Free A Scandalous Secret by Ava Stone Page A

exuberance, and she tousled his dark hair. “And cousins,” she agreed.
    “And we’re stayin’ with them?” he asked, doubt seeping into his words.
    “Aye, we will be stayin’ with yer Uncle James, yer Aunt Bethany, and all five of yer cousins,” she assured him for what seemed like the hundredth time. But she could understand his reluctance to believe such a thing; neither Ewan nor Alasdair had enjoyed the same address for an extended period of time. Neither boy had ever set foot on English soil or the Scottish homeland of their ancestors, for that matter. Both of her brave little soldiers had been born on the continent while she followed Malcolm’s regiment from one camp to another.
    But those days had abruptly come to an end on the battlefield outside Vitoria when Malcolm had taken a ball in the chest. If God had been merciful, Major Campbell would have died on the field that day, but there was very rarely mercy in war. Malcolm had somehow managed to drag his battered body back to camp. Though the surgeons were able to extricate the bullet and stop his bleeding, infection was an entirely different matter. He stubbornly held on to life for more than a week, but in the end Major Malcolm Campbell lost his final battle.
    Hannah tried to be grateful for Malcolm’s last days. At least the boys had been able to say their goodbyes to their father. But that didn’t make his passing any easier on any of them. They’d followed Malcolm for so long, she wasn’t sure they knew how to live on their own without him.
    The only comforting thought in the back of Hannah’s mind was that her brother James would see to her wellbeing. She and the boys were sure to be a burden on James, but her brother would make certain they were well cared for. Hannah heaved a sigh as the first bit of sun peeked over the horizon and her heart lightened a bit. Of course James would take care of them. He always had, after all.
    ***
    After an enjoyable afternoon at his club, Chester Peyton, the Marquess of Astwick, arrived at his home in Waverton Street and was promptly greeted by his butler, Linton. The middle-aged servant was losing his light red hair, and at the moment, he looked as if he was losing his mind as well. “Lord Astwick,” he whispered in greeting.
    Linton’s demeanor should have given Chet enough warning to flee his home without a second thought, but instead he furrowed his brow and studied his butler’s face. “Have you lost your voice?”
    Before Linton could reply, Chet heard it—the one sound that sent chills straight to his bones…the rap of his mother’s cane. “Chester, don’t you even think about escaping,” she bellowed from his closest parlor.
    Linton, at once, looked apologetic. “Lady Astwick is in the gold parlor, my lord.” Then the butler whispered, “She has guests.”
    “Linton, I can hear you!” the marchioness barked, and all the color drained from the poor butler’s face.
    Chet would have felt sorry for his servant, but as he was about to walk into the lion’s den, all thoughts of sympathy were directed squarely at himself. “Thank you, Linton.”
    “Best of luck, sir,” the butler whispered even quieter.
    Chet was going to need all the luck he could get. His mother was not one to visit without a purpose, and there was no purpose he was eager to discuss with her.
    As soon as he entered the gold parlor, Chet found his mother sitting in a high backed chintz chair. If one imagined her cane as a scepter, she looked like an angry Hera holding court on Mount Olympus. Well, perhaps only to him. If one didn’t know her, one might think she resembled a kindly old grandmother, small-framed and silver-haired with steely blue eyes that crinkled when she smiled. But looks could be deceiving, and she didn’t smile all that often. No, she was most definitely an angry Hera at the moment. And her sights were focused on him.
    Across from the stern marchioness sat two other women. The first was a young, pretty