Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

T he marriage season is fast approaching, and it is evident to this writer that the spring blooms are not the only thing in town that are rushing to blossom. Dresses, perfumes, hairstyles, and other finery are in high demand as the ladies of the ton prepare to welcome a new eligible man of marriageable age and status into their midst. It seemed after last year's particularly quiet season that there were simply too many young marriageable women out in society and not nearly enough men preparing to propose. But first, let us take another look at the young ladies of the season.

The oldest daughter of Mr. and Mrs. B is expected to make her formal appearance in court this season, and she looks to be the most eligible young woman of the bunch between her fair features, good upbringing, and demure persuasion. It has been noted, however, that Mr. B has not made an attempt to resecure his opera box, and it has left this writer wondering if the family's apparent lack of funds will be the young Miss B's downfall.

At last, the news which we have awaited with bated breath. It seemed at first that the regrettable death of the esteemed Mr. H may have brought a new person to the currently vacant estate and title. However, it has just been discovered that known rake and dearly missed young Mr. H has been found and is expected to return tonight at the thus far most anticipated ball of the season.

"Please, Olivia, we have heard enough," begged Marina, her emerald eyes focused on her younger sister, who had spent the last twenty minutes draped across the chaise in the drawing room pouring over the latest scandals and reading them aloud to the others. "That tired rag has printed the same information about us for years. What about it interests you so?" Marina scoffed, holding her chin up just a bit higher, causing one curl to unfurl from her bun and slip down to frame her face.

"It is not what they have to say about us , dear sister, but what they have to say about the Duke," the younger woman sighed, her romantic fancy written all over her languid body language. The Linfield sisters looked just alike–each the spitting image of their mother. However, Olivia's features were softer and sweeter. She was not quite so striking as Marina, though she made up for anything she lacked in the vibrance of her personality and the romance of her fanciful ideas.

Marina sighed, setting her needlework down to give Olivia her full attention. The morning had been busy with social calls, but now, the afternoon was drawing in, and the soft buttery light of it filled the room and draped a flattering shade of gold across each girl, the furniture, and even the art which hung on the walls. It was, normally, Marina's favorite time of the day, but her sister's obsession with this particular bit of news was distressing.

"And what about him?" she demanded of the younger. "He is a rake come to town merely to claim his fortune and his title. Surely, afterward, he will take his leave again and be out of our lives for good. Where he belongs. He would not be the first."

"You are harsh," Olivia accused. "I hope he is at the ball tonight. I will capture his attention and fill my dance card with his name. After, I can tell you all about how wrong you are."

"If you see him at the ball tonight, you will stay away from him." Marina's voice was stern, and her eyes, trained on her younger sister, were earnest. "Men like him are only good for trouble, and it is your first ball and your first season."

Olivia grinned, standing from her seat and walking over to sit by Marina, whose hand she held in both of hers. "It is. And I shall hold my head up high as I shock the ton for having bested the scandal sheets. It is remarkable that the one detail they got wrong is the most fun one. Olivia Linfield will be appearing in society this year in preparation for the marriage season and confident in her older sister's ability to become engaged. In celebration, I will not seek out the Duke, but I will watch eagerly from a distance. Unless he is handsome in which case I can make no promises."

Olivia, Marina, and their two younger siblings laughed. Marina, despite herself, waved away Olivia's silliness and ushered the others off to prepare for the evening's activities although, if she were honest, her heart was heavy with her fears. The future of all four Linfield women rested in her hands, and much of it rested on the outcome of the ball at Glastonbury's Manor.

Phillip ran his hands over the divot in the panel wall. It was cleverly disguised under new varnish, but the stain from the brandy that night was still visible if one knew where to look. The Hayward Estate was, otherwise, almost exactly as he had left it. The Duke, he'd heard, had been all but bedridden after running his son away. How miserable it must have been. He'd been alone, sickly, and nearly immobile for the last decade of his life. The young man shuddered to think of it.

Was it this place? Were these walls cursed to plague all who lived within to unfavorable deaths?

