Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

“ H as anyone seen Silverbrook?” asked Frederick Hayward, Duke of Heartwick, looking around the breakfast room at Huntingdon Manor. “Henry was meant to join me for an early ride this morning but never showed.”

Pulse racing and face tightly controlled, Lady Penelope, Frederick’s sister, raised her limpid green eyes from her morning coffee and cake as innocently as she could but said nothing. After all, why should she know anything at all about the Viscount Silverbrook’s absence? He was her brother’s friend, not hers.

“No one has seen him,” piped up Lady Annabelle Elkins, daughter to the Duke of Colborne. “I heard two of the servants saying that he would not be requiring breakfast or a shave today. They believed he would be keeping to his bed.”

“Gossip, gossip, gossip. Do you ever think of anything else, dear Annabelle?” teased Frederick with twinkling blue eyes, drawing the usual blush from the shy young woman who had been Penelope’s closest friend since childhood.

“There is no need for that, Frederick,” Penelope spoke up in defense of her friend, putting a reassuring hand on Annabelle’s arm and glaring at her older brother.

Annabelle did like to gossip, but her heart was in the right place, and there was no need to be unkind. As so often, Frederick completely ignored her, her disapproval unnoticed.

Six years her senior, it might as well have been sixty for all the attention he gave Penelope. Sometimes, she actually wished he would tease and poke fun at her as he did her friend Annabelle rather than seeming unaware that he even had a sister.

“I won’t be surprised if we don’t see Henry until dinner, given how much brandy he put away last night,” said Charles Wraith, the black-haired Duke of Huntingdon, with some acerbity, not bothering to look up from his newspaper. “Frankly, I hope Henry has the headache from hell today.”

“Charles!” said Madeline, Duchess of Huntingdon with smiling reproof. “You must give your guests some sympathy. You were, after all, the one who provided the brandy and encouraged overconsumption by making sure that your stocks were the best to be had in England.”

“Duchess Madeline does make a good point, Charles,” laughed Frederick, taking a seat at the table beside his sister and helping himself to bread and cake while a maid came hurrying over with a fresh pot of hot coffee. “It was excellent brandy. I really should know.”

Penelope turned her eyes away with irritation at the smile and blush that passed between her brother and the young red-haired maid. Was there any woman he wouldn’t flirt with?

“Unlike Henry, you know when to stop, Frederick,” grouched Duke Charles, finally lowering his newspaper to meet his wife’s gaze. “It’s undignified for a man in his thirtieth year to drink like a boy up at university for his first term.”

“Ah, but Henry and I still have another year or two until we reach your venerable age, Duke Charles,” Frederick pointed out. “Excuse us the follies of youth for a little longer, until we do reach our thirtieth year.”

“I will, if you manage to live that long,” commented Charles Wraith from behind his paper, causing Penelope to wince and Frederick to burst into peals of laughter.

“Let us not even joke about dying young,” Penelope stated impulsively. Then, she bit her tongue and took refuge in an anodyne cliché, fearing what her face or tone might reveal about her thoughts to others at the breakfast table. “It is unwise to tempt fate."

Oh, why must Frederick jest about such things this morning of all mornings?

Beside her too-merry brother, Penelope made a solid effort to compose her features before they aroused any curiosity. She was determined not to give the impression that anything was wrong. Matters might still turn out well after all. Somehow.

“Well, I certainly intend to live very long and live very well, beginning with early morning riding and a hearty breakfast every day,” Frederick declared, with another grin at the maid that would likely ensure him immediate hot coffee at breakfast for the rest of the week. “I cannot speak for Henry.”

Sneaking a glance at Frederick, Penelope thought how unjust it was that someone who drank and caroused as much as her older brother should still be so clear-eyed and fresh-faced every morning. After a single night’s disturbed sleep last night, she could see faint shadows under her eyes, but he never had any, even when he was up until dawn.

In fact, Frederick always looked like a blonde-haired, green-eyed choir boy despite the rumored debauchery amongst his set of fast young men, within which Henry, Lord Silverbrook, was his closest confidante and partner in crime. Penelope reflected that half of the young women in London seemed to be in love with her older brother, and tales of his misbehavior only seemed to encourage them.

As Duchess Madeline continued to regard her husband with a meaningful smile on her handsome, brown-eyed face, Huntingdon finally sighed, folded the newspaper, and rose from his seat. His green eyes softened as they rested on his wife, although he still seemed annoyed by Lord Silverbrook.

“I can feel you looking at me through the Times, Madeline. I should go and check on Henry, shouldn’t I?” he asked and received an amused nod. “Very well. Do come with me, Frederick. I may need moral support, and Henry may need defense. You may eat two breakfasts afterwards.”

