Chapter 1

Chapter One

S eptember 1818

Lady Victoria Kembal loved Thursdays. From the moment she opened her eyes, washed, and dressed, the Duke of Mowbray's second eldest daughter was a bundle of excitement.

At this hour, on most Thursday mornings, she would already be in the breakfast room, nose deep in the newspaper scanning the columns of the back page. But not this particular morning.

Instead she was seated before the mirror of her dresser, gritting her teeth with barely restrained frustration. Her mother had promised to take her shopping in central London this morning, but only if she agreed to have her long brown hair curled by her maid.

This is insufferable. I need the newspaper, not curling papers. The Morning Herald is waiting for me.

The longer she sat here while Mary worked the papillote iron with care, the greater the number of members of the Kembal household who would have now had the opportunity to read the newspaper. Her father. All three of her brothers. Even a nosey footman or two would have snuck a peek. And not one of them would have been gentle with the precious pages of the Morning Herald .

She'd had enough.

"Mary, could you please go and check to see who is reading the Morning Herald ? And if no one is, would you please bring it back with you."

Anything to rescue the prized newspaper. Her newspaper.

"Just as soon as I have finished with your hair, Lady Victoria," replied her maid, picking up another curling paper.

Victoria gritted her teeth once more. What with the papers, and the constant reheating of the curling iron, the whole process had become a long and all too fiddly endeavor. A simple chignon would have seen her out of here well over an hour ago.

She shifted in her seat and got a sharp pinch on the arm for her troubles.

"Ouch, that hurt."

"Yes, well if I burn you, it will hurt a good deal more. And then Her Grace will be angry with the both of us. So please, Lady Victoria, do sit still. I won't be much longer."

Victoria huffed out a breath.

Mama is angry at everyone at the moment. One only has to breathe, and her ire stirs.

She doubted there was a soul in Mowbray House who hadn't been on the receiving end of the duchess's temper these past weeks. And everyone in the Kembal family knew why.

Following her return from a lengthy stay in Rome, the duchess was finding it difficult to renter London society. Her absence hadn't been the cause of her social censure, rather it had been the rumors of her demanding a formal separation from her husband which had seen the matrons of the haut ton turn their backs on Victoria's mother.

During the scandal, the eldest of the Kembal offspring, Gideon, had undertaken the long sea journey to Italy and by some miracle had managed to convince the duchess to return home. All these months later, the duke and duchess were reunited, but it was clear society was yet to forgive Lady Anne for her disgraceful transgression. Any and all manner of unfounded gossip regarding the Duke and Duchess of Mowbray continued to spread quickly among London's elite.

Resigned to her fate, Victoria rested her hands in her lap. Her Thursday newspaper would have to wait. The last thing she needed was for her mother to be in another foul mood when they left the house.

A long while later, with her hair finally set in beautiful ringlets, Victoria finished dressing and headed at a fast clip for the breakfast room. As she stepped through the door, she noted the usual family members were in attendance this morning.

Her brother Gideon and his wife Serafina were seated together at one end of the long table. Gideon's arduous journey to Rome to retrieve his mother and sister Augusta hadn't all been self-sacrificing—he'd also managed to capture the heart of a nobleman's daughter and make her his wife. The Marquis of Holwell was whispering sweet nothings into the Italian beauty's ear and Serafina's face was flushed with pink.

I do not wish to know what he is saying to her.

Victoria's bedroom happened to be right next door to the room occupied by the newlyweds, and from the noises which reached her ears each night, she had a very good idea what put the color in her sister-in-law's cheeks. Unwed young misses like herself were not meant to know about such things, but anyone who spent any length of time in the ladies retiring room at parties quickly learned a good deal about the secrets of the marriage bed.

She cleared her throat. "Not at the breakfast table, please."

A grinning Gideon shifted barely an inch away from his wife. "Good morning, Victoria. How are you this bright sunny day?"

