A Duke to Remember (A Season for Scandal Book 2) Read Free Page A

blessing. It had freed him from a landslide of responsibility and allowed him the liberty to choose how he lived his life and even whom he married. Being a duke wasn’t as glamorous as one might think.
    His father had been an idiot.
    Not only did the Ashland title come with mind-boggling wealth, it came with power trumped only by the bloody monarchy. What sort of man would not want those things?
    And now all of that could be his. Francis wanted—no, needed—it all. He was so close, he could almost taste it. The old duke had died. Francis’s father was dead. There was only one thing stopping the courts from handing over everything Francis had ever wanted.
    And that was his lunatic of a cousin. Who was very inconveniently missing.
    Missing wasn’t good enough for the courts to transfer the peerage from Noah Ellery to Francis Ellery. Missing wasn’t even good enough to transfer any of the duchy’s properties and wealth. Especially with the duchess running her mouth, trumpeting to anyone who would listen that her precious son was still alive.
    Francis had certainly taken care of that problem. He’d then turned his attention to the one remaining and sought the sort of help that a situation like this required. That sort of help was expensive, but would be worth every penny in the end. If Noah Ellery was alive, he would be found.
    And if the courts wanted a body, he would give them one.

Chapter 2
    T he offices of Chegarre & Associates were tucked into the clutter of Covent Square, hidden in plain sight in the shadow of St Paul’s Church. The long piazzas that lined the raucous marketplace were crowded today, as they were every day. And being that the Covent Square neighborhood was populated largely by those who made their living as entertainers, of both the artistic and the intimate persuasion, the tenements saw traffic that ebbed and flowed at all hours of the day and night. No one had the interest or the time to notice the comings and goings of Elise DeVries. Which was exactly how she wanted it.
    There was no sign outside the shabby-fronted building that housed Chegarre & Associates, nor did the consultancy advertise its services in the Times . Even so, every person in the ton—and many outside it—knew about Chegarre and the secret miracles it worked for its clients.
    Chegarre & Associates was a firm dedicated to fixing the private and personal problems of the very public people who were wealthy enough to afford Chegarre’s astronomical fees. When faced with the threat of humiliation, scandal, or dishonor, one could do no better than to avail oneself of Chegarre’s expert team for a solution. Elise had been a partner in the firm for just over five years, and there was little that surprised her any longer. She’d covertly tidied up inconvenient deaths, separated scandalous lovers, quashed illicit affairs, shut down illegal businesses, foiled kidnappings and extortion plots, and helped to zero out debts and addictions. The firm was masterful at making scandal simply disappear.
    Which was not to say that resolving the Ashland matter would be easy.
    Elise climbed the worn stone steps and let herself into the building, shutting the heavy wooden door firmly behind her. Immediately the din of the square vanished, replaced with a blessed silence. While the exterior of the once-luxurious town house still presented the same shabby facade as its neighbors, the interior had been restored to its former glory. The grandeur of the past was evident in the details of the polished wood on the walls and floor, the sparkle of crystal from the chandeliers and sconces overhead, and the subtle sheen of marble where it framed welcoming hearths. Elise leaned against the door and closed her eyes, suddenly exhausted in the absence of an audience.
    She pulled off her spectacles and pressed her fingers to her eyes, making black spots dance behind her closed lids.
    Seeing a woman restrained as the duchess had been had evoked unpleasant memories.