Duke Number Five Read online

  Duke Number Five

  A Survivors Short Story and Prologue

  Shana Galen

  Part I: The Wanton Widow

  Lord Phineas Duncombe, fifth son of the Duke of Mayne, had one duty—to keep his brother alive. It was no easy task as Richard Duncombe, fourth son of the Duke of Mayne and now the duke himself, was what Phineas termed an idiot. Richard drank too much, gambled too much, whored too much, and generally involved himself in pursuits that tended to lead to violent and premature death.

  Avoiding said premature death was the sole reason Phineas was attending a ball in London two days before Christmas instead of taking his ease, warm and cozy, at the family pile in West Sussex, where his mother and two sisters had already gathered and were undoubtedly wondering when the men of the family would make an appearance.

  Phineas stood against the wall of the card room, his eyes watering from the smoke emanating from a dozen cheroots and several pipes, and watched his older brother lose at piquet. Piquet, for God’s sake. It was a child’s game. Phineas knew this well as earlier that evening he’d played it in the drawing room with the son of one of the ladies who worked in the brothel Richard had visited. The boy had beat him because Phineas had let the lad win. If Richard couldn’t win at piquet, he should avoid the card room altogether.

  Phineas heard the strains of the orchestra and rather wished his brother might put down the cards and the bottle of brandy and play at charming the ladies for an hour or so. Phineas rather liked charming ladies, and he also liked dancing. But there were no ladies or dancing to be had in the gentleman’s card room.

  Why couldn’t Ernest be the brother Phin had to keep alive? Ernest had enjoyed reading and sketching. Ernest had been easy to keep alive. Phineas should have been more careful with Ernest. He should have insisted the third son of the Duke of Mayne stay inside during the cold weather of early December. But then there had been two brothers ahead of Phin in line for the title, and he hadn’t been overly worried. All of that had changed when Ernest slipped on a patch of ice, fell, and hit his head so hard he was dead instantly.

  What were the odds? Death by ice. It seemed incredible. And, of course, Ernest’s death meant Richard was now the duke and somehow Phineas had become the spare. And Phineas intended to remain the spare, too. He did not want the responsibility that came with the ducal title. Estates to manage, tenants to oversee, laws to vote for or against—none of these tasks suited Phineas. Thus, his mission tonight...and probably every night for the rest of his life. Depressing thought that it was.

  A hand clapped on his shoulder, and Phineas sighed when he saw it belonged to the Earl of Annesley, who had been a friend of his brother Phillip—or was it George? “You’re moving up in the world, eh, Duncombe?” He blew smoke in Phineas’s face, and Phineas attempted not to cough.

  “If you’re implying the death of my brother Ernest earlier this month is something I celebrate—”

  “Not at all!” He leaned close, his breath smelling of port. “But you must admit, you probably never expected to be this close to the title.”

  “I never wanted to be this close to the title,” Phineas retorted.

  Annesley clapped him on the back again. “No, no! Of course not.” But his tone was that of one placating a child.

  Still, the earl was correct that Phin had never expected to inherit the title. His father, the fourth Duke of Mayne, had died quite suddenly when Phineas was eighteen. He’d been at the dinner table, enjoying his meal, when he’d clutched at his heart, turned purple, and passed away even before a doctor could be called for.

  Brother Phillip, who had been expected to become the duke one day, became the fifth Duke of Mayne. He’d lasted six years. He’d even married and had children, none of whom had survived past their first year, unfortunately. And then one summer day Phillip had decided to go swimming in the pond the boys hadn’t swum in since they’d been children, and the next morning Phillip’s body had been found bloated and floating close to the shore.

  Phillip’s drowning had set off small alarms in Phineas’s mind, but not so many that he renounced his career in the army. He did avoid swimming for some time, however.

