by Laura Landon
PROLOGUE
If ever there was a time when he wanted to beat his elder brother to a bloody pulp, this was it. But as the second son of the late Earl of Devlin, Jack Rafferty had learned a lifetime of restraint.
“What do you mean, you aren’t going to marry?” Jack asked, trying to keep his voice low enough so he wouldn’t be overheard in the crowded inner room of the Garrick Club, his brother’s favorite haunt. “You’re already betrothed!”
“But I’ve never even met the chit,” Sheridan Rafferty, the eleventh Earl of Devlin said in the same devil-may-care drawl he always used when he was going to do something they both knew was about to cause their departed father to turn over in his grave.
“But you have met her!”
“Yes, but she was ten years old at the time and I knew the minute I saw her I’d never be able to force myself to marry her.”
“You signed a betrothal agreement saying you would!”
“Well,” Sheridan said, taking another long swallow of the expensive brandy all of London Society knew he drank. “I was only twenty at the time. I hadn’t reached my majority. Stivens says he’s sure I can get out of the agreement with little trouble.”
“You’ve already gone to a solicitor?” Jack said louder than he’d intended. His raised voice caught the attention of several men seated at nearby tables. Above his head a single candle in the wall sconce sputtered, threatening to gutter out. It irked him, as if it were taunting the way his own good mood had been suddenly snuffed out by his brother’s revelation.
Jack sat back in his chair and waited until the men around them resumed their conversations. He knew as well as anyone how hungry the ton was for any bit of gossip. If even one of them suspected that trouble brewed between the Earl of Devlin and his younger brother, by morning the exaggerated suspicions of a family feud would be the main topic of conversation in every drawing room in the city.
Jack forced himself to assume an outward calm. It was the usual monumental struggle he experienced when it came to dealing with Sheridan. When he had his emotions marginally under control, he leaned forward and propped his elbows on the table. “What the hell were you thinking when you sought out a solicitor?”
Sheridan looked surprised. “How else could I find out if it were possible to be released from something Father forced me to sign when I was just a lad?”
Jack wanted to inform his brother he’d been adult enough to know what he was signing. And although Shad had never told Jack, he must have known why he had to sign it. Trying to get out of the betrothal now wasn’t something that should have entered his mind.
Jack looked at his reckless and irresponsible brother, and thought of all the debts his father had covered for Sheridan. All the angry fathers the Earl of Devlin had paid off. All the yearly stipends the Devlin solicitors paid to support children Sheridan had supposedly fathered.
It was almost as if the day he’d signed the agreement, Shad had turned from a promising lad into a frivolous rake.
Jack shook his head in disgust. “Don’t you think it’s time you honored at least one promise you made Father?”
Sheridan looked at him with a shocked expression. “You mean marry the girl?”
“That’s what you agreed to do, Shad. It’s the one thing Father expected you to do.”
Jack’s brother cast him a look of amazement. “Ah, Jack, my boy. Haven’t you realized by now that Father never expected anything of me? He had you.”
“But he wanted it to be you.”
The words were out of Jack’s mouth before he could stop them, and once said, it was too late to take them back.
“Alas. And that always seemed to be our problem.”
The tone of regret in Shad’s voice wrenched Jack’s heart. For several long minutes neither of them spoke. For Jack, speech would have been impossible. For Shad...
Jack squeezed his eyes shut. Who knew what Shad might be feeling. Shad didn’t let anyone close enough to truly know him.
At last Jack sat forward and rubbed his aching temples. “If you had to go to a solicitor, did it have to be Henry Stivens?” Jack whispered.
“What objection do you have to Stivens?”
“None, other than you could have kept your intentions just as discrete if you’d taken an ad in the London Times.”
Sheridan tipped the bottle of brandy to refill his glass and set it back on the table with a nonchalant shrug. “It hardly matters if he says anything or not. I intend to send him out to see Baron Kingston tomorrow to inform him that I’ve had a change of mind.”
Jack looked up at his brother. It had always been impossible for Jack not to love his brother. Jack had only been twelve and Shad a lad of seventeen when their mother died. Unfortunately, their father had been too consumed by his own grief to notice how much his young sons needed their father. Instead, he’d buried himself in work to ease his pain.
By the time their father recovered, it was too late. Shad had gone to London and become a man of the Town. When Jack was old enough to follow after him, Shad wasn’t the brother he’d once known, but a man Jack hardly recognized.
The heir to the Devlin title had spent a great amount of energy and finances living up to the “devil” nickname he’d been given. The Devil of Devlin’s scandalous reputation made him one of the most popular men in Society. Even though he was someone every mother warned her daughter to avoid, his name was always at the top of every guest list. His presence guaranteed every function a success.
No matter who Jack talked to, he found an acquaintance of Sheridan’s who wasn’t captivated by him.
Jack felt the same way.
The problem was, there were times like now when it was difficult for Jack to like his brother.
Perhaps it was because he knew the other side to Sheridan’s personality. Jack was aware of the instinctive brilliance that made Shad one of the most astute businessmen Jack had ever known.
