ChapterOne
England, 1813
Mr. Greydon Campden held a secret; a secret that could ruin him and his family. By night, he took his rightful place as the dutiful second son of an earl but, by day, he worked as a Bow Street Runner. He hadn’t intended to lower himself to work, but it gave him a purpose. And heaven knows that he needed one.
He had always played second fiddle to his older brother, Phineas, the Viscount Rushcliffe, from the moment he was born. He was the spare, the afterthought. His birth was planned to ensure that their precious family legacy would continue for another generation. But as he grew older, he realized that he needed to carve out his own path, much to his family’s chagrin.
The hackney jostled back and forth as Greydon returned from the docks. His plain brown clothing reeked, his boots were caked in mud, or at least what he hoped was mud, and he was looking forward to taking a nice, long bath. He had met with an informant by the River Thames, but he did not linger afterwards. No good came from visiting the docks. It was a lawless place and no one responded well to outsiders.
As the hackney came to a stop in front of his whitewashed townhouse, he reached his hand out of the window and opened the door. He stepped onto the pavement and went to pay the driver.
With a look of uncertainty on his face, the driver asked, “You sure this is where you want to be, Bloke?”
“I am sure,” Greydon said as he stepped back.
The driver shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he responded as he flicked the reins.
Greydon took no offense since he did not look the part of a gentleman, making him appear deucedly out of place in Mayfair. He would need to hurry inside before any of his prying neighbors might notice his unfashionable clothing.
He approached the main door and it was promptly opened by Davy. The heavy-set butler had been with his family ever since he was a child, and he had a pleasant disposition about him.
“Good evening, sir,” Davy greeted as he opened the door wide. “I trust your errand was met with your satisfaction.”
“It was, but I find that I am in desperate need of a bath.”
Davy tipped his head. “I shall see to it.” He paused as he knitted his brow. “Lord Pendle has been asking about you.”
“That is surprising,” Greydon muttered. His father seemed to care less and less about him now that his brother had gotten married. Which was fine by him.
“He is in the study,” Davy shared.
Greydon knew it was best to get this over with. He had been at odds with his father since he started working as a Bow Street Runner nearly five years ago. His father thought it was beneath him and demanded that he find a more respectable profession. When he refused, his father threatened to disown him but had yet to make good on his promise.
He stepped into the study and saw his father was sitting at his desk, as he usually was at this time of day. If he wasn’t at the House of Lords, he was in this study working on the accounts. He did little else with his time, at least since his wife died a few years ago.
Time had been kind to his father. His full head of hair was mostly black with some white around the temples and the wrinkles on his face had not begun to deepen, making him appear much younger than he was. The earl had a commanding presence about him, but over time, it affected Greydon less. As he grew, his father’s capacity to control him diminished.
“Father,” Greydon said in the most cordial tone that he could muster up. They had stopped with the pleasantries long ago. It was easier that way. Trying to pretend that you have a relationship is exhausting and neither of them had time for that.
His father leaned back in his seat and pursed his lips. The earl’s eyes held the usual contempt for him, but something was different about them. They appeared sad- almost. Was it even possible for his father to show such emotion?
“Good, you are finally home,” his father hesitated, “and you look awful.”
“Thank you for that.” Not that he disagreed with his father. He knew he looked and smelled unpleasant, but being a Bow Street Runner meant that you went into rather unsavory conditions.
“Close the door,” his father ordered. “I have something I need to discuss with you before word gets out.”
Greydon did as he was instructed before he approached the desk.
His father held his gaze. “Your brother is dead. You are now my heir,” he said in his usual no-nonsense voice. “I will need you to start becoming familiar with our accounts so you can do your duty to this family.”
Greydon’s mind spun at what his father had just revealed. How had he said it so calmly, as if he were spouting one of his useless facts? Greydon had so many questions and he wasn’t quite sure where to even begin.
He felt his legs grow weak and he went to sit down in an upholstered armchair. The ticking of the long clock timed the silence. “How did Phineas die?”
His father grimaced before saying, “You may as well know the truth since it will no doubt get out soon enough.” He paused. “Phineas was murdered.”
Greydon reared back. “Murdered?!” he asked in disbelief. He knew his brother had a terrible reputation, but he didn’t think anyone wished him dead. “By whom?”
