Chapter Two

Three years later

"C ome again?" Percy said.

"You are the new Duke of Grandfellow," the solicitor repeated, his sneer tempered, no doubt by the prospect of Percy's newfound and obviously fabricated power and fortune.

And if the list of properties were any indication, they were immense fabrications.

Percy looked around the small office, checking for feet hidden under the ghastly green drapes or in the corners between overfilled bookcases.

When the Duke of Camine had sent him on his "errand" this morning, Percy had been sure it'd had something to do with a fraudulent claim to the estate or something equally mundane. Now he was certain Hamish was having a go at him as revenge for some previous grievance.

"Your Grace?"

Percy turned on the solicitor, knowing exactly where his knife would fit between the man's third and fourth button of his silk vest.

The man swallowed audibly. He cleared his throat and laid a stack of papers on the desk between them. "The list of properties and tenants are here for you to check." The man looked up and hastily added, "At your leisure, of course. You'll find no indentures. It is entailed, of course, but I've served as solicitor for the Grandfellow estate for forty years," he said with evident pride. "The land and farms were left in fine order by the previous Duke of Grandfellow. I trust you'll find no area for complaint. If you'll sign the deed to the estate, I will send the rest of the paperwork after you are settled."

Percy shook his head.

This had gone too far. He'd wasted half the morning coming to this side of London, and even more time finding a presentable vest and coat, complete with a nauseating top hat and cane, as good a disguise for a gentleman's associate he'd ever worn.

The Duke of Camine may have forgotten Percy's former partner, the lunatic hellbent on murdering the lot of them while they slept, but Percy had not. After Nic's appearance at the Leishires' ball and his subsequent capture by the Merry Men gang, then his break from jail and attempted kidnapping of Camille Louis, Duchess of Lux and also Hamish's sister, at the Cock 'n Hen tavern, Nic had escaped by jumping headfirst into the river. That had been three years ago. Their small group of friends—Hamish and Charlotte, and Renard and Camille—may have been gullible enough to believe Nic had drowned in the Thames after being cornered once again by the Merry Men, but it would take more than a poisoned bit of water to rid the world of that rat.

Percy cracked his knuckles. If Hamish had time to come up with such elaborate pranks, perhaps it was time Percy reminded his friend how he'd earned his street nickname, Vengeance, and how aptly the description fit.

He pushed back his chair and stood. He made it as far as the door, when the other man shouted.

"Wait!" The solicitor scrambled after him. "Where are you going, Your Grace?"

Percy didn't bother turning around. "I've more important things to do with my time than be a part of this farce."

"Farce? Sir, the title and land pass to you, whether you wish them to or not. As the only living male relative of the previous duke, there is no one else to inherit Grandfellow. As the law of primogeniture states, the land is yours by right."

Percy scowled. "You mean by control." He had to hand it to the old man, he sounded haughty and put out, like any decent gentleman's solicitor. Whichever thespian troupe Hamish had found him in, Percy would make sure to hire the little man the next time he decided to infiltrate the Home Office. Even the man's facial hair, mutton chopped and sharply groomed close to the chin, had an authentic combination of white and grey.

Guess it wouldn't hurt to play along for a few minutes while he devised the best plan to make the Duke of Camine bleed from his ears and nose.

Percy leaned against the office door and crossed his arms over his chest. "And how exactly am I related to the duke again?"

The man frowned. "One moment." He went back to the stack of papers on his desk, making a grand show of selecting a particularly fine piece of parchment.

This should be good.

The man placed a monocle in his left eye and read, "Jackson Cole, Duke of Grandfellow, son of Frasier Cole..."

Percy frowned. Why did that name sound familiar?

"Cousin to Jackaby Cole," the man continued. "Whose son was Jack Cole, father to—"

"Me," Percy said. "You say the previous duke was my grandfather's cousin." The names certainly sounded familiar. He did have a vague memory of a man called "Grandpappy Jack."

If this game hadn't been at his expense, Percy would have applauded the other man's dedication to detail.

But the charade was at his expense.

His gaze narrowed. "You certainly did your research."