Shad was the one who’d taught him the hazards of dealing in a world laced with greed and corruption. He was the one to introduce Jack to the men who controlled England’s financial world and how to compete with them. He was the one to point out the pitfalls to every venture Jack considered and taught him how to evaluate the strengths and weaknesses of every proposal.
If only the infamous ‘Devil of Devlin’ had devoted that time and talent to running the estates. Instead, Shad focused his energy on drinking and gambling and living the most abhorrent lifestyle imaginable.
“Do you realize what will happen if you back out of the agreement you signed?”
Shad set his glass back onto the shiny tabletop with a slow, deliberate effort.
His silence provoked Jack even further. “Can’t you at least think about the girl? She’s got to be three and twenty by now and never had a Season. What chance will she have to make a good match?”
Shad shrugged his shoulders. “No doubt she knows someone in the country who will have her.”
Jack stared at his brother in disbelief. “What’s happened to you, Shad? You’ve always had a rash and irresponsible streak, but you’ve never intentionally harmed anyone that I know of. How can you abandon someone who’s considered herself betrothed to you?”
For the first time, Jack noticed a hint of unease in Shad’s eyes. Or was it fear?
“What trouble are you in, Shad?”
The Earl of Devlin glanced around the room as if suddenly nervous of his surroundings. Without a word, he finished the last of his expensive brandy, then set his glass on the table and slid back his chair.
Jack was left with no choice but to follow his brother out of the room and into the cool night air.
“What is it?” Jack said when they were well away from the Garrick. “What’s wrong?”
<
br /> “Nothing you can help me with, Jack. Nothing anyone can help me with.”
Jack gained control over the warning signs that were rampaging through him and tried to calm his breathing. “What have you done?” he asked, scanning his surroundings out of habit. The nearly three years he’d spent in the Crimea carrying secret documents from one commander to another were still fresh. Those horrid years had taught him to take note of everything going on around him. War did that to a fellow. Made him jumpy.
Everything seemed quiet.
Sheridan ignored his question and walked past the exclusive shops in the stylish neighborhood. Jack kept pace at his side.
“Have you ever regretted taking the commission Father bought for you?” Shad finally asked, breaking his silence.
Jack thought about Shad’s question then gave him an honest answer. “I don’t regret that I contributed something I prefer to think helped the war to end sooner. But I think I might sleep better at nights if I hadn’t seen the bloody brutality of it. I regret I wasn’t here when Father died. I wish I would have told him how much I respected, and admired, and... loved him.”
“I know why you went,” Shad said walking as casually down the smooth planked walkway as if they were out for a relaxing evening stroll. “Father told me before he died.”
Jack turned his head to look at Shad and there was a smile on his brother’s face.
“It’s rather funny, don’t you think?” the Earl of Devlin said as he continued to make his way down the street. “Father thought if you were gone, I would step in to take your place. He thought your absence would make me assume some responsibility in running Devlin Downs. Instead...”
“Instead, what?” Jack asked, feeling more uncomfortable by the second.
When Sheridan stopped on the sidewalk and turned, Jack felt a cold chill race down his spine. The color left his brother’s bronzed face and a haunted look filled his eyes.
“Refusing to marry Kingston’s daughter is probably the first selfless act I’ve ever committed.”
“How can you say that?”
Shad paused and Jack knew his brother was weighing how much he should reveal.
“How much do you know about Kingston?”
“Very little. I only know about the agreement he made with Father for you to marry his daughter.”
“A pact made in blood,” Shad said barely loud enough to be heard. “Marrying into that family would have condemned us all. Or worse.”
“What are you talking about? If there’s something we should go to the authorities with—“
Shad dropped his head back and laughed. “The authorities. Oh, that’s rich, Jack. You’ve been in government service too long. The authorities are the last ones you can trust.”
“That’s not true, Shad. I have connections that have nothing to do with the local authorities. Tell me what you know and I’ll figure out what to do.”
The Earl of Devlin smiled sadly at his brother. “You always could fix everything. I should have known to come to you right away.”
“Yes, you should have. Now, what do you know?”
Sheridan hesitated as if knowing what he was about to do was the same as stepping off a ledge. Once you took the first step, there was no going back.
“Promise you’ll be careful, Jack. I don’t know all the details. In fact, I’m confused on some of them, but somehow the Kingston name is behind it.”
“Behind what?”
“Behind—”
A nondescript carriage clattered noisily by on the far side of the street. A few yards further on a drunken trio assaulted a familiar tune. Shad’s words halted abruptly. At the same moment Jack saw the surprised look on Shad’s face he heard a muffled pop and knew instantly what was happening. In horror he saw Shad’s features sag as he crumpled to the ground in front of him.
Jack threw his body over Shad but no second shot came. Jack cautiously lifted his head and looked around. In the faint light he focused on the area from which he felt the shot had come. All was quiet. The street was empty.
Jack knew that even if he left his brother to race after the assassin, he wouldn’t find anyone. Whoever had shot Shad was long gone.
