Excerpt: A Pearl Beyond Compare

Excerpt from Prologue:

Tristan North Eastman never thought to inherit his father’s title. He was the third son—fondly proclaimed a charming rogue by some of the ton’s most esteemed hostesses as he lavished them with compliments, praising their beauty.

Truth be told, he could not have imagined spending the tedious amount of time behind the very desk where he was presently seated. It had belonged to his great grandfather and not part of the entailment. Precious little of what he’d been surrounded by his entire life belonged to his family. It belonged to the title—Earl Skeffington.

His family’s solicitors, Stockton and Stockton, Esquires, droned on about the duties he would assume as the eighth Earl Skeffington—God, help him—and the properties that now belonged to him. As he understood entailment, he could not dispose of anything attached to the title, as he would be more or less the caretaker while he held the title as had been his brothers and father before him.

He vaguely remembered his father mentioning that fact to his eldest brother Tyrone—who died of a virulent fever before his twenty-first birthday—and then to Errol—whose life was tragically cut short when he was thrown from his horse a fortnight ago. He still did not believe it possible. Errol had never been tossed off the back of a horse in his entire life! When he’d approached his father’s contact within the Bow Street Runners, asking for more information, he’d been told that no evidence had been found to suggest otherwise.

“Do you have any questions, your lordship?”

The solicitor, Randolph or was it Rupert who asked the question, had Tristan glancing around the room.

When the other brother quietly reminded him, now that Tristan accepted the title, he would be addressed as his lordship. Bloody hell!

He inclined his head. “It is still a shock, what happened to my brother.” Unconsciously, he rubbed at the ache forming at his temples. “I was never one to sit still long enough to apply myself when father was instructing my older brothers of the importance of working with one’s steward, butler, and housekeeper. While I do know it was because they each handled a different part of the household, and staff reporting to them, I was far more interested in working with the stable master.”

His solicitors shared a telling look before murmuring their condolences once again, which only served to ramp up the pain in his head. Needing the distraction, so he would not fall into the rabbit hole of questions surrounding the improbability that his brother was thrown, he studied the two older gentlemen. Given their advanced age, he suspected neither one conversed with their stable master. Odds were they delegated the task of their horse’s care to an underling.

“Your name has been added to the appropriate bank accounts, my lord. Do you plan to follow tradition and take your seat in the House of Lords?”

Bugger it! The thought of taking Errol’s place scraped his gut raw. He had been closer to him than their older brother. Even so, he could not say they had ever shared as close a relationship as Errol and Tyrone had.

“I am still trying to absorb the fact that my brother is gone. It may take a bit more time before I will be able to do as expected—assuming a role I never thought to fill.”

The elder solicitor, Randolph, opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a knock on his study door.

“Enter.”

His butler stood in the open doorway. The lack of expression on his face spoke volumes. “Yes, Lindstrom?”

“An urgent missive just arrived for you, your lordship.”

Tristan thanked the butler, noted the sender, and schooled his features to remain neutral. He motioned for Lindstrom to stay before turning to the solicitors. “Gentlemen, thank you for your time and for sharing your expertise in matters completely foreign to me. Once I have had time to digest everything, I will undoubtedly have questions for you.”

“We are at your disposal, my lord,” Randolph replied.

“Thank you. Lindstrom, please show our guests out.”

“Of course.”

Alone, he broke the wax seal, wondering if it was a note regarding his seat in the House of Lords. He read the note twice, but the words had not changed. The Home Secretary requested an immediate audience with him to discuss his stepping into his brother’s role working for the Crown.

As far as he knew, Errol handled the affairs attached to the earldom—which were a mystery to him—and saw to the running of the estates from their London townhouse, making trips to the estates at the change of seasons.

He had heard rumors of rumblings among his contemporaries—the younger sons who spent their time in gaming hells, or as he had been until recently—at Tattersalls adding to his stables. Even in the auction house, between bidding on prime horseflesh, there had been whispered discussions of secret meetings and seditious plots among those least expected. He had never given it much thought. His interests were centered around acquiring a matched pair of grays for his brother’s new carriage, and a mare who would be a good match for the Thoroughbred stallion he’d purchased a few months earlier.

Lindstrom returned a few moments later. “Will there be a reply?”

He knew the man had also noted where the note originated from. What he did not know was whether or not any of the staff would be privy to the information. Best ask the question, else he would be kept guessing, “Was it commonplace for my brother to receive similar communications from Whitehall?”

“On occasion, your lordship. Though the contents of those missives were never disclosed to me.”

“I take it my brother had some dealings within that building. Was it common knowledge among the rest of the staff?”

