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SINS OF A DUKE
by
Suzanne Enoch
Chapter One
June, 1813
From the expressions on the faces of the troop of soldiers who marched
up from the Horse Guards, someone was in for a bloodbath. With a silent
curse Sebastian Griffin, the Duke of Melbourne, galloped past them,
reaching his destination a half mile in front of the soldiers. Not much
distance, and not much time.
He pulled his bay stallion to a halt and swung to the ground. “Who’s in
charge here?” he yelled into the wall of noise before him, scarcely
noting his two younger brothers and his brother-in-law riding up behind
him.
“That would be me,” a guttural voice came from the front of the angry
crowd. A stout man dressed as most of his fellows were in the worn
clothing of farmers and other members of the working class pushed his
way through his way through to Sebastian on one side of the crowd. “What
d’you want, boy?”
Boy. No one had called him a boy in seventeen years, since he’d
inherited the dukedom at the age of seventeen. He lifted an eyebrow. “I
want to know why you think that battering down the gates of Carlton
House will gain any of you either food or sympathy for your cause.”
“And who the bloody hell are you, to ride up on your fancy horse with
your fancy friends?” the fellow demanded.
Sebastian ignored the question, instead turning to face the second group
of riders just arriving. “Buy every food item in the market at Picadilly,”
he instructed his secretary. “Have it delivered to Westminster Abbey.”
Rivers nodded, turning his gelding. “Right away, Your Grace.”
“Jennings, go with him. I want blankets and a selection of clothing for
any who might need them.”
“Fast as the wind, Your Grace.”
When he faced the large fellow again, a portion of his belligerent
expression had been replaced by confusion. “So you think you can give us
some bread and a shirt and we’ll go away? That is not–“
”There are what, three hundred of you?” Sebastian broke in, taking a
moment to look at the dirty, hungry, desperate faces in the crowd and
resisting the urge to check over his shoulder for the soldiers. “Go to
Westminster, and I’ll meet you there. We will sit down like gentlemen
and discuss how to keep your people well and fed until your fields can
be replanted and the irrigation situation improved.”
“I don’t–“
”If you persist in attacking the Prince Regent’s residence, he will be
forced to summon soldiers for his own protection.” He held the man’s
gaze for a moment. “You have children here, sir. Do not make this worse.
Not when I give you my word to help you make it better.”
“I still don’t have your name, sir . . . Your Grace. Don’t know that I
trust a nobleman.”
“I am the Duke of Melbourne. If you know anything about me, you know
that when I give my word, I do not break it.”
The fellow took an abrupt step forward. Both Shay and Zachary moved in,
but Sebastian motioned his brothers back. These people were desperate,
and looking for someone on whom to take out a season’s worth of
frustrations. Damn Kesling for ignoring the plight of people whose farms
bordered his estate. With a measured breath he held out his hand.
The muscles of his jaw jumping, the farmer shook it. “I’m Brown, Your
Grace. Nathan Brown. And I have heard of you.”
“I will meet you in the Abbey in two hours, Mr. Brown.”
Brown nodded. “I’ll be there.”
At Mr. Brown’s encouragement, the crowd began to move east, in the
direction of Westminster Abbey. Several of them grabbed his hands, and
he smiled and nodded at them as they passed. As the last of them left
the Carlton House gates, he took a deep breath.
“Well done, Seb,” his youngest brother, Lord Zachary Griffin, commented.
“Considering that I only had one pistol with me, that might have been a
bit sticky.”
“Mm hm. Shay, go tell the Rector of St. Margaret’s that the Abbey will
have guests for a day or two.”
His middle brother turned for the Abbey. “On my way.”
Sebastian swung back up onto Merlin. “So am I. I have a meeting in two
hours.”
His brother-in-law, Valentine Corbett, Lord Deverill, flashed him a
grin. “What do you do on mornings when you’re not rescuing the monarchy
and feeding the poor and the destitute?”
“I feed Zachary, which can be nearly as perilous,” he returned, trotting
over to have a word with a shaken-looking secretary of Prinny’s as the
man appeared on the far side of the gate, flanked by a half dozen
equally unnerved royal guards. “The rest of you go back to whatever you
were doing. Green will stay with me.”
His groomsman nodded, and the rest of his group departed, Zach and
Valentine last. Though he pretended not to, he could hear their
muttering about the chances he took and what might have happened if Mr.
Brown had been armed with more than righteous indignation. As far as he
was concerned, though, as a duke, and in particular as the Duke of
Melbourne, he was doing no more and no less than his duty to the Crown,
and to the people of England. And that was how he spent every morning.
