CHAPTER TWO

Colin Ludlow, the Duke of Lindenbrook, looked over his desk, trying to make sense of the papers laid out before him.

It seemed that all he had done lately was search through reams of paper and sheets of crumpled bills and missives from his father. The ledgers and financial documents he had searched through seemed never-ending and he could make head nor tail of them.

He rubbed his temples, fighting off the throb of a severe headache as he tried to calculate the correct total from an endless stream of figures. The numbers were beginning to swirl before him now and he was none the wiser about where any of it might lead.

What he was sure of was that something about his father’s business dealings did not add up. What had begun as a gnawing uncertainty at the back of his mind had manifested into a rumbling undercurrent every time he read through his father’s effects. It seemed exceedingly strange to Colin that the late duke’s investments had been so successful throughout his life but then should take a steep dive toward the end of it.

A knock at the door pulled him out of his musings as his mother swept into the room without waiting for an answer. She looked effortlessly elegant as usual, her tall figure accentuated by the deep green gown that perfectly complimented her silver hair.

Colin hurriedly shuffled the papers on his desk out of sight. He did not need the duchess to see him pouring over old accounts held by the late duke. She would not understand his interest in such matters, and he was as yet unprepared to answer any probing questions on the subject.

She approached his desk, wafting a piece of paper under his nose, an expression of vague irritation on her face.

“Constance has finally managed to get her invitations out,” she muttered, rereading the lines within. “I do not understand why it takes her such an age to send these things, I have had the date held for weeks now, and it arrives only a week prior. No one will be able to attend, I mark you.”

Colin said nothing, knowing full well that Lady Constance threw the type of soiree that would have people dropping their engagements far and wide. Colin, for his part, could not think of anything he would rather avoid.

His shoulders tensed as his mother’s eyes met his over the top of the letter, her gaze somewhat hopeful as she read it aloud.

“There will be many there with whom we are acquainted. Lady Sterling and Mortimer will be in attendance. Lady Brentwhistle too, which is mildly vexing given her propensity to flirt with every man in a room, but I have faith that you shall enjoy yourself, nonetheless.”

“Mama, I am most busy here at present,” Colin protested. “Aunt Constance cannot possibly want for eligible gentlemen to attend.”

“You will always have business to see to, dearest; that is who you are. But it has been several weeks since you attended a ball with your family.”

“It has been three weeks, Mama, and may I remind you that I stayed interminably late at that event for your own pleasure.”

His mother’s cheeks pinked slightly at the reminder of that particular ball. She had, quite by accident, drunk a great deal of punch she had believed to be fruit cordial, and Colin had spent a long evening in the study of the house waiting for her to wake up. In truth, it had been a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the ballroom, and he had spent a happy hour reading The Mysteries of Udolpho before he was summoned to take her home.

“I was most grateful to you, as I said at the time,” his mother said briskly. “But you do need to meet and dance with some ladies this season, no matter how disagreeable you find it.”

Colin’s fingers tightened on the arm of his chair. His mother’s constant needling about the line of succession was becoming more tiresome by the day. He knew she was right, but with everything else he had to contend with, he needed to get to the bottom of his father’s estate before he could even think of matrimony.

“Will you at least consider it dearest?” she said pleadingly.

Colin sighed. “Of course, mother.”

“Would it alter your decision if I were to tell you that I very much want you to be there? You know how proud I am to see you uphold the honour of the title as the Duke of Lindenbrook.”

Her praise warmed Colin’s heart, but it was not without its history. He had inherited the title prematurely on his father’s death, and although his mother supported him now, that had not been the case in the early days. She had struggled with his father’s absence, and he knew if she discovered his investigation, she would be very displeased indeed.

“Thank you, Mama.” he said evenly, keeping his expression carefully blank with practised ease. He had learned at a young age not to wear his emotions on his sleeve.

The duchess hesitated; her gaze fixed on him for another few minutes. After a quick nod of approval, she placed the invitation on the edge of his desk and left the room. As soon as the door closed behind her, Colin slumped back in his chair, running a hand through his hair.

