Page 16 of The Scarred Duchess
“Franny dear, assist me with the card settings, will you?” Mrs Bennet drifted away.
“I dare anyone to counter my assertion that our county’s newest addition shall also be its greatest pearl. The child’s angelic nature, beauty, and God-like serenity are unmatched. Miss Bennet shall marry very well.” Mrs Goulding harshly stared at the two venomous, now silent, serpents. “Mark my words here and now. I will stake my reputation that we shall refer to the young miss as a future lady of the first circles.”
The gathering was called to dinner, and the evening ended shortly thereafter.
“Your Grace. We have located the Earl of Lambrook.”
The Duke of Somerset had always been the definition of indulgence and excess. Despite being born into wealth and privilege, he had squandered it all and was on the brink of bankruptcy. His estates, once a source of great wealth, barely produced any income due to neglect and mismanagement by his stewards and senior household servants—although few were caught, it was clear they were embezzling money or stealing from the estate.
His betrothal to Lady Rochdale had not lessened his reckless spending but had diverted it somewhat. Her love for extravagant parties moved his focus from games to drink, which resulted in the birth of the heir exactly nine months to the day of their wedding.
Unfortunately for those dependent upon the Somerset estates, Lady Rochdale was no longer able to restrain the duke. A new cook, brought over from Italy at great expense, had prepared an elaborate eight-course dinner for a house party celebrating the heir’s first birthday. Lady Rochdale choked to death on a bite of roast goose in front of fifty guests. The gossip that had surrounded her shocking demise landed upon her husband days later; Somerset wasted no time picking up that which his betrothal had temporarily supplanted. The Seven Dials gaming hells welcomed back a most favoured client with open arms.
The duke’s amoral proclivities weighed heavily upon his health—gout, hair loss, and constant alterations to his clothing,saddle, and furniture to compensate for his growing size—though he did his best to hide them from his circle. He had little regard for traditional moral values; he cared not who saw him while he enjoyed his pleasures, not even his very young son, Marquess Beauford.
“What has been done to dip into Lambrook’s coffers?” asked Somerset.
“We have no further options via the Chancery. The earl was quite fastidious legally protecting his estates,” replied his man, Kelly.
“Impossible! Lambrook is an idiot. Who assisted him?”
“We only know that a connexion from a northern county vouchsafed his leases.”
“Call the magistrate. We shall compel him to evict the charlatan!”
“Your Grace, that charlatan is a decorated naval officer awarded a baronetcy from His Majesty,” replied Kelly.
Somerset drained his drink and laid his head back. The room had begun to spin.
“Where is my conscientious cousin hiding?” slurred the duke. He held up his empty tumbler. Kelly refilled it.
“Lord Lambrook, better known to his neighbours as Mr Smyth, has retired to the country with his family.”
The duke licked his lips. “With the lushish—luscious—Lady Lambrook, no doubt. She should have been mine!” Suddenly he threw his glass across the room. “What? What did you say? Family?”
“Yes, your Grace. Viscount John Haydon is two years old.”
The duke stood and swayed. His man steadied him. He pointed a shaking finger at Kelly.
“Then your work has doubled, Scotsman.”
A knock on the door drew the attention of Edward Gardiner. Looking up from his book, he called out, “Enter.”
Into his study room walked a man of average height, though young Gardiner could see nothing average about him.
“Mr Gardiner, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Roark.”
The young man tried not to blanch at the intimidating man; though his looks were agreeable enough, the scar that ran from his left temple, through his eyelid, down to the left edge of his mouth turned a once handsome visage into something menacing.
Roark obviously noticed the young man’s observation. “Mr Gardiner, this mark is a souvenir from a ne’er-do-well that I errantly underestimated.”
“Underestimated?”
“Just that once, I assure you.”
Sensing that he was being tested, Gardiner adopted a neutral mask, the strategy he had adopted when first encountering the unpleasant sons of the aristocracy at university.
“Before I explain the purpose of this meeting,” Roark said, “I must extract your vow of secrecy. Can you honour that?”