And afternoon. And evening.
Once he left Carlton House, passing the soldiers less than a street away
from the Regent’s residence, he slowed the bay to a civilized trot more
suitable for navigating Mayfair. Three streets down they turned onto
Grosvenor Square and then up the gated drive of Griffin House. Sliding
out of the saddle, Sebastian flipped the reins to Green and strode up
the front steps as the groom took Merlin around the house to the stable.
As he reached the front door it opened. “I trust you were successful,
Your Grace?” the butler asked, stepping back to allow Sebastian entry.
“Thankfully, Stanton. Is my daughter awake yet?”
“I don’t believe so, Your Grace. Shall I send for her?”
“Yes. I want to see her before I leave for Parliament. When Rivers
returns, please inform him that we’ll have to reschedule our luncheon
meeting for tomorrow. I need to be at Westminster Abbey today.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
Handing over his hat, gloves, and caped greatcoat, Sebastian strolled
into the breakfast room. On the sideboard generous piles of bread,
fruit, and sliced meats awaited his selection, while the London Times
had already been ironed flat and set by his place at the head of the
table. He chose his meal and then seated himself to read about the
latest tariff agreements reached between Britain and the United States,
averting any possible renewal of hostilities between the two countries.
According to the news writers, apparently His Grace, the Duke of
Melbourne, had pressed the government until it came to its senses.
“For the moment, at least,” he murmured to himself, gesturing for
coffee. One of the pair of footmen hurried forward to pour a steaming
cup. Sebastian inhaled deeply before he took a sip. Thank God for the
Americas.
“I was awake, Papa,” an lilting young voice came from the doorway, and
he looked up.
“Good morning, Peep,” he said, grinning. “You look very pretty.”
At nearly eight years of age, Lady Penelope Griffin had begun to develop
her own sense of fashion, and this morning she wore a bright yellow
muslin dress dotted with white flowers, and a matching yellow hat
covered with a profusion of white daisies. She curtsied to him before
she pranced up for a kiss. “I am very fetching, aren’t I?” she returned,
adjusting her hat.
“I take it you and Mrs. Beacham are attending Mary Haley’s birthday
party, then?”
“Yes. I’m giving Mary a matching white hat with yellow daffodils.”
“You will be the loveliest young ladies in London, then.”
She took a peach and two toasted slices of bread from the sideboard,
then sat at his elbow. “I think we will be. Might I invite Mary over to
tea tomorrow?”
“I thought you were having luncheon with your aunties tomorrow,” he
said, covering his slight frown.
“Oh, yes. I forgot. My schedule is frightfully busy these days, you
know.”
For a moment Sebastian gazed at his dark-haired, gray-eyed daughter. It
physically hurt to think that in ten years or so her schedule would
include outings with beaux and evenings at soirees where he would watch
her dance with eager young men.
“Vauxhall has acrobats tomorrow evening,” he said a little abruptly.
“Why not ask Mary and Lord and Lady Bernard if they’d care to join us
there?”
Peep bounced in her chair. “Acrobats? And jugglers?”
“I believe so.”
“Yes, please!” She took a large bite of peach, then looked at him
sideways. “But you know that Mary’s aunt is visiting, and she’ll want to
join us, and then she’ll want to marry you.”
Wonderful. “Well, in that case, perhaps we–“
The breakfast room door opened. “Good morning, all,” his youngest
brother, Zachary, said, sauntering into the room and heading directly
for the sideboard.
“When I said you should go home, I meant your home,” Sebastian observed,
smiling at his brother’s back. Obviously Zach had been designated to
make certain the family patriarch had returned home in one piece.
“Caroline has a morning sitting with the Duke of York. She said my
presence would remind him of you, which would remind him that he’s not
very well liked in the House of Lords.”
“Is that because he had favors from that chit, and she made him promote
all those soldiers?”
Good God. “What do you know of that, Peep?” Sebastian asked his
daughter, sending an annoyed glance at Zachary as his brother took the
seat opposite her.
“Uncle Shay said that the Duke should learn to keep his trousers
buttoned, and he wouldn’t owe women favors. Did she sew up his trousers
for him?”
“Exactly,” Zach put in, chuckling. “The end result of all this being
that I get to come to Griffin House and have breakfast with my favorite
niece.”
She shook her dark curls. “You shouldn’t say that. What if Aunt Nell and
Uncle Valentine heard you? They would be hurt that you don’t like Rose
as much as you like me.”
