought of his sister, who remained positive and vibrant despite the social disgrace foisted upon their family and the impact it had on her prospects for marriage.
And he remembered very clearly why he was doing this.
Michael turned away from the window, facing the mahogany desk littered with correspondence and documents. Everything—or nearly everything—he required to establish his father’s innocence lay scattered across the vast surface of the massive desk. He had spent countless hours poring over them, going through each and every one of them until he knew them by heart. He put the pieces together over and over again, in his mind and with the physical documents, but it was not enough. There was still one missing, one thing that would ensure he left this matter behind him with nothing but fulfilment.
He had to enact his vengeance. And Lady Elaine Sutton of Suthenshire was his key to doing exactly that.
Michael picked up a letter from an old country lord, whose estate he’d recently left before coming to London. It was one of many, of course. He’d gone from smoky coffeehouses to fabulous estates of retired officials all over England, gathering the evidence he needed to prove that the Earl of Suthenshire was guilty of deceit. That the convictions against Michael’s father, the late Duke of Ryewood, were false. Just looking at them was enough to stir familiar hatred in his heart.
“Michael?” A soft knock accompanied the gentle voice on the other end of the door. Michael dropped the letter, turning to face his sister as she slipped into the room.
Her small frown smoothed away the moment she looked at him, but Michael knew it was never far behind. He had not been home for very long and Clarissa had taken to following him around the house with worry written all over her face. It was a far cry from the little girl who had once followed him around in absolute adoration. The person before him was a woman now and she could tell that something was wrong.
Michael had no intention of disclosing the truth of his obsession anytime soon, so he forced a smile. “Yes? Is anything amiss?”
“Oh, nothing is amiss,” she assured him as she came forward. “I am merely here to keep you company, that is all.”
“Oh? Did you think that my years away from this place have turned me into the sort of man who cannot bear solitude?”
“No, I believe it has made you the kind of man who appreciates the company of a sister he holds so dear.”
Michael felt his smile turn genuine at the sparkle of mischief in Clarissa’s blue eyes. They were so much like their late mother’s, from the hue to the shape to the vibrancy it was always filled with. She shared many things with the late Duchess of Ryewood—the same honey-blond hair that cascaded down the length of her back, its fullness an envy of many other ladies her age, the same slim figure, and the same beautifully, pouty lips. Michael always knew that his sister would have men lining up at her feet for a chance to marry her and, now that she’d debuted for her first Season, that assumption was easily confirmed. He wouldn’t be surprised to find a dozen more flowers waiting for her downstairs.
Michael draped an arm around her shoulders, leading her away from the study, away from the desk. “To think that you’ve turned one-and-twenty and you are still so attached to our companionship.”
“I am not attached,” Clarissa denied immediately. “You have been travelling all over London for four years and you have only returned three days ago. It is no fault of mine that I wish to spend time with you before the Ton catches wind that the Duke of Ryewood is in London.”
“So it is my fault then?”
“Will you not tell me why you were gone for so long?
Michael nearly darkened at her words and had to remind himself that she was innocent in all of this. “I was attending to business,” he lied.
Clarissa’s frown deepened, her bottom lip jutting in her signature pout. In her youth, that expression was all she needed to get her way. But it wouldn’t work so easily today.
“Pray, spare me such a glance,” Michael chastised easily, pulling away from her as they made their way down the hallway with no destination in mind. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You know the position of a duke is no easy one.”
“I know,” she sighed. “But I do not want what happened to Papa to happen to you as well.”
“It shall not,” he replied firmly.
“Will you promise me?”
Michael glanced down, noting how she batted her eyelashes at him. He laughed softly, rolling his eyes. “That will not sway me, and you are well aware of it.”
“How do you know it has not already swayed you?”
“Because I have not conceded to your demands.”
“Hm,” she hummed. “Will you be attending dinner with Aunt Beatrice and Uncle Henry? They asked me to confirm your attendance, even though I already assured them you would be there.”
“And why would you tell them such a thing?”
“Because it is the truth.”
Michael sighed. He had more planning to do. He had not been in London very long yet and he knew the rumors of his return were only just beginning. If he was seen out and about, then it would set ablaze all through the Ton. He wasn’t ready for that as yet.
“Michael.” Clarissa took his hand, forcing them to stop. She gazed up at him with utmost seriousness. “We have missed you. Not only I, but Aunt Beatrice and Uncle Henry as well.”
The sadness in her voice tore at him a little. Michael was already responding before he gave it another thought. “I shall be there.”
Clarissa’s smile was so quick, that he wondered if he had imagined her previous frown. “I shall inform them at once.”
Without warning, she reached up on her toes and pressed a kiss on his cheek before hurrying away with a pep in her step. Michael stared after her, realising a little too late what she’d just done.
He sighed, turning back the way he’d come. He supposed that over the four years they had been apart, Clarissa had only become more adept at getting her own way. And he was no better at fighting her charms.
Though he supposed spending time with his aunt, uncle, and sister was the least he could do after being away for so long, he wouldn’t have to worry about that for now. With dinnertime still a few hours away, he had plenty of time to peruse the documents and go over his plan.
