Chapter Two
The scent of roses hung cloyingly in the air as Henley took a seat in the white parlor, awaiting his now fashionably late brother. His nose twitched, and the memories from the previous night made the scent more of a stench than a perfume.
“Did you purchase London’s entire supply of roses, Mother?” Henley asked as Lady Devon adjusted a small bouquet of white blooms in the center of the table.
She shot a gentle glare in his direction, but answered, “I left two dozen at the florist down on Bond Street, just in case my two dearly loved sons decide to pursue a woman worth the effort.” She added an arched brow for good measure.
“A bit of a lost cause, if you ask me. I’d have just saved myself the trouble and bought them all.” Henley flicked invisible lint from his coat, though he’d never speak the words out loud, he’d been waiting for one lady to have her season, and it started this year.
“Hope springs eternal, love,” Lady Devon replied. “And someday you’ll need to find a wife. I intend to give you whatever aid I can.”
“If all it takes is roses, I don’t think I’ll have much trouble,” Henley responded, keeping the tone light.
“Roses are merely a first step. Let’s find a lady first, shall we?”
“I’d rather wait—play the mysterious rake and let the lady find me.”
“Because all ladies are looking for men of your reputation…” Her tone was light but pointed, like a well-placed stab—meant not to kill, but to remind him who truly held the weapons.
And, in London, weapons were words. Well-placed, brilliant, and cutting words that could proclaim one a god among men—or the very devil himself.
Which was why scandal was so delicious—and dangerous.
A sharp clipping of heels echoed down the hall, alerting Henley to the inevitable arrival of his sister. Peregrine—Pere—was a force to be reckoned with, and he inhaled deeply in preparation for the verbal onslaught about to spill through the doorway.
“Mother? Mother? Oh, good, you’re here.”
Henley bit back a grin at his sister’s voice preceding her entrance.
“Oh, you’re here too. Even better.” She flicked a hand and promptly dismissed him. “I have exactly five hours until people start arriving. Is Edwin here? You promised he’d arrive on time. I will simply murder him if he is late.”
Henley whistled low. Pere’s green eyes darted to him, issuing a silent challenge. Her hands balled into fists as she arched a brow.
With a slight shake of his head, he declined to rise to the bait. Pere was petite—barely a head and a half below his six-foot frame—but what she lacked in stature she made up for in volume of her opinion.
“Dear, we are not going to commit murder the day of your debut. And your brother will be here, and on time. It’s still quite early,” Lady Devon said, moving to soothe her daughter’s flaring temper.
“Was he out late last night?” Pere turned to Henley.
He coughed, trying to cover his reaction to her question. She hadn’t even debuted yet and already knew far too much about Edwin’s activities for it to be anything short of reprehensible.
“Well?” she pressed.
Henley gave what he hoped was a placating smile. “He wasn’t out too late.”
“Too late?” she repeated. “Which means he was out galivanting—”
“Peregrine,” their mother interrupted, effectively halting the tirade.
Pere sighed, lips twisting. “Very well. I’ll not ask further. I just want him here. Is that so much to ask?”
“No, it’s not—and I’m sure he will be,” Lady Devon assured her.
In Henley’s opinion, her confidence seemed overly optimistic considering Edwin’s track record.
“Let’s focus on tonight. It’s sure to be a crush. Practically every invitation we sent was accepted,” their mother added smoothly.
Henley glanced at his sister, who preened under the praise. “Oh, Mama, do you think I’ll have many callers tomorrow?”
“Of course!” Lady Devon returned to arranging the roses. “You’ll be a sensation.”
Henley nodded, silently offering the agreement she sought.
Boot heels clicked down the corridor.
“Ah, that must be your brother,” Lady Devon said, beaming as Edwin entered the parlor.
His face lit with charm, his smile directed squarely at their mother. With his light blue eyes and golden hair, he appeared angelic—which couldn’t have been further from the truth.
“Speak of the devil,” Henley muttered.
“Ah, Judas,” Edwin replied with a smirk, nodding toward him.
“We are not going to start anything,” Lady Devon warned, her tone sharp. “We never start anything, do we, Henley?” she reminded him with a pointed glance. “We restrain ourselves. We do not react in the moment.”
Henley tensed as his brother clapped him on the back.
“Odd that you consider those things fun…” Henley muttered.
“I mean it. No more from either of you,” Lady Devon warned again.
Henley resisted the scowl he wanted to send his brother and turned instead to Pere. “See? Present and accounted for, as promised.” He took the opportunity to smack Edwin’s back with a smirk.
Edwin moved to retaliate.
“Yes, thank you, Edwin,” Pere replied, her tone tight. “I trust you’ll both be on your best behavior tonight?”
“You have my word.” Edwin gave a sweeping bow.
“Mine as well,” Henley added, forgoing the theatrics.
“All is well, love,” their mother soothed.
“It’s … just quite an important night,” Pere added, her voice unexpectedly soft.
Henley stepped forward but was promptly shoved aside by Edwin.
“Ah, Pere, you’ll be the talk of London! You’ll be turning down suitors left and right.” He nudged her shoulder.
