Duke of Dishonor (Lords of Scandal 11)

Prologue

January 1821

London

* * *

Emily Carrington sat in the parlor, well, one of many, at the home of the Duke of Devonhall. Her soon to be brother-in-law. She supposed this was about to be her sister’s home too, but as she looked around at the opulence, she couldn’t quite believe it.

The past six months had felt like a nightmare…and then a fairytale. But that came later…

Emily’s father ran a successful shipping company and he travelled often. Her chest tightened and she swallowed. At least, she hoped he still ran the shipping company. He’d left on a trip much like any other, well over a year ago. Or had it been closer to two? It was hard to keep track with all the madness.

The real trouble began when their mother passed. As if such an event would not break the spirits of four young women, their father never came home. He didn’t write to them, he didn’t return, and they weren’t even sure he was alive.

He usually travelled regular routes that allowed them, under normal circumstances, to communicate by letter. But they’d not heard a word in more than six months. Not since their mother’s death.

Emily covered her mouth with her hand, ignoring the babble of her sisters in the background.

As if all this weren’t enough, their uncle, the only male relative they had in England, had been systematically attempting to steal their father’s shipping business for years.

Which meant, not only were they orphans, but they had to hide their father’s disappearance from the one man who was supposed to help them.

She shivered in revulsion. Uncle Malcolm was supposed to protect them and instead he’d left them in a complete state of penury. They’d been defenseless and destitute. Alone and afraid.

She wrapped her arms about herself. Her sisters, Isabella and Eliza, had kept them fed, clothed, and warm. And now Isabella would surely marry a duke. They were saved.

What had Emily done all this time to help her family? Not a thing. Just two years younger than Isabella and three younger than Eliza, she might as well be a child, rather than a woman of twenty. She’d been at the mercy of the world and reliant on her sisters’ wit and wiles while she’d been helpless.

She’d smiled and hugged in support as she’d allowed her two older, stronger sisters to face danger time and again while she stayed home to care for Abigail.

Isabella was exceptionally talented mathematically, while Eliza was one of the bravest people she knew. What was Emily? Pretty, they said. Kind. But that wasn’t special or interesting.

She sighed to herself as Isabella raced into the room where Emily sat with Eliza and Abigail, their youngest sister. Isabella was pale, a note clutched in her hand.

Eliza stood. “What’s wrong?”

Emily’s heart thudded in her chest as Isabella covered her mouth with one hand. Then she dropped it again. “There’s been a fire. On one of Papa’s ships. Bash wants us to meet him at our home.” Then she cleared her throat. “I mean at father’s home. This is our home now.” And she gave a skeptical glance around the room.

The Duke of Devonhall had hired a woman to pose as their Scottish aunt in order to launch them into society and find them husbands. The imposter Aunt Mildred sat in a chair next to a fire, largely ignoring the girls. But at the mention of the duke, her head snapped up. Emily had to give the woman credit on one account. She was singularly loyal to her employer.