Page 7 of The Undesirable Duke
“When was this delivered?”
“Mere moments ago, Your Grace. It was delivered by an errand boy, who simply said that the sender was a gentleman.”
“Thank you.”
Samuel took the letter from the footman, who bowed and left the room, then opened the letter.
From the very first line, Samuel’s jaw clenched at the words. It was from the person who had fabricated those lies about him and spoke of his handiwork so far, and his mission to ruin Samuel and his perfect reputation. With every word he read, Samuel became angrier and could not believe the audacity of this person.
Who did they think they were?
No one was allowed to speak to a Duke in such a manner, much less taunt him the way that the author of this letter had done. It was unacceptable and, in his anger, he balled up the letter in his hands and threw it onto the floor. Stepping away, his heart pounding fiercely in his chest, Samuel knew that he had to find the person responsible, and fast.
After a moment, he retrieved the crumpled letter, smoothed it out, and examined it closely.
Unfortunately, and as expected, the letter did not contain a name or any indication of who was behind this. This did not deter Samuel in any way, but it did make it harder to discover who was behind it – for a moment there, he had held out a slight hope that the letter might provide a clue. Still, he was determined to find the culprit.
Drawing in a few strained breaths, Samuel rushed out of the drawing room, calling for Billings. Once the butler appeared, he asked that the town carriage be brought around.
“I must go to Brooks’ immediately.”
“Very well, Your Grace.”
He went back to the drawing room and retrieved the crumpled letter. He would need evidence to track down this gossip.
A short while later, Samuel’s jaw clenched as he stepped up into his smaller carriage, which did not carry the ducal escutcheon, for he generally preferred to remain inconspicuous. He did not wish to make a fuss over his return or suggest that he was on his way to Brooks’ to gamble, as the letter made clear that the sender suggested he did. Gambling had never been one of Samuel’s vices, as he was impatient and did not possess the skill to win any card games. Yet, according to the slandering writer, he had frequented gentlemen’s clubs and was in financial ruin due to his gambling.
The truth was far from it.
Once the carriage stopped in front of Brooks’, Samuel climbed out and entered the Palladian style yellow brick and Portland stone building. He was welcomed by the establishment’s staff and received numerous nods of acknowledgment. He was rather surprised at this since the tales of his supposed gambling had been made public. He reciprocated the gestures and waved over a footman, ordering his usual drink of choice, malt whisky.
“Yarmouth, is that you?”
A familiar voice spun him from his angered mood, and he glanced over his shoulder, to see the approach of his very good friend, Lord Timothy Colborne. It had been Lord Timothy who had informed him of this whole mess of apparent scandals occurring in London in his absence, and Samuel considered Lord Timothy a true friend for keeping him apprised of what was happening.
The two men had met when they attended Oxford University, and their friendship had stood the test of time and distance since. Each time that they met again, it did not feel as though they had spent any time apart. Their association was filled with ease and comfort, which Samuel greatly appreciated. Any moment where he was able to be himself without any pretense, was a fine moment indeed.
Samuel greeted Lord Timothy with a solid handshake and smiled.
“It is very good to see you, my friend.”
“Likewise. I was not expecting you to arrive for another few days.”
The gentlemen took their seats in the leather chairs at a nearby table and Lord Timothy grinned at him.
“You made the trip from Cornwall in remarkable time.”
“It was not without its challenges, I assure you.”
“I presume the content of my recent letter is what has brought you to London so hastily?”
“Indeed. I require your assistance.”
“What kind of assistance?”
Samuel leaned forward and hushed his voice.
“You have always been keen on mysteries, have you not?”