  And so brother George had become the sixth Duke of Mayne. George had always been a bit of a hothead. He had a ferocious temper, and Phineas was relatively certain he beat his wife and caused her to miscarry at least once. But the duchess would say nothing against her husband, and Phineas was rarely home to observe or intervene in the relationship. George had lasted five years. He died in a duel over some misunderstanding at his club—Phineas was still not clear what exactly that misunderstanding had been—leaving his wife a widow without issue and Ernest, he of the slippery ice, duke.

  By then Phineas had been nine and twenty and part of the elite troop fighting Napoleon on the Continent under Lieutenant Colonel Draven. The troop called themselves the Expendables because they were all younger sons who were not needed to carry on the family name or inherit the title. Phineas had felt a little less expendable after George’s death, but Ernest was so unlike George that Phineas really hadn’t worried.

  Ernest had been only thirty-three, unmarried as he was relatively shy, but a man who did not like duels and certainly never had the asinine notion to go swimming alone in a pond.

  And then there had been the ice.

  At the funeral, Anne, the daughter who had been born between Ernest and Richard, had remarked that if women were allowed to inherit she would be the next in line for the title. Phineas had thought the idea brilliant and had been trying to convince Richard to introduce it for debate when the Lords reconvened. Anne had children. If Anne inherited the title, Phineas would be safe.

  Instead, he was stuck with the idiot Richard who seemed intent on living fast and dangerous. If the man would at least marry and have a son before he got himself killed, that would be something.

  “You know what they are calling the title, don’t you?” Annesley asked, calling Phineas’s attention back to him. Phin had been trying to forget the earl was there.

  “I have no interest in such matters,” Phin said because he didn’t and also because he already knew. Philomena, his younger sister, had told him.

  “The Cursed Dukedom.”

  “Is that the best the ton can do?” Phin replied. “There’s no alliteration, no rhyme.” The earl raised his brows. “You think you can do better?”

  “Naturally. One might call it the Doomed Dukedom or the call my brother the

  Fluke Duke or—call me Phin the Fin.”

  “That’s rather good. Because you’re the last brother.”

  Phineas pointed at him in acknowledgement.

  “And fin is Latin for end.”

  “Nothing gets past you,” Phineas drawled.

  Suddenly a chair across the room toppled over, and Richard, face florid, rose to his feet. The eighth Duke of Mayne pointed at the man seated across the table from him. Phineas didn’t know the man, but he thought he might be the son of a viscount or baron.

  “If you’re so confident,” Richard said, his words slurred, “then let’s wager on it.” “I don’t like to wager on ladies,” the viscount or baron’s son retorted.

  “Excuse me.” Phineas made his way to his brother’s side in a near sprint.

  “Afraid you’ll lose, eh?” Richard taunted.

  “Actually, I have to agree with Mr...?”

  “Denny,” the man supplied. He was probably close to Phineas’s own age of two and thirty, tall and clear-eyed.

  “I agree with Mr. Denny.” Phin put his hand on Richard’s shoulder. “It’s in poor taste to wager on ladies.”

  Richard shrugged his hand off. “I didn’t ask you, Perfect Phineas. Go run home to Mama if you don’t want to play with
the big boys.”

  Considering Richard was only two years his senior, Phineas did not take the directive seriously.

  “Besides,” Richard continued, “we’re all friends here. We can keep a little wager secret, can’t we, boys?”

  Phineas rolled his eyes. The wager would be public knowledge before the cock crowed.

  “I still think it’s in bad taste,” Denny argued.

  “Why? She’s no lady, not really. Everyone knows she’s spread her legs for half the men at this ball. I even heard rumors she let her own manservants tup her.”

  “Might I ask who you are speaking of?” Phineas asked.

  “Why? You haven’t tupped her. Didn’t even want a whore at Mrs. Swan’s tonight.”

  A few of the men chuckled.

  “Call me a fool, but I’d rather not die of the pox.”

  “Mrs. Swan’s girls are clean!” Richard roared. Phineas winced. His brother really

  was quite foxed. It would have been best if he could have persuaded Richard to go home and to bed now, but drink only made Richard belligerent.

  “I’m sure they are. I’ve never met a bawd whose girls weren’t clean as the new fallen snow.”