"Your hair looks…" Serafina paused. Her brows furrowed. Victoria knew that look all too well. Serafina's English was improving at a rapid rate, but some words still failed her.

Serafina glanced at her husband, smiled sweetly at him, then looked back to Victoria. "Divine."

Victoria nodded her approval. "I would say your English is now officially better than Gideon's Italian."

Not that it would take much.

From what Serafina had confided to her, the Marquis of Holwell's use of the Italian language was mostly confined to the topics of food and romance. Less of the former, and more of the latter if the look on Gideon's face was anything to go by. Her brother was the epitome of a man who had suddenly found himself head over heels in love and was more than happy to remain in that blissful state.

She wondered how long it would be before the young couple shared some happy news about the Kembal family blood line being continued. As the future duke, it was Gideon's role to ensure that he and Serafina produced an heir.

They have certainly got the practicing bit down to a fine art.

Taking a seat at the breakfast table, Victoria caught the eye of a footman, and gave him her usual morning request. "A small cup of coffee please, no food."

She never ate at home. As soon as she had finished her drink and secured this morning's copy of the newspaper, she'd be headed out the door and to the nearby German bakery. English eggs and toast couldn't compare to hot sourdough bread covered with a generous lashing of salted butter. Only after she'd downed her breakfast, would she be able to face her mother.

Victoria's gaze landed on the Morning Herald , and her heart sank. Its less than pristine condition was sad confirmation that several other family members had already carelessly thumbed their way through it. She leaned across the table and picked it up.

" The Graceful Swan is the review for today," said Gideon.

Victoria offered up her usual Thursday morning silent prayer, hoping that the restaurant reviewer had found a good place to eat. One he recommended. Her life revolved around food, especially the establishments which the cultured palates of the London press saw fit to feature in print. The reviewer for the Morning Herald was someone she had come to place her faith in.

"What did he say?" she asked.

"Apparently, he found it quite decent. Worth the visit," replied Gideon. No one knew the identity of the reviewer for the Morning Herald , but everyone in Mowbray House knew that when Victoria mentioned he , she was referring to the mysterious gentleman who penned the weekly food review.

Decent. Not a glowing report. But if he says it's worth visiting, that's good enough for me.

The door of the breakfast room opened, and the remains of Lord Richard Kembal wandered in. Victoria took one look at his unkempt attire and her hopes for a peaceful morning enjoying her coffee instantly evaporated.

The state of Richard's light brown mop was in stark contrast to that of Gideon's. While they shared almost the exact same shade of hair, the locks of the middle Kembal son had not had the benefit of a comb or brush.

He was still in his crumpled evening clothes, and a definite miasma of alcohol lingered all around him. Victoria grimaced as she caught a glimpse of her brother's bloodshot eyes.

He looks awful. Even worse than usual.

"Morning all. Food. Brilliant. I'm starving," announced Richard in a rough voice that spoke of one who had not seen his bed. Sauntering around to the other side of the table, he gently lowered himself into the chair situated directly across from Victoria.

She noted that he made a point of not looking in the direction of either Gideon or Serafina, who both wore horrified expressions on their faces. And while Gideon simply muttered something under his breath, the Marchioness of Holwell wasn't so easily deterred.

"Good morning, brother. I trust you are well," said Lady Serafina.

Have you seen his eyes? He can barely focus.

Richard's throat bobbed as he swallowed deep. From where Victoria sat, it was obvious the middle Kembal brother was still half drunk. She waited. If things went according to the usual way they did, he'd shovel the contents of a plateful of breakfast into his mouth, then quickly disappear up to his room for the rest of the morning.

Later in the day, when he was well enough to engage with the other members of the family, Richard would finally resurface. He would spend the obligatory amount of time with his parents and siblings, then head back out into the night to ruin himself all over again.

Hiding from our parents might be the best thing you can do today, Richard.