The man squinted back down at his papers. "The line of succession is verified. Seeing as the duke had no heirs and you are the only son of Jack Cole, you, Percival Jackaby Cole, are the new Duke of Grandfellow."

Percy froze at his given name. No one knew his full name. He'd made sure every scrap of paper or person that could be traced back to him had conveniently burned up, in pieces.

Stomach flipping, a new, and unacceptable, thought dawned. "I'm a duke."

The other man sighed. "As I've been trying to tell you, sir—er, Your Grace."

The man removed his monocle and handed Percy the Cole family ancestry.

Percy took in the sweeping lines and fine calligraphy of an official family registry of the ton , and stared at his full, legal name in charcoal black.

"That's impossible," Percy said.

"I assure you, Your Grace," the solicitor said, his expression tired. "Nothing is impossible when it comes to your family."

*

Mr. Frendstone, the Duke of Camine's butler, personally delivered Percy to the drawing room, where he found Renard Louis, Duke of Lux, lounging on the window seat.

Renard and his duchess, Camille, had been married years ago in a simple and secret ceremony in Scotland. They'd come back to England, holding hands and smiling at one another like lovestruck idiots ever since.

Percy was in no mood for sentimental nonsense. "Shouldn't you be at home, making cow eyes at your wife?"

The other man sighed, his gaze fixed in the direction of Lux estate, twenty miles to the west. His coat and pants were smart in hunter green and charcoal grey, but his sand-colored hair lay curled and unkempt on top of his head. "I was told, in no uncertain terms, to make myself scarce or risk violence to my person via footwear."

Percy smirked, feeling for the first time the world wasn't on a personal mission to ruin his day. "Surely, after the second throw, there would be less of a threat?"

"My lady owns twelve pairs of indoor slippers alone."

"That's excessive."

"Not to her."

Percy felt for the man. Aside from the Duchess of Camine, whom he had a small soft spot for, women were tiresome and fickle.

He pushed away the sudden image of a young woman, dark haired and full of fire.

Hamish Hurstfield, Duke of Camine, entered the room, breeches and coat starched into dangerous angles, making his large build and tall height as intimidating as his title. He smirked upon seeing Percy.

"There you are, Lord Grandfellow." He thumped Percy on the back. "Enjoy your errand?" He rubbed his hands together. "I can't wait for the first ball so I can watch the ladies run screaming for the door." He smiled. "Or watch you do the same when said ladies' mothers dig their claws into your eligible hind."

Percy extracted himself from his friend's reach and remembered he had six knives hidden on his person. "I will kill you."

"Be careful, Camine," Renard said from the window. "He looks serious."

Hamish eyed him, and then shook his head. "No, he won't. He's too fond of Charlotte to make her a widow."

Renard snorted. "You mean too fond of his person to risk her seeking revenge."

"And who exactly am I to seek revenge on?" Charlotte sailed through the open door in a lovely blue day dress and glanced at each of them in turn. Eyes huge behind wire spectacles, her gaze flicked from the two guests before settling on her husband with a warmth that rivaled the sun.

Hamish crossed the room and wrapped an arm around his duchess. "Anyone involved in my untimely death."

She pulled back and raised her brows. "Is there a concern from any company present?"

"Not at the moment."

She nodded. "Good, because your son would like a word with you."

Hamish came to attention, putting on his ‘master-of-the-house' frown and taking the request seriously, as every good father of an almost three-year-old would.

"Leopold!"

"Yes, Papa?" a small voice said from the hall.

"You may come in now."

The little boy appeared in the doorway, the very image of his mother with light hair and a stubborn chin... and concealing a familiar Y-shaped weapon in his back pocket if Percy's childhood memories of slinging rocks at the local drunks were accurate.

Judging by the nicks Percy glimpsed in the bit of wood revealed in the gap between his godson's shirt and knickers, the boy wasn't a half bad shot.

"Am I to assume you have a request?" Hamish asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Let's hear it, then."

The boy squared his shoulders. "It's sunny, Papa."

Hamish's master-frown twitched with suppressed amusement. "It is."

"And Mama says sun is good for adventure." The word ‘adventure' came out ‘atentor.'