Plenty of time to ensure that when he encountered Lady Elaine for the first time, he would be prepared.
***
Tears pricked Elaine’s eyes for the second time that day. She fought them valiantly but a lone tear escaped, blazing a hot path down the side of her face. She quickly wiped it away before her father could see.
“Right here,” she murmured, her throat thick with emotion. She hoped her father would not be able to tell.
With one arm wrapped around his waist, she helped his frail body settle into the plush armchair facing the window of the drawing room. She tried ignoring the fact that the armchair was now fading in colour, as was nearly everything else in the townhouse. The signs of neglect she’d once been able to ignore now showed themselves in every scratched surface, every faded and peeling wallpaper and every worn piece of furniture.
This particular chair had once been her favourite growing up. She would spend hours reading poetry and working on her embroidery in that very spot. But that was before her world came crashing down around her. Now it was the closest, most comfortable chair for her ailing father to rest in the drawing room when he was not confined to his bed.
“It is quite windy today, Papa,” she said softly, grateful that the lump was now cleared from her throat. She forced a weak smile to her lips. “Would you like me to open the windows?”
Lord Edward Sutton, the Earl of Suthenshire, looked up at her with cloudy eyes filled with something she couldn’t name. Pain, she realised as her heart broke in two. He was in pain and she could do nothing to help him.
“No wind,” he rasped. She assumed he wanted to say ‘no window’ but couldn’t manage the full sentence. His words ended with a fierce, dry cough.
“Very well,” she said. “I shall fetch your blanket.”
Edward clutched her skirt, the closest thing to his fingers, and held as firmly as he could. “Sit…sit with me…”
Elaine swallowed. For a moment, she could only stare at him, fighting the wave of sorrow that washed over her. Her once-proud father who wore his title and prestige like a badge of honour had been reduced to a skinny, frail man bested by illness. Watching him deteriorate before her eyes had only made the last few years far more terrible than it could have been.
Again, she forced a smile to her face but she doubted this one was very convincing. “Very well,” she said gently, claiming the armchair across from him. “I have been on my feet all morning. It would be nice to rest for a spell.”
Edward sank into the armchair as if he had been using the last of his strength to keep her from leaving. Elaine looked out the window. She couldn’t bear to look at her father for too long. It always left her in tears.
“Thank you…my dear,” Edward rasped once more.
“Papa, you should save your strength.”
“I have nothing left. But you…”
Goodness, it was far too difficult to keep herself together today. Perhaps it was because today was the anniversary of her mother’s death five years ago. Each year she expected it to get easier and each year she was proven otherwise. Influenza had claimed her beautiful mother far too early and, shortly after, her father’s health began to decline. Their physicians worked tirelessly to figure out the root of his illness but, as their coffers ran dry, so did the help of those they hired. It wasn’t before long that Elaine was left to take care of her father herself.
“That is not quite true,” she replied, striving for a lightness in her voice, though it sounded flat to her ears. “You have Simon. He may be away at Eton but he would forsake it all, should he know you needed him.”
Edward shook his head slightly. His eyes often watered, a side effect of his illness the physicians had said, but the pure pain etched into his face made Elaine wonder if they were real tears.
“And there is Aunt Lorna and James. They are ever at hand to assist us. We are never truly alone.”
Edward shook his head again as the tears fell down his cheeks. Elaine thought he might have something else to say but then his eyes drifted close and sleep claimed him instantly. She paused for a moment, watching the staggered but very real rise and fall of his chest before she allowed herself to relax. She preferred him when he was sleeping, she decided. He always looked more at peace.
But it gave her a moment of peace that she did not want. With nothing but silence as her companion, there was no stopping the waves of emotional memories that assaulted her. She would never forget the day she lost her mother, the day English Society lost the Countess of Suthenshire. She had been so well loved that nearly all of the Ton came to her wake.
Elaine never knew many of their names. They paid their respects but they did not care about the disgraced Earl and his children. They gossiped about them behind their backs and had little empathy for Elaine and Simon. Of course, Simon went off to Eton shortly after Edward fell ill so he didn’t know the extent of their father’s state. Nor did he have to suffer the scrutiny of their ruined reputation and a significant dip in finances. That was Elaine’s burden to bear and hers alone.
She spent her days in the same manner. Taking care of her father, maintaining appearances in Society, keeping her brother ignorant of the true direness of their situation, and longing for the opportunity to save her family.
There was a gentle knock on the door. Elaine blinked, realising with a start that she’d started crying again. She wiped her tears quickly and croaked, “Come.”
The door opened and their weathered butler, Paul, appeared. His loyalty to the family remained unwavering, even though so many of the other servants had left due to their inability to compensate them.
“Lord and Lady Abney to see you, my lady.”
Elaine quickly stood. “Pray show them in,” she told him hurriedly as she made her way over to the sofas arranged in the centre of the room. “And please prepare us some tea.”