His eyes moved without conscious thought to the picture above the wide fireplace. His father’s stern countenance looked all the more disapproving today, bushy eyebrows furrowed, his mouth firm and angry, as it had always been in life.

“Take heart, young man. Maintain a proper posture. Your duty is to this estate, not yourself. When you are duke, your feelings and wishes no longer matter; is that clear?”

His father’s voice echoed in his head at least a dozen times a day. The late duke had been a strict and unforgiving role model to his young son. Colin was an only child, though his parents had wished for more. His mother had lost several children, and Colin was the only one who survived.

He stared at his father’s deep blue eyes, wishing he were here to explain himself. The strange thing was that so much of his father’s estate had been managed properly. The late duke was meticulous with his reports from his tenants, and his man of business was a competent and organized man.

But it was the duke’s investments later in life that Colin could not fathom. After a lifetime of securing the estate, his father had seemed to become somewhat reckless. He had placed a great deal of money into several volatile shipping companies overseas. Even Colin could see that it was unwise, looking back at the sketchy reports he had found, and when he eventually discovered a substantial sum had been lost, he was hardly surprised.

Then there were the withdrawals. Sums of money had been removed from the estate’s accounts, and assets liquidated without correspondence with his solicitors. No return had ever been recorded. The amounts were not exorbitant, but Colin’s nervousness grew at every one he discovered. His father was not a rash man, but his dealings toward the end of his life had all the hallmarks of someone who had lost his way.

Colin turned back to the papers littering his desk. He would get to the bottom of it. He owed it to his father’s memory and the estate’s future—at least the late duke would support him in that.

***

Later that evening, Colin arrived at his club and spotted Lord Edward Hayesworth at their usual table. Edward’s dark blonde hair was swept back from his face, his spectacles perched on the end of his nose, and he was frowning at the newspaper as though it had personally insulted him.

Colin felt a loosening in his chest at the sight of his old friend and made his way toward him.

Edward glanced up as Colin reached him, and a broad grin spread across his face.

“Ludlow!” he said happily standing up and shaking Colin by the hand before indicating the chair in front of him. “You look like you need a drink.”

He turned and summoned a waiter, ordering them both a brandy. Edward made a performance of folding up the paper as Colin settled into the high-backed chair opposite and Edward eyed him with a knowing look.

“What news?” Hayesworth asked, “You look positively maudlin.”

“So do you,” Colin said, glancing at the paper. “Whatever were you reading?”

“Pray, what is it with the broadsheets, dear fellow? One cannot seem to escape this incessant drivel. It is but a great deal of folly being circulated regarding my brother, as is oft the case. You would think that a peer of the realm would command a modicum of respect.”

Colin huffed out a low laugh as Edward’s infectious grin returned. He was a man who was rarely melancholy. With five brothers, Colin often wondered how Edward kept track of their comings and goings. Yet, they were all fine men, well-liked in society. Edward, the youngest and his mother’s baby, was doted on from every quarter. Despite this, he remained humble and understated—a perfect antithesis to Colin’s rather severe countenance.

“What pursuits has Berty engaged in of late?” Colin asked.

“Oh, the type of thing my brother adores above everything else—making a nuisance of himself in the House of Lords. Even with a proxy vote, he has created enemies left, right, and centre this week.”

“Well, that should please him.”

“Quiet. He will be thrilled.”

Their drinks arrived shortly afterward, and both men settled back in their seats, the gentle rustling of papers and the murmur of voices settling Colin’s fractured nerves. The long room in which they sat was mostly empty, with the occasional gentleman wandering through or speaking to an acquaintance. The heavy drapes over the windows kept the smog out, allowing a hazy darkness to settle over the company.

“So, what has you so unhappy, my dear fellow? I declare each time I see you, the frown lines between your brows have deepened.”

Colin followed the groove of the cut glass in his hand with his thumbnail as he leaned it from side to side, watching the amber liquid roll pleasantly in the glass.

“Do you remember when we saw one another at the garden party in May, and I mentioned that strange loan my father had taken out?”

Edward’s face puckered slightly as he sipped his drink, and then he nodded.

