.
Justin Padmore, Earl of Chantenny, jerked his head up, opened his eyes, and blinked to adjust his vision. He’d been kicked in the boot and as his eyes focused, he smiled to find his old friend staring down at him. He became aware of the noise of the club, the rattling of newspapers, and the warmth of the cup in his hand. He’d been drinking coffee before he’d fallen asleep.
“Thank you. I’d have likely burned myself had you not come along when you did.” He lifted his cup in a toast and then took a hasty sip. The coffee had cooled, but Justin didn’t mind. He needed whatever energy the liquid could give him after a night like the one he’d had.
“You missed session,” Gerard de Gray, Earl of Obenshire, said. He’d remained in his position in front of Justin’s feet.
They were in a corner of the room, where others could not hear their conversation, in a spot that Justin had all but dubbed as his own. Other men didn’t venture to bother him here. Only Gerard.
Justin crossed his legs and glanced back up at Gerard, noting his friend’s unhappiness. “You look grim. Anything important occur?” He glanced around at the men who sat at tables a few paces away and noticed how everyone was bent over their papers. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, and yet...
Gerard rounded Justin’s feet and came closer. He bent down, and his light brown eyes came into perfect view. The anger was gone and in its stead was something far worse. Fear. “You missed session,” Gerard whispered.
Justin’s mind was cloudy, but he tried his best to understand what his friend was saying, “All right. I’ll pay whatever fine the party wishes.”
Gerard shook his head and his gaze roamed Justin’s before he asked, “How much did you drink last night? Where did you go?”
Justin’s eyes widened and he took a deep breath. Gerard was asking a hard question. He never remembered anything when he was drunk. That was the point of being drunk, after all. Forgetting. “Well, let’s see. My evening started at Mrs. Shaw’s.”
Shaw was a beautiful, wealthy widow of a merchant and the two had found the attraction mutual, so he’d begun to seek her out at night. Their arrangement had been going on for years and was pleasant enough, though in more recent months he’d begun to visit and fall promptly asleep on her bed, too drunk to do much else. Mrs. Shaw didn’t mind, and Justin would more often than not find a blanket thrown over his body when he arose in the morning.
“I had a few cups at her house before venturing here and then...“ He tried to think, but when that became painful, he shrugged. “I don’t recall. It’s likely I’ve been in this chair for hours, which, when you think about it, you shouldn’t be mad at me for. Anyone in the room could have woken me before session.” He narrowed his eyes at the men in the room, though he knew they couldn’t see him.
“You missed session, Justin,” Gerard said.
He grew irritated instantly. “Yes, I know—”
“You missed the vote.”
Justin would have preferred any other words but those. The vote. He’d missed the vote. Immediately, his mind cleared. Fear seeped into his blood and choked him as though a hand had wrapped around his throat, seizing him in an iron grasp.
He’d missed the vote.
He cursed and looked at Gerard. “Please tell me you’re lying.”
Gerard slowly shook his head.
Justin cursed again before putting his cup down. “This is not happening.” He placed both his palms against his face and gave each cheek a few quick slaps in an effort to wake himself. Then he ran a hand down his face and glanced around the gentlemen’s club. Bellamy’s was full of lords. Lords who had likely finished session hours ago and had come here.
He cursed again and stood. “I forgot.”
“He’ll not accept that answer,” Gerard told him. “You don’t know what you’ve done.”
Justin looked at Gerard and suspected he knew exactly what he’d done. Justin’s vote had been vital for his party to win. Most days, Justin didn’t even know what party he belonged to, and he most certainly didn’t know what the vote had been about. He never read the bills and never listened during a session.
The only reason he’d gone was that the Duke of Avon had demanded it, and Avon was not a man you let down. He was more 'Lord of Darkness' than anything else, having more power than most imagined and more than any one man ever should.
Justin wondered what would happen if he simply ran away.