“Shad, how badly are you hit?” Jack asked, kneeling beside his brother. “Can you—”
Jack stopped. He was going to ask if he was able to stand, or if Jack should send for a doctor. But he knew the answer. Shad couldn’t stand. And it was already too late to send for a doctor.
Shad was dying.
“Hold on, Shad. I’ll take care of you.”
Shad lifted his trembling hand and pulled Jack down to whisper.
“Don’t let...”
Shad coughed through the rattle in his throat.
“...get you...
“...too.”
PART ONE
Chapter 1
Jenevieve Kingston felt the anxious tug of her Scottish maid’s trembling hand.
“You canna go, Miss Jenna,” Maggie MacNair said, clutching Jenna’s cloak tighter. “Something terrible will happen if ye do. I know it.”
“Don’t tell me you had another vision,” Jenna said, trying to conceal a smile as she counted out the coins she would need.
Maggie woke nearly every morning having received another vision. Some of her predictions were lackluster in nature. The weather was going to turn cloudy and they’d have rain before sunset. That sort of thing. But occasionally her predictions foretold catastrophic events and required dire measures.
Since Jenna didn’t have a superstitious disposition, she chose to ignore Maggie’s predictions. And with very little effort she could dismiss nearly all of Maggie’s forecasts with a practical explanation. The ones she couldn’t, she put down to coincidence.
At this moment, however, Jenna didn’t have time to deal with Maggie’s visions. The longer the carriage had to wait, the greater the chance was that it would be discovered. Or that it would leave. And if her stepmother found out what she was doing…
Jenna didn’t want to consider what would happen if her stepmother found out. Just thinking about how violent she might become caused Jenna to rush about even faster.
She gathered her coins and knotted them in a square of white cloth. When she finished, she placed the small bundle atop a letter she’d written to her Aunt Chloe, and placed the letter and coins on a second cloth of bright blue. She would give these to the girl as soon as she’d delivered her safely into the waiting carriage.
All of the trainees her aunt had sent her from London were ranked by color when they were ready to return. Coins wrapped in white told Aunt Chloe that Jenna considered this latest candidate trustworthy and honest, a trait seldom found in the street girls her aunt sent.
An outer color of blue told Aunt Chloe that Jenna ranked the girl capable of assuming more than the basic responsibilities that went with most domestic positions. Only a red cloth would have given the girl higher marks.
“Is MaryJane packed?” Jenna asked, gathering everything she intended to send back to London with the girl. “We have to go now or the carriage might leave without her.”
“Please, Miss. Don’t chance going tonight. Wait until next week.”
Jenna stopped the laugh that wanted to escape and stuffed a separate package into the pocket of her skirt. This contained a little extra money she intended to give MaryJane.
Although she tried never to form attachments to any of the girls her aunt sent her, MaryJane had been different. Perhaps it was because she and Jenna were of the same age. Or perhaps MaryJane’s background had seemed so similar to her own.
MaryJane had been the pawn her father had used as a distraction while he swindled clients out of their money. Baron Kingston had never used his daughter to swindle, far from it. He was the most decent and respected man in the county.
Instead, he’d sold his daughter to the Earl of Devlin in exchange for money he’d lost in several bad investments.
Jenna stopped, then released a deep sigh. She hadn�
��t been glad to hear that the Earl of Devlin had died so tragically. Oh, no. Far from it. She felt a great sense of sorrow for the earl’s family over their loss. What she felt was...
...relief.
Jenna squeezed her eyes shut and promised that first thing after she woke in the morning, she’d visit the chapel and say a prayer for the earl’s soul. And a prayer for herself. She doubted God could be pleased she was relieved because another human being had died.
Having determined what she’d do tomorrow, she focused on what needed to be done yet tonight. She had a carriage to meet, a passenger to deliver, and most likely, a new girl to get settled.
“Come, Maggie, let’s—“
Jenna looked at her maid. Her eyes were wide with terror and she’d huddled into the corner with Jenna’s cloak clutched tightly in her arms.
Maggie looked as if she had no intention of giving up the cloak and Jenna realized she had another battle to face before she could leave. “Don’t tell me you’re still worried about the vision you had last night?”
“Oh, Miss. It was a powerful vision. Ever so real.”
“They all are, Maggie. Remember the vision you had last week? Granny Levine’s yard was littered with dead chickens.”
“And it was! That very next day. I heard Mr. Porter who works at Comstock’s Ale House tell Cook when he delivered Master’s ale that Granny found hundreds of chickens butchered in her yard when she went to get water from the well that morning.”
“I heard the same account. Except Reverend Drisup related a different version. There were two dead chickens and Farmer Collins said he was certain a fox had killed them.”
“The number’s na important, Miss. My vision warned me there’d be dead chickens in Granny’s yard. And there was.”
“What does your vision warn you of this time?” Jenna asked, pulling her cloak from Maggie’s hands.
“We should na go to meet the carriage.”
“Because?”
Maggie claimed to be the youngest in a long line of visionaries who had been given the gift of foresight. Although not all of Maggie’s premonitions materialized, Jenna had to begrudgingly admit that there seemed to be an uncanny number that did come to fruition in some form or another.
