Page 1 of An Affair with a Notorious Heiress
Prologue
From the Journal of the Marquess of Rexton
First son to a duke, I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, to a life of ease and plenty. I never did without warmth, food, possessions, or love. But still, it was not a life without its challenges.
My mother, bless her, had survived the streets by thievery and cunning until fate bettered her life, brought her an opportunity to be a partner in a gaming hell. Fate intervened again. She met my father; they fell in love. They married.
But marriage does not always wash off the taint of one’s past, and my mother’s scandalous beginnings landed upon my shoulders. I was made to pay for her transgressions, for crimes of which she’d never been found guilty, as well as the audacity of rising above her station.
Away at school, small for my age, on numerous occasions at night, I would awaken to discover my head covered by a burlap sack as whispering bullies carted me outside, stripped me bare, and tied me to a tree. A sign was hung about my neck: son of a thief.
During rugby matches, I would find myself at the bottom of a scrum where the bruises left from random kicks and flailing fists to my torso were easily explained away as the price one paid for being involved in sports, rather than punishment meted out by those who saw me as less. I was trounced upon in darkened corridors. Assignments I worked to perfect often went missing before I could hand them over to the schoolmaster.
I bore these insults and transgressions in silence, never telling a soul, determined that the woman who gave birth to me would never know what price I paid for her acquiring the love she deserved.
Heir to a dukedom, I would one day have prestige and power, so these deliverers of “justice” were careful to keep their identities hidden for they knew they played a dangerous game, but the final move arrived sooner than expected when one summer I grew in height and breadth. I learned to fight back, with fists that were quick and hard. I boxed, I wrestled, and while my peers might not have come to respect my mother, they did in time come to respect me—or they paid a high price for it. Until the late night pranks stopped. The bruises appeared no more. My papers were left where they lay when I completed them.
Respect, it seems, is not granted by birth, but must be earned.
By the time I reached manhood, I was held in very high esteem indeed. My mother’s past was but a fading whisper on the lips of those who no longer mattered.
Yet I was determined none of my children would be burdened with the sins of either parent. I would live my life above reproach, without scandal. And the woman I took to wife would be as pure as freshly fallen snow.
Chapter 1
London
1882
“Allow me the honor of introducing Lady Margaret Sherman...”
“Allow me to introduce Lady Charlotte...”
“...Lady Edith...”
“...Miss...”
“...Lady...”
The introductions of a new crop of debutantes became a blur of bright eyes, hopeful smiles, dangling dance cards, fluttering eyelashes, and waving fans. Yet Alistair Mabry, Marquess of Rexton, future Duke of Greystone, suffered through it all with gentlemanly aplomb, wishing to be anywhere other than where he was: his sister’s infernal ball. Considering the mad crush of people who attended any affair hosted by the Duke and Duchess of Lovingdon, he was rather certain he wouldn’t be missed—except by the mamas who considered him—at the age of nine and twenty—prime marriage material for one of their daughters, rather convinced he was in want of a wife despite the fact he had, on numerous occasions, indicated quite forcefully the opposite. His father was in good health. His mother had provided a spare, so Rexton was truly in no rush to become shackled.
He carried on polite conversations because Grace had asked him not to immediately disappear into the male-only domain of the card room. Once it became obvious senseless banter was all he was willing to grant, the ladies slowly drifted away like so many delicate petals on a summer breeze, dance cards minus his signature dangling from their limp wrists. Because he’d promised Grace an hour of his presence in the grand parlor and a mere forty minutes had passed, in order to stay true to his word, he wandered to a far corner populated with only ferns.
Watching the proceedings carried out before him, he couldn’t deny that as much as he detested grand affairs, he was intrigued by the secretive games played, and it was to his benefit to remain in the good graces of the aristocracy because at some point, he would indeed be searching for a wife, one with an impeccable reputation, good breeding, and a penchant for staying out of the gossip sheets. While his own family had withstood numerous scandals, the process of deflecting censure was wearisome and he had no desire whatsoever to spend the remainder of his life serving as titillating fodder for the gossips. He’d made it a habit to be above reproach, which made him one of the more boring members among his family and friends, but it was advantageous to be considered dull. He wasn’t scrutinized very closely which meant he was free to do as he pleased within the shadows. And within the shadows, life was never dull.
“Lord Rexton.”
He turned slightly, having no wish to offend the older man. Garrett Hammersley, an American by birth, had embraced England as his own when he moved to London in order to oversee his family’s firearms operations. Opening a factory in England had allowed them to claim the business as an international venture, which had added significantly to their stock value. Their subsequent wealth had given him entry into the more elite circles. Their paths crossed from time to time, mostly at the horse races. He was in possession of something Rexton coveted, and his recent attempts to convince the man to part with it had disappointingly failed. “Hammersley.”
“Say, old chap, I was wondering if I might bother you for a tiny favor.”
Rexton smiled inwardly. Favors usually came with a price. The question was: Would Hammersley pay his? “What did you have in mind?”
“My young niece, my dear departed brother’s daughter, has just had her coming out. Unfortunately, I need someone to help wash off the blemish of her scandalous older sister. I was hoping you’d be willing to step up to the task.”
Rexton knew the older sister only by reputation. Making quite the splash when she arrived in London a few years earlier, she’d caught the eye of the Earl of Landsdowne and their fairy-tale courtship had captured the attention of most of Britain. A few years after they wed, she had engaged in a notorious public affair that had left Landsdowne with no choice except to divorce her, which had resulted in further scandal because those in the aristocracy worth their salt simply did not divorce under any circumstances. Knowing what it was to be touched by scandal, he had empathy for the younger sister, but he rather suspected teaching her to box wasn’t going to help her situation. “I don’t really see how I can be of service.”
Hammersley brushed his fingers over his thick sprinkled-with-gray mustache, twice one way, twice the other. “You are the most sought after bachelor in London, and have the respect of your peers. You’re also known to have excellent taste in women and horses. If you were to show some interest in the girl—”