“Don’t,” Gerard said, as though he could read his mind. “You’ll have to face him eventually.”
Justin frowned and turned to Gerard. “Can’t I do it when I’m sober?”
“Sober? When do you plan for that to happen?” Gerard asked without any mocking in his tone. He truly wished to know.
Justin honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d been completely sober. He was sure he was killing himself slowly and didn’t mind the thought at all. Death, he was sure, was a more pleasant experience than dealing with the anger of the duke.
Justin couldn’t focus on his surroundings. “I missed the vote.”
“Yes,” Gerard said. “Our party lost.”
Justin’s head fell as though his neck could no longer stand the weight of it.
“And it gets worse,” Gerard whispered.
Justin didn’t want to know how much worse it could get. He covered his face.
Gerard stepped closer and whispered in his ear, “The duke swore to the party that we would win. He let them all down and now there are many who believe it best they no longer follow him. They knew it was your vote that ruined things. They thought the duke had you under control, but that has been proven wrong, and you know how the duke gets when he’s wrong.”
Justin ran his hands through his dark hair and met Gerard’s eyes. “So it’s likely I’ll not get out of this unscathed.”
His friend nodded. “That’s a likely conclusion, yes.”
Justin’s shoulders fell. He started toward the door. “Let us get this over with.”
Gerard walked by his side, just as he always did when Justin was walking to the gallows.
The rides to Avon’s home were always the worst moments of Justin’s life, leaving his mind full of the worst things Avon could do to him.
He could ruin Justin’s life.
Many a lord had thought themselves powerful enough to withstand Avon’s wrath, but in the end, Avon always won. He was a member of the king’s privy council, but worse than having the ear of the king was the fact that Avon employed a small army of his own, men who he paid to keep an eye on things that interested him. He used whatever he could as blackmail.
So far, Justin had received few threats, but he knew that today he would not escape the man’s ire.
He was done for.
When the carriage rolled through the black iron gates, Justin tightened his gut and pulled in a breath before releasing it. He felt sick but managed to hold himself together and leapt from the carriage when it stopped. He kept his expression calm as he passed the butler, handing over his hat before proceeding farther into the house.
The entrance opened up with high white ceilings and crown molding with strong stone columns that seemed to hold the dome-like foyer together. There were traditional wings on either side and a large staircase at its center, covered with red carpet. It was the brightest color in the room and matched well with the paintings of the family in picturesque scenes on the walls. Light streamed through the open windows, and the smell of lavender bathed the halls.
Justin would have thought the house peaceful had it not been for the man who owned it.
He knew the way to Avon’s office, yet still he let his friend lead the way. He entered the room after a knock.
Avon was standing with his back to the window, leaning heavily on his cane. He was a tall man, and though Justin had known he'd been leanly built in his younger years, he was now only a shadow of the man he’d once been. He was sickly thin now, his gray hair thinning, but when he turned to look at Justin, the hazel gaze nearly sent Justin to his knees.
Avon’s eyes moved to Gerard. “You may go.”
Gerard didn’t hesitate to bow to his father and depart, closing the door behind him. Gerard always walked to the gallows with Justin, but it was always Justin’s head that was all but chopped from his shoulders. Since Gerard was the duke’s eldest son, Justin sensed that Gerard had gained his fill of his father’s ire more than he wished over the years and would take no more than was necessary.
Avon began to cough, a habit that had kept with him for the last year.
Gerard had confessed that he believed his father was dying, and while Justin felt sympathy for his friend, there was a part of Justin—like much of the Beau Monde—that couldn’t wait for Avon to be put in his grave.
Avon finally ceased coughing and sighed. The man rarely smiled, and Justin couldn’t recall a time that he had.
The duke said nothing, and Justin grew anxious under the stare. He nearly begged his forgiveness when the duke finally spoke.
“You’ll pay the fine.”
Justin nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Avon started for his chair, the cane aiding his entire journey. “And Mrs. Shaw has been told not to expect you for the remainder of the Season.”
