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Chapter One
Kenneth Curtis, the Marquess of Walsrock, sat in his study pouring over several bound papers. It was about noon and the heat of the day was approaching its peak. The drapes had been pulled aside and the windows opened, resulting in a gentle breeze wafting into the study and keeping the room cool.
Still, sweat managed to materialize on his forehead and began tracing its way down till it settled on his eyebrows.
Using the back of his hand, he wiped at his brows, his focus remaining anchored on the papers in front of him. He’d been at the desk since morning when he got back from breakfast and hadn’t moved ever since.
A quill, ink, and foolscap lay beside his stack of papers ready to take down any notes he had. The foolscap had managed to remain empty even though he’d been at this task for well over three hours.
I need to find Leonard.
The thought was barely settled in his mind before he was on his feet and heading out of his study to find his valet.
Two years older than Kenneth, Leonard Arnold—who was eight-and-twenty years old—wasn’t part of thetonby birth. He was a commoner whose mother had been in the service of the Duke’s family before Kenneth was born.
Leonard had grown up on the grounds of the manor and when he’d turned eighteen, had also come into the service of the Duke’s family like his mother before him. He was employed as Kenneth’s valet.
To the outsider, the relationship between them was purely one of a gentleman and hisgentleman’s gentleman.In secret, however, both of them had shared a close bond of friendship since their teenage years.
After searching through the house, he finally found Leonard in his own bedroom, standing over his bed and holding a copy of the Times.
Kenneth’s evening wear lay stretched out on the bed, an indication that Leonard was previously involved in the task of choosing an evening outfit for him. However, Leonard was currently engrossed in reading and didn’t even hear when he walked in.
“Well, if you continue to stare at that paper with such intensity, your eyes will eventually bore a hole through them,” Kenneth joked.
“My Lord!” Leonard exclaimed in jest as he spun around and dropped the paper to his side.
Even though that was the correct salutation, considering his title as the Marquess of Walsrock, Kenneth had been friends with Leonard long enough to know when the latter addressed him in jest.
Whenever they were alone, Leonard had always addressed him by his first name, an act Kenneth had grown increasingly comfortable with, even though there was a time long ago when he would have frowned at such apparent disrespect for his peerage.
The change had originated by mere happenstance on that fateful night, two years ago, and had crystalized over the period since then. Now the same change was responsible for the ideals he was currently propagating through parliament—ideals that Leonard supported wholeheartedly.
Leonard’s reason was simple. He had mingled so much with the Britishbeau mondeall his lifeand seen how thetontreated him as an inferior member of society. As a result, Leonard despised them.
“Up to no good, I see?” Leonard mocked for the second time since Kenneth had entered the bedroom.
“Well, it might interest you to know that I need your help with matters I will be deliberating over in parliament, matters that would affect the state of affairs in England. Show some respect.” Kenneth snickered with a sarcastic air of superiority, almost certain that he was going to get a laugh from Leonard.
However, he discovered a stern look had replaced the smile that was initially plastered across Leonard’s face. The change had been so abrupt that Kenneth was startled.
“Have you seen this?” Leonard said in disgust, slowly lifting the copy of the Times on the desk and stretching it to Kenneth.
“Of course I haven’t.” Kenneth replied dismissively almost as soon as Leonard’s question had graced his ears. “You very well know that I do not have time for Banbury tales. And like I said, I need your help.”
“But this is no Banbury tale.” Leonard insisted. “Have a look.”
Kenneth stretched out his hand and received the paper. A brief precursory glance and he already knew what the news was about. However, he continued to read so as to get the full gist of the news that had made headlines.
Two weeks prior, the whole of London’s grapevines were agog with news of a Cyprian that had been found murdered in her chambers. All the evidence had suggested that one of her jealous wealthy patrons was responsible. In fact, a couple of names, known to be constant patrons of the ladybird, had been thrown around in high society gossip. Everyone was almost certain they knew who was responsible.
Two weeks later, and the Times was reporting that the murderer had been apprehended. The only problem, however, was that the suspected murderer wasn’t anyone of note nor was it any of the names that had been making the rounds.
The Bow Street Runners investigating the case had, in fact, apprehended a mere commoner as the murderer, a fact that had somehow incensed Leonard as his accusatory finger remained pointed at the news headline.
Kenneth was well aware of the reason why Leonard was aggravated at the news, knowing its origin lay in the suspicion that a peer had gotten away with the crime committed.
“I still don’t see the problem,” Kenneth lied, already knowing fully well what the bone of contention was. “Afallenwoman was found murdered and her murderer has been apprehended. What might be the problem?” he said, feigning ignorance.
