The Duke of Stone (The Dukes of Desire #3)

Chapter 1

“My goodness, Juliana, what sort of vile concoction is this?”

The haughty visage of the Dowager Baroness of Hawthorne crumpled into a look of distaste as she set her cup down with an angry clink on the worn table of the breakfast room.

Juliana looked up from the meager fare on her own plate. “I believe that is chocolate, Grandmama.” She paused thoughtfully and added, “Or what is left of the chocolate in our pantry.”

“If they cannot make it well, then they should not make it at all!”

With what, Grandmama? Juliana wanted to ask.

The kitchens, like the rest of their residence, were stripped bare of anything of value. Their own Cook had fled after not being paid his wages for months. Why, it was an absolute miracle that there was even toast and eggs to be put on the table.

“By the way, Juliana,” Grandmama continued, her tone one that brooked no refusal. “Your brother told me that he needs your help with something. You are to deliver a parcel—”

“Grandmama, please.” She set her fork down and looked her grandmama in the eye. “I shall not do any deliveries for Kit. Not anymore. He always requires me to go to places a lady is not supposed ever to set foot.”

There were many things Juliana was willing to do for her family. She was willing to set aside her pride and dignity to eke out an honest living—whatever society allowed a young woman of her talents, anyway.

However, she had already gone on one “errand” too many for her brother, and none of them ever ended well.

Not for her reputation, at least.

If only her grandmama would consider it, too. It was a pity, truly, that the dowager’s whole world seemed to revolve around her precious grandson, the sole heir of the Hawthorne title and all its dwindling estates.

“You don’t have to walk to the docks this time, Juliana. You will take the carriage,” the dowager insisted. “Kit was clear that the gentleman requires the delivery before high tide.”

Her tone showed that it was clearly an order, and that, as usual, Juliana had no choice.

“Grandmama, don’t you see that it is nearly dark? It is hardly the place and time for a lady to be seen in, with or without a chaperone,” Juliana protested, her fingers clutching at her gown.

“We can no longer afford to follow all the rules of propriety, my dear. Your brother relies on this delivery. Take the parcel and go. Do be clear that it is no longer a request but an order.”

Juliana could barely restrain the fury rising from her chest at her grandmama’s request. The first time, she could dismiss it as an isolated incident. The second, she might be persuaded to think of it as an oversight on her grandmama’s part.

The third time was madness.

“Grandmama… do you not think it highly improper for me to traipse around, delivering parcels to strange men?” she continued, stirring her tepid tea into an angry little whirlpool in her demitasse. “Not to mention that it is a rather dangerous area in town.”

There was simply no way she was going to deliver a parcel where not even the most intrepid—or foolish—dared to tread. She had to make her grandmama see sense.

“Nonsense, my dear. It is but a small packet, hardly the perilous undertaking you are making it out to be,” her Grandmama replied with a blitheness that rankled Juliana’s soul. “If it will assuage your anxious heart, your brother has assured me that it is quite harmless.”

Juliana could see her knuckles turning white from gripping the cutlery. Her appetite had departed from the moment Grandmama had given her instructions over toast and eggs. She and Kit had very different ideas as to what was harmless.

“The last time he assured me of that, I ended up chasing a goose down Milton Street!” she argued through gritted teeth, her vexation rising another notch at the mention of her brother and the unfortunate reminder of what had transpired in her last mission.

She had hoped to wear that particular gown a few more times. Now, she had to make do with one fewer.

“Pish posh, Juliana. A bit of exercise would do you a world of good.” Grandmama peered at her from over the rim of her teacup. “I daresay you have grown a little… plump as of late.” She paused and nodded sagely. “Definitely a little rotund, my dear.”

“It is nigh impossible to gain weight, given the meager supplies of this household’s pantry.”

“Now, do not take that tone with me, young lady,” the Dowager Baroness admonished her. “Your brother is doing the best he can. Certainly, you can run a little errand for him.”

Juliana looked away, breathing hard. The lump in her throat was not the only reason she preferred not to reply. There were so many things she wanted to say. She did not want to be bitter. However, it was difficult to remain soft when she could feel the walls crumbling around them.