He nodded and slipped out of the room just as Lorna and James appeared. As usual, Lorna’s presence was like a breath of fresh air, breezing into the room with a pep in her step. Her son, Elaine’s cousin, followed closely behind, his expression as grim as always.
As mother and son, they were always an interesting sight. The Dowager Viscountess of Abney rarely let her feathers get ruffled, a lively spirit capable of improving the mood of anyone she was near. Quite unlike James, the current Viscount of Abney, who viewed life through serious and critical eyes. Despite his austere demeanour, he was one of the kindest, most gentle people Elaine knew.
Then again, she did not know many people, since she spent most of her days cooped up in the house.
“Elaine, my darling.” Lorna swept to her side and placed kisses on both cheeks like she always did. “How is it that each time I see you, you grow more and more beautiful?”
Elaine flushed. “It is such a pleasure to see you, Aunt Lorna. And you as well, James.”
“Elaine,” James greeted gruffly. He ran a scrutinous gaze down the length of her. “Are you well?”
“As well as I can be,” she confessed, settling into a seat. “Though I was curious when I might hear from the two of you again.”
“Mother is to be blamed for that,” James said, sinking into the sofa next to Lorna. “She feels the need to entertain every one of her friends whenever they pay her a visit. And they are always paying her a visit.”
“Oh, do not be envious, James,” Lorna huffed. “It is most unbecoming of you. If you wish to make as many friends as me, you need only say so and I shall gladly teach you my ways.”
“I do not wish to learn your ways.”
“I would beg to differ,” she huffed, laughing. “It is nothing to be ashamed of, you know.”
James gritted his teeth, getting visibly annoyed. Elaine watched in fascination. She couldn’t understand how James was so oblivious to what his mother was doing. Anyone could see that Lorna liked getting him riled and yet he walked into her trap every time.
“Famous last words of an envious man,” Lorna sang and laughed when James grunted in frustration. “He likes to get himself in a huff,” she said to Elaine. “Let us ignore him. We are here for you, after all.”
Elaine smiled. The last time they’d spoken, Lorna had mentioned sponsoring Elaine’s debut for the London Season. Elaine had spent days imagining what that would be like. She’d hoped to debut at the proper age of ten-and-nine or twenty like most ladies of her station but, given her situation, she supposed she should count herself lucky that she still got the chance to do it at one-and-twenty.
As if she heard the direction of Elaine’s thoughts, Lorna said, “We cannot wait any longer. Any older and you will lose half your potential prospects and that simply cannot be done.”
“I am grateful for the opportunity, Aunt Lorna,” Elaine told her. “But I’m afraid I must admit that I am unsure of what exactly I should do.”
“Oh, goodness, it is such a pity that Margaret left us so soon. She should have been here to guide you. It is not fair that she shall not get the chance to see you debut.”
Lorna’s shoulders sagged with sadness and a moment of silence hung heavy in the room. As Elaine’s maternal aunt, Elaine knew how close Lorna had been with her mother. Lorna was still mourning her as much as Elaine was.
As usual, James was the one to bring them back to reality. “There is nothing we can do to change the past,” he stated, though his voice was a little softer than usual. “But we can fix the present. And presently, Elaine, you need to grasp every opportunity you can to get married.”
Elaine nodded, determination coursing through her veins. She had to get married. It was the only way to save her family. She was their only hope. Even if her brother were to return and claim responsibility for the earldom, he would be managing a husk of a legacy. But she had the chance to make things right.
It no longer mattered that she had once dreamed of marrying for love; that cherished dream was now painfully beyond her grasp.
“I am ready,” she said firmly.
“Marvelous,” Lorna chirped. “Lord and Lady Jones’ ball is upon the morrow—”
“Upon the morrow?” Elaine gasped.
“Oh, don’t worry, darling. I have arranged for everything already. I have a number of dresses for you to be fitted in for the ball, but we shall have to make time to visit the modiste shortly.”
Elaine glanced worriedly at James. “Is not the morrow a trifle too soon?”
“It is never too soon,” Lorna answered her with a dismissive wave of her hand. “The quicker you are out in Society, the quicker you will be noticed by potential suitors. We do not want them turning their attention to other ladies before you show, now do we?”
“I suppose not…” Yet it did little to quell the sudden burst of anxiousness trembling within her. She had not expected to have to do it tomorrow.
“There is nothing to worry about, Elaine,” Lorna gently reassured her, clearly sensing her apprehension. “You are a beautiful girl with a lovely, demure disposition—”
“Demure?” James echoed incredulously.
“Yes, demure. At least, that is what the gentlemen will think when they meet her. Men love demureness.”
“Is it not best for me to be my true self?” Elaine asked.
“Yes, of course. But in a demure manner, of course. Worry not, darling, I shall be right there to guide you.”
“And I shall spread the word that you are seeking a husband,” James spoke up.
As Elaine baulked— for even she recognised how outrageous that was—Lorna sighed. “You shall do no such thing. You would frighten them all away. We do not want anyone to presume she is desperate.”
James frowned. “But she is desperate.”
