Chapter 1
“Here’s your tea, my lady.”
Arabella Fairleigh barely looked up as her maid placed a tray on the nearby table. She was scribbling furiously at her writing desk, trying to put her words down without making them sound like a hysterical woman or insulting anyone. That was easier said than done.
Giving up, she screwed up the most recent attempt to write to the coroner.
She was getting fed up with this. There was nothing to point the finger at someone for her father’s death, but the coroner refused to listen.
Almost everyone did. They were willing to believe Edmund Fairleigh took his own life and threw himself into the river after losing everything he had in a card game.
Arabella knew different, but nobody was listening to her.
“My lady?”
She looked up. Constance was hovering by the table, watching her nervously. Arabella sighed and waved her away.
“Thank you, Constance. I’ll have what I can.”
“Mrs. Parrish said you must eat something. You barely do nowadays, and she’s concerned about you.” Her lady’s maid paused. “We’re all concerned.”
“And I appreciate it, but I’m perfectly fine. Nobody needs to worry about me.”
Constance didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t say anything.
She simply curtsied and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.
Arabella rose and went to the tea tray, which had a teapot along with a cup and saucer, as well as the sugar bowl and a plate of biscuits and cake that Mrs. Parrish had been busy with in the kitchen.
Arabella wished she knew how to thank the cook for taking care of her, but she was at a loss.
The household staff had been doing whatever they could to help her and her brother after the shocking news, and she would be forever grateful.
They didn’t need to, especially when they were aware their positions were at risk due to barely any money to pay their wages, but it was nice to know they were on their side.
She sat down at the coffee table and poured herself out a cup of tea, stirring in the sugar.
It still didn’t taste that nice when she took a sip, so she added more sugar.
The biscuits, normally soft and delicious, tasted like she was eating paper, while the cake felt dry.
But Arabella forced herself to eat it all, knowing that she needed some nourishment. She couldn’t live on just her nerves.
How could anyone think that Pa had taken his own life?
He’d been found one morning in the river, face down and with a cut to his head.
The coroner had ruled that he’d fallen into the Thames and hit his head on the way down.
It was surmised that he’d drowned himself.
Arabella had objected at the time, but she’d been ignored.
Someone had even suggested she was hysterical and might need to be committed.
Arabella had been furious at that, but she’d held her tongue, not wanting to be stuck in a place she would likely never get out of.
She’d heard a lot of scary things about madhouses, and she didn’t want to visit one anytime soon.
But how was she supposed to get the truth? She knew that something was wrong. She and Pa had been close, and it was out of character to take his own life. He might’ve lost everything—and that she was furious about—but he wouldn’t kill himself. It was all wrong.
However, nobody agreed with her. Not even her brother. Philip seemed to have accepted that Pa had killed himself, and he refused to listen to Arabella saying otherwise. He kept away from her nowadays, not wanting to discuss it at all.
It felt like there was a conspiracy going on, and the walls were closing in on her.
“Lady Arabella?”
The housekeeper, Mrs. Simeon, had entered the room. She looked at the tea tray and glanced at her. Arabella sighed and nodded.
“I’ve eaten, Mrs. Simeon. I’m finished now.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Mrs. Simeon looked relieved as she picked up the tray and left the room. Arabella wanted her to stop, just for someone to talk to, but, at the same time, she didn’t want to talk to anyone. It all started coming back to talking about Pa, and even the staff were getting fed up with it.
She felt so alone. It was horrible believing one thing that nobody else did.
Unable to sit still, her mind turning over everything, Arabella stood and paced across the room, finding herself back at her desk again.
There was a piece of paper with scribbled notes to one side, one that was almost completely filled with segments of sentences that Arabella had understood at the time, but now she felt like she was struggling to translate.
However, one name was standing out, and she grabbed onto it.
Alastair Vaughn, Duke of Hartwood.