“Yes, Zachary, how would you ever explain to your sister that her
daughter is inferior to mine?” Sebastian prompted, lifting an eyebrow
and for the moment pretending that he wasn’t supremely grateful to have
a bit of adult company about for other than preventing riots. Since Shay
had married last summer, things had been . . . He shook himself. None of
that, now.
“Well, Rose is lovely, of course, but she’s only five months old. You
have to admit that her conversation isn’t terribly sparkling.”
Penelope laughed. “That’s because she doesn’t have any teeth yet.” She
reached across the table and patted her uncle’s hand. “Don’t worry. I’m
sure you’ll like her better when she gets a bit older.”
Zachary smiled back at her. “I’m sure I will. And I appreciate your
discretion.”
“Of course. I don’t want Uncle Valentine to punch you in the head.”
“Thank you. Neither do I.”
They chatted about nonsense until Sebastian pushed away from the table.
“Do you have a moment, Zach?” he asked.
His brother stood. “Certainly. Peep, I’ll give you a shilling if you put
marmalade on that slice of bread for me.”
“Two shillings,” she said, reaching for the jar.
“Done.”
Sebastian stepped across the hallway to the morning room and half-closed
the door as Zachary joined him. “Peep wishes to ask Mary Haley to
Vauxhall tomorrow night. Her aunt, Lady Margaret Trent, will likely be
joining us.”
Zach made a face. “I thought you were going to ask me to help you with
Mr. Brown and his very annoyed friends. Of course Caro and I will join
you at Vauxhall.”
Sighing in relief, Sebastian clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Mr.
Brown is simple. Lady Margaret I want to keep my distance from.”
“As if any of us want old pinch face added to the family.”
“Hm.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Not likely to happen regardless of your
chaperoning services.”
His brother reached back to close the door the rest of the way. “Are you
well, Seb? I mean . . . aside from your occasional morning acts of
heroics, with just you and Peep living here now, it’s–“
”I am not having this conversation.” Sebastian clenched his jaw. “So
whatever you’re implying, don’t trouble yourself.”
“I see. My apologies. Are you still bringing Caro and me to the Elkins
soiree, then, or shall we fend for ourselves?”
“I’ll be by with the carriage at eight.” Sebastian studied the view out
the front window. “And I’m well. I’m adjusting to a smaller household.
Again.” To anyone outside of his family, he never would have admitted
that much.
Zachary cleared his throat. “It’s just . . . Don’t bite my head off, but
within the past two years Nell, Shay, and I have all married. You . . .
I don’t wish to see you sad when we’ve all found such happiness.” He
shrugged. “I know I’m not saying it well, but I do remember, you know. I
remember you four years ago when Charlotte died. Just because we’ve
moved out doesn’t mean we’ve abandoned you. The–“
”For God’s sake, Zachary,” Sebastian retorted, using every ounce of his
infamous self-control to keep his voice cool and level, “I’m not an
invalid. Don’t try to put yourself in my boots. I’ve been the head of
this family for the past seventeen years. Once you’ve held that
responsibility for even a day, then you can empathize. Until then,
you’ll have to take me at my word.” He took a step closer. “Now, if
you’ll excuse me, I have to leave for Parliament, then take luncheon
with three hundred angry farmers and their families.”
Without another word he brushed past his brother, pulled open the door,
and returned to the breakfast room. “Peep, my love,” he drawled, putting
a smile back on his face, “promise me that you’ll tell me all about the
party today when I return.”
She stood up, and he squatted down to hug her. “I promise. You’ll be
home for dinner?”
“I should be home well before that.”
“And then you’re going to that ball with Uncle Zachary and everyone.”
“I have to, Penelope.” He hugged her tighter. “When I give my word to be
somewhere and then don’t make an appearance, it hurts peoples’
feelings.” That didn’t even begin to explain it, but his daughter still
had plenty of time to learn the nuances of being a Griffin and a duke’s
daughter.
“Very well,” she said with a deep sigh, releasing him. “I love you,
Papa.”
“And I love you, sweetling. Be good.”
“I will try.”
*****
“Bloody,
short-sighted, penny-pinching–“
”Melbourne!”
Drawing his frayed temper back under hard control, Sebastian slowed his
exit from the hallway outside the House of Lords. In all the years he’d
been attending Parliamentary sessions, he could only recall a handful of
times he’d escaped the building without being hounded for some reason or
other. After the way he’d spent the luncheon break, though, he was
almost eager for this one. “Yes, Kesling?”
The viscount trundled up the hallway, stopping two feet in front of
Sebastian and reeking of some kind of French cologne that did little to
disguise his over-ripe body odor. He tightened his control further to
keep from taking a step backward.