“But they need not be aware of it!” Lorna exclaimed. She caught herself and drew in a slow breath. “James, my dear, you should simply focus on securing her a respectable dowry and utilising your connections to ensure we remain invited to any forthcoming events.”
James seemed bemused by Lorna’s impatience, which only amused Elaine. While Lorna tended to poke James’ buttons for fun, James seemed to be utterly clueless when he did the same to his mother.
But he conceded with a nod. “Very well.”
“Lovely.” Lorna turned her attention back to Elaine, smiling. “Now, is there anything you would like to inquire of us?”
Elaine frowned in contemplation before shaking her head. “I have no questions. Whatever you instruct me to do, I shall do without hesitation. I am merely grateful for all your assistance.”
“You are family, darling,” Lorna murmured. “How could I face Margaret in my sleep if I allowed her family to fall to ruin?”
Elaine managed a smile at that, somehow. “Truthfully, I wished I was attending the Season under better circumstances. I longed to be free to choose a gentleman with whom I have fallen in love, rather than merely the first suitable match who might aid in saving my family.”
Lorna reached out to grasp Elaine’s hand. “Perhaps you will be fortunate enough to receive both.”
Elaine knew better than to believe she could be so lucky. The past few years had proven that she was not the most favourable person in London. But she hoped that what little luck she did possess would be revealed in the form of a kind husband who could save her from ruin.
Chapter Two
The Earl and Countess of Belington stood facing the front door in their opulent foyer the moment Michael entered. He took one look at their bright smiles and knew that he was in for it.
“Michael!”
Beatrice was the first to break. She flew from her husband’s side, flinging her arms around Michael and pulling him into a warm embrace. The force of her hug was enough to send him staggering back, holding his hands out to steady himself.
“You’re going to topple over!” Clarissa exclaimed as she came up from behind.
“Oh, no I won’t,” Beatrice dismissed easily. “Michael must have grown three feet taller since the last time I saw him. This big, strapping young man is more than capable of keeping us both on our feet, is he not?”
The question was aimed at Michael, he knew. He sighed. “It is nice to see you as well, Aunt Beatrice.”
“Is that how you greet your aunt whom you have not seen in years?” She pulled away, putting both hands on her hips. “Where is love? Where is the excitement? And why must I hear of your return to London from Clarissa and not from you?”
Before he could think of a response, Henry approached from behind her, grinning from ear to ear. “Now, now, dear,” he said placatingly. “I am certain Michael has a perfectly reasonable explanation for leaving his loved ones behind without a proper farewell, while only sending two or three letters every year. Is that not true, Michael?”
Clarissa giggled behind her hand as she watched the exchange. Michael would have laughed as well, only he knew his uncle was utterly serious.
“I do have a reason,” Michael confessed, though that was the extent of what he intended to say. “I presume you two have missed me?”
“Oh, dear,” Clarissa murmured. “Wrong response.”
Beatrice’s eyes were slowly growing wide. “Miss you? Oh, goodness no! We did not think of you at all in the years you were gone. Not once did we wonder if you were ever coming back. No, not at all.”
“As a matter of fact,” Henry joined in, his tone dripping with the same heavy sarcasm as his wife. “We did not even remember that you were not around. Had Clarissa not told us that you were back, we would have thought you never left!”
“All right,” Michael sighed. “I understand.”
“Does he understand, Henry?” Beatrice asked, turning to her husband.
“I do not think that he does,” Henry played along.
Clarissa finally decided to step in. “All right, you two, don’t be too hard on him. You know Michael is not the type to do anything on a whim. He will explain himself in due time, I’m sure.”
“And I certainly cannot do so on an empty stomach,” Michael chimed in.
Only then did they relent, much to his relief. If given the chance, they would keep it up for the rest of the night.
“Come then,” Beatrice huffed. “I shan’t disgrace your parents’ honour by failing to keep you fed under our roof.”
“That is the only reason she is feeding you,” Henry whispered to Michael, eyes glinting with mischief.
Michael shook his head, relaxing as he followed behind his aunt and uncle, Clarissa by his side. He knew he’d missed them, but he hadn’t realised just how much until now. They were like his secondary parents and easily slipped into the role when their real parents passed away. Michael thought it fitting since they’d never been blessed with children of their own.
So they would often spoil Michael in his youth. Even though Clarissa was the beloved only daughter, Michael was the firstborn and the heir. He’d received such heartwarming love and adoration from his aunt and uncle that there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for them. Which made their sarcastic ribbing sting a little. He should have done more to keep them from worrying about him.
They gathered in the dining room and, before long, the first course was served. Michael was fully prepared when Beatrice fixed him with a hard gaze and said, “Now, pray tell, what you have been up to.”
“Traveling,” Michael answered nonchalantly, prodding at his beans. “Was that not apparent?”
“Why would you not venture beyond England then, like many gentlemen of your age do? I would scarcely deem that a Grand Tour.”
“That is because it was not meant to be one. How could I learn the customs and cultures of other countries when I do not fully know my own?”
Beatrice didn’t believe him. That much was obvious in the way she narrowed her eyes at him.
