London, England

May 1808

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Thump, thump, thump.

Daniel brushed his knuckles against his palm as he glanced down at his attire and hastily smoothed his hands over his rumpled coat. The movement caused him to sway slightly as he steadied his stance.

“Hiccup.” Blast it all, but he despised ending his afternoon entertainments early to accompany Lady Lettie to yet another overly crowded ball, only to stand forgotten while she spoke, laughed, and danced late into the night. He’d done his best to avoid several afternoon entertainments over the last fortnight, including a garden party and a musicale recital.

The woman was his betrothed. She should, at the very least, see to him before wandering off to socialize with the other debutantes making their grand coming out in London.

It was exceedingly possible Lettie wouldn’t notice his less than proper garb or his tardy arrival.

Thump, thump, thump. He pounded the door once more as a resounding pain moved from his clenched fist and up his arm to settle in his stiff shoulder.

Could it be that Lord and Lady Percival, with their daughter in tow, had already departed for the soiree when Daniel didn’t arrive at the requested time?

He sniffed. It would be his luck to have disentangled himself from the lovely, raven-haired opera singer and dealt with her wrath, only to hurry to Carrolton Hall to find that his evening obligations and presence were no longer needed.

Which was in line with how Daniel had felt of late: unneeded, unwanted, and thoroughly disposable. His man of business and estate stewards at his various properties had no use for his attendance to keep his residences and business ventures turning tidy profits.

Leaving Daniel to spend his time—and money—however he saw fit.

The thought sparked an idea. If he turned around now, maybe he would arrive at the Theatre Royal on Drury Lane before the enticing Mademoiselle Sabine saw fit to dress for her evening upon the stage.

His hopes of escaping another tedious evening in Lady Lettie’s shadow crashed when the Percival butler opened the door and gestured for Daniel to enter. He knew it was petty of him to blame Lettie for the absolute crush she was making during her season—and the attention it took off him—but he was annoyed by it all.

“This way, your grace.” The servant stepped to the side, allowing Daniel entrance. “My lord and the duchess are finishing their meal before departing. They are expecting you.” The servant’s words ran together as he inspected Daniel from head to toe. His pinched expression told him that the butler found him lacking—in more ways than one.

Bloody hell, but Daniel wasn’t in the habit of allowing a mere butler to cast judgment on his person. He stumbled across the threshold and into the foyer before following the man toward the dining hall. Another hiccup escaped, and Daniel pressed his hand to his mouth to stop the next.

He should have sent his regrets for the evening and stayed tightly in the willing arms of Sabine, his latest attraction—or was she a distraction? Yet beyond his own servants, Daniel hadn’t another soul to call friend. Lettie, or Lady Collette as she was known by the ton, was his oldest and dearest friend. When their childhood acquaintance had changed from friendship to courtship and eventually an official betrothal, was when Daniel had lost interest in it all. Odd that it was at the same time that Lettie was no longer his hidden gem, but polished and presented to society…taking her place as a diamond of the first waters.

He was more than a pet to be led around on a leash, no better than a basset hound, or a bauble pinned to her hat piece.

No longer were they children with the freedom to scurry about their respective homes or climb the plum trees in Daniel’s London garden—no, this year, Lettie had been introduced to society and needs must act with the decorum and grace expected of a future duchess.

His future duchess.

He laughed at the notion—Lettie was to be a duchess with or without her marriage to Daniel.

Lady Percival held one of the few English Dukedoms that had been granted letters patent to pass to a female relation if a male heir did not exist.

Daniel stumbled on unsteady legs as he waited for the butler to open the door to the dining hall. His chance to flee had passed.

The servant didn’t hesitate, but pushed the door wide and announced in a clear, crisp voice, “The Duke of Linwood, my lord.”

“Linwood!” Lord Percival boomed. “You are late.”

“My—” Hiccup. Bloody hell, could he not keep his body under control? “Apologies.” Maybe he should have taken the time to stop at his home and change into evening attire with a neatly tied cravat—and possibly allowed the spirits dulling his senses to subside—before arriving at Lettie’s home. “I fear the day slipped me by, my lord.”