That blow came swift, but Justin managed to take it. He didn’t have to ask how Avon had known where he was last night. Everyone knew about his arrangement with Mrs. Shaw. It irritated most of the mothers of the unwed ladies and even a few of the fathers. Justin was an earl, yet instead of settling down to produce an heir, he spent his time with a woman who was old enough to be his mother.
But the thought of marriage was unsettling, and Justin was comfortable with Mrs. Shaw. It irritated Justin that Avon could come between them, especially knowing that Justin would never turn to another woman.
Avon fell into his chair, his breath coming in pants until he was settled. “You’ll also be banned from Bellamy’s.”
Justin rocked back on his feet and stared at the duke with wide eyes. He swallowed. “For how long?”
Iron could not have held Justin better than Avon’s gaze. “The remainder of the Season. I only wish to see you there during a meeting of the party. You will be there on time and then you will leave.”
Justin’s entire life was centered on Mrs. Shaw’s and Bellamy’s. What he would do with his time, he didn’t know.
He also didn’t question how the duke had such power. Justin simply knew that he did. A man like Avon didn’t jest. Justin could be blackballed, and that would surely be the end of him. No. Instead of fighting the duke, he would bide his time with other things.
The only issue was that Justin nearly lived at Bellamy’s. He didn’t go out to Society functions anymore. He’d stopped going nearly five years ago, knowing it was better if he didn’t. Justin didn’t dance and therefore would cause a scene when he refused to take a lady to the dancefloor. Spending time at the club afforded him the opportunity to mingle with like-minded gentlemen while never having to bother with women. Yet even there, he kept to dark corners as a way to warn off fathers from seeking him out. Still, he enjoyed the noise. It made him feel included, even when he wasn’t.
What would he do without Bellamy’s?
Surely, there was something he could do.
“You could try remaining sober long enough attend the next meeting,” Avon suggested as though he were reading Justin’s thoughts. It wouldn’t surprise Justin if the man was able to.
The next meeting was days away. Sadly, Justin didn’t think he could go that long without a drink. Drink, like Bellamy’s and Mrs. Shaw, had become a constant companion.
Justin reached up to scratch the back of his head but caught himself before lowering the hand again. Then he bowed. “Yes, Your Grace.”
The duke didn't hear his words, for he broke out in another fit of coughs before he cleared his throat and spoke again. “The party doesn’t like you, Chantenny, and I like you even less. Why my son continues to befriend you, I’ll never know.”
Justin looked away and prepared himself for what was to come, all the while knowing there was no true way to prepare to meet the devil.
The duke went on, knowing he was listening. “You’re the worst sort of man there is, weeping over the past as though your actions can change them. You’ll need to do something to impress us, to gain our trust. You need to prove that you’re capable of being a true gentleman, Chantenny. You’re not the first man to lose a father.”
Justin knew he’d not been the first to lose his father, though he was sure that not many had watched their father bleed to death in their arms. He was equally sure not many were there when their father met death or were unable to recognize their own father's face because of the trauma he'd endured.
It was the worst thing Justin had ever witnessed in his life.
One moment, Lord Julius Padmore had been happy, smiling at Justin, and the next…
It had been three months since Justin buried his father. Justin had been close with him. His mother, Christine Padmore, the elusive Lady Chantenny, had died years ago, leaving the old Lord Chantenny to see to the raising of his son and two daughters.
Then he’d died, and Justin still felt lost.
He knew at twenty and six it was time to move on, but he’d not had a moment to breath since the death.
After Julius’ funeral, Avon had led the vote to place Justin into Parliament and then told him which side he would be on.
Justin had sent his sisters to school, which had given him some time to be alone except for when Gerard would not allow it, but the girls were in London for the Season, and he’d been forced to find and hire a chaperone. In all, the last few months were a blur.
