Chapter 1
Mayfield, the Country Estate of the Duke of Camberly
September 8, 1813
“You are trying my patience, Matthew,” the imperial voice said from his study door. “Have you forgotten you are to be in London for your wedding on the morrow?”
In the thin light of an overcast morning, Matthew Addison, recently named Duke of Camberly, looked up from the desk where he had been poring over ledgers to coldly eye his grandmother. Minerva, the Dowager Duchess of Camberly, was a handsome woman, over seventy in age, but she moved as if younger. Her hair was silver, and she wore her black with a touch of purple for her late husband and their oldest son and heir, William, whom she had adored with a passion. Both had passed within less than six months of the other a little over a year ago. She had not bothered to take off her coat, hat, or gloves. Instead, she had apparently arrived and come right for him.
Unfortunately, she had chosen the wrong moment to make an appearance. It was almost as if the suspicions in his mind had conjured her.
“Hello, Grandmother.” He did not rise. “I have not forgotten. How can I? You’ve been sending me letters reminding me of my responsibilities every day for the past several weeks.”
“Because you are supposed to be in London,” she snapped. “People are talking. There are wagers being made that you will not show. Leland Reverly isnotpleased.”
“London is only three hours away. I’ll be there before the appointed time on the morrow. After all, everyone knows I need money. I really have no choice.”
Matt was expected to wed Miss Willa Reverly, known as the Reverly Heiress and a woman he barely knew. He had nothing against Miss Reverly. She was like every other well-bred young miss with a rich father. Although if he remembered correctly—and his memory was a bit hazy—she was far more attractive than most.
That still didn’t mean his upcoming marriage set well with him. He’d come to hate being the Duke of Camberly. The bloody, impoverished title had suckedeverything meaningfulout of his life.
Minerva frowned as if sensing something was not right between them. Her gaze took in the ledgers stacked and spread across his desk. She shut the door and approached him, taking the chair in front of his desk where she perched upright. “What is the matter with you?” she asked. “Why have you holed yourself up in here? I’ve heard reports that you have rarely strayed from this study.”
“Oh, I’ve strayed, Grandmother. I’ve walked the estate from one end to the other.”
She looked at him as if he’d said the most preposterous thing she’d ever heard. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I own it. Because I inherited a mess and I know nothing about land management and crops and breeding.” And because, after the fool he’d made of himself in front of thetonover Letty Bainhurst, he’d thought to recover his self-respect by doing what was honorable and right. He had wanted to step up to the title.
Instead, he’d uncovered one mystery after another until, that very morning, he’d reached a terrible realization.
But his grandmother did not know this. She smiled. “Yes, however, you are going to marry Miss Reverly, and her dowry will set everything to rights.” There it was: selling his name and person into marriage was merely a simple solution, and Matt rebelled. He became direct.
“What happened to the money, Grandmother?”
For the first time since she’d barged into the room, Minerva looked hesitant. “The money?”
Matt tapped the top ledger. “The money in the estate.”
“You know what happened. Times have not been good for Mayfield. We discussed this after Henry died and we sat with George to go over matters.” Henry was her late husband, the old duke. George was Matt’s second cousin and a well-respected lawyer. “The estate was losing money. It just all went away.”
“It did disappear,” Matt agreed, his voice tense. “Money came in and yet was not spent on the estate at all. In fact, as little as five years ago, there had been plenty for repairs and improvements—and then it appears to have vanished. Decent tenants left because of unfulfilled promises over cottages with leaking roofs. The stables were emptied of good horseflesh, and the beasts in the fields from the pigs to the cattle, if they had any worth, were sold—except that money doesn’t show where it went in the ledgers, either. Worse, I’ve learned that Grandfather stopped the servants’ and workers’ wages.”
“Running the estate is expensive. I warned you—”
“Aye, you did. You said I would walk into Mayfield and see that everything of value had been sold off. All the books, the portraits, the furnishings are gone, except, according to these older ledgers, there should have been no need to sell them.”
His grandmother laughed, the sound almost frivolous, convincing him more than anything else that she knew the truth. “What are ledgers?” she said. “You know Henry was not good with details.”
“Actually, at one time, Grandfather had a competent manager, whom he abruptly let go before taking over managing the estate himself. And then it appears he willfullybankruptedit.”
The dowager jumped on the force behind the word “bankrupted,” the purple plume on her black bonnet shaking. “He tried his best.”
Matt leaned back in the chair, dumbfounded. “His best? He didn’t spend the money on seed or wages. Years ago there was plenty, and now it is gone. My grandfather was not a gambler and if he was into whores—”
“He would never touch one.”
“Good, because for the amount of money I’ve found missing, there aren’t that many whores in England.”
