And he’d be damned if he allowed Society to wield any of it against Lady Melanie, her family, or that helpless child. They could say what they wanted about him, but he would not stand by while those under his protection were torn apart by the bloodyton.
He slid his gaze to the offending newspaper again.
Two days had passed since he’d officially betrothed himself to Lady Melanie—or rather, since he’d agreed to her absurd scheme. Thus far, he’d managed to avoid performing for theton, skillfully evading the expected duties of a newly engaged gentleman. But, if he was going to uphold his end of the bargain, he’d have to step into Society soon enough. With that in mind, he had arranged to take his fiancée driving through the park later that afternoon, a way to break the ice, so to speak.
Of course, he wouldn’t drive her through just any park at just any hour, but Hyde Park, when all of thetonwould seethem together—a perfect opportunity to put on a show for the vultures.
He had sent a formal written invitation.
Naturally, Lady Melanie’s maid would have been informed of the outing. The maid would, of course, share that information with her cohorts, and within hours, the news would be winding its way through the servant class. Eventually, other maids and footmen would relay the news to their employers. And by the time he collected her from Rutherford Place, all of Mayfair would be anticipating a sighting of the Duke of Malum with his betrothed.
Like some bloody prodigal son.
He fully intended to give thetonprecisely what they were hungry for—the Duke of Malum playing the loving fiancé.
In other words, he’d planned for a certain level of spectacle. But after that Godforsaken article…
Their drive—if Lady Melanie was still willing—could prove… overwhelming.
The only play here, he knew, was to go through with it.
A knock sounded at the door, and at his curt reply, Mr. Huxley stepped inside. “Mrs. Nell to see you, Your Grace.”
“Send her in.”
Malum could use some good news this morning, but one look at Nell’s face, and he knew he’d not be getting it from her.
She held a handkerchief in one hand, eyes bloodshot and shining, her lips pressed thin.
“What is it?” he asked, noting the way she dabbed at the corner of her eye.
“It’s Stella—Miss De la Cour—she’s dead.” Nell took a moment to compose herself while Malum experienced a sinking sensation in his gut. “Our investigators and Miss Rothschild found her father’s business on Shamble’s Street in Yorkshire—just like you said—and returned to London just this morning. Icame up as soon as they delivered the news. Stella passed a few hours after the babe was born.”
“That is… unfortunate,” he said, the words stilted.
He hadn’t known Miss De la Cour beyond a few brief encounters in passing, but she’d been under his protection. Everyone who worked for him was his responsibility, and though she’d left his establishment—of her own volition, for reasons unknown to anyone but her—he couldn’t help but feel a dull sense of failure.
Should they arise—and they did, about as frequently as one would imagine—theDomushad protocols in place for handling situations of a delicate nature. Situations just like this one. He’d thought that they would be enough—to protect his employees, himself, and his place of business, along with the… results of those “delicate situations”. Clearly, they weren’t.
Malum leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping a steady rhythm atopThe Enquirer’stroublesome article. He would have to address the lapses in those protocols at a later time, but for now, there were unfortunately more pressing issues at hand.
Stella De la Cour’s death complicated matters considerably. All Malum had wanted was to return Ernest to his mother and close that chapter of his life for good. Instead, he was now responsible for a young infant no one else wanted, while engaged to a young woman determined to remain unmarried. In the worst possible twist, these two predicaments had merged into one scandalous entanglement.
From the moment Ernest had been left on his doorstep—and when Lady Melanie, with her compassionate yet somewhat reckless nature, had refused to leave the baby to the elements—the course of his life shifted. Otherwise, none of this would have mattered.
Which brought to mind another question. “If Stella De la Cour died shortly after the child’s birth… then who the hell leftErnest on my front step?” Because Lady Melanie had described Miss De la Cour perfectly.
“That would have been her sister,” Nell replied quietly.
A sister?That would explain it then,he thought bitterly.
Nell dabbed her eye again. “Apparently, the brothers told her to get rid of it—said they didn’t want another mouth to feed. Especially a bastard one.”
Malum nodded. He didn’t approve, but did understand the practicality of the decision, cruel as it may be.
“Would you like me to make arrangements for the baby?” Nell asked, her voice steady, though her eyes held a hint of worry.
It would likely be for the best. Malum’s gaze drifted to the paper before him, an article that ought to have been no more than a simple betrothal announcement. Instead, he found himself navigating unfamiliar waters—waters he’d managed to avoid in the past.