He looked most unwell. Victoria took comfort in knowing that Gideon wouldn't dare say anything untoward to his brother; he'd also lived the reckless life of a young buck before travelling to Rome and winning Serafina's heart. No doubt Richard would have plenty of dirty secrets to offer up to their parents if Gideon was foolish enough to open his mouth.

Opening the newspaper, she casually turned the pages until she reached the social columns. To the right of the theatre reviews was this week's restaurant feature. Her gaze ran over the piece.

The Graceful Swan

Situated on Eagle Street, this establishment offers the finest of meats and delicacies. Dear valued reader, your humble servant of a reviewer dined recently at the Graceful Swan and found the food to be of a respectable, dare I say, decent quality. Of particular note was the roast lamb which came with a generous lashing of rich gravy and spiced potatoes. Worth visiting if you are passing through this part of London.

Victoria's mouth watered at the mere mention of spiced potatoes. If there was one thing Lady Victoria Kembal loved, it was food which lifted the senses. She would worship at the shrine of the god of curry if she were able.

Lifting her gaze, she once more met the bloodshot eyes of her brother. She winced, imagining the world of pain he must be in right now, then politely enquired, "How did the gaming tables go last night? Are your pockets a little light this morning?"

"Victoria," admonished Gideon. Serafina snorted a laugh.

Along with sex, young women weren't meant to know about the gambling habits of the male of the species. Only the willfully ignorant would have failed to note that when it came to cards, Lord Richard Kembal had more than his fair share of bad luck. There were always plenty of days left in the month after his allowance had slipped through his fingers.

"If you have a problem with me mentioning his gambling losses, then perhaps you should ask Papa to bellow a little lower when he is discussing Richard's finances," replied Victoria.

The table fell silent as two footmen bearing trays appeared in the breakfast room. A small cup of hot coffee was set in front of Victoria, while Richard was presented with a large plate piled high with bacon, kippers, and roast potatoes.

Gideon instantly dismissed the servants, with a ‘thank you, that will be all'. As soon as the door closed, he rounded on Richard. "How much did you lose?"

Richard picked up his fork and pointed it at the mountain of food on his plate. "About that much, and then some."

It didn't take a genius to figure out that all of his monthly allowance would have been spent last night, and he was more than likely in debt to a close friend for a good deal more.

"Così tanto?" muttered Serafina.

Gideon nodded. "Yes, that much my love."

Serafina's eyes grew wide, and she softly tutted her disapproval.

From what Victoria had gathered, in the past, her eldest brother had often bailed Richard out of his financial predicaments, but since his marriage, Gideon had stopped. He now had a wife to spend his money on. And she was far prettier than Richard.

"Yes, well that is the lot of the gentleman, you win some you lose some," said Richard, not looking up from his plate.

Victoria went back to reading the newspaper.

"Any decent reviews in the Morning Herald , Victoria?"

Lifting her head, she found Richard smiling at her. "Perhaps you and I could go out for dinner this evening. If he has found a good place to eat, I could act as your chaperone."

She wasn't stupid—any offer for them to dine together this evening would no doubt come with a private request for her to hand over a sizeable portion of her pin money to him. If their parents had any idea as to how much money Richard owed his sister, they would have a conniption.

But she was keeping that secret to herself. Saving it for the day when she might need to call upon Richard to help her out with something important.

It's not as if I am spending my money on anything else at present.

Victoria kept her focus fully on Richard, refusing to look in Gideon and Serafina's direction, all the while praying that the Marquis of Holwell wouldn't finally put two and two together and figure out why their sibling was offering to take her out to dinner. A gentleman should never stoop to taking money from a lady, even if she was his younger sister.

The scandal over the Duke and Duchess of Mowbray's recent marital issues had presented the younger females of the Kembal family with their own particular set of problems. While Lady Anne had lingered in Rome, Victoria and Coco had been sent to the family's country estate, Mowbray Park, for their protection and had missed most of the formal balls and parties of the summer. When they and the duchess finally did return to London, their mother's ongoing estrangement from society meant Victoria had only her regular trips to cafes and restaurants to look forward to for social engagement.

