Page 45 of Prince of Scandal

Where on earth were those damned books?

Precariously perched on a ladder that could be moved along the library floor, and holding a lantern in his hand for light, Ashton finished checking another section of the top shelf with a curse of frustration. He and Franz had been searching for hours now, and had subsequently been joined by several footmen who were on their hands and knees, checking the bottom shelf.

They had to be here. Had to be. He could practically see the maroon leather binding with the gold lettering in his mind. Debrett’s Peerage, Volumes I and II. 1805.

He’d studied them both until his eyeballs bled before they’d come to England; learning all the important titles, the dukedoms and marquessates and earldoms, as his parents had only really been interested in the most powerful men. The truly ancient titles with an unbroken bloodline that stretched back to the middle ages rather than a mere century or so, such as Norfolk and Somerset. Northumberland and Arundel. Shrewsbury and Derby. Exton and Pinehurst.

“Perhaps it’s not here, sir,” muttered Franz, who was holding a single candlestick aloft and searching the shelf below. “Could the volumes have been left behind in London?”

Ashton sighed. “I swear I’ve seen them. But perhaps that is just wishful thinking.”

“Well, we are searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack. You do own thousands of books…wait! Is this…damnation, they are stuck together, one moment please…yes! Debrett’s Peerage from 1805!”

Thank God.

Nearly tumbling from the ladder in his urgency, Ashton clambered down the structure and took the two dusty books from his manservant. After smilingly releasing the footmen back to their duties, he and Franz sat down in the chairs by the fire. The healthy blaze, together with several candelabra on the mantelpiece, offered the best light to see.

“I’ll take Volume I, you take Volume II,” said Ashton, handing the book over. “Now, what was that title Tommy mentioned? We can look it up in the glossary.”

“A viscountcy,” Franz replied, flicking through the pages. “Northern or Northman or something like that. Definitely an heir.”

It took all his will to turn the pages carefully and not tear them out completely as he searched for the elusive name. The print was ridiculously small, and it felt like his eyes were blurring and crossing just to be spiteful.

Then his finger stopped on a title.

Northam, Viscount. Heir to the Earl of Kingsford.

Heart pounding, Ashton cleared his throat. “Could it possibly be Northam? He’s a viscount. Kingsford’s heir. You know, that title is vaguely familiar. Come to think of it, I recall a Countess of Kingsford. Warm, plainspoken woman with the loudest laugh. Her husband trotted behind her like an adoring pup and called her Mimi. No…Mandy! They were actually in love. I remember, because my parents informed me never to speak to them again, only the dowager countess, considered a grande dame of the ton. If I recall correctly, she was frightening.”

Franz nodded. “I shall see if Kingsford is in this volume…ah, here we go. Look.”

Taking the book, Ashton peered at the entry which included an illustration of the family crest that was unfortunately smudged. A shield of some sort with three birds and a sword? And some Latin underneath that was surely too small for anyone to read. No point dwelling on that, it was the information that was truly important.

KINGSFORD, EARL OF

Creation: 1602 of Kingsdown, Kent

Vaughan Charles Nash, 6th Earl. Born 1764, succeeded his father the 5th Earl in 1785. Educated at Eton. Married Amanda, daughter of Mayor Horatio Poole of Sevenoaks in 1792.

Sons living: Xavier Nash, Viscount Northam. Born 1795.

Daughters living: Lady Lilian Nash, born 1793, Lady Pippa Nash, born 1795, Lady Georgiana Nash, born 1797.

Brothers living: none

Sisters living: none

Mother living: Hope, Dowager Countess of Kingsford. Daughter of Lord Eskdale.

Seat: Kingsford Park, Kent. Town residence: Kingsford House, Hanover Square.

Ashton read the information, then read it several more times as disbelief grew into shock. No. Surely this couldn’t be correct. And yet it was Debrett’s, a well-established and highly respected business. Information about births and deaths and marriages would always need to be updated; the very reason why they released an annual version. But it was highly unlikely to be wrong. Which meant the woman he’d been having an affair with, the one he was due to meet tomorrow and planned on making a declaration to…had lied to him about everything.

“Your Highness?” said Franz anxiously. “What does it say? Do you know the family? Can we warn them about Major Lord Osbourne?”

He sat back in his chair and rubbed a weary hand across his face. No, he’d been unfair to Georgiana. She hadn’t lied about everything. The villain who had used her so disgracefully was in fact a Rupert. But everything else—her marriage, surname, widowhood, being of an age to make her own decisions, even experience in the bedchamber: false.

Georgiana was an unmarried lady of the ton, the youngest daughter of an English earl.