“Melbourne, I thought you were more progressive-minded than that.”
“Than what?”
“You claim to care about the welfare of the common people, and yet every
time Prinny asks for funds for one of his follies, you vote to support
him. I don’t underst–“
This conversation again. “Perhaps you could explain to me, Kesling, why
it is that every time a vote arises which places a tax on property, the
resulting government income to be used for public relief, you vote it
down. And that doesn’t even begin to explain the callousness with which
you treat the people who live on your own land.”
“Why should the burden be placed on us, simply because of an accident of
birth? It’s hardly–“
”Ah, that’s the problem, then,” Sebastian cut in. “My birth wasn’t an
accident. I’ll explain it to you – once. In order for the United Kingdom
to remain a power in this growing world, we must be able to progress.
For that we need citizens who are educated and content. And in order for
the rest of the world to see us as a power, our government must appear
to be healthy. This government, therefore, supports its monarch and its
people. Or it will, for as long as a Griffin remains in the House of
Lords. Good day, Kesling.” He turned on his heel.
The front door of Griffin House opened the moment his coach stopped on
the drive. “Stanton,” he said, stepping to the ground, “has Lady Peep
returned yet?”
“Not yet, Your Grace. But you have a note from Carlton House.”
The duke lifted it off the silver salver and opened it in the doorway.
“When did this arrive?”
“Twenty minutes ago, Your Grace.”
He turned around again. “Tollins, wait there,” he called, stopping the
coach before it could head around to the stables. Sticking the note in
his pocket, he reclaimed his hat and gloves. “Please let my daughter
know where I’ve gone, and that I’ll return as soon as I can.”
The butler inclined his head. “Of course, Your Grace.”
With a sigh Sebastian headed back into the streets of Mayfair. He had a
good idea what Prinny wanted; whatever the events of the morning, the
Regent continued to be obsessed with finishing his pavilion at Brighton
regardless of how empty his coffer might be. And today had been the
preliminary vote in the House of Lords
Somewhere along the way Sebastian had moved from being a staunch
supporter of the monarchy to being Prince George’s confidante and
advisor. Despite the occasional inconvenience, it did give him some
additional control over the course of the country. And it let him into
what seemed to have become a secret: If one could overlook his
occasional tantrums and frequent, theatrical dramatics, Prinny was a
bright fellow with exquisite taste.
As soon as he arrived at Carlton House one of the attendants ushered him
into the formal white room, which was odd. The white room was for
guests, and he’d long since ceased being anything that formal. Obviously
Prinny had something in mind, though, so Sebastian walked to the window
that overlooked the garden and waited.
He was still standing there five minutes later when the door opened
again. “Melbourne!” Prinny’s familiar voice came, “I hadn’t realized you
were here. No doubt you have some pressing matters to discuss with me.”
Sebastian faced the Regent, masking his confusion with a smile as he
realized Prinny had a dozen people following him into the room. Ah, so
now he was an ornament for tourists. “I do, Your Highness,” he agreed,
bowing.
“I’ll be with you in just a moment, then,” Prinny returned. “First, I
would like to present His Majesty Stephen Embry, Rey of Costa Habichuela.
Also his wife, Queen Maria. Your Majesties, His Grace, the Duke of
Melbourne, one of my closest advisors.”
The man standing at the forefront of the entourage stepped forward and
offered his hand. “Very pleased, Your Grace,” he said, in an accent that
sounded distinctly Cornish.
Hm. As far as Sebastian knew, Cornwall had not seceded from England and
altered its name. “Your Majesty,” he returned, shaking hands.
In addition to his accent, the rey was tall with yellow hair, a golden
moustache, and decidedly English features despite his Hispanic title. He
wore a striking black military-looking uniform, as did the four men who
surrounded the group. His was differentiated by a narrow white sash over
his left shoulder and tassled at his right hip. Several obvious military
decorations adorned the sash, all of them dominated by a simple green
cross at his breast.
Unlike her escort, the lady with her hand on the rey’s arm was clearly
of Spanish decent – tall, black-haired, olive-skinned, and brown-eyed.
Queen Maria, undoubtedly.
“May I ask where Costa Habichuela is located?” he asked after a moment,
focusing on the rey.
“Ah, glad you asked,” Embry returned, smiling. “We’re on the eastern
coast of Central America. A wondrous place, really. I was greatly
honored when the Mosquito King deeded it to me and my heirs.”