Percy felt his own mouth curl upwards. The boy had inherited his mother's fine words and taste for trouble as well if the slingshot sticking out of the boy's back pocket was any indication.

"Mama is never wrong," Leopold said.

Hamish didn't hesitate. "That's right."

Leopold looked his father in the eye. "We should have a picnic."

Hamish made a good show of covering his smile under the guise of scratching his nose in thought. "Would you say the lake would be a good destination for a group setting?"

Leopold nodded enthusiastically.

"I see." Hamish set out his hand for his son to shake. "The preparations are your responsibility. A gentleman must take his guests into consideration."

The boy's grin was all teeth. He glanced at Renard. "You come too, Uncle Renard?"

"An adventure, you say?" The Duke of Lux glanced at Charlotte, and the two siblings shared a conspiratorial look. "I believe I can free my schedule."

"Capital!" he said, the word sounding more like ‘captal.' Leopold's gaze flicked around the room. "Where is Aunt Milly?"

Renard sighed again. "The doctor has ordered her to stay abed until her condition is over."

Hamish clapped his brother-in-law on the shoulder. "Better double the servants' pay now, or you'll lose half by week's end."

Leopold's face fell. "She not coming?"

Percy couldn't blame him. Despite a general dragon nature of treating every man within spitting range with contempt and projectile footwear, the Duchess of Lux doted an offensive amount of time and attention on her nephew.

"But cook made lemon tarts special." The little boy shook himself, regaining his good mood. "We send some to Lux later, so she no feel bad for missing our picnic."

Renard, his appetite having returned along with his new bride, came alive at the mention of food. "Lemon tarts, did you say?"

He came off the window seat like a hound on the scent. "Now wouldn't you think it prudent, young Leopold, to sample the cuisine before making the long trek to the lake? We wouldn't want to get there, only to realize the sustenance wouldn't sufficiently restore our energies."

Leopold gazed at his uncle. "Oh." He glanced at the Duchess of Camine and pointed to her stomach. "Mama, will baby be okay?"

At the startled gaze of his brother-in-law, Hamish sighed. "There goes that surprise." He shot Percy a smirk. "You knew already, right?"

"Of course."

Her Grace's recent sour complexion had turned into a healthy glow over the past few weeks. Along with her natural gait increasing, as well as her appetite, that would put her at about... "Twelve weeks."

"Amazing!" Charlotte said.

Hamish regarded him like a specimen under one of Gregori's glass slides. "Inhuman."

"Come along, Leo." Renard had his nephew by the hand, the other rubbing his surprisingly flat stomach. "We've tarts to taste."

Charlotte smiled at the pair when they paused for approval. "Go ahead. We'll be along shortly."

The two's continued conversation could be heard all the way down the hall.

"Now, Leo, there is something vitally important you must know about tarts before we go too far." Renard's voice was utterly serious.

"What?" Leo asked.

"When offering a lady one, always bring extra."

"Why?"

"That is a way to win her heart."

Hamish shook his head as the two voices faded into the depths of the house. "I shudder to think what the Duchess of Lux will teach him when her confinement is lifted. Between aunt and uncle, he is sure to be a rogue."

Charlotte slipped her arm around her husband's waist and smiled. "Just like his papa."

Hamish lifted her chin and placed a soft kiss on her lips. "Just like his mama."

Percy looked away from the tender display and prayed the couple wouldn't ask him to join their merry parade. Though it was a damn shame he'd miss the tarts.

He thought he'd excuse himself quietly while the duke and duchess were preoccupied when Leopold came rushing back in the room and stopped right in front of him.

"Uncle Percy." The boy gave him a big grin. "Will you come on our picnic, too?"

So close. Percy offered his godson a smile, the words ‘Uncle Percy' doing something uncomfortable to the husk of muscle in his chest. "Of course—"

"Not today." Hamish placed a hand on his son's head and threw Percy a look as if to say, "I apologize for my role in this morning's derailment of any future happiness."

"His Grace will be anxious to oversee his affairs now that he's inherited. Isn't that right, Lord Grandfellow?"

