It was the perfect afternoon for a funeral. The weather and his mood had cooperated beautifully. Kit had finally achieved the numbness he’d desired and did not intend to relinquish that particular state in the near future. He studied the small church where he had spent so many Sundays as a child trying to sit quietly during a never-ending service. Carson, never good at sitting let alone quietly, always managed some kind of mischief. One Sunday, Kit remembered the peculiar sound of scratching while the new deacon rambled on nervously about the vices of gambling on horses. The old vicar’s sore throat had worsened that morning, and the recently ordained young man had been handed the sermon at the last moment and pushed onto the pulpit.

Carson had taken advantage of the situation and pulled out a small carving blade. Lady Falsbury had begun sitting in the second row rather than the first, so she could pinch her eldest son when necessary. But he had slyly hopped over Kit just as the poor curate began to speak. With the bench in front of him hiding his hands, Carson grinned and continued his whittling. No amount of subtle elbow nudging from his brother or warning glares from his mother impeded his mission.

“What’s it supposed to mean?” he had asked Carson before their mother had climbed into the carriage. “Are you trying to get me in trouble along with you?”

“They’d never blame you. It’s always me, whether I did or not.” His brother had sounded indignant—no, melancholy. It had been one of the few serious conversations Kit could remember. “It was for God. I wanted to remind him that we are from the same cut. So when he has mercy on you, he’ll spare some for me. Our parents never listen to us, so maybe God will.”

Kit’s thumb now ran over the letters C-A-R-K-I-T as he sat again in the second pew, the memory turning his mouth in a sad smile. I hope you received both our shares of mercy, he thought. The tears and sniffles of his mother and sister-in-law accompanied the droning of the vicar, who regaled the small group on the wonderful qualities of the deceased. How amused Carson would be at all the fuss in his honor. After the service, Lord Falsbury helped his wife into the carriage. Lady Eliza, in a sudden show of defiance, insisted on going to her husband’s grave.

“We had little enough time together as it was. I am not ready to leave him just yet.” Her head snapped up and her chin thrust out, making the black veil quiver around her neck. She really was a pathetic creature. So frail and thin. Her heart-shaped face was pale, and the dark circles under her eyes were not hidden by the sheer crape. What kind of relationship had she shared with his brother? He doubted Carson had loved the woman. Yet, the tears and sorrow were genuine. His eyes veered skyward. Did she touch that heart of yours, brother? Is it comforting to know a woman cries for you?

He swore something swatted the back of his head. Of course Carson would be pleased someone shed tears at his funeral. He covered his chuckle with a cough and followed the sparse group to the mausoleum. Kit fingered the small gold “W” on his lapel while the vicar intoned yet another prayer. Lady Eliza had given the small pin to him.

“This was on his favorite tailcoat. The one he always wore out with his friends. Sometimes I saw it on his neck cloth. I think it was important to him, so you should have it.” She had pinned the letter onto Kit’s collar.

He studied the small group inside the family’s mausoleum. To his right stood the estate manager and another man he did not recognize. From his dress, the stranger was a gentleman. A flash caught his eye, and he spotted the same “W” on the man’s cravat that Carson had worn. Coincidence? He doubted it. His years in the king’s army had taught him there were few of those in life.

The praying came to a blessed end and the party shuffled outside into the growing heat. Kit told his father not to wait, preferring to walk home. The exercise would do him good. The life of soldier was not this blasted sedentary.

“Lord Sunderland, may I offer my condolences?” The man removed his hat, revealing a once dark head of hair, now mostly gray. His green eyes offered sympathy. “Your brother was a good man, though a bit wayward. But many of us are.”

“Us?” Kit didn’t like being at a disadvantage. “And you are?”

“Pardon me, I am the Earl of Coventry. ”

“It seems we have a jeweler in common,” Kit replied with a guarded smile as rubbed his thumb over the “W” on his lapel. “May I ask what it represents?”

“It stands for Wicked. Wicked Earls.” Lord Coventry smiled. “And no, we are not all lascivious rakes, though my club protects the privacy of whatever dark desires my clients may have. It is a discreet membership.”

“And my brother was part of this elite group?” Kit raised one eyebrow. “I am not surprised.”

“We share another common friend, the Earl of Weston.”

