Chapter One

riffin Michael Ivy, Earl of Hollingsworth, couldn’t believe his ill luck. Just this morning, a letter had arrived from his father, the Duke of Whittington, and the contents had anxiety clawing through the pit of his stomach.

“I don’t wish to go to Ivy Castle, least of all in the dashed wintertime,” he said to his twin brother, Stephen—known in polite society as Viscount Tilbury, which was their father’s second subsidiary title—who lounged on a low sofa in the drawing room.

“On this you have my complete sympathies,” his twin said, not bothering to glance up from the book he was reading. With his tall, lean form stretched out upon that piece of furniture, he was the picture of a negligent lord. “Why the devil do you mention it? I thought we’d decided to knock about Town for the holidays. There’s precious little entertainment here, but the members of the beau monde who remain should prove good enough company and won’t send you running off to hide as if there were a crush.” A trace of annoyance wove through his voice, for it was well known that Griffin detested being out in public.

“That’s odd.” Stephen shifted his position so that he sat up straight. He shoved a hand through his thick, dark brown hair. Worry etched his brow while concern clouded his chocolate brown eyes. No doubt Griffin’s own features reflected the same, for they were identical in every way. “Might as well read it then. Papa rarely writes. I’ll have it after you.”

“Right.” Perhaps the unknowing was the crux of the issue, for he could imagine all sorts of things in his head. Resting an ankle on a knee to try and affect an outward image of calm, Griffin cleared his throat. “It’s dated a month ago.”

To Griffin and Stephen, my oldest children,

I’m writing to you on this day to summon you boys to Ivy Castle. The Warwickshire countryside is lovely this time of the year, if you’ll recall from your childhoods. Beyond that, there is more somber news. I’m gathering my children to my country seat for the sheer fact that this may very well prove my last Christmastide. Over the months, my health has deteriorated, and I’m not certain I’ll live to see another year.

“Apparently, Papa is dying.” Shock sent ice through Griffin’s veins as he stared in horror at the familiar, heavy handwriting on the paper.

“What the devil does he mean by that?” Stephen objected, coming to his feet. The abandoned book thudded to the Aubusson carpet.

“I have no idea.” It was news to him that his father suffered from failing health. The last time he’d seen him, granted, was six months or so ago, and that man seemed quite well. How had he declined so steadily and so fast? His chest as anxiety came over him. A sheen of sweat formed on his upper lip that had nothing to do with the cheerful fire dancing behind the grate.

In any event, you and your siblings need to arrive at Ivy Castle post haste, and most certainly by Christmas, earlier still if you can manage it. I’ve made plans to celebrate the holiday in the tradition that my father and his father before him had done. We’ll have bonfires, mummers, feasting, caroling, social parties, and all the other falderol one can imagine that’s fitting for this time of year.

“He means to keep the holidays in the style of Grandfather,” Griffin said in a quiet voice while his insides were whipped into a frenzy of terror. Those plans meant he’d have no excuse to miss them, especially if his father were indeed dying.

“That sounds distinctively unappealing, for I’d hoped to secure the company of a certain Mrs. Danvers this month...”

Griffin rolled his eyes heavenward. His brother, when not chasing the latest Incomparable of the Season, always had a willing member of the demi-monde in the wings. “You can take up with the widow once we return to London. We owe it to Papa to acquiesce to his wishes just now.”

“But the inconvenience of it!” Stephen took to pacing, which is what Griffin wished to do but was nearly paralyzed by looming responsibilities. “It will take at least five days to journey to Ivy Castle by coach, providing the weather is fair.”

“I am aware of that, but how can we not go? What if he expires while we tarry here?” The guilt of it couldn’t be borne. Before his twin could answer, Griffin read the remainder of the letter.

Your mother and I are looking forward to seeing you and your siblings together in one place. Christmastide is a time for family, and you children have been scattered to the wind for far too long. Come home. Spend time with me while you can. Your lives in London will wait. Especially you, Griffin. Once I pass, the mantle of duke will fall about your shoulders. You haven’t proved yourself worthy of the title, but I’m hoping to see a change in you soon.

Besides, your mother and I will celebrate our wedding anniversary on Boxing Day. Being married nine and thirty years is nothing to sneeze at and we’d like all of you here to mark the occasion with us. No need to reply to this letter with one of your own. The post is slow and if you leave Town now, you’ll arrive before the mail coach anyway.