The youngest of the Kembal offspring, Lady Coco Kembal, was a different matter. She didn't care a jot about the matrons of the ton and had taken to sneaking out of the house late at night to go rambling through the rough streets of London with her friends. While Richard regularly made his appearance at the breakfast table half foxed, Coco remained hidden under the bedclothes in her room, not stirring until well after midday. Anyone who did attempt to rouse her was greeted with a locked door.

The offer of being escorted out on the town was too much for Victoria to resist. Clearing her throat, she turned to her new sister-in-law. "Would you and Gideon like to join Richard and me for dinner this evening? We could make a fun foursome of it."

Serafina smiled sweetly at her husband. "It would be lovely, but Gideon and I are leaving town today. We are off to the country. To Mowbray Park. London is lovely, but we are looking forward to spending some time alone. Just the two of us. Gideon is going to show me some of his favorite places around the estate."

Richard coughed into the sleeve of his jacket, but Victoria was sure she caught the muffled words, "I bet he is."

She quickly tore her gaze from the gathering and focused on her coffee cup, praying that Gideon hadn't overheard his brother's scandalous remark.

Gideon pressed a kiss to his wife's cheek. "Considering Serafina spent the first six weeks of our marriage nursing me through the agony of seasickness onboard the ship back to England, it seems only fair to take my wonderful bride on a proper honeymoon. And upon our return, we plan to move to a more private part of this house. Papa is having some rooms on the fourth floor redecorated while we are away."

While she was relieved to hear she would regain her nighttime peace, a pang of jealousy still nudged at Victoria. Gideon was happily settled with the Italian beauty. Their other sister, Augusta, had also married while she was in Rome, and she and her husband, Earl Bramshaw, were now expecting their first child.

I have only my books, the Thursday restaurant reviews, and the occasional evening out to look forward to. It's not fair.

Everyone else was getting on with their lives, while she was stuck waiting for her mother to step back fully into society. Until the duchess made a move, Victoria was resigned to having to bribe her siblings to take her out to cafes and restaurants.

Richard stabbed at a piece of salmon with his fork, then added some potato, and finally a spear of asparagus to the growing pile. Her brother never let an empty fork go to waste. "I think my social diary is free this evening if you wish to go to the Graceful Swan ."

I expect your purse is also free of funds.

He shoved the large stack of food into his mouth, then sat chewing. Victoria glanced furtively at Serafina, whose eyes had gone wide.

"That would be lovely. Of course it will be my treat," said Victoria.

Richard swallowed down his food in one gulp, and replied, "Of course."

Seated at the table in his kitchen in Pye Street, Robert stared at the article in the newspaper and frowned. His review of the Graceful Swan hadn't exactly been a ringing endorsement. He'd hurriedly penned the piece one night last week, in between moving stolen crates of spice, and had barely made the publishing deadline. The timetables for pilfering spice and writing restaurant reviews were not always compatible.

But he'd promised the review in exchange for the owner of the tavern moving their spice and herb purchases from the East India Company to him. A favorable piece in a major London newspaper had been the sweetener to seal the deal.

He glanced out the window. The sun had just peeked over the horizon. Any moment now his retinue of daytime servants would be arriving at Tolley House to begin their work.

When he'd first gone into the theft and smuggling business, he had quickly come to appreciate the risk that having full-time staff in his home presented to his illicit operations. He couldn't very well handle stolen goods while also having a house full of servants. Something had to give.

But the lack of servants during the evening had soon become a benefit, one he greatly enjoyed. It left Robert free to cook in his own kitchen and write his newspaper column without running the risk of anyone discovering that the lofty Duke of Saffron Walden was in fact the restaurant reviewer for the Morning Herald .

Robert Tolley was a born and bred English nobleman to his boots, but he also knew a great deal about food. Knew his spices. His curries. He possessed an enviable collection of cookbooks, and a near encyclopedic knowledge of what herbs and spices could do to elevate any sort of dish.

