Prologue
May 1850
Inside the offices of the Daily Scandal, London
Merritt Steele read over the article one last time, searching for any errors. It would seem that Lord Prescott had not only lost his fortune through a series of embarrassingly bad investments, but he’d been caught sleeping with his younger brother’s wife. The newspaper’s patrons would devour the story, as well as the rest of the on-dits that would be in this week’s offering.
It had been nearly four years since Merritt had taken over the paper and shifted it from a standard broadsheet to one that fed the never-ending hunger for scandal and gossip among London’s elite. The change had resulted in the Daily Scandal becoming the fastest selling paper in all of London and Merritt himself becoming one of the wealthiest men in all of England.
Someone knocked on his office door.
“Enter,” he said without looking up from his proofing.
“Merritt, there is a Mr. Brewer here to see you,” Rand, Merritt’s assistant and oldest friend, said.
“Who?” he asked, as he glanced up at Rand.
“He’s a solicitor. Said he must speak to you immediately as it is of the utmost importance,” Rand said.
“Indeed. Well, then send him in.” He glanced at his watch. “This cannot take too long. We have to finalize the rest of these pieces before we go to print tomorrow.”
Rand nodded then disappeared for a moment before returning with a short, paunchy man with a balding hairline and small wire spectacles perched on his squat nose.
“Mr. Steele, you are an incredibly difficult man to find,” the solicitor said.
“I don’t believe I’ve been hiding,” Merritt said.
Rand turned to go, but the solicitor stopped him. “We shall require a witness for this.”
“Official business?” Merritt asked, unable to hide his curiosity.
“Indeed.” He handed Merritt a card. “My name is Irving Brewer, and I am the solicitor of the Earl of Ashby.” He waited as if somehow this news would mean something significant to Merritt.
“I suppose this Lord Ashby has sent you to protest something we printed about him in the paper,” Merritt said. “I can tell you that if we print it, we have first verified it. We are in the business of reporting scandals, not merely gossip.”
“I should have said the late Earl of Ashby.” Mr. Brewer frowned. “May I sit?”
“If you must,” Merritt said. “Rand, you too.” Both men sat across from Merritt’s desk. “Mr. Brewer, I am a very busy man. If we could move along with whatever has brought you to my offices?”
“Yes, of course.” He dug into the satchel on his lap and rifled through it before pulling out a small stack of papers. “Did you know that the Earl of Ashby was your cousin? On your mother’s side.”
Ah yes. So the Lord Ashby in question was that earl. A distant cousin of his mother’s. Growing up, he met the earl only a handful of times, occasions on which the earl had summoned his mother to visit. The old man was pompous and condescending, rude and domineering. But, as Merritt’s mother had said bluntly, too rich and powerful to be ignored.
Merritt felt a frown weigh down his brow. “We were very distantly related.”
“Yes, well, you are his cousin. Or rather, were his cousin. He has died.”
“My condolences,” Merritt said drily.
Mr. Brewer said nothing for a long moment, as if he expected more of a reaction from Merritt. Then, finally, he cleared his throat. “You are his heir, Mr. Steele. You are now the Earl of Ashby.” He set the papers on Merritt’s desk.
Merritt reached forward and snatched up the papers.
Rand did his best to hide his chuckle but ended up releasing a bark of laughter.
Merritt couldn’t even look up to glare at his friend. Instead, his attention was set on the words in his hand. “How is it possible that all of the other heirs before me have died?”
“Very bad luck, it would seem,” Mr. Brewer said. “Two infant sons, three nephews, and another cousin.”
“All dead?”
“Well, not at the same time, you understand. As I said, a run of very bad luck. And now the title falls to you,” Mr. Brewer said. “I require your signature on the last page.”
“I don’t want to be an earl,” Merritt said.
Mr. Brewer looked at him as if he’d grown a second head. “But it comes with a significant estate as well as the obvious status and a seat in Parliament.”
“Yes, though it also seems to come with a curse of death.”
Mr. Brewer released a shaky laugh. “Certainly not. As I said, you sign that last page, and you will officially be the Earl of Ashby.”
Merritt made no move to sign anything. This was asinine. A sum of no more than five collective hours in the man’s presence certainly did not qualify Merritt to be the man’s heir. He had always understood the earl to be a distant relative, someone they visited out of familial duty and not because there was any chance at all that he might be close enough to inherit.
Granted, his mother had died when he was not more than fifteen, so they hadn’t much discussed her family line.
“It shouldn’t be any problem for you to locate a buyer for this newspaper,” Mr. Brewer said. “Then you can begin your life anew.”
“Sell the paper? Why the devil would I do that?” Merritt asked.
Mr. Brewer cleared his throat. “It is not customary for earls to have paid positions.”
“I don’t give a damn what is customary for earls. This is my paper, and I’m not selling it, nor am I leaving my position as editor,” Merritt said.
“My apologies for upsetting you,” Mr. Brewer said. “You can certainly manage the newspaper. I am not in the position to tell you what you can and can’t do.”
Merritt nodded once then glanced again at the stack of papers that would irrevocably change his life. But it didn’t have to change everything.
“Lucy,” Rand said quietly.
“Pardon?” Mr. Brewer asked.
“My sister,” Merritt said. “She will be over the moon about this advancement in our social status.”
“Excellent,” Mr. Brewer said.
Merritt paused once more before scrawling his name on the last page.
“Now then, I suppose I should refer to you as Lord Ashby,” Mr. Brewer said. “Please do feel free to call upon me in the future.”
Merritt nodded noncommittally as the solicitor left his office.
“Do not say one word,” Merritt warned Rand.
“This changes everything,” Rand said, ignoring Merritt’s threat.
“No, it changes nothing.”
“Don’t be so foolish. You cannot be one of them when you have spent the last four years making every jest at their expense,” Rand said.
“Nonsense. This merely affords me closer access to the scandals.” Though he was hell-bent on keeping true to that statement, he wasn’t foolish enough to deny that this would change some aspects of his life. An earl. He was a damned earl.