Kissing his wife’s cheek and receiving an affectionate caress to his neck in return, their host stalked out of the room, followed by Frederick, cramming a piece of buttered roll into his mouth.

Watching the two men go, Penelope nervously wondered what, if anything, Lord Silverbrook was likely to tell them. Her hand trembled enough that she had to put down her coffee to avoid spillage. Despite having put so much effort into persuading her mother and Frederick that she should come to the Huntington Manor party, she now only wished she could go straight home.

“You must excuse Charles,” Madeline said after the door closed behind the men. “The Duke of Walden arrived very late last night. He sent ahead that there had been an accident on the road with a broken carriage wheel, and Charles felt bound to wait up until he got here.”

“What happened? Was his party unharmed?” asked Annabelle breathlessly.

“All is well. The Duke was traveling alone with his valet, thankfully,” answered Duchess Madeline with a nod. “His sister, Miss Victoria Crawford, is visiting friends this week and will not be joining our house party. A shame — such an interesting and erudite young woman. I’m sure you would like her, Penelope.”

“What a shame,” Penelope agreed politely, unable to recall anything about Lady Victoria beyond her reputation as something of a bluestocking.

The Crawfords’ elevation to the nobility was so recent that she supposed no one knew them well apart from old friends like the Duke of Huntingdon, who had been at school with Maxwell Crawford. Before inheriting the Duchy of Walden, Maxwell had been rich and respectable but hardly of interest to either society columnists or ambitious mamas with marriageable daughters. Now, the new duke’s name was on everyone’s lips.

“But were any of his servants injured?” Annabelle pursued, determined to extract every detail from their hostess. “Or the horses?”

“No,” Madeline smiled calmly. “All are well. It was likely not as dramatic an incident as you imagine. The only notable fact I got from Charles last night was that Maxwell Crawford mended the wheel himself with his bare hands and a few rudimentary tools. The servants wanted to walk to the nearest village and find an inn for the night, but he was determined to press on.”

“How clever!” Annabelle remarked, her cornflower-blue eyes bright with interest in her plump and pretty face.

“Well, Charles certainly thought so. He says Maxwell is one of the cleverest and most determined men he has ever met. But at two o’ clock in the morning, he might have preferred his friend to be less clever and determined so that he would have gone to the village inn, and Charles didn’t have to sit up waiting for him.”

The ladies laughed together at this comment.

“I only hope he didn’t disturb Frederick when he went to bed,” added the Duchess of Huntingdon, rubbing her rounded belly as she drank her coffee. “We put Maxwell on the same corridor as the two of you in the east wing. He’s next door to Frederick.”

“Nothing ever disturbs Frederick’s sleep,” Penelope said with a rueful smile.

It occurred to her that Frederick might not even have been in his room last night. She had not missed the knowing looks passing between her brother and the handsome auburn-haired Dowager Marchioness of Gordney in the drawing room after dinner last night. Still, that was none of her business, and probably best not to know.

“I must make the most of this house party,” Duchess Madeline remarked to herself as much as her guests, smiling a contented smile as her hand rested on her abdomen. “This little one will arrive next month, and I will likely be too busy for hospitality for a while after that.”

Penelope nodded and smiled in encouragement at this line of conversation. It would be good to talk about something simple and happy, like the arrival of a baby. She would be required to say very little herself, and the discussion would take her mind off the conversation presumably now happening upstairs in Lord Silverbrook’s room.

Unfortunately, however, Annabelle had not yet exhausted the topic of the Crawfords and the arrival of the Duke of Walden last night.

“Is it true that he tried to refuse the Dukedom?” asked Annabelle. “I heard in London from my brother that Maxwell Crawford said he didn’t want it.”

Duchess Madeline laughed and shook her head.

“It wasn’t quite like that, my dear,” she told the younger woman. “It was certainly an unexpected accession, though. His uncle was lost at sea when his ship sank on its way back from the Americas. Maxwell was very surprised to receive the news. I don’t think he quite believed it.”

“But if he was his uncle’s heir, it can’t have been that much of a surprise, surely? Even given the shipwreck.”

Annabelle frowned as she spoke and wound a wave of her strawberry blonde hair thoughtfully around her fingers.

“He was not the heir,” Madeline corrected her. “The previous duke had a son, Maxwell’s cousin Hector. He was on the same vessel with his father and they both drowned when the ship sank. Maxwell had no expectations in that direction at all. So, that is why he declined to enter society as the Duke of Walden until he had received all possible proofs of his relatives’ untimely demise.”

“How awful!” Annabelle breathed, and Penelope smiled quietly to herself, knowing that despite her expressions of horror, her friend was storing up the story to pass on to their other curious friends later.

After a few moments, Penelope realized that her friend was regarding her critically. She pushed down her anxiety and met Annabelle’s eyes without even blinking.