“I do. You said you had some paperwork to look through. Surely you cannot still be working on it now; it’s almost July.”

“I fear it will take a great deal longer even than that.”

Edward’s gaze turned serious, and he leaned forward in his chair, his eyes darting behind them to ensure they were not overheard.

“Are you concerned?”

Colin’s fingers tightened on his glass. He trusted Edward implicitly, but uttering his fears aloud made them seem all the more real.

“I am afraid so—the search for one begets another. There have been several unusual withdrawals that have the same pattern. I cannot understand them without going deeper.”

Edward set down his glass and clasped his hands together.

“Is there anything I can do? I would be happy to assist you if you would be willing to share your concerns. Your estate is vast; it will take you an age to do it alone.”

“In truth, I had hoped you might offer such assistance. You have always had a good head for numbers, ever since Oxford.”

“Well, we can’t all be linguists like you, after all,” Edward said cheerfully, the weight of his gaze easing. “I am surprised you agreed. I rather thought you’d want to do it all alone.”

“Yes, I can imagine you might. But you’re right. It’s too big a task for just one man. I feel as though I have been dreaming of ledgers for months.”

“Give me some of it, at least. I can come by next week, and we can go through it together.”

“Discretion is essential. My mother knows nothing of it. I just hope to God I will uncover the reason soon, and all of this will be quite overblown.”

Colin opened his mouth to speak on the matter further when there was a great roar from the far side of the room.

He turned, noting the card tables along one side. It seemed a rather sedate game of whist had taken a turn for the worse. Two men had been sitting opposite one another in the midst of a game, but they were now on their feet, an atmosphere of fury rising between them. The room around them fell silent in seconds.

Colin recognized one as Lord Percy Kilby, the Earl of Kenthurst. He was well-respected, handsome, and the epitome of charm on most occasions, but now his face was aghast as the other man threw his cards at him in disgust.

“You are a cheat, my Lord! This is not to be born!” the playing cards fluttered to the dark green carpet about their feet as Colin and Edward both rose, watching the exchange with concern.

Lord Percy’s opponent, a man whose name Colin could not recollect, was certainly a lower-ranking lord and much younger than Percy’s five and thirty. He was puce with rage, breathing heavily, and as he angrily moved around the table to get at the other man, Colin and Edward stepped forward hurriedly, hoping to break up the fray.

“You must think me quite the fool, Kilby, if you believe you can flagrantly flaunt your tricks like this.” Caldwell, Colin thought suddenly, that’s the man’s name. He looks ready to call Kilby out.

“Tricks?” Percy said steadily. He was a pillar of calm in the face of the other man’s rage, and it was not doing Caldwell any favors. “I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head. If your faculties fail you at the card table, I suggest you direct your blame inwardly, not upon me.”

“ You’ve had a run of luck that borders on the miraculous. Am I to believe you truly held four trumps three hands running?”

“You may believe as you like,” Percy replied. “I need not resort to such low play to best you. If you cannot pronounce your vowels, just say so.”

The space around them was suddenly filled with people. Men appeared from other rooms to see what the fuss was about, and suddenly, a crowd had formed, and many began to take sides.

Kilby was a long-standing member of the club and had many loyal supporters in the room. Caldwell also had a group forming behind him, but many of them looked only a few years older than eighteen and half terrified with it.

Colin watched Caldwell carefully. It was the type of argument that could escalate quickly, and when honor was at stake, there was no telling what would come about. He recognized the signs immediately as Caldwell stepped forward, his chest puffing out, his eyes flashing.

“I will not pay because I do not fill the coffers of a cheat, my Lord!”

There were cries of “shame!” and “insolence!” from behind him. Meanwhile, Kilby straightened a cuff on his sleeve and fixed Caldwell with a cool stare.

“If you cannot pay, I am sure we can come to some agreement,” he said quietly, and Colin saw Caldwell’s countenance change. The fire in his eyes turned to hatred and suddenly, he lunged toward the other man, his fists clenched.