  That ended the chuckles.

  “Ignore my virgin brother,” Richard said loudly.

  Phineas wasn’t a virgin, but he didn’t correct his brother. No doubt Richard

  considered any man who couldn’t count his intimate encounters in double digits virginal. “I say we wager. First man to roger Lady Longstowe wins fifty pounds,” Richard

  said.

  “Not much confidence in your prowess, have you?” Denny tossed back. “Why not

  make it a hundred?”

  Why not gamble the whole estate away why he was a it? Phineas was disgusted

  with his brother, and not for the first time.

  Richard held out his hand, and Denny rose and took it. The two men shook. “When does the contest for the lady’s affections begin?” Richard asked.

  “Why not tonight?” someone called. “The Wanton Widow is here.”

  This caused a hum of voices. Phineas had not heard of Lady Longstowe, but he

  knew of the Wanton Widow. She was said to be extremely beautiful. She’d been quite young when she’d been married to a marquess—presumably Longstowe—and the man had kept her out of Town and thus away from corruption. But Longstowe had passed away a few years ago, and the lady had made her way into Society. Apparently, all those years in seclusion had made her curious. She did have quite the reputation for taking lovers. She was known as wanton because she never took the same lover twice. A man had one night with her and then she was done with him forever.

  “Then why are we still in here?” Richard bellowed. “To the ballroom!” He led the charge of men interested in the wager, while those left behind reseated themselves and began their games anew. Phineas would have liked to stay behind., but he couldn’t very well keep his brother alive if he didn’t stay close to his side.

  And, truth be told, he was curious to have a look at Lady Longstowe. He hadn’t known her when she’d come out as she was more than a decade older than he, and though he liked to attend balls and other ton functions, they clearly did not have the same set of acquaintances as he’d never been introduced to her.

  At least he was free of the card room.

  He followed the other men trailing toward the ballroom and looked about for his brother. He was speaking with the hostess, Lady Houghton. She was tittering loudly, so clearly Richard was telling her of his scheme.

  Mr. Denny, on the other hand, had another idea. He had approached a woman on the other side of the room. Phineas couldn’t see her as too many people stood between them, but he spotted Denny’s bright blond hair quickly enough and could see he was speaking with a woman by the flash of her fan and the glimpses of her red skirt. The notorious Lady Longstowe?

  Phineas didn’t particularly care what Denny did. It was Richard he had to worry about. He made his way closer to Richard, intercepting a footman with a tray of champagne and shooing him away before he could offer Richard more to drink.

  The orchestra began to play a new song

  “She’s dancing with Denny!” Richard whined.

  Phineas, who was standing behind Richard, cursed. Now Richard’s pride had been

  challenged and he would never give up on the quest for the lady.

  “We’ll intercept them after the dance, and I’ll introduce you,” Lady Houghton promised.

  “That’s if Denny doesn’t lure her into the gardens.” Richard pouted.

  “It’s freezing outside,” Lady Houghton pointed out. “There is nothing amorous

  about shivering from the cold during lovemaking, I assure you.”

  Thank God the lady had pointed that out else Phineas would have had to spend the rest of the evening in the cold, making sure his brother’s pursuit of the widow didn’t lead to him dying of frostbite or slipping on ice or being hit on the head with an icicle.

  Lady Houghton moved aside to speak with another guest, and Phineas slid beside Richard. “I’ll give you a hundred pounds if you leave right now,” he said.

  Richard scowled at him. “And forfeit the wager? I think not.”

  “You’ve already had a woman tonight. What’s one more? Besides we have to spend all day in the coach tomorrow on the way to the old pile. I always get a crick in my neck when I try to sleep in the coach.”

  “Then go home,” Richard said impatiently. “I don’t want you here.”

  “And yet, in light of our brothers’ early demise, I feel as though I should stay and keep an eye on you.”