But Clarissa spoke next, rescuing him from another question. “It is just as well, Aunt Beatrice,” she said. “He has not missed much in his absence. And he’s returned just in time for the London Season.”
Beatrice sat up straighter. “Does that mean you are ready to settle down?”
Michael didn’t dare show an ounce of emotion at that. “I am neither ready nor am I against it. Whatever happens, shall happen. It is Clarissa we should focus on this Season, however.”
“Clarissa seems to be doing just fine,” Henry spoke up. “I have already had several gentlemen approach me with the intention of marrying her.”
Clarissa’s eyes widened, her fork dropping limply from her grasp. “Already? The Season has just begun! Is it Lord Gregory?”
“How did you know?”
“Oh, goodness.” She put her hand to her temples in consternation. “That man is quite persistent.”
“Who is Lord Gregory?” Michael asked, grateful that the attention was no longer on him.
“He is the second son of the Earl of Palwood,” Henry explained. “And he is quite smitten with Clarissa. The same night he met her, he asked me for my permission to ask for her hand in marriage.”
“I hope you said no,” Clarissa muttered.
“I did not say no,” Henry admitted with a cheeky smile. “But do not fret; I did not say yes either.”
“That hardly makes me feel any better,” she grumbled.
“Pay that no mind, Clarissa,” Michael told her. “If he wishes to receive any blessing, it will have to come from me. And if you do not like this Lord Gregory fellow, then neither do I.”
Clarissa visibly brightened at that, but Beatrice rolled her eyes. “You do not know him.”
“I do not need to know him. Clarissa does. And she does not like him. So that is that.”
“So will you simply dismiss any gentleman who fancies her merely because she does not fancy him back?”
“Yes.”
Beatrice sighed. “I wish you all the luck in your endeavours.”
“Mayhap I shall find a more suitable gentleman at Lady Jones’ ball upon the morrow’s evening,” Clarissa mused aloud. “The men I have met so far are quite lacking. Will you chaperone me, Michael?”
“I believe Aunt Beatrice will be better suited to act as your chaperone,” Michael responded. Just as her shoulders sagged with disappointment, he added, “But I shall be attending alongside you.”
“You will?” Clarissa squealed. “How wonderful! You will be all anyone will be able to talk about. The much-discussed return of the infamous Duke of Ryewood.”
Even though her words were meant in jest, the reality was far more sombre. He’d planned it all, of course. Lord and Lady Jones were notorious for throwing grand balls, that nearly the entirety of the Ton would be in attendance. If he wanted to be noticed, tomorrow’s ball was the best way to do so.
Yet, his apprehension simmered deep within him nonetheless. Rubbing noses and smiling in hypocritical faces was the last thing he wanted to do.
Thankfully, the conversation centred around Clarissa and her numerous suitors for the rest of the dinner, but Michael knew that it was far from over. Henry kept giving him curious looks and he knew he would have to face his questioning sooner or later.
As it happened, no more questions were directed his way for the remainder of the dinner. But as it drew to an end, Henry seized the opportunity to ask Michael to share a bottle of brandy with him in the parlour while the ladies went to the drawing room.
Michael accepted out of courtesy. He knew that he couldn’t hold the truth to himself any longer. And if there was anyone he wanted on his side, it was his closest uncle.
Clarissa and Beatrice chatted incessantly as they made their way to the drawing room, talking about today’s fashion and whether they were impressed with the new changes. Michael and Henry were quiet, that silence lasting even when they entered the parlour and Henry went about making them their drinks.
Michael sat in a high-backed armchair and waited.
“Tell me what you have been up to,” Henry stated, his voice devoid of any humour. He wasn’t serious very often, but when he was, it was a force to be reckoned with.
Michael sipped his brandy, letting the smooth liquor warm his insides before he responded. “I’m sure you can guess what has consumed my every thought since the day my father was found guilty of treason.”
Henry frowned, his brows drawing together as concern clouded his gaze. “Surely you have not spent all this time chasing shadows? It is such a futile ambition, Michael, to invest one’s soul in what cannot be caught.”
Michael scoffed. “Were it merely a shadow, there would be little to pursue. Yet in seeking to prove his innocence, I have traversed the breadth of England, gathering overwhelming evidence that my father was condemned unjustly, his trial nothing short of a travesty.” His voice lowered, laced with both frustration and fierce determination, the weight of his quest palpable in the charged air between them.
“Then why haven’t you brought this evidence to light?” Henry pressed.
Michael took another slow sip of his brandy, the fiery liquid barely dulling the edge of his simmering fury. “Because it is not enough,” he replied, his voice tight. “I need more than letters and rumours—I need irrefutable proof. I need a confession from the man responsible for Father’s ruin.”
Henry sighed. “Lord Suthenshire is not the man he once was, Michael. He has aged and is ailing.”
“I have no sympathy for a man who would condemn another to rot in a dungeon on false charges for the sake of political gain! Father suffered at his hands—and for what? Eventually, Suthenshire never gained the power he so desperately sought.”