Yours affectionately,

Father

Griffin stared at his brother. “If he expires, I’ll be the duke,” he said in a quiet voice as his stomach heaved. A few swallows staved off the urge to retch, but for how long?

“Oh, I’m well aware you’ll be the next Duke of Whittington,” Stephen snapped back with a fair amount of envy in his voice. He’d missed out on being the oldest son by only one minute, and he’d never gotten over it throughout the whole of his life.

“I’m not ready.” Gooseflesh raced over his skin at the thought. Assuming the title meant he’d be thrust into society in a greater role than he currently served. That made him hot and cold by turns, for he was exceedingly withdrawn and hated to have any sort of attention on himself. “I detest being the center of attention, and becoming a duke is about the most notoriety a man can have.”

“Perhaps not to you.” Griffin shook his head and regard the letter once more. If summoning them all to Ivy Castle—a place they’d hadn’t been since they were all youths—it meant that his father was serious and perhaps a touch desperate. Indeed, he was dying, for he’d never before done anything like this.

“You need to push through your abject fear about being in society.” His brother wandered to the fireplace and rested a fist against the high mantle. The soothing shades of green within the room complimented his coloring.

“I wish I had the charm and confidence that you do, but all of those traits must have been split between us.” And he’d been given the unsavory qualities of a man where Stephen had luxuriated in a life without worry or overthinking.

At least in the country, he wouldn’t need to do the pretty much. Yet the mention of possible Christmastide events from the letters left prickles of apprehension on his skin and a cold sweat accompanying them. That meant guests and people he didn’t know. Conceivably, his parents would have invited members of the ton who were located close enough to make the parties.

“What should we do?” Obviously, they’d go on the journey, for if he remained and his father did expire, the guilt of not being there for those final moments would bury him.

“Do we have a choice?” Stephen shrugged. Then he pushed off from the mantle and held out a hand for the letter. “If Papa is dying and you’re to be the duke,” a trace of bitterness infused his voice, “then we shouldn’t waste any more time.” He pushed out a sigh as Griffin gave over the missive. “Do you remember when we were children and you and I used to trade places to escape doing the things we didn’t want or that would have showed at a disadvantage?”

“We could easily do that again if this life truly terrifies you enough that you can’t function on a daily level.” Concern clouded his eyes. He glanced at the letter, wadded it up, and then tossed the ball into the fire. “I would make the sacrifice, even if it would damage my standing in society.”

“Oh, please.” Griffin released a breath of frustration. “Those were childhood stunts, nothing more, and they harmed no one. Being the duke is my birthright.”

“By a mere minute. What would it hurt if we switched lives? I could be just as good a duke—if not better—than you.”

Twin spirals of annoyance and anger twisted up his spine. “You and Papa never gave me a chance to see if I could assume the mantle of the duke on my own terms, in my own manner. How do you know I’ll fail?”

Stephen snorted. “Whoever heard of a retiring duke afraid of his own shadow? A duke who’s so fearful of making a fool of himself or being the center of attention that he does nothing? Is nothing?” He chopped at the air with a hand. “Yet I had the ill luck at birth to arrive one minute behind you. Doesn’t matter that I was literally born to the role, you will always have it, and I’ve had to square with that over the years.”

The words echoed in the room as his brother’s voice rose with each question. “Have you, though? You certainly seethe with jealousy about it even now,” Griffin shot off before he could recall the words.

“No, I can’t, and it’s something I’ll forever regret.” Hurt lodged in his chest. Hadn’t he heard the doubts—thought them himself through school—all his life? Why couldn’t Stephen—his twin and the man closest to him in life—support him? “None of what you say is true. I merely haven’t found my niche yet,” he admitted in a small voice. For the space of a few heartbeats, a charged silence sprang between them. “Would you be the better choice for the title? Logically, yes, but who is to say I won’t bring something unique to it, something that might put the Whittington title into history?”

“That remains to be seen, but my point in making the offer of switching is still valid. I wish to spare you embarrassment and aggravation.” Stephen’s expression softened. “After everything, you’re still my brother, and if you don’t feel up to the task...”

“Thank you.” Griffin collapsed into his chair as the strength leeched from his bones. “This is the path life has chosen for me, regardless of the fact that I’m not ready.”

