Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

“ Y -Your Grace? …” the valet spoke louder each time, but it still didn’t work. “Your Grace, I apologize, but you really ought to wake up…”

“What? … Where…” Jonathan Whitlock, the Duke of Silverbrook, opened just one eye, and even that was more effort than he could muster. A tidal wave of pain washed over him, his head violently rebelling against the idea of moving.

“Lady Kirdale is waiting for you downstairs in the parlor, Your Grace,” the valet added even more apologetically.

“Parlor?” Jonathan echoed as if he had no idea what a parlor was. Perhaps something to eat or drink?

Drink. That was when his memory flooded him with images of the previous night. The other eye finally opened, viscous and reluctant to accept the visions of the morning. At first glance, he realized where he was. He was in his townhouse in London.

Oh, good, he thought to himself. At least, I managed to get home.

He moved slowly with much effort, and when he looked down at himself, he reached yet another realization. He had slept in the same clothes he was wearing the previous night. He looked down more closely. His shirt was unbuttoned. His trousers as well. To say that he was a mess would have been a gross understatement. And that headache rose with each passing moment, claiming more of his focus.

“You said Lady Kirdale?” Jonathan echoed when the idea finally settled, an idea he didn’t like. “She is here?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” his valet nodded patiently, for this was not the first time he had to explain something twice, or even thrice, before Jonathan realized what was happening. Fortunately, the man was handsomely paid for his efforts, and in Jonathan’s opinion, that made it more than fair.

Jonathan nodded, placing his feet onto the floor with a heavy frown. He felt as if he had magically been transformed into a rag doll, and his limbs were sewn onto him, dangling without any control on his part. They were there, but he could not do anything conscious with them. He doubted he could hold a teacup at that moment.

“I shall be downstairs momentarily,” Jonathan managed to muster, wondering why his cousin Rebecca had come so early and unannounced. Did something happen?

“Yes, Your Grace,” the valet nodded again then disappeared behind closed doors, giving Jonathan a moment to gather the strength to get up.

He ran a hand through his thick black hair, disheveled and tangled from sleep. The movement sent a wave of pain through his head, causing him to wince and mutter a curse under his breath. Slowly, he rose to his full height, despite the obvious discomfort.

Staggering to the washbasin, he splashed cold water on his face, the shock helping to clear some of the fog from his mind. His clothes from the previous night were crumpled and smelled faintly of tobacco and brandy. The dark blue waistcoat and black trousers, while stylish, were a stark contrast to his disheveled state. He tugged at the edges of his shirt and waistcoat, trying to make himself look somewhat presentable, but that was impossible. He reached into his pocket, feeling something sticking out.

A moment later, his hand extracted a white garter and stocking. He lifted an eyebrow, faintly remembering the face of the lady it belonged to. He grinned to himself, stuffing it back into his pocket. Deciding that he needed to look at least somewhat presentable, he got dressed although without his valet, and with the aftereffects of the previous night still emanating off of him, he didn’t manage to do a very good job of it. With a final glance in the mirror, he attempted to smooth his hair and straighten his posture. It did little to achieve any improvement in his outward appearance, so he gave up.

A minute later, he found himself in the parlor with his cousin standing by the window with a cup of tea in her hand. The look of utter shock upon seeing him was impossible to miss.

“Jonathan… what happened to you? Did you just wake up?” she asked aghast. Her blue eyes, sharp and observant, traversed the distance between his head and his toes, taking in his crumpled attire and disheveled hair.

“Yes,” he replied with a nonchalant shrug. “What’s wrong with that?”

Rebecca arched an eyebrow. “It’s well past lunchtime, Cousin. Even for you, that is rather late.”

She stood, shaking her head at him, her hand pressed to her hip in the manner of a disapproving governess. She was tall and slender, even after two children, her figure accentuated by the elegantly simple gowns she favored, often in shades of deep green or royal blue that complemented her fair complexion.

He offered a casual smile to his cousin, unbothered by her scrutiny. “I had a late night, and I just lost track of time. You know how it is.”

“I do not know how it is,” she reminded him. “You know that well enough.”

“Ah, yes, you must have forgotten what it is like to actually have fun,” he teased, much to her amused chagrin.

“I do believe you have a tendency to have fun for the both of us, so I don’t have to,” she reciprocated in the same playful manner that always characterized their conversations.

“Do you see, Becky my dear, how much I love you? I am even willing to sacrifice myself like that for you,” he said with a chuckle, and she could not help but join in.

Rebecca set her teacup down and crossed her arms, her expression one of amused exasperation. “You know, Jonathan, one of these days, you will have to relinquish your bachelor ways.”

“One of which days?” he asked, mockingly gasping. “These?”