He knew it was time to get himself together. He’d told himself this very thing repeatedly. He simply didn’t know where to start.
“Are you listening to me?” Avon asked.
Justin nodded, though he was sure he’d missed great portions of Avon’s speech.
“Your father never made the best decisions. Your mother was an example of that. And he was always prone to accidents. It was only a matter of time,” Avon went on. “He never listened to anyone.”
Justin locked his jaw as the first thread of anger slipped into his chest and expanded with his every breath. This was the part of Avon that Justin hated. The man had no respect for the dead and definitely not Justin’s father.
Avon went on, “I remember that day Lord Wint had to fish your father out of the lake by my estate.”
The lake.
If his father’s death was the worst thing Justin had ever witnessed, then what took place that day at the lake fifteen years ago was second. Justin didn’t need the story told to him again. Much like the death of his father, the scene at the lake played in his mind over and over again like a bad play that he could never forget. Still, Avon told it all the time, as though Justin hadn’t been there, as though he’d not witnessed his father jump in to save his mother and then have to be rescued himself.
Christine Padmore had not made it. Had it not been for Lord Wint, Justin would have lost his father that day as well, which would have been unfortunate since Justin had always been closer to his father.
“Fool,” Avon went on. “The woman, with all her skirts, never would have survived, and she was hardly worth saving. I’ve never met a more unpleasant woman in my life.”
Justin’s stomach burned. Those words coming from the Duke of Avon said much.
Lady Chantenny had not been a pleasant woman. She’d neither been pleasant to the members of the ton nor to Justin. The woman had doted on her girls but never him. Justin had mildly hated her. When she’d died, he’d not mourned her death so much as the mother he’d never had to begin with.
For years he’d sought her affection, a love that other young boys never had to ask for. If there had been a day that his mother had smiled at him, Justin couldn’t remember it.
She’d caused him both physical and emotional pain. Even in death, Justin still felt its effects. He put thoughts of his dead mother away for the moment.
“I will seek to do better.” Justin bowed again. “I ask for my leave, Your Grace.” Before he saw to it that Avon met an early grave himself.
Avon nodded and waved a hand. “Go. Don’t return until you’re worth looking in the eye.”
Justin all but fled the room, not even stopping to close the door behind him.
Gerard met him in the foyer. “What did he—”
“Not now.” Justin was holding himself on a tight leash. One word and he’d drive a hole through the wall.
Avon always drove him mad.
Justin said nothing as he took his hat from the butler.
Dark thoughts clouded his mind to match the sky outside. Sometimes Justin’s thoughts startled him, though never after a meeting with Avon. It was always after those meetings that the monster that lived in Justin would rise.
Avon thought his father shouldn’t have risked his life to save his mother, and in the hidden spaces of Justin’s heart, he agreed more than anyone could realize.
He hated to think that way, but the truth seemed to wake whenever Avon was around.
The butler opened the door and Justin started out, ignoring the carriage, willing to walk the miles home.
Gerard moved on quick feet to catch up with him.
The two said nothing.
That was Gerard, though. He was once again at Justin’s side, no matter what.
And Justin had to agree that Avon was right once again. Justin had nothing to offer Gerard for their friendship but was selfish enough never to push him away.
The silence and the growing winds did little to cool Justin’s rage, but when the rain came he finally found some relief. Eventually, the two slowed their pace as they reached Oxford Street. Justin stopped when Gerard did and watched his friend move toward an umbrella shop, then followed him inside.
They were drenched and startled a few of the patrons inside. Being gracious, the oldest in the crowd turned away. Only the children looked on as though Justin and Gerard were oddities. A few people in line were chatting and gasping as they read the paper. He recalled that many of the men in the club that morning had been holding a paper as well.
Gerard moved toward the larger umbrellas in the back, and Justin turned to the newspaper that sat on the counter.
There was only one left.
Justin shifted it to face him and the words on the cover made his mind go blank. The anger vanished, and in its place came an unsettling jolt.
