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.