Page 4 of How to Start a Scandal

He turned to find his younger sister, Caroline, standing in the open doorway. She was no longer the little girl he’d left behind, but now a woman of nineteen, recently come out. He’d missed her debut, too, though he’d read about it in the papers some months later when they were finally delivered.

‘Caroline, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,’ he said.

She raced over the thick Turkish carpet and threw her arms around him. ‘You’ve nothing to apologise for.’ She squeezed him fiercely. ‘You’re home. That is all that matters.’

Home. The word was so easily thrown about. But it wasn’t his home. It wasn’t his title. He didn’t even have his own bloody valet. Everything had all belonged to William. Seth was merely a figure standing in place for a ghost.

He gave a half-hearted smirk. ‘You may be the only one pleased with my return.’

Caroline released him and stepped back. She’d grown into a lovely woman. She had the same dark eyes and hair as him, but where his features were hard lines and sharp angles, everything about her was soft with femininity.

‘It’s been terribly difficult on Mother.’ Caroline glanced behind her and lowered her voice. ‘The solicitor who was handling our affairs stole all her jewellery. Mother tried to keep it quiet, but...’ Caroline pressed her lips together. ‘Word got out. It was quite the scandal to weather.’

Seth winced. ‘And I wasn’t here.’ For the first time, he truly did regret his absence from London.

‘You were fighting for our country.’ Caroline gave a little shrug. ‘And you’re here now. That is all that matters. I’m so pleased to have you home, Brother.’

‘I intend to fully take on the earldom and see to all our affairs. Neither of you will ever have to worry again,’ he vowed. And by God, he meant it. No matter what it took, he would do what was necessary to be every bit as good an earl as William had been.

Or at least he’d be the best he could.

Chapter Two

Though Seth had attended the Duchess of Richmond’s ball prior to the battle breaking out, returning to such opulence so soon after having been mired in dirt and gore practically left him reeling.

The ballroom glittered with an undeniable splendour. Beeswax candles emitted a golden glow, made brighter by the backing of opulent mirrors. Hothouse flowers were arranged into perfect displays giving splashes of colour throughout and sweet music floated effortlessly beneath the hum of conversation.

It was all such a beautiful waste. Soldiers had gone without pay, sacrificing their lives while the ton nibbled on food they didn’t intend to eat and threw money about with reckless abandon. Profligates, the lot of them.

More than the unnecessary extravagance of it all, what struck Seth again and again was how clean everything was. It was the same at his home with the polished wood furniture and the dust-free notions and floors.

His life as a soldier had been one of fighting and death. Sometimes this had brought injury, other times hunger. There had been wet chills from rainstorms, oppressive humidity that hummed with insects and thick, sucking mud.

Never had there been luxury.

Not like this.

Though he looked very much as though he belonged in his surroundings with his black tailcoat and silk breeches, he felt worlds apart. He glanced down at his hands encased in white gloves. His cuticles and fingernails were still stained with the grime of war despite his inherited valet’s valiant attempts. The hours that Bennet had worked to make Seth look presentable had made him feel like the town house—chipped, broken brick smoothed over with an attractive facade. It didn’t mean the cracks weren’t there any more, only that they were covered up.

‘Dalton.’ A hand clapped him on his shoulder and sent him spinning around.

The Marquess of Kentworth grinned at him. ‘I dare say it’s been ages since I’ve seen you about. Still looking quite the soldier, I see.’ He indicated Seth’s red waistcoat.

The colour had been intentional. Seth could no longer wear his uniform. He’d given up that honour when he decided to sell his commission. But by God, he could still wear the colours of a proud soldier.

‘Rawley, look who is among us once more.’ Kentworth tapped the arm of the man beside him.

Viscount Rawley turned and gave a rare and broad smile. ‘Lord Dalton. Good to see you’ve returned home safe.’

Seth inclined his head in thanks.

‘Now I’ll finally have someone to drink with me.’ Kentworth winked at Seth. ‘After the necessaries of the ball have concluded, what do you say we go and find ourselves some gin and a bit of muslin?’

While the offer would have been appealing years ago, Seth now shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I cannot. I have a meeting with my new solicitor early tomorrow morning.’

Kentworth’s blue eyes widened. ‘I heard about the perfidious cretin who pilfered from your accounts while you were off fighting for England.’ He scoffed. ‘A shabby show of loyalty for one’s King and country, I say. Truly despicable.’

‘Did they find him yet?’ Rawley asked.