Page 1 of The Truth About Love and Dukes

Chapter 1

London, July, 1892

Henry Cavanaugh longed for a well-ordered life. As the Duke of Torquil, he had many responsibilities, and they would have been easier to manage with a private life that was well-ordered and predictable. Unfortunately for Henry, he had two unmarried sisters, an impecunious younger brother, and a hopelessly indolent brother-in-law. He also had a pair of nephews who adored driving nannies away and a mother with artistic inclinations. A well-ordered life never seemed quite within his grasp. Henry mourned this fact on a daily basis.

Today was no exception.

“Jamie, really,” he said, frowning at his late sister Patricia’s husband as the other man’s twin sons entered the room, whooping like savages. “Is a bit of peace and quiet at the breakfast table too much to ask?”

“It is on this particular morning, apparently,” his sister Sarah put in, pressing her hands to her ears.

Jamie gave a shrug as he reached for the marmalade, seeming disinclined to check his sons as they ran behind his chair around the end of the dining table. “Nanny Smith’s gone. Crept away with her things before dawn this morning, leaving only a note behind. What’s a widowed father to do in such circumstances?”

“Nanny or no,” Henry replied, raising his voice to ensure he was heard above the din, “your children are your responsibility, and not, I should think, a particularly difficult one to manage.”

“Says the man with no children,” Jamie countered as he spread marmalade on his toast. “Wait until you have sons of your own in the nursery,” he added, waving his knife in Henry’s direction. “You’ll sing a different tune then.”

“I doubt it.”

Across the table, his brother, David, gave a laugh. “And your duchess, when you find her?” he asked. “What if she proves difficult to manage?”

“That won’t be a concern. When I marry, you may be sure I will choose a wife whose views are in accord with mine. Especially when it comes to the raising of our children.”

“Oh, that’s what you’ll think. But once the honeymoon is over, you’ll find your notions of accord were an illusion. After six years of marriage, I barely get an agreeable word out of Carlotta.”

Henry could have pointed out that very few people got an agreeable word out of Carlotta, but just then, Colin gave a shout, snatched two slices of toast from the sideboard, and tossed one to his brother, Owen, and Henry decided that if Jamie wouldn’t manage the boys, he would have to do it for him.

“That will be enough, gentlemen,” he said as he stood up, his voice carrying all his ducal authority and cutting through the boyish ebullience of the twins. “Colin, Owen, cease this gamboling about the dining room at once.”

The boys went still and a blissful silence came over the room.

“You will go down to the kitchens,” he went on, “and ask Mrs. Deal—politely, mind you—to make you a proper breakfast. Afterward,” he added with a pointed glance at Jamie, “your father will take you for an outing in Hyde Park, and I will commence a search for your new nanny.”

The groans the twins gave at the notion of yet another new nanny were stifled by Henry’s arm stretching toward the door. “Out,” he ordered and the two boys obeyed immediately. They even managed to maintain a respectful silence all the way to the baize door at the end of the corridor, but a muffled whoop just before the door banged shut told Henry that this enjoyable silence would not be shared by those below stairs, poor devils.

“Well done, Henry,” his sister Angela approved, looking up as she turned the page of her morning newspaper. “Something needs to be done with those boys of yours, Jamie.”

“Hear, hear,” Sarah and David echoed together, and faced with the staunch disapproval of his relations, Jaime had the grace to look abashed.

“They’ve become absolute hellions, I know,” he said, gave a sigh and leaned back, raking a hand through his brown hair. “Patricia was much better about keeping them in line than I. On my own, I’m not sure what to do with them.”

“Do what most widowers do,” David said carelessly. “Send them to school.”

“Should I?” Jamie looked doubtful.

“Why not?” David gestured to the footman for more kidneys and bacon. “School would sort them out soon enough. It kept all of us on the straight and narrow path. Well, two of us, anyway,” he added with a glance at Henry. “Torquil was born on the straight and narrow, and I doubt he’s ever veered off of it.”

Henry paused, thinking of his one and only deviation from the straight and narrow, a deviation his siblings and the world knew nothing about. “And I never shall,” he said after a moment. Not ever again.

“Anyway, I’m not sure school’s a good idea,” Jamie murmured, reverting to the subject at hand. “The boys are only eight.”

Henry did not miss the questioning glance Jamie sent in his direction.

“If you think it time for the twins to go to school,” he responded, “I will stand the fees, of course. But in my opinion, you are right to deem them too young yet. They should wait another two or three years. In the meantime—”

“Good Lord!” Angela’s sudden ejaculation interrupted Henry before he could underscore the importance of discipline and routine to a peaceful home. And when he turned toward his sister, her dismayed expression reminded him that perpetual drama, not peace, was the routine, at least in his household.

Angela leaned forward in her seat, a frown drawing her dark brows together. “It can’t be,” she murmured, still staring at the folded-back page in her hand. “It just can’t be. Mama would never . . .”

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