Henry’s gaze filled with sadness. Michael knew he was right. The House of Lords was filled with vipers that would easily tear someone down for more power. The late duke had been the last morally upright gentleman in that place and they ensured that his life would be ruined, all so that he could no longer oppose them.
The Earl of Suthenshire would quickly know how wrong it was to play with the lives of others.
“What shall you do then?” Henry asked softly. Michael noticed that his uncle had not yet touched his drink.
“I intend to approach his daughter, Lady Elaine.”
Henry’s brow furrowed. “You will seduce her?”
“If I must,” Michael replied, his voice cold with determination. “But let us hope it does not come to that. For now, I intend to get close to her, close enough to uncover the full truth of what transpired.”
“The consequences of such an action may be far greater than you fathom, Michael.”
Michael frowned. “All because the earl is ill?”
“The family has been disgraced,” Henry explained with a shake of his head, a grave expression settling on his features. “Lord Suthenshire’s action after your father’s conviction led him down a path of terrible financial decisions. He has far more debt than he will ever be able to overcome and he has severed ties with a number of influential gentlemen because of that. Associating with his family may only tarnish your own standing further.”
Michael paused, weighing his uncle’s words. He had heard whispers of the earl’s downfall, much to his satisfaction, though he had not realised the full extent of it. Still, he steeled himself…
“The benefits outweigh the risks,” he said determinedly.
Henry’s expression remained doubtful. “The fragile state of the dukedom’s reputation further complicates matters. Our name cannot bear much scrutiny right now.”
“For now I am working to restore that reputation, starting with bringing the truth to light.”
“And what of the earl’s daughter? Do you deem it wise to entangle an innocent in this web of vengeance?”
Michael didn’t dare let his true thoughts on that matter show, saying, “Whether I involve her or not, she will suffer once the truth is revealed. I shall see to it.”
Henry said nothing to that, finally taking a sip of his drink. The silence simmered in the room but Michael hardly noticed it. His fury, which was never too far away, threatened to spill over at any moment. Taking small sips of the brandy was all that calmed him.
He quelled the pinch of guilt at the thought of Lady Elaine. Henry was right. She was not to blame for her father’s errors. However, if she could assist him in uncovering the full truth, then at least she might play a part in her father’s atonement.
Chapter Three
“Michael.”
Michael glanced at his sister, immediately alert at the softness of her voice. They’d left Belington House a short while ago, in mostly good spirits, but now he could tell that something was bothering Clarissa. She stared at him in the dim light of the carriage, hands folded tightly in her lap.
“What is it?” he asked.
Her frown deepened and she drew in a slow breath, as if she was bracing herself for something. “I overheard your conversation with Uncle Henry.”
For a brief moment, Michael only stared at her in bemusement. Then he realised that it meant she’d overheard his plan and had learned of the true reason he had been away for so long.
Quelling his irritation, he looked out the window once more. “I see.”
“Michael…” Clarissa’s hand touched his, squeezing. “You must know that this is not the right way.”
“Do not preach to me, Clarissa,” Michael replied, striving to contain his anger. It was alarming how swiftly he would lose his temper whenever this subject arose. “If you knew of the horrors our father suffered at the hands of that deceitful man, you would be encouraging me.”
“I cannot encourage you to be so deceitful yourself,” she said softly. “I must admit that it was not proper of me to eavesdrop, but I do not regret it. Hearing you speak with such vengeance in your heart appalled me. This is not the Michael I used to know.”
“The Michael you knew died the day Papa did, Clarissa.” He gripped her hand, facing her fully. “You are kind and pure and far too virtuous for his treacherous world. Leave this to me. Pray, do not burden yourself with thoughts of what I intend to do.”
“I cannot seem to shake this dread,” she cried. “From the moment you departed till the day you returned, I have been consumed with concern. It is clear you are no longer the man you once were, and now I understand why. Have you given any thought to what might become of you should your scheme come to light?”
“It shall not come to light,” he pushed out, releasing her hand. “And I shall get what I want before anyone is any wiser.”
“And the innocent lady you intend on involving? What of her? She may very well be ruined by what you’ll do.”
“It is only what she deserves.”
Clarissa reeled back, shocked. “You cannot truly believe that. Her father’s actions should not reflect on her.”
“Do you know this lady?”
“I do not, nor do I need to. But I know you and—”
“You do not know me, Clarissa! You cannot possibly know me if you fail to comprehend my burning need for vengeance. And you cannot fathom the countless sleepless nights I have endured while meticulously piecing together my evidence, dispelling the falsehoods woven around our father’s name. Our righteous father who has never acted in vindication and yet suffered at the hands of those wolves.”
As the carriage rattled past a lamppost, light spilling inside for a fleeting moment, Michael caught tears shining in her eyes.
Still, her voice remained strong. “Papa would not approve of this.”
“Papa is not here to stop me. I am doing this for him. For you. For our family. To restore his name and our previous glory. To ensure that those who did such evil will not get away with it.” Michael sighed, leaning his head against the seat. His temples were beginning to throb. “This is important to me, Clarissa. More than words can express. I need you to understand.”
