Page 72 of The Duke and the Darkness

“My lords, ladies, and all welcomed guests,” he called out loudly with such authority that his face turned red from the effort. “May I turn your attention to Her Grace, the Duchess of Dartmoor?”

With an exaggerated sweep of his arm and a low bow, he retreated to the side of the landing.

The duchess smiled and imperiously raised her hand to wave to her guests, most of whom had lifted their glasses to her in a toast. “On behalf of the Dukes of Dartmoor and Crewe and myself, we thank you for joining us on such short notice, but I assure you that attending tonight will be worth your while.”

Confused whispers spilled through the crush, and Devlin knew why. They all thought they’d been invited to a rushed engagement announcement for him. Peyton’s beautiful presence only reinforced that notion. But the mention of Crewe dashed all certainties of that.

“There is an important announcement to be made tonight, one which could no longer wait and which I am certain you would all want to hear for yourselves. Now, I have a very special friend I would like you to meet.”

She turned her smile on Peyton and stepped back to let Peyton become the center of attention.

Devlin watched her closely. Her nervousness was palpable, as well it should be. While this moment might have been a carefully orchestrated trap, the revelation of her identity was real. So was all the support his family and Crewe would provide in the days and weeks to come. He hoped she realized that.

“Good evening,” Peyton called out. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the railing. “Thank you, Your Grace, for the kind introduction and for hosting this wonderful gathering.” She looked from the duchess to Crewe and Devlin in turn, bobbing her head as courteously as possible without releasing the railing. It was her anchor. “Your Graces.” She pulled back her shoulders to steel herself and turned toward the ballroom below. “And my deepest gratitude to all of you for attending tonight.”

She forced a bright—if wholly disingenuous—smile. He’d never seen her more unsettled, more nervous.

“I’m glad you could all be here to welcome me back to London. You see, I’ve been gone a long while.” Her smile never wavered. “Long enough that I don’t expect any of you to recognize me, although you might remember my parents, Charles and Eleanor Chandler.” She paused a beat to let that sink in before admitting, “I am Peyton Chandler, and the last time any of you saw me was ten years ago, at Dartmoor House, before our carriage was attacked.”

Stunned bewilderment swept over the room, and a dropped pin could have been heard in the resulting silence. Everyone stood as still as statues, doing nothing more than blinking. Including whichever peers were working with Horrender.

“I was hurt and afraid for my life,” she continued, “and I had no choice but to leave England and allow everyone to think I died that night.” Her lips twisted into an amused smile at the gaping stares and wide eyes. “Yes, I have returned from the dead.” Then all her dark amusement at her situation faded. “I understand completely the confusion you must be feeling, and I assure you that I will reveal more in the days to come. But I can also confess that I am very much looking forward to getting to know you. Again.” She forced a calm smile. “And I look forward to returning to the old Chandler townhouse tonight…returning once more to my true home.”

The room remained in silent stillness. There were no whispers, no flitting of fans, no snide remarks or cutting comments. No one moved. They simply stared at her as they tried to absorb her announcement, taking a moment to dig back far into their memories and remember what they’d heard of the Chandlers and that horrible attack whose grisly details filled the papers for weeks. Peyton stood just as motionless as they, bravely letting them have their long looks, as if she were a lioness on display in the Tower Menagerie—No, a mythical creature they couldn’t fathom.

She was exactly that, Devlin decided as he stepped up to her side to commence the second part of their plan tonight. She was a phoenix rising from the ashes of death.

Devlin placed his hand over hers as it rested on the railing and turned to address the crowd. Everything had gone according to plan. Now, they needed to leave the party, set the trap, and wait for—

But Peyton stopped him with a squeeze of her hand and a quick sidestep in front of him. “I have returned now,” she continued, loudly and with just as much determination as before, “because I have learned who murdered my parents that terrible night all those years ago.”

Devlin’s heart stopped.Thiswasn’t what they’d planned. All she was supposed to have done was declare she had returned and was going back home. Claiming evidence of her parents’ murders was going too far. “Peyton, donot—”

“Josiah Horrender!” she called out impulsively, his name loudly echoing through the ballroom.

Devlin bit down a curse. She’d gone beyond dangling herself as bait. This wasn’t a simple revelation of her identity.

It was a declaration of war.

“Peyton,” he warned under his breath. Beside them, Crewe, his mother, and Margaret stared in bewilderment. “Stop this.”

“No,” she muttered back, just as low. “I have to do this. It all has to stop—tonight.” Then she pulled herself up as tall as possible and called out to the ballroom, “I have irrefutable proof that Josiah Horrender and his men were responsible. That was why I returned to London, to put together the final pieces of the puzzle. Now, I intend to go to Bow Street in the morning to have that murderer brought to justice.”

Low whispers rose around the room at the intensity of her voice.

“My father was not a saint. He had gotten involved with men and activities he shouldn’t have.” She didn’t dare glance at Devlin as she said that. “But I plan to put to rights all that happened that terrible night, as my parents would want me to do, and I hope I can rely on your support in the coming days as Horrender and all his associates are rounded up, arrested, tried, and sentenced.” She paused to drive home the knife—“Everylast one of them.”

Instantly, like the bursting of a bubble, the ballroom exploded into murmurs of disbelief and mutters of indignation, followed by loud utterings of distrust and a few bits of laughter scattered throughout. But mostly, there was confusion, even as shouts rose throughout the room and demands called up to Devlin and Crewe—

“Dartmoor!” Lord Melville shouted. “What the devil is going on here?”

“Can’t you tell?” Baron Thornton shouted down Melville. “It’s one of Crewe’s bad jokes!”

“Not a joke,” another gentleman shouted from the rear of the ballroom. “A fraud! She can’t possibly be who she says she is.”

That last sent a wave of nods sweeping around the room, now joined by calls from the ladies for explanations. Soon, raised voices called out as loudly as the silence had been deep only a few moments before.

Peyton’s face paled, but the brave woman stood firm at the railing, even though she had no idea what to say to defend herself.