Folding up the newspaper and setting it aside, he considered his plans for the day. Moving the barrels of cloves and peppers he and George had stored in the locked cellar would have to wait until later tonight. There were too many prying eyes about town during the daytime, not to mention the staff who would soon be wandering the halls of his London townhouse.

Once his valet arrived and had given him a close shave, he'd dress properly and venture into the city center. He had a list of potential clients he intended to visit today.

A loud rap at the back door of the house roused Robert from his thoughts. His lower back protested as he rose slowly from the long wooden kitchen bench. Lugging crates and barrels was a labor-intensive task.

Glancing out the kitchen window, he gave George who stood outside in the garden a friendly wave. Moving to the door, he unlocked it and ushered his servant inside. "Morning, George."

George, who was wearing a plain brown suit topped with a long black coat, looked the very picture of a London man of business.

"Good Morning, Your Grace. Thought I'd drop by before the household staff arrives to let you know that we might have a new customer looking to place a regular and sizeable order for spices with us. Unfortunately, he won't negotiate with me."

Robert raised an eyebrow at his words. George had full authority to negotiate deals on their behalf. But there were some people who wouldn't consider a vicar's son worthy of their time.

This new client must think themselves too important to talk to someone they consider a lackey.

Some customers were irredeemable snobs; they simply couldn't find it within themselves to talk business with men from lower social ranks. The structure of English society had them bound from birth. And that was where Robert came in. His job was to deal with the self-important assholes.

"Is this potential customer someone who would think themselves a person of rank?" asked Robert. He phrased the question carefully. Was this person a noble whom he might possibly know and trust, or was this someone whom they should thoroughly investigate before deciding whether they were worth the risk? The future of their entire spice business hinged on making smart choices.

The East India had its own people who moved within the upper echelons of London society. It would be the greatest of follies for him to begin business negotiations with someone who may turn out to be connected to the company whose spice they had stolen.

George cleared his throat. "They have a title, and thus don't wish to speak to me. But I am still undertaking a little more research about their background. Perhaps you could meet them at a party, and then let me know your thoughts, Your Grace."

It paid to be overly cautious. And then some.

"Alright. Give me their name, and I will see what I think. But in the meantime, I would suggest you keep digging into their background."

As a duke, Robert went to enough social gatherings to be able to form a reasonable opinion of most people within a matter of minutes. The way nobles behaved in public usually told him all he needed to know. The loud boastful ones weren't the sort he was keen to do business with, but then again, neither were the quiet ones who only asked calculated questions. His continued activities against the East India had to be hurting them, and it was only a matter of time before they decided that whoever was stealing from them had to be stopped.

"I will check my social diary and make enquiries as to when and where I might cross paths with this potential new customer," said Robert.

George gave a brief nod, and Robert, fully expecting him to make his farewells, went to turn away. But his man of business lingered.

"How much longer do you think we will be able to keep this up, Your Grace? My wife is worried that this is all going to end badly, and I have to admit I'm beginning to feel the same way."

Robert had his own crop of spices and herbs growing at his country estate in Essex. His plans were that in time the yield from Tolley Manor would be enough to supply a solid portion of the London market. But until then, any demand still had to be filled with the goods he'd stolen from his competitor.

That could take a few years.

"You have my word, we will be out of the thieving business within the next twelve months. Hopefully sooner," he lied.

The expression on George's face was enough to inform Robert that if he didn't keep his word, he'd be looking for another man of business.

He didn't have the heart to tell George that this whole thieving business was more than just a way for him to get a leg up on his enemy.

Nor did he want to make mention that he fully intended to keep stealing from the Honorable East India Company for as long as he could get away with it. That he wouldn't consider the job done until he had effectively broken the monopoly the East India held over the supply of spices in the English capital.

If it came down to it, and George left him, the Duke of Spice would go it alone.