“I am serious,” she said with a hint of a smile lingering in the corner of her lips. That was a conversation they had had many times before, but it never ended the way she wanted it to. He was simply too good at avoiding his obligations.

“So am I,” he replied, grinning.

“It’s high time you considered settling down, Jonathan.” She started listing the things he already knew, “Starting a family, continuing the bloodline…”

Jonathan chuckled, moving over to the small table and proceeding to pour himself a cup of tea. “You sound like an old matron, Rebecca.”

“You talk as if there is plenty of time for that,” she frowned.

“There is,” he shrugged without a single care in the world.

“Time waits for no one, Jonathan,” she replied, her voice softening with love. “You like to think that isn’t so, but you do bear some responsibility to your family, you know.”

He sipped his warm tea, feeling a bit more awake by that point. However, he was in no condition for such grave conversations. “There is no need to rush things, Rebecca. I am still young.”

“That depends on what you consider young,” she replied, teasing him. “Seven and twenty sounds about the right age for marriage, if you ask me.”

“Too soon I say,” he shook his head. “Besides, the last thing the world needs is another Whitlock.”

“I beg—” she started, but he raised his finger at her, interrupting her.

“Before you get offended about your own children, they do not count. You have diluted them with Kirdale’s blood. And you were never really like our fathers in any case.”

Rebecca sighed, obviously feeling exasperated about having the same conversation over and over again without a different outcome.

“So, is that why you have come so early in the… noon?” he asked playfully. “I could have been resting, you know.”

“You could be resting in the carriage while you accompany me,” she suggested, placing her cup down onto the silver tray, signaling that she was done with it.

He raised a displeased eyebrow. “Accompany you? Where?”

“I have been invited to the Earl of Langley’s garden party,” she explained importantly, “and I would like you to accompany me.”

“Me?” he frowned again. “Why can’t your husband go? Isn’t that his duty and not mine?”

“He cannot,” she clarified. “He has gone off on a business trip to Wales.”

“Why didn’t you accompany him then?” he asked.

“Me, go to Wales?” she asked incredulously as if that were the most preposterous thing she had ever heard. “What on earth for?”

They exchanged a meaningful glance, and then they both burst into a chuckle. She was one of the few rare people in his life who had the ability to make him laugh like that.

“No, Rebecca,” he shook his head once the onslaught of laughter had subsided. “I am in no mood to withstand lordlings and their incessant jabber about themselves. I have no patience for it; my mind and body have not taken their rest.”

That was only partly true. Indeed, he was in no mood for that, but also, he knew that while there, Rebecca would not resist trying to get him to speak to some ladies of her choosing in an effort to make a match. She had been caught doing that numerous times, and still, she persisted, despite his urging against it.

“But it’s not a ball,” she reminded him. “You will not have to dance with anyone or exert yourself in any way. Just?—”

“Talk,” he ended her sentence. “Yes, that is the worst part about it, talking. No, thank you.”

“If you appear looking like that, I doubt anyone will want to talk to you anyway, so you will be safe,” she teased.

He almost burst into a chuckle again, but instead, he only smiled. “It is rude to come into someone’s home, wake him up, and then point out he is not dressed for company.”

“If you were in your night robe, I would understand, but considering how disheveled you look now, I’m assuming you barely got changed from last night’s… ahem, adventures,” she continued with an amused smirk.

“Is this your way of trying to convince me to come with you?” he asked mischievously. “Because I have to tell you it is not working.”

She laughed melodiously at his words. “No,” she shook her head. “I actually didn’t want to resort to this, but you made me.”

His eyes widened. “No… please, no. Not now.”

“Yes,” she said, her eyes narrowing at him, like a hunter eyeing his prey. “I am calling that favor. Now.”

“Not now,” he whined again, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, now,” she repeated amusedly. “You said I could use it whenever I wanted. I want it now.”

“Oh, for fu?—”

“No cursing,” she interrupted him, walking over to him and pretending to clean his shoulders. “You owe me, remember? I saved you from the unbearable affections of Lady Helena Whitley and her mother when they cornered you during that ball at Lord Cunningham’s.” She chuckled to herself. “I still remember the look on your face. Weren’t they showering you with questions which dangerously neared the subject of courtship and marriage?”

He frowned. “You know well that Lady Helena’s mother was an old friend of my late mother’s. I could not just excuse myself without a proper reason, and one always lacks the ability to lie when the circumstances require it the most.”

“And then, I saved you… for a price. Now, do slip into something more… appropriate, my dear. I shall wait for you in the carriage.”

She leaned to kiss him on the cheek and then waltzed out of the parlor victoriously.

Jonathan raked his fingers through his hair. He sighed heavily, shaking his head at himself. He headed upstairs, wondering what the day would bring. Whatever it was, he was absolutely certain he wouldn’t like it.