Without missing a beat, his butler replied, “Only one other person, your lordship. Edward, your coachman, as he would deliver your brother to Whitehall within half an hour of a missive being delivered.”

“Thank you, Lindstrom. I’m totally at sea as far as my brother’s duties are concerned and wish that were not the case. Neither one of us expected our brother Tyrone to succumb to a fever so quickly, nor I, that Errol would be thrown from his horse.” He had to collect himself, as the reality of how short one’s time on earth could be hit him between the eyes.

“You have my condolences and that of the rest of the staff, your lordship. You brothers were excellent men—as was your father.”

“Thank you, Lindstrom. I’d best present myself at Whitehall.”

“I shall have the carriage brought ‘round.”

 

Three quarters of an hour later, he was introduced to Lord Torrence, one of the Home Secretary’s underlings.

“Condolences on your brother’s passing. The earl, forgive me, former earl, was highly regarded by those of us who had the privilege of working with him.”

“Thank you, Lord Torrence.”

The older man smiled. “Torrence will do, your lordship, as we will be working closely on your assignment.”

“I have an assignment?”

“Your brother had been working with us for a few years and had identified a number of persons of interest to the Crown.”

“Regarding?”

“Suspected seditious plots.”

“Are you suggesting that I assume more than my brother’s title?”

Torrence nodded. “In a word, yes. Now that we have cleared that up, these men are well-respected members of the ton, though if their activities were brought to light, that would quickly change.”

“I do not wish to challenge your authority, but was my brother forced to work for you?”

“Not at all,” Torrence replied. “He volunteered as this is a delicate situation. He was well known and respected among his peers and had a reputation for being level-headed in a crisis and a fair and impartial judge.”

Tristan could not think of a situation himself, where anyone would claim the same about him. God, he would give his right arm for a bottle of brandy right now. “I am not my brother. Given your position, I assume you already are aware of that fact. I have spent a large portion of my time at Tattersalls—spending my monthly stipend, and the balance at Eastman Hall, our country home in Sussex, with the sole intention of increasing my stables.”

Again, Torrence nodded.

“I have also been known to enjoy wagering on the turn of a card. Why in God’s name would you seek to recruit me to continue my brother’s work when I am his opposite in every way?”

“Your title and connections attached to that title, who will no doubt wish to become acquainted with you as the new earl. It is imperative that we either expose the men your brother identified as possibly being involved in nefarious plots or clear their names.”

“How do you propose I do that, by challenging them to a game of cards, or have them accompany me to Tattersalls?”

Torrence hesitated before responding, “Are you aware that in certain circles your charm is being touted as seductive…lethal?”

Before the man could even suggest it, the earl bit out, “Do not even suggest that I will be expected to use seduction to gain the information you need. I draw the line at using women—titled or not.”

The older man was silent long enough to have him wondering if his brother had also refused, or had Errol followed orders and used whatever means necessary to extract the information.

“Your brother also supplied the information that more than one of the men in question have been seen escorting a renowned actress and an opera singer.”

The ache in his temples spread to the base of his skull and had become uncomfortable. “I have been known to do the same. However, I would bet my Thoroughbred stallion that even if asked to, my brother would never do more than escort women to various entertainments. Errol was a gentleman to the bone. If you are suggesting—”

Torrence interrupted him. “Your defense of your brother’s reputation is exactly what I expected, given the reports I have been reading.”

The earl narrowed his eyes. “Reports from whom?”

The older man held his gaze long enough for Skeffington to deduce that Torrence had no intention of divulging the information.

“Anything in those reports I should worry about?”

Torrence hesitated before saying, “I would not wager at cards too often.”

Skeffington blinked but kept his thoughts to himself.

“The general consensus is that you are cut from the same cloth as your brother. You have connections your brother did not have…the younger sons. Including them with those within your new sphere will only enhance our efforts.”

“I see.”

“We need you, your lordship, and I cannot stress enough the importance of secrecy. The information you will be privy to is highly confidential. Shall we go over the particulars?”

In that moment, Tristan realized refusal was not an option. Two hours later, that point had been hammered home and made patently clear. Whatever he did in the name of the Crown was never to be discussed outside of this office. Another more salient point had been repeated three times: as far as his superiors were concerned, he had never been summoned to Whitehall.

Although Errol had been the embodiment of the title Earl Skeffington, and Tristan as the youngest of three brothers a poor substitute, by the time the meeting ended, Tristan had pledged his honor, title, and—if necessary—coffers to King and Crown in secret.

No one must ever know that as of that moment, he would be leading a double life.

 

 

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