Prologue
It was a rare, quiet evening in the London townhouse occupied by the Duke of Minsbury and his elder sister, Suzanna Slade.
With the Season in full swing, their lives had been caught up in a whirlwind of morning jaunts, afternoon tea, soirees, and balls—all of them enough to drive a sane man to the brink of insanity. Ladies, on the other hand, seemed to absolutely thrive in the chaos, as exhibited by the sight of his sister seated on a chair by the window, calmly turning the pages of a book, the lamplight turning her hair a deep, burnished color.
Oliver, on the other hand, was caught up with business reports, in addition to requests for riding habits, day gowns, and bonnets. His steward, Smithson, was standing beside him, his face appropriately devoid of emotion.
After all, it was not the place of the servants to comment on their masters’ affairs.
He glanced up from the papers to find his sister’s green eyes on him, sparkling with laughter.
“I am glad to see you find some sort of sordid amusement in my predicament,” he sighed helplessly, putting the papers aside.
“Not at all, brother dearest,” she demurred. “It is just that I have never before seen you so flustered. It is quite the novel picture.”
“It will take a while for the ships to come in,” he muttered, picking up another sheaf of papers. “I have the blueprints for a new design but it will take quite the sum to be able to replace the old ones.”
Suzanna wrinkled her nose delicately.
“But the old ships are needing more repairs after each voyage,” she pointed out. “The money could be put to better use buying new, stronger, and faster ships.”
It was not rare for the siblings to discuss business affairs with each other. After their father died, Oliver had taken it upon himself to maintain the family’s businesses and estate as best as he could. His relationship with his older sister had always been loving and he relied on her wisdom and wit as he navigated the waters of the aristocracy.
As a lady, Suzanna had never had to worry about the same things her brother did. Her role in Society was vastly different but then again, she had never felt the pressing need to go along with the whims of Society in general. She much preferred to stay by her brother’s side and assist him in any way she could.
At a young age, she had been put in charge of his entire household—a task she took to heart.
“Until you can find a suitable wife to run your household,” she had told him with that twinkle in her eyes. “Until then, I shall manage the household for you and you need not worry that brilliant head of yours over it.”
And she did a rather fine job of it, Oliver agreed. The townhouse was always ready whenever they descended for the Season and their country home—Minsbury Park, his ducal seat—was run smoothly. In all the five years since Suzanna took over the reins, he had never seen as much as a speck of dust or a smudged fingerprint on the furnishings and he never had to worry about meals, even when they had guests to entertain.
“Perhaps,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “It is not the ships that are bothering you but something else.”
Oliver flushed a little, opening his mouth to shoot back a witty reply when it happened.
The loud sound of breaking glass tore through the otherwise peaceful scene, accompanied by Suzanna’s horrified scream as bits of broken glass rained on her.
“Suzanna!” he yelled, his heart caught in his throat at the sight of his older sister on the floor, surrounded by broken glass and bits of the window. A rock lay a short distance from her.
Somebody has thrown a bloody rock through the window!
He rushed to his sister who had curled away from the window in an effort to protect herself. Her green eyes were wide with surprise and fear, igniting an intense fear in him.
“Are you hurt?” he asked her.
She shook her head slightly.
“No, I—I think I am perfectly fine. A little dazed, perhaps.”
He looked her over cautiously as Smithson stepped noiselessly over the broken glass. There were shards that clung to her rich brown hair and her deep velvet dress but there was no sign of bleeding on her person. Aside from her slender frame shaking with fear, she appeared to be perfectly fine, as she claimed. Oliver let out a sigh of relief before a deep anger arose in him.
Without another word, he strode out of the study, flinging the door open as he rushed to the streets, his eyes searching for the culprit who dared to attack his home. Marley, the Slades’ loyal butler, hurried after the Duke with Smithson hot on his heels.
The streets were dark and quiet, with no sign of the perpetrator. Oliver ran down to the corner but still, there was no sign that anyone had been there.
It was as if the culprit had disappeared into thin air.
Frustrated, he strode back into the townhouse and into his study to check on his sister once more. Mrs. Downe, their old housekeeper, had helped Suzanna to a chair and was by her side with a steaming cup of tea to calm her nerves. Chastity, one of the maids, was sweeping the debris from the carpet while some of the men immediately boarded up the gaping hole in the window.