“Why are you so quiet this morning, Penelope? I hope you’re not sickening for something. There are always odd fevers and chills abroad in the spring, and Pamela Rogers was ill just before we left London.”

Penelope shook her head and laughed lightly as though the idea were ridiculous.

“Quiet? I may not have drunk brandy last night, like the gentlemen, but I am still not at my best at breakfast time, Annabelle. You should know that by now. I assure you that I caught nothing from Pamela. She is always sickening for something. I think she enjoys it, frankly.”

“I only thought that you seemed…”

“But Maxwell Crawford was rich long before he inherited the dukedom, wasn’t he?” Penelope asked, turning back to Duchess Madeline and cutting firmly across whatever further personal observation her friend might be about to make. “That’s all I know of him, really.”

There was no way out of this conversation; she must join in to be polite and not draw attention to herself. Even the melodrama of the Duke of Walden’s life was preferable to being under scrutiny herself. Until the axe fell, there was still hope, and she must keep her composure.

“Very, very rich,” Madeline confirmed. “His grandfather was originally a cloth merchant, one of the first to invest in new machinery and manufacturing methods. He built quite a business empire around the country, investing in property too. Then, Maxwell’s father, William — a different kind of man entirely — did his best to drink and gamble this great fortune away. He was a nasty piece of work, according to Charles.”

“And what did William Crawford think of his son becoming a duke?” Annabelle jumped in.

“Nothing,” said Madeline drily. “He’d been dead for ten years. He drowned in a canal in a less than salubrious district of London after one night of drinking too many, apparently.”

Annabelle gave a loud gasp; this additional tragedy was more than she could have hoped for.

“What a lot of drownings in that family! How awful for the duke!”

Duchess Madeline shrugged, her expression philosophical.

“There was no love lost between father and son, I believe. They’d been estranged since young Maxwell uncovered his grandfather’s final will, putting his estate in trust for his grandchildren. That took control of the remaining Crawford fortune out of William’s hands, and I don’t think he ever forgave Maxwell. If rumors are to be believed, Maxwell has more than doubled his wealth since then, perhaps tripled it.”

“With such accomplishments, he must be well-known in the business world,” Penelope remarked. “Even if he’s a newcomer to the ton.”

“Yes, he’s very well connected and has the ear of several ministers and other powerful men,” Madeline confirmed. “I hear that the government is only too pleased to have him in the House of Lords now in order to further their industrial agenda.”

“How fascinating,” said Penelope, searching her mind for further questions she could ask before Annabelle again turned her thoughts to Penelope’s low mood.

“My brother said that the Duke of Walden is one of the greediest men in England,” Annabelle remarked, a little hesitantly but still eager to hear more. “Is that true, Duchess Madeline?”

Their hostess seemed to find this question amusing, her eyes flickering to the other side of the room above her guests’ heads for a moment with a rather secret smile.

“Greedy? I suppose you could say that Maxwell Crawford is a man who never seems to have enough to satisfy him. He’s very driven. Some people might see that as greedy but not everyone, especially those who know him well. Now that he’s a duke as well as a bachelor, there are certainly many young ladies of the ton who would not see him in such a negative light.”

“The Duke of Walden sounds rather obsessive to me,” Penelope put in. “I’m not sure I could get along at all with someone who never stopped chasing money and influence.”

“I hate settling,” said a deep voice that sent a startled shiver down Penelope’s spine. “I prefer to accomplish my goals in their entirety.”

Behind her, someone had silently entered the breakfast room through a second doorway from an adjacent anteroom. Turning around in her chair, Penelope saw the most handsome man she believed she had ever beheld. Tall, broad-shouldered, and well-proportioned in all aspects, his eyes were a clear blue, and his hair golden brown and wavy.

He was also looking straight at Penelope, and she knew immediately, with a lurch of her stomach, who this man must be. She had not thought this morning could get any worse, but somehow it had. What on earth had she just said?

“When I want something badly enough, I make sure I get it,” added the new Duke of Walden with a smile, his eyes still holding Penelope’s. “I hope you can forgive me for such a character trait in time.”

Flushed and breathless, she could not immediately muster any response. At least Annabelle seemed equally struck dumb with surprise and embarrassment. Penelope was not alone in seeming foolish.

“Do come in and take breakfast with us, Maxwell,” Duchess Madeline said graciously, evidently not put out by his appearance. “You’ll find eggs, bacon, and mushrooms on the sideboard warmer over there, and I’ll ring for some fresh rolls. As you heard, I was just telling Lady Penelope and Lady Annabelle the story of your unexpected path to the Duchy of Walden.”

