Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

“There’s another one,” a voice said from the doorway of the study.

Dorian glanced up, his mind reeling as he rubbed his temples, hoping to keep off the headache he felt rolling in like a storm. Before him was the estate’s accounts, and he was struggling to make sense of its contents.

His brother had been meticulous with his records.

More like meticulous at falsifying them.

The amounts did not add up, and as soon as Dorian felt he might be on track to make sense of it, another debt seemed to appear out of nowhere.

Looking up, he watched as his mother walked into the room. She looked pale as a sheet, her skin shimmering with a hint of sweat, though she tried desperately to maintain her composure. In her hand was an envelope.

Dorian reached out with a frown. It was addressed to him, which was not surprising, given his recently inherited title. Grabbing his paper knife, he cut the envelope and pulled out the note inside. It was simple, written in a fine hand, and the words were enough to send a shiver down his spine.

“What does it say?” his mother whispered.

“The same as the last one.” He offered a half-truth as he crumbled the note his hand, a sour taste lingering in his mouth. His gaze shifted to the fireplace across the room, and with a decent aim, he tossed it onto the hot coals just before the dancing flames.

The dowager duchess looked relieved. “Perhaps they will be lenient, then.”

“Perhaps.” He nodded, watching the bundle of paper catch fire.

In truth, he did not wish to burden her with what was in the note. The message was clear: pay back his brother’s debts, or word would spread of how they got into such a situation.

Dorian himself did not care so much. After all, he was well accustomed to the rumors and whispers about him. But it was not just him at stake, here.

He looked up at his mother, watching the shadows cloud her face as she absent-mindedly bit her nails. If word were to get out about the true financial situation of this family… she would be cast out of Society. And then what?

“Is everything ready for tomorrow?” he asked, changing the subject.

Immediately, she glowed with excitement. “Yes, it is! I have to say, I have not planned a party in some time, and neither have the servants.”

“I would not call it a party,” he said as he leaned back in his seat, stretching. He had asked his mother to prepare everything, since he knew nothing about such trivial things. “More of a gathering, if anything.”

“A gathering with a certain young lady,” his mother teased.

Dorian raised his eyebrows as he looked up at her. “Mother, please.”

“Lady Eleanor is a fine choice,” she stated, almost trying to gauge his own opinion on the lady in question. “Don’t you agree, Dorian?”

She is quite fine…

Images of Eleanor earlier that day flashed in his mind, how her gown clung to her thighs and curves in such a way that left little to the imagination. Admittedly, it was a surprisingly good look on her, one he was entirely tempted to see again.

Clearing his throat, he glanced over at the fire. The letter had been completely consumed by the flames, the paper nothing but ash now. “If you don’t mind, Mother. I really need to make sense of the accounts.”

Truthfully, he was done with the book before him. It was becoming more and more apparent that the only way to dig them out of this hole was to repay the debts owed and pray that some form of funds would stream in.

His mother looked hesitant, but she nodded before turning for the door. When she reached it, she looked over her shoulder, as if she were about to say something, but she thought better of it.

With that, she closed the door and was gone.

Alone again in his study, Dorian tried to gather his thoughts—to keep them focused on his duties and digging them out of his hole—but that was easier said than done. He let his eyes wander over the walls, thinking back on the portraits that lined the sitting room in Berkley Estate.

Before his brother’s death, there had been such paintings on these walls as well. But they were removed, perhaps hidden or destroyed. Dorian really could not be sure. Perhaps his brother sold them? It would not surprise him at all, truly.

He thought of his brother and frowned. “What a fine mess he made.”

Eugene Crawford became the Duke of Dayton after Dorian killed their father. In theory, Eugene should have been fantastic at it. He had been well regarded and respected by the ton, but there was something he had kept so well hidden.

Something that only emerged at his sudden passing.

Eugene had managed to empty the coffers of the estate.

There was nothing to squeeze money from. Already, Dorian had sorted through and sold off some antiques and heirlooms, things that had been passed down through the family for centuries. Soon he would have to consider sacking the servants—something he wished to avoid—but he knew that sooner rather than later, he would not be able to afford to keep them.

Soon, things will reach that point. And I’ll hate it.

Even this party, a small gathering, would set them back.

His mother was right though, a lady with a handsome dowry would be just enough to save them. And admittedly, he could do much worse than Lady Eleanor.

But there was one issue, aside from somehow convincing her…

Her brother seems to completely despise me.

“Why would the Mad Duke, of all men, wish to invite you?”