He picked it up and made his way to Gerard, who was standing in line. What the point of an umbrella was when they were already drenched, Justin didn’t know, but neither did he care. “Did you read this?”
Gerard frowned. “Everyone has read it, Justin.” Then he shook his head. “I can’t believe it myself. The woman was just commemorated last week and now this. It’s a good thing Lord Wint is dead. Since he had no children, his house will not feel any shame from the news.”
Justin began reading the article in full and had read most of it through by the time Gerard reached the front.
"From the Diary of Mary Elizabeth Best: An Illegitimate Daughter to a Viscount Revealed" was the title of the article. It went on to quote an entry the woman had made twenty-five years ago. Apparently, Wint had seduced a young lady’s maid at the time, and the woman had given birth to a girl. Ms. Best had named the girl Alexandra.
A source then stated that the Alexandra in question took on the surname Smith and worked at Christmas’ Toys and Gifts.
Justin recalled the shop, as many of the nobility often took their children there, though he’d never been inside himself. He had no children to buy such things for, yet an idea began to form swiftly in his mind as to a reason to go. “Gerard, we have to go to the toy shop.”
“There’s no point,” Gerard said. “This Alexandra woman is not there, and whoever is there will not say where she’s gone.”
“How do you know?” Justin asked.
They moved to a corner of the umbrella shop before Gerard spoke. “I went to the shop myself. I was unwilling to believe that Wint had a child.”
Justin was surprised by the accusation as well, but not surprised that Gerard had gone by the shop that morning.
Who wouldn’t? Justin was sure that the toy store was overrun with men and woman more interested in Wint’s illegitimate offspring than rocking horses and dolls.
He wondered what the girl must be thinking.
He knew what some of the ton would say and also what they’d privately think to themselves.
The church had all but made Ms. Best a saint. For her to have called out the Viscount of Wint was the equivalent to saying he'd had a one-way carriage ride to meet the devil himself.
Every man in the ton was probably counting himself lucky that it had not been his name called out. Had it been any other woman or had the article been published in a gossip rag, no one would care, but everyone had read the articles regarding how Society had wept at Ms. Best’s funeral. They thought her to be sitting at the Throne of God and hoped to one day meet her beyond the pearly gates.
Dukes and duchesses had spoken at her commemoration. In doing so, they'd all but given credence to her words.
Thus, whatever happened next with this, Alexandra had the power to shake the very foundation of the world.
Justin realized then that he needed to stop drinking. This scandal had been happening since before dawn, and he’d known nothing about it.
He wondered if this was the reason Avon had brought up the story with Wint. It would make sense to have it on his mind.
She’d be on everyone’s mind now, and once she was found… what then? She could possibly try and make some claim to Wint’s holdings, though Justin didn’t see the courts bending. Not even for one of Mary Elizabeth Best’s children.
Still, the woman would draw attention and that attention, if she was staged well, could be very good.
And not just for her.
Justin paid for the paper and walked out the door with Gerard. “I must find her.”
“You and every man, woman, and newspaper writer in the country.” Gerard handed Justin an umbrella as they stepped outside and then opened his own overhead. “Everyone wants to meet her, to see her for themselves.” He was forced to speak loudly over the rain. “And as the article states, the world is wondering where the new Viscount of Wint is. The man’s heir has yet to be found.”
Justin moved swiftly to keep up with his friend, recalling that Wint had just died weeks ago. Justin had gone to the funeral. He’d missed Ms. Best’s commemoration, though he’d never truly planned to go.
“I have to find her, Gerard.”
Gerard stopped at the corner and turned to Justin. “Why?”
“She may be my way in to your father’s good graces.”
Gerard’s eyes flashed. “We’d move faster by hack.”
Justin nodded and went to flag down a hack in the rain.
His mind cleared as his thoughts came, one jumping over the other, until an idea formed.