“It is too bad you did not allow the scotch to do the same,” Lady Lettie said under her breath with a snort.

Daniel turned a glare in her direction. Her plum pudding sat forgotten on the table as her stare narrowed on him. Her soft brown hair was upswept and piled high atop her head, the candlelight from above glistening off its shiny, pinned curls. He knew if the pins were removed, her hair would hang in waves to the middle of her back. The sight of her never ceased to take his breath away. Unfortunately, her scowl did naught but remind Daniel of his tardiness and unacceptable attire.

“Barclay,” Lady Percival shrieked, motioning for the footman to remove her plate. “What is that dreadful stench?”

Daniel took a tentative sniff at the room, but smelled nothing amiss. The lingering aroma of duck soup and pheasant was all that was recognizable.

A footman pulled out the chair beside Lettie, and Daniel moved to his place, all but falling into the waiting chair as his mind whirled.

“Port, your grace?” the servant asked as he placed a plate of plum pudding before Daniel.

The thought of eating anything made his stomach roil. “No, thank you.” He waved the servant off.

Reluctantly, Daniel glanced to his right at Lettie. She stared at her plate but made no move to pick up her utensil, or address him after her initial snide remark. Her brow was pinched, and her lips pressed together in a frown. He wanted to inquire as to what he’d done to irk her or deserve her avoidance at present.

“My heavens. The stink is growing!” Lady Percival retrieved her kerchief from her sleeve and waved it before her face before pressing it to her nose. “What in all of creation is Cook doing?”

“It is not Cook, Mother,” Lady Lettie mumbled, picking up her fork and pushing the pudding around on her plate, but still she made no move to take another bite.

“Then what is it?” Percival demanded.

Lettie cocked her head in Daniel’s direction and let one simple word free. “Him.”

Daniel chuckled. “I assure you, my lady, it is not I.” Lord and Lady Percival turned to scrutinize him as if noting for the first time that his jacket looked to have been trampled by a herd of livestock before Daniel had slipped it on. “Verily, I smell nothing out of the ordinary.”

If he’d known he was to face an inquisition, Daniel wouldn’t have turned down the glass of port.

It was Lettie who exhaled next. “Your grace, you reek of scotch and”—she paused, leaned ever so slightly toward him, and breathed in a shallow sniff, her nose immediately wrinkling as she recoiled— “and… is that lemon verbena?”

Daniel pulled the lapel of his coat to his nose.

Ah, lemon verbena, the intoxicating perfume of Mademoiselle Sabine.

He glanced back to Lettie, who now leaned as far away from him as possible, her arms crossed and a knowing look in her eyes.

Could she know of Daniel’s mistress?

If Sabine could ever be called such by any one man. He’d only met the opera singer a fortnight before, and after a particularly trying evening watching man after man place their name upon Lettie’s dance card, Daniel had given in and sent a note, requesting for Sabine to join him for a meal the following night.

Instantly, the songstress filled the place Lettie had always been meant to fill, the void left after his father’s death the year before—his mother having succumbed many years prior. He’d begun to look forward to afternoons and nights spent at the woman’s quarters off Drury Lane and not utterly alone in his townhouse with only servants for companionship—or following in Lettie’s wake like a besotted fool.

“Mother, Father.” Lettie stood, and the footman quickly pulled her chair back. “I have something I need to discuss with the pair of you—oh, and your grace, as well.”

A spot of unease prickled the hairs at the back of Daniel’s neck at her formal request.

Her chin tilted up with confidence; however, her hands shook slightly as they wrung her dinner serviette.

“Certainly, my daughter,” Barclay said. “What is it?”

Her face paled and took on an unfamiliar green tone. “I wish to end my betrothal to Lord Linwood.”

“What?” the duchess screeched, her high-pitched voice causing Daniel’s head to pound.

“Colette, what is this about?” The earl set his utensils aside and stared up at his only child, his brow pulled low in question. “You and Daniel have been promised to one another since childhood.”

“Do not be silly, girl,” Lady Percival said. “Sit down and finish your pudding. The carriage will be brought round shortly, and we will be off. An evening outside this house will do you good—clear your head, as it were.”