This was the third country to be formed in South or Central America over
the past year and a half, then. “The Mosquito King,” he repeated. “That
would put your territory along the Mosquito Coast.”
“Yes, very good, Your Grace. You know your geography.”
“It’s a much less well-known fact, however,” a soft, feminine voice slid
in from the left of the rey, “that the area is named after a group of
small islands known as the Mosquitos rather than after the insect.”
Sebastian turned his head. Brown eyes gazed into his. Deep brown, like
rich, newly-turned soil in the springtime, set into a face the color of
fresh cream, smooth and flawless. And her hair, long and loose with a
hint of curl, the flowing mass as black as raven’s wings.
“Your Grace,” the rey’s voice broke in, “my daughter, Princess Josefina
Katarina Embry.”
Blinking, Sebastian mentally pulled himself back. He felt distant, off
balance, as though he’d been staring for an hour – but it must have been
less than a minute. “Your Highness,” he intoned, bowing.
She returned a shallow curtsy, her eyes glittering as though she knew
precisely the effect she’d had on him. “Your Grace.”
“The rey and his family are here to secure some loans,” Prinny put in.
He clapped his beefy hands together. “You know, Melbourne, you would be
the perfect contact for that. I’m appointing you British liaison to
Costa Habichuela. How do you like that?”
Not much at all. “I’m honored, Your Highness,” Sebastian said aloud,
setting a cool smile on his face. “I’m not certain how much actual
assistance I’ll be able to provide, but I’m happy to lend my advice –
such as it is.”
“Splendid. You’re attending the Elkins soiree tonight, are you not?”
“I had planned to.”
“Then you’ll escort our new friends there. Unfortunately, I have a
previous engagement, or I would do so, myself.”
For a moment Sebastian wondered whether Prinny considered just how much
legitimacy he was granting this new country by involving the Duke of
Melbourne in their introduction to London Society, but in almost the
same instant he knew the answer. What Prince George saw was an
opportunity to impress a few foreigners with his generosity and
influence.
“It would be my pleasure,” he said, because at the moment he didn’t have
any alternative.
“I’m afraid Queen Maria and I also have a previous obligation,” the rey
said with an apologetic look.
Thank God. “I’m sorry to hear th–“
”Princess Josefina, however, will do a fine job of representing Costa
Habichuela in our stead.”
“Yes, it would be my pleasure,” the rich voice came again.
A responding shiver ran down Sebastian’s spine. “Then tell me where
you’re staying, and I shall be by at eight o’clock.”
“Josefina, please see to it,” the rey said, turning to ask Prinny about
one of the many white marble figures lining the room.
“We’re presently lodging at the home of Colonel Winston Branbury, until
we find a suitable consulate,” the princess said, taking Sebastian’s
arm.
“Branbury. I know it.” He didn’t want to stand still, so he walked them
away from the others, toward the nearest window.
“Good. I would be incapable of providing directions,” she continued with
a smile, “being a stranger to London, myself.”
He found himself staring at her mouth, at her full lips with their
slight Spanish pout. “Don’t worry yourself,” he forced out. “My coach
will arrive at Branbury House promptly at eight.”
Her smile deepened. “I do like a prompt gentleman. Rumor has it, Your
Grace, that you performed some heroics this morning.”
Sebastian shook his head. “I performed by duty. That’s all.”
“Ah. Gallant and modest.”
Attractive – mesmerizing – as she was, Princess Josefina conversed in
the same way, and seemed impressed by the same things, as any other
woman of his acquaintance. But those eyes . . . “My gallantry has yet to
be proven,” he said, freeing his arm from her fingers and glad she wore
gloves. He had the distinct feeling that her flesh would burn his. He
backed to the door. “Until this evening.”
Out in the corridor, Sebastian leaned back against the wall to catch his
breath. He felt abruptly as though he’d run all the way from Marathon.
What the devil was wrong with him?
Firstly, he should have realized what Prinny’s intentions were and
excused himself from participating. Secondly, he was not some
fresh-faced schoolboy. He was four-and-thirty, for God’s sake. And he’d
set eyes on pretty chits before. He’d married one. And he hadn’t felt as
. . . off-kilter since then. Even ordinary conversation with her felt
unique.
Shaking himself, he pushed upright and headed for the front entrance of
Carlton House. He’d been put in an unfortunate position, but he would
deal with it in the same way he did everything else in his life –
swiftly and efficiently. As for the rest, he’d turned ignoring anything
other than family and business into an art form. Putting Josefina
Katarina Embry aside would be no challenge at all. He wouldn’t allow it
to be.
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