“Edward? I’ve known him since he was knee-high.” Kit smiled broadly for the first time in weeks. “By god, I need to get in touch with him. He was a bit younger but managed to keep up with us.”

“He was not able to attend today, so I came in his stead. We are getting together next week at the club in honor of the late earl. Reminiscing, sharing stories, that sort of thing.” He handed Kit a card with the “W” insignia. “I thought you might like to join us.”

Kit took the card, ignored the pang in his chest, and looked sideways at Coventry. “So not all of London thought him a devil?”

“No, there was more to Sunderland than he let on to the ton. Still waters and all that…”

“Ha! There was nothing still about my brother!”

“No, I suppose you are right. Though he did manage to slow down a bit.” The earl laughed and placed his hat back on his head. “Hope to see you next week, my lord. Again, my condolences. Bloody shame.”

Kit watched the earl walk away, signaling at a horse and driver down the road. A phaeton pulled up, and Coventry leapt into it with the grace and speed of a much younger man. He wondered about the wicked earls. They couldn’t be so bad if Weston was one of them. He hadn’t seen his childhood friend since Carson’s wedding. It would useful and heartening to have a trusted friend in his corner now that he was home.

When he returned to the estate, his father was waiting for him in the library with brandy poured. “I don’t usually partake this early in the afternoon but it feels like it’s been a bloody long day,” Falsbury said as he handed Kit a crystal glass. “Sit down, son. There is much to discuss and no use putting it off.”

Laying his dark tail-coat over the back of a chair, he leaned against the fireplace mantel and removed his cravat. “Where shall we start?”

Falsbury handed him a glass then settled himself behind his desk. “First, your brother had a few vowels left unpaid. I’d appreciate you taking care of those debts as soon as possible.”

Kit nodded. “Was he in deep?”

“No, surprisingly. He gambled often but not heavily. Never hung on my sleeve.” He stared out the window, a distressed look on his face. “I feel as if it were all wasted time. If I’d known what would happen, I’d have skipped all those confrontations.”

“How were we to know?” Streaks of late afternoon sunlight speckled the desk and highlighted the gray in his father’s hair. The lines around his eyes and mouth had deepened. He had aged years since Kit had last seen him. “You’re right—we are starting over. I don’t know anything about running Falsbury or your other estates.”

“You will learn. God can’t possibly take both of my sons.” His brown eyes watered; he turned his head and cleared his throat. “At least you have the temperament for the title. It won’t be an uphill battle.”

“Yes, I’ve always been the obedient son. Then again, I haven’t been forced to do anything I dislike.” He took a sip of the brandy and appreciated the slow burn down his throat. “But I am a man of honor and will do my duty.”

“I know you will, Christopher. Perhaps the two of you should have switched identities. I know Carson tried to convince you of it.” With a heavy sigh, the older man turned back to the papers on his desk. “So many legalities to deal with, I’m afraid. The solicitor will finish drawing up the papers to name you the fifth Earl of Sunderland and heir to Falsbury. The second son is now a future marquess. How does it feel?”

“Bloody awful. The title will take a bit of getting used to, I suppose.”

“And then there is Lady Sund—er, Lady Eliza,” he added, drumming his fingers on the desk. “I assume she will return home to her family. Her father sent word that he’ll make arrangements as soon as we are ready.”

“Her father is a demmed sneaksby, you know that.” Kit remembered the conversation with Lady Grace over a year ago. “He beats his women. I can’t imagine she’ll want to go back to that.”

The marquess waved a hand. “That’s not my concern. She’ll have a tidy income until she remarries, so as a widow she can do what she wants. I don’t see her having enough backbone to be independent, but as I said, it will be her decision.”

“I need to go to London next week, so I can stop at the solicitor’s office then.” Kit decided his next conversation would be with the widow. “Shall we meet for a set time each day to begin familiarizing me with my duties and your expectations?”

“Always the military man, eh? Even as a boy, you liked routine, everything orderly and kept in its place. But you used to smile more. It was the one thing you and your brother had in common. The war, I suppose?”

Kit grunted. “It certainly doesn’t lighten one’s disposition, does it?”

“No, I imagine not.” His father tipped his head and finished off the brandy. “I feel old today. First time in my life that the years are weighing on me.”

“Unpleasant for all of us. If there’s nothing else, my lord, I need to check on Mother.” He picked up his tailcoat then paused. “Would it have made a difference if I’d been here?”