Stephen nodded. “Papa knows about your doubts. Surely he’ll have inspirational words for you on his death bed.” His voice wavered on the last words. “Have you tried to talk to him about those fears? Perhaps he felt much the same way before he assumed the title.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Every time I’ve tried to mention it over the years, he launches into stories of how the dukes of Whittington have never backed down from a challenge. How they’d stood firm and unmoving in the face of adversity. How it’s my responsibility and duty to prove myself a leader within the ton. Being a smidge beneath royalty is a time-honored commitment.” Griffin heaved a sigh that felt as if it had come from his toes. “He’s no doubt disappointed in me, but I can only be who I am. Not all dukes need to make a showing like he has.”

“You’re right. Forgive my harsh words.” Stephen laid a hand on Griffin’s shoulder. “They were uttered in anger and not a true reflection of how I feel about you.”

“I appreciate that.” He turned his head and glanced at his brother, connecting gazes. “I can’t do this without you, Stephen. You’ve always had my back, always stepped in when I’ve made a fool of myself because I can’t find the words due to being frozen with fear.”

“I’ll be there for you for as long as you need me.” He squeezed Griffin’s shoulder, and then physically shook himself, perhaps to clear the maudlin thoughts. “Nothing to do about the whole mess now. In for a penny, in for a pound, eh? You’re the heir.”

“Only by a minute.” Gratitude swamped him, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak for the wad of emotion stuck in his throat. “I can’t avoid it.”

“No, you can’t. If Papa is indeed dying, then this is the moment you’ll meet your destiny. Who knows how your life will change upon arrival at Ivy Castle?”

“Bloody hell, do you remember how cold and drafty that pile was in our youth? I can’t imagine how it is now.” A grin tugged at the corners of Griffin’s mouth.

“And how many times we found ourselves lost in the maze of corridors due to so many dratted wings?” A snicker followed his brother’s words.

“Or how Papa rang a peal over our heads for bedeviling the maids by popping up in unexpected places by way of the secret passages?” There were some fond memories attached to the castle, and he hoped to God there’d be many more after his father’s death.

“I’d forgotten the passageways.” Stephen rubbed a hand along his jaw. “Do you think they’re still viable these days? As far as I knew, you and I were the only ones who knew of their existence.”

“I suppose we could take a tour and find out.” His spirits lifted. Suddenly, the trip didn’t feel like such a chore after all.

“Perhaps we can give Lettice a good scare. She’s too stodgy and starched since she lost her husband and became a headmistress.”

“Agreed.” Griffin nodded. “It’ll be good to see her and Graham again. It’s been an age.” He grinned and laid his hands on his knees. “I assume you’ll travel with me? At least if we’re to be on the road for five days, we’ll have each other to pass the time.”

“Of course. What sort of a cad do you take me for?” Stephen’s eyes lit with an emotion Griffin couldn’t fathom. “And if Papa is dying—I still don’t fully believe that’s the truth of the matter—I’ll help you with whatever you need until you find your bearings. This time in life would be daunting for anyone, let alone a man who loathes the attention.”

“I appreciate that.” For long moments, they were lost to their own thoughts. Then he stirred and gained his feet. “Buck up, brother. At least he didn’t say it was high time we were married. Honestly, I expected such gammon in that vein.”

Stephen snickered. “That’s something. How many years has it been since our parents have nagged us to marry and settle down?”

“Too many, and that’s a fact.” Griffin shuddered. “The last thing I want is to have some young slip of a woman pester me about coming up to scratch. And I’m quite old besides. The thought of courting a young lady just come out is as daunting as the age gap.”

“Then aim your sights lower if marriage is a priority soon after taking the title. I’m sure there are plenty of women on the shelf who would snap at the chance to land an earl, who will soon be a duke.”

“Ugh.” Griffin shook his head. “I’m firm in my decision to avoid marriage. Parson’s mousetrap is not for me. It’s too stressful, and I certainly can’t talk to a woman without wanting to turn tail and run.”

“Oh, brother dear, how lucky you are. As soon as you’re a newly minted duke, the women will come to you. All you need do is close your eyes and pick one.” Stephen snorted. “Besides, women are more trouble than they’re worth, and the ones who desire marriage even more so. Hang onto your independence as long as you can.”

“I’ll take your words under advisement. In the meantime, we should inform the staff and start packing.” Whatever awaited him at the end of the journey to Ivy Castle, he hoped to God he’d be able to conduct himself in the best manner possible without letting the responsibilities smother him.