She wondered if Kit was aware of how much she worried about him, of how she imagined the worst every time he was out late.

Perhaps, if the rest of the family had exerted a little more effort to instill a sense of responsibility in its only heir, the entire household would not be floundering as it was now.

And yet… she was as guilty of coddling Kit and taking on his responsibilities for him as much as everyone else.

Until it all came crumbling down.

“Are you aware that Cook quit just this morning?” Juliana spoke quietly. “There was hardly anything to make breakfast with this week. His wages had not even been paid in months. Months, Grandmama!”

Her Grandmama did not even blink. “How unfortunate,” she sniffed, as if they were conversing about some other household and not their own.

“It is the responsibility of Kit to make sure the domestics are paid their wages,” she seethed. “Instead, he sends his sister on one fool’s errand after another and calls it doing business!”

There. She had done it. She had all but called her brother, the Baron Hawthorne, a useless man who had to rely on the womenfolk under his roof to keep up with his responsibilities.

“Ye gods, what is this clamor so early in the day?” a voice complained. “Can a gentleman not have some peace in his own residence?”

Kit walked in with his head in his hands, dressed in the same clothes he had worn when he left the townhouse just last night.

Only then, his cravat had been done immaculately, and he at least bore some semblance of an aristocrat.

Now, he looked as if the hackney that brought him home had dragged him through the streets of London.

His hair was disheveled, his shirt stained, and his cravat missing.

If he had come home with one or both his boots missing, she would not have been so surprised.

Dismay at her brother’s current state burned like acid in her gut, even as their Grandmama stood up to fret over this grown man who behaved like a child still.

She wanted to scream at him, and yet, the urge to pull him into an embrace was stronger.

She wanted to tell him to stop putting himself in danger before he got himself killed.

“Oh, my dear boy,” the dowager fussed. “How was your night?”

Kit shook his head and groaned. “Was just having a run of good fortune when the oddest thing happened.”

“Pray tell, what was so odd, brother dearest?”

Her grandmother shot her a quelling look, but Juliana was practically impervious to her disapproval at this stage.

She continued to glare at Kit, who strode into the room with all the grace of a drunken sailor.

It seemed that Kit had once again spent the night deep in his cups, if his unbalanced gait was any indication.

And then, not only had he spent funds that they did not possess on expensive wine and whatnot, he seemed to have lost more at cards as well.

Was there no end to the ways Kit could destroy what remained of their family’s reputation and fortune?

“And then, I lost it all to the most arrogant scoundrel I had ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on,” he continued to complain. “Of course, I exposed him for the cheat and blackguard that he was, and we came to blows. The next thing I knew, I woke up in Hyde Park.”

Their grandmother looked at him with pity and affection more suited to a boy of six or seven than to a grown man with no sense of duty. Juliana, however, had neither pity, affection, nor patience to spare after hearing all that.

How many times had Kit come in with that same story? Always starting the night off with unbelievable luck, but coming home with nothing to show for it. He should have realized by now that it was probably some trick the gambling dens were pulling on him to get him to bet more than he ought to.

“So, you were gambling and drinking yet again?” she told him, folding her arms over her chest as she glared at him. “Need I remind you that it was your propensity for cards and drinking that has brought us to this state?”

“Oh, hush now, Juliana! What do you know about how gentlemen conduct their business?” Grandmama chastised her. The older woman dabbed a handkerchief with faded embroidery on her grandson’s temple. “A little drinking and a few games are how men make connections.”

“And the bruises?” Juliana regarded her nonchalant grandmother with a raised eyebrow. “I suppose these so-called gentlemen come to blows for sport?”

“Naturally. Fisticuffs are a gentleman’s exercise.”

“How about sleeping in the Park for all the ton to see, then?”

Her grandmother simply beamed at her brother, while barely sparing Juliana a look. “Fresh air is good for the body, and a bit of sunshine does wonders for one’s complexion.”

Kit shot their grandmother a lopsided grin. “Thank you, Grandmama. You were always the one who understood me the best.”

“You silly man,” she laughed. “Now, go on up to your chambers. I shall have a bath drawn for you so you can rest properly.”

Who would draw the bath? There was hardly any staff left to fulfill such a task.