“Thank God for that,” he said with a short laugh as he followed Madeline’s instructions and helped himself to the warm food from the heated trays. “It will save me telling the same peculiar story a hundred times.”

Penelope blushed even more deeply now. The duke presumably deemed them silly young girls who could be relied on to spread the gossip to all and sundry. It was exactly how she felt at this moment — a silly little girl who couldn’t do anything right despite her best efforts.

When the Duke of Walden took a seat opposite Penelope and looked curiously at her once again, she contemplated apologizing for her ill-considered remark. It might make her look even younger and foolish, but it would at least be polite.

With their hostess instructing the maid to bring more bread and coffee for latecomers, Penelope cleared her throat and Maxwell Crawford looked at her with an encouraging expression, one eyebrow slightly raised in curiosity.

“I…”

She barely began to speak when the main door burst open, and a very excitable Frederick came rushing back in. Penelope froze, terrified of what he might say next.

“Duchess Madeline, we must send for a physician at once! Henry has had an accident.”

“An accident?!” Madeline queried, already on her feet again and pulling the bell for assistance. “What kind of accident?”

“Apparently he fell on the stairs last night and hit his head. Someone must have helped him to bed, but he’s in a bad way this morning. He’s only half-conscious and isn’t making much sense. I’d assume it’s mainly the brandy talking, but Charles said it was best to be certain.”

“You rang, Your Grace?” said Lonsley, Huntingdon Manor’s tall and dignified butler, entering the room from the hallway.

“Yes, please send an urgent messenger for Mr. Jones. Lord Silverbrook took a fall on the stairs last night and seems to have hit his head.”

“Mr. Jones is already expected, Your Grace,” Lonsley announced. “A message was sent out first thing this morning, and the response indicated that the physician should arrive around eleven o’ clock.”

“You already knew of Lord Silverbrook’s condition?” Madeline asked the butler, clearly astounded. “But why did no one tell me what had occurred?”

Maxwell Crawford coughed gently to bring the duchess’ attention back to him.

“It was I who discovered Lord Silverbrook at the bottom of those stairs last night and had a footman take him back to his room. It did not strike me as a serious or urgent injury, so I did not wake you and did not send out for the physician until morning. Silverbrook seemed not to want any fuss, and the main issue appeared to be a surfeit of drink.”

Penelope was now even more astounded than the duchess. If the Duke of Walden had been the one to find Henry last night, then Henry might have told him anything.

“What a to-do!” whispered Annabelle to Penelope, her dancing blue eyes indicating that she was very much enjoying the drama unfolding.

Penelope herself had not enjoyed a single moment in this house since last night and didn’t trust herself to do more than nod to her friend in agreement.

“Dear me, I had no idea! But thank you, Maxwell,” Duchess Madeline nodded, pulling her wrap around herself and moving to the door. “Now, I must go upstairs immediately and explain all this to Charles. I should see poor Henry for myself too.”

“Take my arm on the stairs, Madeline,” Frederick said quickly as the heavily pregnant woman walked across the hallway as fast as she could. “Charles would never forgive me if you took a fall, too.”

At least her brother was a gentleman, Penelope reflected, even if he was an incorrigible flirt and roisterer with no time for a younger sister. The same could not be said for all his friends. That thought gave her another sharp stab of guilt.

“I’ll walk up on your other side, Duchess Madeline,” Annabelle now volunteered, jumping to her feet and joining the party heading towards the staircase.

“Of course, you will,” said Frederick with good-humored sarcasm. “You wouldn’t want to miss any of the fun, would you?”

“I’m just as concerned for Duchess Madeline and Lord Silverbrook as you, Duke Frederick,” Annabelle said crossly, just as easily irked by Frederick’s teasing as she had been as a girl.

“Come along, children,” Duchess Madeline chivvied them along, extending an arm in each direction. “Let’s not stand here bickering.”

Penelope watched the three of them go without adding any comment of her own. At least Annabelle had forgotten about her and asked no further awkward questions.

When Lonsley closed the door behind him, only Penelope and the Duke of Walden were left sitting alone together at the table while a maid refreshed the hot food on the sideboard. Penelope longed to run to her room and hide under the bedclothes like a child, wishing this whole house party away.

But childhood was long past, and Penelope was an adult, a young woman of three and twenty. She must now make polite conversation with this strange, unnerving man despite the chaos abroad in the household. Closing her eyes for a moment, she again pushed down her fears and embarrassment while desperately seeking an acceptable opening for discussion. The weather was always safe, wasn’t it?

Opening her eyes and lifting her gaze to the duke’s, Penelope found that he was already looking straight at her once more, unthreatening but very direct. It was as though he could see right through her forced composure and into her presently overwrought mind. How did he do that? And what was he thinking?

Then, there was the most important question of all. Just how much did the Duke of Walden know?