Daniel had never questioned the duchess’s ability to act as if another hadn’t spoken, but it was only reinforced when the woman retrieved her spoon and bent over to steal a bite of pudding from her husband’s plate.

“I will not be going.” Lettie’s voice echoed in the cavernous room, silencing the scrape of the duchess’s spoon as it took a second swipe at the earl’s pudding. “Daniel, please inform my parents that you do not wish to marry me.”

“I—“ All thought evaporated as Daniel sat up straight, glancing between Lettie and her parents, his liquor-addled mind clearing. Their families had settled on the match years ago. It wasn’t something he’d ever questioned; only saw it as an inevitable occurrence in his future. Daniel had no issues with Lettie or their betrothal. Though a tad idealistic, Lettie was poised, graceful, and witty. All things he’d been raised to desire in a wife. That she was also beautiful did not go unnoted.

“Tell them, Daniel,” she demanded, turning to stare down at him.

“I, well, I cannot admit that I have ever pondered the notion of not wedding you, Lady Lettie.” It had been his late father’s dying wish: that Daniel solidify his betrothal to Lettie, forever joining the two families for generations to come. “Let us discuss—“

“I have met another I wish to marry.”

Her confession landed heavier than a rock in the pit of Daniel’s stomach.

Met another? When, he wanted to demand. How? And especially, whom?

“I am in love with another, and we plan to wed, with or without your approval.” Lettie stood a bit taller, and Daniel sobered quickly, his pride in her growing, even though giving her what she sought meant he’d be losing the final stable thing in his miserable existence. “Within a week’s time, I will marry Mr. Gregory Hughes, and we shall depart London—all of England, in fact.”

“This is absurd, Barclay.” The duchess turned to her husband, pleading for his support. “Tell her that this will not be happening. Heavens, I do not even know a Mr. Gregory Hughes!”

The earl’s mouth hung open in shock as he moved his attention from his wife to his daughter, and back once more.

“The man is after her dowry, I presume.” Lady Percival shook her head from side to side. “I will not allow it.”

Lettie took advantage of her father’s stunned silence to continue on her course. “Lord Linwood, please inform my parents you are willing to forgo our families’ agreement, thus freeing me to wed Gregory.”

Who in the bloody hell is Gregory, Daniel wanted to demand; however, he risked a glance at Lettie then, and any rebuff he’d planned slipped from his mind. He may very well be deep in his cups—and smelling of another woman—but he bloody well knew when a woman was telling the truth. Her look pleaded with him to do as she asked.

He hesitated still.

Lettie was—had always been—the one constant in his ever-changing life. No matter where he went, no matter what he did, he always knew she’d be waiting for him.

The last year had tested their relationship, as Lettie had been introduced to society, and Daniel had fallen deeper and deeper into despair and loneliness—ultimately taking to his club and other unsavory activities.

If he agreed to break off their betrothal, it would bring disgrace upon both their families. It did not bother Daniel to live in such a shadow of ill-repute, but never would he allow anyone to think poorly of her.

“Are you certain this is what you want?” he asked. When she only nodded, Daniel continued, “You love this man?”

“Gregory, his name is Gregory—and I do love him, very much so.”

“He will treat you well, provide for you?” Daniel could not believe he was entertaining the idea of giving in to her demands. “He has the means necessary?”

She nodded again.

“I certainly hope he does because you will not see a single schilling from your father or me if you continue down this unacceptable path, young lady.” The duchess stood abruptly, tossing her napkin onto the table before turning a pointed stare to Daniel. “And if you think to go along with this ruse, Lord Linwood, you will depart this house immediately.”

Daniel lumbered to his feet, surprised his balance had returned. “I bid you all ado and good evening.”

He gave a curt bow to Lady Lettie and started for the door.

It wasn’t until he’d made his way down the hallway toward the foyer Daniel sobered to the realization that his life—the life his parents had planned for him—and the future he’d always counted on, thought to be his due, was gone. Forever out of reach.

“Blast it all,” Daniel muttered.

Though Lettie had chosen another, he was not without distractions of his own.

A jaunt to Drury Lane was exactly what a night such as this called for.