His father smiled weakly and shook his head. “That’s the irony of this tragedy. Carson had come around. No more rumors of him at the brothels or gaming-hells, no revel rousing. He treated his wife with polite deference and even appeared to enjoy her company. I had such high hopes.”

When the old man’s gaze wandered to the window again, Kit slipped quietly out of the room. Good god, how was he going to do this? He already missed the army. It held a security, an assurance of what the future would bring—if one didn’t fall in battle. But that was a price every soldier had to be willing to pay. At his age, how did one start over? Learning how to manage the estates wouldn’t be a problem, he reasoned. He managed hundreds of men from all classes. It was the whole marriage and heir predicament. Now he knew how Carson had felt. Except this had been sprung on him like a hunting trap. And there was no escape.

With a knock, he entered the drawing room where his mother sat reading a bible. She was still an attractive woman, her cheeks still smooth and only a few streaks of gray threaded her ebony hair. “Can I get you anything, Mother?”

She lifted her red-rimmed eyes and held out her hand. “A kiss from my son? It will provide me with more comfort than this book.”

“Of course,” he replied, bending over her to place one on her soft cheek. “Anything else? I wanted to speak to Lady Eliza. Would it be better if you came along?”

Her face brightened with the subject. “Such a sweet, precious girl. She’s been great company for me since the wedding. Everything a woman could want in a daughter.”

“Do you know if she has made any plans?”

“No. Why don’t you ring for a servant, and we’ll send for her.”

Kit obliged, and while they waited, Lady Falsbury confided she didn’t want her daughter-in-law to leave. “If she could stay for a while, it would be such a comfort to have her near until I am…better.”

The woman in question appeared at the threshold. “My lord, Lady Falsbury, you wanted to see me?”

“Yes, please come in and make yourself comfortable. We were just talking about the future.” He noticed her drawn face, the pinched expression. “Are you feeling up to it?”

“Sit down, my dear,” Lady Falsbury murmured as she patted a chair next to her own. “It can wait for another day if you are not quite yourself yet.”

Lady Eliza shook her head. “No, I’m well enough. Thank you for inquiring, Lord Sun…Sunderland.”

When she faltered over the name, he cringed. “It will take some time for all of us to become accustomed to my title. When we are in private, perhaps it may be better for both of us if you call me Kit.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“My father is under the impression you will return to your family. My mother is hoping you will grace us with your presence for a while longer. We are in no hurry to see you go.” He paused. Her fidgeting had intensified and a perfect crease appeared on the lap of her black dress. “Am I distressing you, Lady Eliza?”

“That will depend on your reaction.” She blinked twice then lowered her eyes again, her fingers pulling on a strand of blonde hair. “I fear I am carrying Carson’s baby.”

Silence. The kind of early morning silence just before the sun bursts over the horizon. And burst it did.

“Oh, my dear,” cried his mother, tears spilling from her dark eyes. “Are you sure? You are with child?”

With only a nod in confirmation, her eyes remained pinned to her leather shoes, peeping out from the bombazine skirt.

Surprise attack, punched in the gut. Kit swiped a hand over his face as the implications of this news came over him. A reprieve? Possibly. Did he want to be held at bay? Left dangling here in England while he waited to see if the title would be his or given to a bawling infant? Bloody hell, a complication he hadn’t foreseen.

“Lady Eliza, you realize what this means?” he asked quietly. She nodded once again. “Well, may I be the first to congratulate you.”

Her head lifted, her violet eyes swimming in unshed tears. “You are not angry?”

To his astonishment, some of the darkness had lifted from his soul. A baby. A nephew. Carson’s child. “No, my dear sister. I’m very happy, very happy indeed.” He held out his hands, and she rose to clutch them in her own as he kissed each of her cheeks. “That answers one question. You won’t be leaving us any time soon.”

A tremulous smile grew, transforming her face from haggard to lovely. The women’s joy swelled his heart. Yes, this was good news.

“Eliza, what have you eaten today? We need to get sustenance in that scrawny body. My grandson will have a hearty appetite.” Lady Falsbury wiped the tears from her face, the pale blue eyes brightening. “Christopher, ring for a light luncheon, please. I find my appetite has also returned. Oh, fetch your father but have some brandy on the ready.”