Eleanor looked across the table to where her brother sat. His eyes were boring into her as if trying to extract a reason from the quiet. Somehow, she managed to stop her thoughts from returning to the garden just enough to take in another spoonful of her soup.

Philip was many things, but he was not a fool. If there was the slightest hint of a lie, he would sniff it out like a hound.

“You wished for me to find a suitable match⁠—”

“And you are seriously entertaining the likes of Dorian Crawford?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Do you have an issue with the duke, brother?”

“Of course, I do! Who wouldn’t? We both know his reputation.”

“I truly do not wish to argue with you. You said that I must find a suitable match before the end of the Season.” Eleanor set her spoon down and plucked her napkin off her lap. She delicately dabbed at the corners of her mouth, her gaze fixed on his. “And I have the interest of a duke. If anything, you ought to be pleased.”

Philip rolled his eyes, his mouth tightening into a thin line. He had not pressed the issue until Diana was brought home, and now that it was just the two of them in the empty, vast house, he spoke frankly without filtering his words. “Any man but him, Eleanor. Why could you not have caught the interest of a man like…”

Don’t you dare say it.

“The Marquess of Jameston? Or even the Earl of Amsbury?” He sighed, rubbing circles on his forehead. “But instead, you chose to entertain the attention of a murderer.”

“Is he not a duke, still?” she challenged.

Philip frowned. “Yes, but⁠—”

“Is a duke not the better of matches?”

“Eleanor, the man killed his own father.”

Philip was right, of course. The duke had killed his father. It was not some secret or idle gossip, but a cold, hard fact. And yet Eleanor could not help but wonder if there had been some motive behind it. If there had been a reason.

Is there ever truly a reason for murder?

Of course, it was not the idea of marriage that necessarily drew her to him. After all, he was the one attempting to persuade her with the three things he asked of her. No, it was more of a curiosity that drew her to him, like a moth to a flame. A longing that stirred within her, to be closer to him in any way she could.

A duke, even one as infamous as the Mad Duke, was still a better prospect than any other. She was almost surprised that her brother had not all but thrown her at him, since he was available.

The very thought of being married to either of the men Philip had suggested left a bitter taste in her mouth. The marquess was insufferable, and the earl… well, she had never even given Nicholas a second glance. Certainly, the Earl of Amsbury was a fine man, but neither his appearance nor intellect interested her.

“Mother would not approve of him,” Philip stated adamantly.

Eleanor clenched her fists, her mind wandering down the halls of the house to the closed doors at the end of the hallway.

She has yet to leave her bed, let alone even meet the duke.

She kept that comment to herself, letting it sink into the recesses of her mind. There was no point in addressing it.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she muttered as she stood up from her seat.

Philip narrowed his eyes. “Dinner is not even served yet.”

“I fear I have lost my appetite,” she said before making for the door.

“I will not escort you to his estate,” he called as she walked out of the door.

His warning rang in her ears. Without a male escort, she would not be able to attend—she knew that as much as he did.

Eleanor went to her room, the sound of her heels on the floor like thunder around her. She was seething, her fists clenched and heat rising to her skin. She inwardly cursed her brother as her mind raced, trying to find some way to side step this obstacle.

I will need a man to escort us if we are to attend…

As she walked, she let her mind wander. She needed a plan, a way to bypass her brother to get what she wanted. But what exactly did she want? She halted, her gown swaying around her legs at the abrupt movement.

What do I want from the duke?

Was it marriage, indeed? The idea made her stomach churn. Would it be so awful to be married to a man like him? She could not deny the attraction, the pull toward him, but there was something more there than just that. It was a mutual understanding. They both needed to be married sooner than later, and neither truly wished for it.

“I’m getting too far ahead of myself,” she muttered as she continued.

In her room, Beth was cleaning and organizing—as she always seemed to do. The maid was diligent with her work, dedicated beyond measure.

Beth straightened when the door opened, and she curtsied as Eleanor stormed inside. “Is everything all right, my lady?”

“Beth, will you have a message delivered for me?”

Beth nodded slowly. “Of course, to whom?”

Eleanor straightened. “To the Duke and Duchess of Barlow.”

“To them both? Not just Her Grace?”

Shaking her head, Eleanor turned her focus to her mirror. The face staring back at her was filled to the brim with determination.

“To them both, yes. Ask them if the Duke of Barlow would do the honor of escorting us to the party.”

If Philip will not chaperone us, then perhaps Xander will.