  Richard laughed. “Worried you’ll end up the duke? I don’t foresee that happening. I thought for sure when Ernest was made duke I had no chance at all, but now that I have the fortune and the town house, the servants, and the rest of it at my disposal, I have no intention of dying any time soon. I certainly wouldn’t be so stupid as to crack my head open on ice or drown in a pond. For God’s sake, the pond isn’t even six feet deep!”

  “Forgive me for pointing out that reckless wagers and over imbibing do not inspire confidence.”

  “I can hold my liquor and I have a much longer fuse than George. Never fought a duel and never plan to. You can go home, Perfect. I have a seduction to see to.”

  Phineas stepped back again. Perhaps he should go home. After all, how much danger could Richard face from a woman? Considering how promiscuous she was, she probably had the pox, but then Richard had dipped his wick in a whore every night Phineas had been in his company, so if Richard was to acquire the pox, he probably already had.

  Besides, the pox took years to kill a man. Surely Richard would marry and have a son before then.

  But Phineas didn’t leave. Instead, he stepped back and watched the dancers finish the quadrille. Denny was indeed dancing with a woman in a scarlet gown. Phineas had a glimpse of the bright gown as well as glossy red hair. He didn’t try very hard to see her face, instead scanning the other guests for anyone he might know or wish to speak to.

  He spotted another retired army officer and made his way to him, spending the next twenty minutes recalling campaigns and battles. When he glanced at his brother again, Lady Houghton was introducing him to the lady in red.

  He had a view of her in profile. She was taller than average and curvaceous. Her head was inclined slightly, so he did not see much of her face, but her red hair was glossy and quite bright. She wore a headpiece of gleaming jet, which her hair all but outshone. Richard was speaking, and she seemed intent on what he was saying until Lady Houghton erupted into laughter and the Wanton Widow smiled and looked away.

  That was when the world stopped.

  That was when all the air rushed out of the room.

  That was when Phineas Duncombe, fifth son of the Duke of Mayne, forgot to breathe.

  Her smile faded as soon as she looked away from Richard. She obviously didn’t

  find him very amusing. In f
act, she looked rather annoyed. Well, in truth, she looked beautiful. She didn’t have the youthful beauty of a debutante or even a young wife. Lady Longstowe had a mature beauty that was surely less fleeting. Her red hair was swept off her forehead, emphasizing her auburn brows and lashes that framed eyes a bright blue. She had a small nose, a full mouth, and an oval face. He couldn’t stop his gaze dipping to her dex0301colletage, and then it was rather hard to look away because it was quite an impressive sight to behold.

  When he did finally raise his gaze, he found her eyes were on him. He felt heat rush to his face and before he could stop himself, smiled sheepishly. She gave him a dismissive look and turned back to Lady Houghton and Richard.

  Phineas had wanted to kick himself. He’d been an utter arse. First, he’d stared at her like a drooling schoolboy, then instead of winking or flirting in some way, he’d acted ashamed. What was wrong with him? He was usually so charming with ladies. Then again, he’d never seen a woman like Lady Longstowe. She was no young miss who fluttered her lashes and dropped her fan for a man’s attention. Lady Longstowe was...she was amazing.

  He wanted her, which was clearly out of the question as his brother was already pursuing her. As though to punctuate that point, Richard led the lady to the center of the ballroom, where a waltz had just begun to play. Phineas watched them dance. Richard and he had shared a dance teacher, which meant Richard danced quite well, even this far into his cups. Lady Longstowe was the picture of grace, looking up into Richard’s face even as the duke leered down at her bosom.

  Just as Phineas had.

  God, he was no better than his lecherous brother.

  Phineas looked about for someone to talk to or a chit to dance with—anything to

  take his mind off his brother and the Wanton Widow—but he saw no one who interested him in the slightest. And so he watched his brother drool and paw Lady Longstowe for one dance and then another. By the end of the second dance, Phineas was ready to smash Richard’s nose flat.

  Which was absurd, really. Who was Lady Longstowe to him? She was at least a decade his senior. Certainly, she could take care of herself. And if she was the kind of woman charmed by Richard, then she was not at all to his taste.