“You think?” Pere’s eyes lit with hope.
“Of course! In fact, I’m going to make sure this is the most talked-about evening of the season.” He nodded, apparently agreeing with himself.
Henley watched him closely. His instincts flared—something was coming.
“I’ve been thinking … it’s time I settled down,” Edwin said with a shrug, as if commenting on the weather.
Henley blinked. Surely, he wasn’t talking about marriage?
“Pardon?” Pere said, pale and fisting her hands again.
“I’m the heir,” Edwin said with a glance at Henley, voice barbed.
Henley resisted a scoffing laugh; he didn’t care about the title—only that Edwin didn’t destroy it.
“I need to ensure our family line continues. And to do so—legitimately—I must marry.” He delivered the line to the now-silent room.
Henley glanced at their mother. Her expression brimmed with hope and trepidation.
Odd mix, that.
The trepidation he understood. The hope? Not so much. Something was off. Why now?
“And you think announcing that tonight will benefit me?” Pere asked, incredulous.
“Yes.” Edwin nodded, oblivious to her tone.
He was always slow to read emotion.
Henley opened his mouth to call out the idiocy, but their mother spoke first.
“Oh, I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear that, Edwin!”
Henley froze, glancing to Pere, who stared at their mother in disbelief.
“I’m sure once the news is known, the mamas of the ton will waste no time throwing their daughters at you.”
“What about the mothers of the sons? For me?” Pere demanded, her tone nearly mutinous.
Henley’s attention darted back and forth like he was following a tennis match. “While it’s a good sentiment, is now truly the best time—during Pere’s debut—”
“It won’t take away from her. Not too much, at least. And we must think of the greater good,” their mother interrupted.
“We’re still recovering from last season’s scandal.
The more positive gossip we create, the faster the other will fade.
I’d think you’d be in support of this, Henley.
” She gave him a loaded look. “A bit of your penance, don’t you think?
Remember just because your brother is the earl doesn’t mean you don’t have your own title to upkeep.
It’s a special accommodation to keep it in our family—”
“Yes, I’m aware and very thankful as a second son to have a title, however, if we consider Pere—”
“She will have her debut, of course! This entire ball is in her honor; one little whisper of your brother’s intentions to find a wife will do nothing but benefit her.”
“I’m standing right here,” Pere all but shouted.
“I know, dear.” Lady Devon didn’t even cast a glance toward her daughter.
Pere turned to Henley, eyes pleading.
He stepped forward. “Mother, certainly we don’t need to announce anything—”
“Oh, heavens no. It’ll be far more delicious if we let the news circulate in whispers … yes, I believe that’s best. I’ll tell the servants, then take a carriage to Bond Street and spread the word among a select few. Pere, be a dear and ring for a footman? I need the carriage readied immediately.”
She turned to her sons. “And you will not leave this house. Your evening kit is upstairs.”
“I have bachelor lodgings—” Edwin began.
“As do I…” Henley started.
“I don’t trust you to leave in time. You’ll change here.”
Henley watched as Edwin bowed. “Yes, Mother.”
“And, darling, this will be a boon for you. Chin up.” She tapped Pere’s chin and swept from the room.
“You,” Pere said, turning to Edwin and jabbing a finger at his chest. “What in heaven and earth are you thinking?”
Henley stepped back, watching the storm.
Edwin looked down at her finger, then batted it away. “This will help you, Pere.”
“Tonight is about me. Or it should be. This is my season, my debut. Not a convenient backdrop for your dramatic announcements.”
“I’m not trying to steal the spotlight.”
“No, just hijack it for your benefit.”
“Exactly.”
Pere blinked. “And you don’t see why that might frustrate me?”
Edwin bent to smell a bouquet. “Did Mother buy all the roses in London?”
“In her wisdom, she left a few. Apparently for such a prophetic need.”
Edwin nodded.
“Are you going to answer my question?” Pere’s voice rose.
He frowned. “What question?”
Pere growled, turned to Henley. “You. Fix this.” She gestured between herself and Edwin. “No blood on the floor, no visible bruises.” She huffed, glared at Edwin, and stormed out.
“Violent little thing, isn’t she?” Edwin said. “But it’s for the best. Greater good and all. Isn’t that what Mother said?”
Henley watched his brother’s smug expression and considered how easily his evening kit could conceal bruises. But after a moment’s deliberation, he relaxed.
“I’m not sure Pere feels the same. No, scratch that—Pere absolutely does not feel the same.”
“She’ll get over it. Once she realizes the attention is on her.”
“Then make sure of it. Should the occasion arise, direct attention to her, not yourself.”
“Of course. Easily done.” Edwin tilted his head. “You know a thing or two about gossip, right, Henley? I’m expecting a week, maybe two, before I find my countess. Care to wager? Or maybe fight over it?”
Henley’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t need to respond—Edwin knew exactly where to cut deepest.
Words were weapons.
And Edwin had just landed a blow.
Time didn’t erase mistakes. It only buried them until someone unearthed the memory.
And the one who would ruin Pere’s debut wouldn’t be Edwin.
It would be Henley.