The young heir scoffed, moving from the library through to the dining room. Everywhere, servants were rushing and bustling about, as if their new master's presence had come as a shock. They paused what they were doing and became a little flustered any time he entered a room, and it occurred to Phillip that their fear was just a habit. His father had terrorized not just him but everyone else in his vicinity as well.

His memories of his mother were few, but what he did remember was how she'd softened the Duke's rough edges. In the hall, he found her portrait covered with black cloth and collecting dust. The young servant boy tasked with uncloaking the rest of the furniture paused and turned to Phillip, nervous.

"Shall I uncover her, Sir?"

"No," the young man sighed, turning so he didn't have to look at it anymore. "Leave it as it is. I won't be here long."

Phillip knew that this bit of information would make its way through the staff and from there, to the ton. It was beneficial for his comings and goings to be the biggest scandals spoken of. There was, after all, the illegitimacy of his parentage to be considered. Part of Phillip's time at the estate would be spent trying to determine who his biological father could have been and who might know about it. There were families in London who wished to see the Duke ripped from his seat, even as he lay dying, making it risky for Phillip to risk his secret getting out. The gossip mill would be churning soon enough with every eager mama looking to prove Phillip and his fortune and title suitable for their young Misses. He needed to get on top of it, squash it out of existence, and swiftly disappear again once he had become old news.

The next room in his path was his nursery. It was bare, now, cleared entirely of any evidence that a boy had ever lived there. Gone were his books, his toys, his clothes, and furniture. Not even after the man's death did the staff dare to set foot inside.

"Mathilde," Phillip called from within. The housekeeper appeared within moments. She was the same woman who had cared for the Hayward Estate since Phillip was a child, and she regarded him still as if he were her young charge.

"Yes, Your Grace?" Mathilde's hands busily worked at her apron where she was polishing some odd or end. "What is it?"

The corner of his mouth lifted in a wry grin. Mathilde was graceful and meek of manner in front of his father, but with him, she had always been stern. After his mother passed, Phillip's governess was made to become as strict with him as his father—he breathed down her neck all day long to ensure as much. But not Mathilde. She'd remained Phillip's greatest ally and was more capable than any steward who had passed through those halls.

"Have the staff clean this room. I shall like to turn this into the study."

Mathilde scoffed. "And what of the perfectly good study which exists now?"

"Have it stripped bare. I intend to purge this place of negative influence just as it was purged of all memories of me."

The housekeeper nodded though Phillip thought he saw a glint of mischievous appreciation in her eye. She went back to her duties, and Phillip moved on to the next. The lady's chambers had not been touched. It seemed that the Duke wasn't lying about his affection for his late wife, despite her betrayal. Phillip had often wondered what his parents' relationship was like. Had his mother suffered so?

He had always hoped that whoever his father was, his mother had loved and been loved by the man. It was what she deserved, if only for a small while. Phillip was in every way her likeness with their jet-black hair and forest-green eyes, proud cheekbones, and stubborn chins. She'd been a beautiful, gentle, and funny woman. In all his travels, he had not met anyone like her. The women of his status were too reserved and too plain. They had instincts when it came to looking for money but not maternal ones.

Ironically, women below his station were much the same though often more entertaining company.

He moved on, not ready to decide what to do with this room. Certainly, there would be a lady of the house at some point. She could do with it whatever she pleased. His marriage would be in name only in any case.

"Your Grace." Phillip turned to see the new steward his uncle had hired on his behalf. He decided he did not like the look of him at all and would be keeping a close eye. "There is a note from Glastonbury Manor."

Phillip took the card and retired to the drawing room which stank the least of his father out of all of the rooms in the estate. The letter was from his uncle letting Phillip know that he was too ill to ride out to the Hayward place and imploring him to visit Glastonbury instead.

Emmanuel Hayward was a man of fifty years, and his sudden illness was alarming. In all of Phillip's time alive, he had not once seen his uncle anything less than fit and jolly. He went out to call the carriage at once, donning his overcoat just as dusk came upon him, casting a silver sheen over the estate which reminded Phillip bitterly of his last night in town.

"Make haste," he called. "My uncle is in a poorly condition!"