From what Arabella had been able to figure out with her own investigation—which hadn’t gone very far—Pa had been at Whitehall Gaming Rooms, and his last opponent had been the Duke of Hartwood, a young man who was very good at playing cards. He’d taken Pa’s last penny and urged him to go home.
Which meant, if Pa had died by killing himself, he would’ve been responsible for it. The duke was the one who pushed Pa to do what he did, even if he didn’t push him into the river. Arabella knew he had answers, but she couldn’t get them.
Hartwood had headed out to his country estate shortly after the inquest had finished, and that had been two months ago.
Arabella wanted to follow him and confront him, but she couldn’t do that.
She had to stay and try to figure out how she and Philip were going to get through the coming months with very little money.
Some was coming in from their tenants, and their various business shares, but that wasn’t much at all.
They were dealing with the fallout of Pa’s death, which further cemented Arabella’s decision that he didn’t kill himself; he wouldn’t have left his children in such a state.
Her pacing brought her to the window, and Arabella looked out into the busy street.
It was a nice day, the weather hot and carrying a gentle breeze.
For October, that was a novelty to still be warm, but Arabella liked it.
Normally, she loved autumn, the leaves turning a variety of different colors before falling and crunching under her feet.
It was one of her more favorite walks in the park.
There was something satisfying about walking through fallen leaves.
Maybe because she and Pa used to do it when she was a little girl. They would laugh and kick leaves at each other as well. Sadness began to well up again, and Arabella clamped down hard on it. She wasn’t going to cry. She couldn’t, not again.
It hurt too much. But being in the house wasn’t helping either. It felt like the walls were closing in.
Arabella headed into the hall and found her coat, fixing her hat and checking it in the mirror. She might as well go for a walk, something to distract herself. Perhaps she could find Clara and see if she was free to spend time together. Her friend was always available.
She opened the front door and stepped out into the street.
Part of her told her to stay and let the household staff know—she needed a companion, an escort—but she didn’t care.
Arabella wasn’t interested in what people thought of her walking around alone.
Her family was already going through a lot of scandal, so why bother with propriety if she was currently seen as scandalous due to Pa’s actions?
Heading down the stone steps, Arabella started toward the park, ignoring anyone walking the other way.
She didn’t care what anyone thought now.
She was more focused on doing something for herself.
It was the only way she could feel like there was any control in her life, especially when it was slipping through her fingers.
The park was at the end of the street, a short crossing over the bustling road and in through large metal gates.
But as she reached the end of the street and prepared to cross, Arabella caught sight of a carriage that had pulled up outside the park.
She didn’t see who alighted, but she recognized the family crest on the door.
It was the Duke of Hartwood’s carriage.
Her heart began to race. Had he returned to London? Was he here right now? Or it could be one of his family. Maybe that would be helpful; she could get them to plead with the duke, to try and get him to take accountability.
Then the carriage moved away, and, sure enough, it was the Duke of Hartwood, adjusting his sleeves and tapping his cane on the pavement. He was not someone who could blend into the crowd. He was tall and slim but with a frame that suggested he took part in a lot of exercise.
However, the most striking thing about him was his hair.
It was strawberry blond, a mixture of red, amber, and gold that glinted in the sun.
He had freckles across his face and nose, something that would be considered ugly on a woman, but somehow it worked well with him.
It made the duke even more striking. Arabella found herself openly staring at him, taking in the sight of the man.
Handsome he was, but he wasn’t innocent.
Then she realized he was staring at her, and she took a step back in surprise. How had she not noticed that? Then, checking the road was clear, Hartwood crossed the street and approached her, a curious look on his face.
“Can I help you, my lady?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes.” Somehow, Arabella found her voice, and her anger began to bubble and rise. “I’m wondering when you’re going to accept responsibility for your part in my father’s death.”
He blinked at her, clearly surprised. It looked like she’d caught him off-guard, and his ability to speak had been stalled. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he spluttered out a response.
“What…what are you talking about?”