The man deserved a slow death. A live burial in the peach grove he loved so much.

Leopold swung to face his father. " Lord Grandfellow ?" He turned back around. "But you are a spy?"

"Leopold!" Charlotte said.

The boy frowned. "Mama, you say—"

"I said Uncle Percy is a man of mystery," Charlotte clarified. "And even if he were a spy, it isn't polite to ask outright."

Percy chuckled. "You think I'm a spy?"

Charlotte shrugged.

"I'm not a spy," he said. Not anymore .

Leopold's face fell. "No?"

"No." Percy leaned down and gave the boy a grin. "I'm a runner."

Leopold's eyes turned into saucers. "What—"

"That's enough, dear." Charlotte scooted her son over to the open door and threw Percy a scowl over her shoulder. "Thank you, Uncle Percy . Do enjoy your new title and running such a large estate."

He waved her out the door, his mood lifting. When she'd left, he turned to Hamish. "She adores me."

Renard came back through the door, a tart in each hand. "I thought we were picnicking. What's the delay?"

"Have you left anything to picnic with?" Hamish shook his head. "Positively criminal how much you eat."

"No need to ship me off to Australia just yet," Renard said. "You've set your sights too low, Camine. Surely, you can do better?"

Hamish barked a laugh, but his expression was hard. "Any day, the Australians will regain their dominion and England must set her sights back on her own borders and the people suffering for the cause. I suggest you do the same."

"Social reform?" Renard popped a mini tart into his mouth and said around the pastry, "What's next? Workhouses? Charities?"

"For starters."

Renard swallowed and eyed his friend contemplatively. "Become a revolutionary while I was busy winning over my duchess, have you?" Hamish nodded. "Where do I send the donations to?"

Hamish gaped. "You'll aid me in relief efforts?"

"With my duchess's pet projects at that forward-thinking home of hers, I must find my own call to arms or risk becoming the exact useless gentleman she once accused me of being."

"How revolutionary of you ."

"I'm glad you approve, but really, I can't stand it when she's right." Renard grinned. "Just, no more speeches on the public, please. If my lady makes me sit through one more of Ruskin's lectures of bringing England into a welfare state, I may take up gathering in the streets in protest for the cause, and no speech of mine would win any sympathy."

Hamish clapped him on the back. "You've grown, old friend."

Watching the two lifelong friends discuss the ways in which their insurmountable influence and wealth could better the community, Percy knew they'd both grown, and he knew the exact two ladies to blame. He muttered as much. Was this what matrimony did to intelligent men?

Noticing their companion's frown, both dukes offered him sympathetic expressions.

"You're next, Lord Grandfellow ," Hamish said.

"Thank you, no," Percy said. "Gentlemen acting noble. Ladies running businesses." Lowly street urchins gaining a title... "I've witnessed and experienced enough of this upside-down view to last me years of complacency." The last thing he needed was some wife nagging him into a role he had never been meant to play. He'd suffered poverty, starvation, and war, and yet the life of a gentleman might very well be the thing that did him in.

"Love will change you without you trying," Renard said.

"What nonsense."

"He'll fall hard when it happens," Hamish said.

Renard nodded. "Indeed."

Percy scowled. "Don't you two lovestruck fools have wives to placate or shelters to build for displaced families? Little kittens to rescue from nearby trees?"

"Shelters?" Hamish looked at Renard. "There's an idea."

Percy stalked towards the door. "I'm leaving." Before the men decided to rope him into building a church in the foyer for refugees in the name of Utilitarianism. Good men of sense gone to waste over feelings .

"Keep an eye out for her," Hamish called to his back.

Percy opened the door and peered into the hallway, expecting to see Charlotte ready to cut him down with a trademark insult. The hall was empty. He glanced back. "Who?"

Hamish's smile was smug. "The future Duchess of Grandfellow sent to ruin you into decency like the rest of us."

The image resurfaced again. A woman, dark haired and dressed in a provocative navy dress, along with the memory of a stolen kiss and a forgotten knife.

Percy hmphed and slammed the door behind him, cursing dukes. As nosy as any women he'd ever met.