Clarissa was quiet for a long moment. “I do understand, Michael,” she replied softly. “But even so, I cannot, in good conscience, agree.”
Michael decided not to respond to that, ignoring the stab of hurt he felt at those words. As his sister, he’d hoped that she would not oppose his plans when she eventually learned of it. But he should have known better. Clarissa was virtuous, her mind and heart uncorrupted by what happened to their family. Michael could not say the same for himself.
He ignored the faint voice in the back of his mind that warned him he was on the wrong path. He had not spent years chasing this vengeance to be dissuaded by the morally upstanding. Getting his revenge was his only reprieve, the only thing capable of bringing him peace.
He would stop at nothing to achieve that.
***
Edward’s chamber was shrouded in darkness, as he preferred, allowing barely enough light for Elaine to see as she helped him to his bed.
He’d spent most of the day in the drawing room, slipping in and out of sleep, murmuring to himself whenever he was awake. Now Elaine wondered if he might have fallen asleep on her again because he felt heavier than usual, his body weight pressing down on her shoulder.
“Nearly there,” she murmured, mostly to herself. She could barely make out the shadowy outline of his bed in the darkness.
At last, she felt the cool brush of the sheets against her knees. Bracing herself against the mattress, Elaine helped her father into the bed, adjusting his stiff limbs until he was settled under the sheets. She tucked him in, certain that he must be deep in sleep by now.
As she began to walk away, his hand caught her wrist with surprising strength. It fell a moment later.
“Papa?” she spoke in the darkness.
She could not see his face but a moment later, his gravelly voice broke through. “Sit with me a moment.”
He sounded clearer than usual. Tonight must be a good night. Elaine nodded and quickly claimed the chair that was always by his bed. She would often sit there during the day with her embroidery while he rested, or when she would read to him.
“Yes, Papa,” she breathed, taking his hand in hers.
He cleared his throat. Elaine held her breath in anticipation. “I am…so proud of you, my dear.”
Tears rushed to her eyes, much to her alarm. She’d done so much crying today already, she couldn’t believe she had any tears left in her. “Why?” she asked, trying to sound light. “I have not done anything for you to be proud of.”
“You have grown into a beautiful young lady,” he rasped. “You have not left me to rot by myself.”
“Papa! Why would I ever do that?”
“There is so much you do not know, my dear.”
Elaine didn’t like the sound of that. She especially didn’t like how morose he sounded. She tried changing the topic. “I will be attending my first ball tomorrow evening.”
“Ho…how?”
“Aunt Lorna and James have agreed to sponsor me this Season. I am committed to finding a wealthy husband who will be able to help us, Papa. Perhaps I may even enjoy myself in the process.”
“That is good. You should enjoy yourself. You should be happy.”
“I am happy,” she lied, though she couldn’t understand why. It was evident that their circumstances were far from joyful.
“I want you to be happier,” her father pushed out weakly. “I have made so many mistakes during my life. I do not want you to suffer from them.”
“What sort of mistakes?” she asked tentatively, uncertain if she truly wished to know.
Edward said nothing. After a moment, a sob escaped his lips.
“Papa?” Elaine gasped, filled with alarm.
“I am tired,” he told her. “I wish to rest now.”
“Papa…”
“Go now. Rest. You have a lot of preparations to do for your ball tomorrow.”
She wiped her tears and nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. “I shall tell you all about it upon my return.”
“That would be nice,” he said and she hoped that was truly a smile she heard in his voice.
A few seconds later, his breathing grew loud but even, a clear indication that he had fallen asleep. Elaine stayed there for a while longer, thinking about all he’d said. Conversations did not happen often lately and when they did, they were always short-lived and unimportant. This one was different. Her father rarely spoke of his past.
At last, she stood and left the room, when she was certain her tears had dried. But by the time she made it to her bedchamber, they’d returned with full force. Hearing her father speak just now only reminded her of when he had been strong and healthy, when his illness had not turned him into a shell of his former self. When her mother had been alive, her brother had been home, and she’d truly been happy.
There was no changing the past, however. But as she crawled into bed and let her tears lull her to sleep, Elaine resolved to let her present dictate her future.
***
Grenshaw House screamed opulence, from the white-washed brick walls to the tiered balconies, to the long driveway lined with painted stone and manicured shrubbery. Michael had never attended a ball hosted by Lord and Lady Jones, but he had certainly heard the rumours. He was well aware of what others said about their grand ballroom and their endless wealth, how such balls often ended well into the morning because there was just simply so much to do. As his carriage pulled to a stop near the front of the house, Michael wondered if he would have anticipated such an event if his plan for revenge had not been simmering in his mind.
“Michael.”
Clarissa’s soft voice drew a weary sigh to his lips. He knew what she was going to say simply from her tone.
“Leave me be, Clarissa,” he said to her, watching as footmen approached their carriage. “If you do not intend to support my quest then at the very least, do not lecture me about it.”
“I cannot help but lecture you. It is what younger sisters do.”
“An older sister, perhaps,” he murmured. “But as I am the eldest, you would do well to listen to me.”