For reasons he could not entirely explain, Colin found himself leaping in between them in the next moment. His arms came up to push Caldwell back, and he took a glancing blow to the jaw for his trouble.

Soon, chaos reigned as Kilby’s supporters jostled with Caldwell’s, and there was a great deal of shouting and hollering, which Colin took no part in. All he was focused on was getting Caldwell away from the other man, and somewhere he could calm down in his own time.

Club staff poured into the room, burly men Colin had never seen before arriving in seconds and wrenching Caldwell away. Colin was shoved back none too gently when one of them thought he was the instigator, and he backed off as quickly as he could as the men all about them did the same, watching an incensed Caldwell be dragged from the room.

Once the excitement had waned and onlookers had seen their fill, Colin straightened his shirt cuffs and cravat, which had come undone in the fray. Turning, he found Lord Percy Kilby watching him beside the card table. Save for the cards littered about his feet he looked utterly unruffled by the experience, a slight smile at the corner of his mouth.

“I am most grateful to you, your Grace,” he said sincerely, bowing to Colin as he did so. “I had not anticipated that he would actually try to attack me. I have no notion of where he got the idea I was cheating. These cards were provided by the club, and I have been playing whist for twenty years. I assure you, my words were true. I have no need to cheat to beat him; It is scarcely of my concern if the gentleman cannot reckon the trumps to save his life.”

Colin heard Edward chuckle behind him and turned to find his friend unscathed and looking between the two of them with interest.

“You are welcome, my Lord,” Colin replied to Lord Kilby. “I have not seen behaviour like that for many years. Certainly not at Whites.”

“No indeed. You have my apologies for disturbing your evening. Are you injured?”

“No harm done,” Edward chipped in, looking at Colin with a wry smile. “Indeed, my blood is quite invigorated after such a scuffle. It has been far too long since I engaged in a bout. I daresay we ought to indulge in fisticuffs more frequently, Ludlow.” Colin offered a disapproving shake of his head, but Edward merely returned his grin, unperturbed by the situation. “Indeed, I must admit it has somewhat diminished my appetite. May I escort you home, old friend?”

“Thank you,” Colin replied, “I think I have had enough excitement for one evening.”

“Thank you again, your Grace;” Lord Kilby said once more. “I am in your debt.”

Lord Kilby took his leave as Colin and Edward went down to the carriage, but as Colin climbed inside, something was nagging at the back of his mind that he could not shake. He had heard Kilby’s name or seen it somewhere recently. He could not think where, but it bothered him. Lord Kilby was very well connected and attended many of the same events as Colin, but they had never had much occasion to speak before today.

Colin felt as though he was standing on the edge of something significant, like a half-forgotten memory, but when he tried to grasp it, it was like trying to catch smoke. He had a feeling that the memory was not a pleasant one.

***

As Colin and Edward left their club, another carriage was on its way to London, but a gloomier party there had never been.

Charlotte sat opposite her father, flanked by Sarah, and stared sullenly out of the window as the countryside changed from green to brown and finally to the black smoke and towering buildings of the city.

Charlotte hated London. She was convinced spending time in this city had caused her mother to fall ill, and she was far happier with movement around her. London was all stillness, stone, and haste. She wanted the green of a hillside and leisure to write her poems.

Her father was also staring out of the window at the other side of the carriage and had barely spoken a word since they set off. Sarah had attempted light conversation for a little time, but the Marquess had been in no mood to entertain it.

Charlotte longed to write in her journal. It rested beneath her gloved hands on her lap, and she could already think of thousands of words to fill it with. She felt like she was in a race against time to get all of her creative thoughts down on paper, before they were stifled by the sprawling city.

The carriage ambled on, the dirt roads turning to the mud and filth of the streets. Charlotte could smell the stench of too many people packed into the confines of too small a space. She clutched her journal more tightly to her, her one anchor amidst a storm of emotions she could give no voice to.

The city grew larger in her vision as the country disappeared behind. Everything was going to change now, and the grief and solitude she had clung to would have to be brushed aside. She was here for the end of the season, and her father had made it very clear that she would do her duty and find a husband in the fray.