She was already shaking her head. “Do not purport to be wiser than me, Michael. Not when you are still on your insane quest for retribution.”
“Insane, she says,” he scoffed.
She sighed. “I only wish for you to see that there must be a better way.”
“There is no better way. And I shall not be convinced to the contrary.”
She sighed again but Michael ignored her. The footman was upon them now, opening their door. Michael nodded absently at him as he climbed out of the carriage and then helped Clarissa out. Right behind them, Beatrice and Henry were exiting their marked carriage as well.
They waited for the two of them to approach before they turned to the house, falling in line with the other arriving guests. The Jones seemed to have an unlimited amount of footmen because they kept pouring out of the house, assisting newcomers out of their carriages and escorting them to the ballroom.
A soft sonata wafted through the hallway as Michael approached, Clarissa on his arm. They were brought to a small flight of stairs that led to a set of double doors. A podgy footman in a black and blue livery bowed at their approach before he swung the doors open.
“His Grace the Duke of Ryewood and Lady Clarissa,” he bellowed to the guests down below.
Michael stepped into the ballroom, his eyes sweeping over the sea of faces that turned to assess him. He did not focus on a single one of them, yet that familiar hum of resentment welled within him as he descended the spiral staircase to the left, slowly so as to accommodate Clarissa’s long gown. He was well aware of their unspoken thoughts: the new duke had returned, seeking to salvage the remnants of his broken title.
“Smile, Michael,” Clarissa whispered to him. “You look downright terrifying.”
“Good,” he grunted right before stepping into the thick of the guests.
The ball seemed to have just begun but the ballroom was already teeming with life. His height afforded him advantages, however. He could easily see over most of their heads, capable of picking out a number of familiar faces. But there was only one person he truly wished to see.
And he had just found her.
Lady Elaine Sutton, daughter of the Earl of Suthenshire, and the key to executing his plan. His extensive research of her and her family made it easy to spot her, but he wasn’t as prepared for the gut-punching reaction to the sight of her.
He hadn’t expected her to be so beautiful.
Of course, her beauty was unimportant, he reminded himself. He did not intend to seduce her if it could be avoided. Yet, it was quite difficult to ignore how she stood as a beacon of beauty among the common folk. Long auburn hair that sat in delicate curls around her face, most of it pinned up to dangle down her back. He could not see the colour of her eyes but it was easy to see that she had porcelain skin, a small nose, and such lovely, pink lips currently set in a line. Her eyes were round, darting around the room as if she could not figure out what to look at first, yet she held such regal grace in her slim figure that it was hard to believe she’d not done this a dozen times before.
“Michael?”
Beatrice’s voice brought him back. He hadn’t noticed that they’d approached, hadn’t even heard when they were announced.
Beatrice was frowning at him. “What are your thoughts?”
Michael cleared his throat, annoyed by the trance he’d slipped under. “About what?”
“About Lord Hanson.”
Michael blinked at her.
“Lord Hanson,” Henry supplied slowly. “He just approached Clarissa asking for the first dance. Did you not see him?”
“I…hadn’t noticed.”
“How could you not have noticed that?” Clarissa asked incredulously, frowning at him as if he’d just grown a second head.
He didn’t blame her. He couldn’t understand it himself, even though he was well aware of the reason.
“I suppose I was lost in thought,” he answered noncommittally. “Was I to judge the man based upon his request to dance?”
“Well, yes,” Beatrice said. “It is your duty to ensure only the proper gentlemen are given the honour of Clarissa’s time, you know.”
“I hardly think one dance will tell me anything I want to know about him,” Michael said.
“And I am more than capable of determining that myself,” Clarissa joined in. “I happen to find Lord Hanson quite handsome and kind.”
“You say that about everyone,” Beatrice bemoaned.
“Not everyone,” Clarissa protested. “I certainly did not say that about Lord Gregory…”
Michael stopped listening, his gaze trailing back to Lady Elaine. She was in the same spot, still looking around as if she didn’t know what to do with herself. At that moment, an older lady approached her. It took Michael a moment to recognise her as the Dowager Viscountess of Abney, Lady Elaine’s maternal aunt. The man who stood at her side bore a striking similarity to her and he assumed he must be the current Viscount of Abney and Lady Elaine’s cousin.
They seemed close, Michael observed. Lady Abney said something to Lady Elaine, which made her smile briefly. The act lit her face a thousand times brighter than the look of apprehension she wore before. Michael suddenly struggled to breathe.
Lord Abney stood by his cousin’s side, not partaking in the conversation between the two women yet hovering in an imposing manner. His gaze skimmed the crowd, falling on Michael. Their eyes met and Lord Abney’s narrowed.
Michael did not look away right away, though it bothered him that he got caught staring. He didn’t need to draw attention to himself, especially not from someone who appeared to be an overbearing family member of the lady he wished to approach. He would have to wait until Lord Abney was not by his cousin’s side before he made his move.
Michael’s heart trembled with anticipation at the thought. He had been planning this for far too long, years of painstaking detail all leading to this very night.
At last, the beginning of the end.
