The Scarred Heir

by Denise Patrick

  Beautiful. Intelligent. Compassionate. What else did a man want in a wife? The fortune that came with her shouldn’t have mattered to David, although he knew it would matter to some. And after growing up with parents who literally hated each other, why David would voluntarily enter into marriage with a woman who didn’t want him was beyond Max’s comprehension. He could think of no reason except for regaining a piece of property once belonging to their family. Even so, that was not worth tying yourself to a woman who would make your life miserable.

  Chapter Six

  Sarah looked out the small window as the well-sprung coach left the yard of the inn that, for the past two and a half years, had been home. Betsy stood with the Merriweathers, hand resting on her large belly, waving. Sarah fluttered her handkerchief through the open window in a final farewell. Sitting with her back to the horses, she was able to watch the inn grow smaller as the coach picked up speed on the road. Finally, they went over a small hill and it was lost to sight. She sighed.

  “You will miss them, won’t you?”

  She looked over at Max. Seated opposite her, with his leg propped up on the other side of her seat, he leaned back against luxurious squabs with his eyes on her.

  “Yes. They took me in without asking questions and gave me a home. Even though I was happy to help out, they never expected me to do any of the work.”

  He shifted on the seat, moving his leg.

  “Does your leg hurt?”

  “Not really,” he replied. “It’s more uncomfortable than painful now.”

  Silence fell and she studied the scenery beyond the window. The countryside sped by, merely a green and brown blur under a brilliantly blue sky, but she continued to stare. Anything other than looking at her too-handsome companion.

  “We haven’t decided on a story to tell as we travel.” Max’s voice brought her attention back to him anyway. “Should we masquerade as brother and sister? Husband and wife?” He grinned. “Father and daughter?”

  She giggled. “How about mother and son? I still have my gray wig and old black gown I used to disguise myself when I ran away.”

  He hooted with laughter. “Even with all that, no one who looked at you would believe you were my mother.”

  She sighed theatrically. “You’re probably right. Unfortunately, I’m not sure anyone would believe we were brother and sister either.”

  He sobered. “It’s a pity your maid could not have accompanied you.”

  She shrugged. “She’s no longer my maid, and if she weren’t about to give birth, she would have. But I’m not sure I would have had enough coin for her return trip.”

  “Is that why you didn’t ask one of the other girls?” When she nodded, he frowned. “You should have said something. I have more than enough—”

  “I couldn’t let you do that,” she protested. “As it is, I’m taking shameless advantage of you just to get to London.”

  He grinned again and her heart hiccupped. “No more advantage than I am taking in asking you to accompany me.” He tapped his leg. “I could have taken care of myself and my leg. I had planned to do so before I was shot. That’s why I sent my man on ahead.”

  “Oh.”

  “So I propose we say we are husband and wife, but ask for separate rooms anywhere we stop. If need be, we can explain that my injury makes it difficult for us to share a bed.”

  Giddiness set in and she had to school her features not to show her thoughts. For a moment, she wondered what it would be like to truly be Max’s wife. Then reality intruded.

  Remember what happened the last time you fell for a handsome face, she scolded herself, remembering that it was the same face. Max and David were truly identical, and if not for the scar on his neck, she might not have believed him about being twins. She wondered how their parents distinguished them while growing up.

  “Were you and your brother close as children?”

  “As children, yes. We were rarely without each other. Our father didn’t seem to distinguish between us and I have often asked myself if it was because he couldn’t tell us apart. It wasn’t until we started school that it all changed. By then, understanding that David was the heir, I needed an outlet for my restlessness. So as soon as I finished school and could, I purchased a commission.”

  “If your father couldn’t tell you apart, how did you figure out which one was the heir?”

  He chuckled. “Somehow, our mother knew. And, from the beginning I was called Max and David was David, although we could easily have been interchangeable.”

  “Interchangeable? How?”

  “We are both Max and David. David is Maximilian David Jocelyn Francis.”

  “And you?”

  “Maxwell David Joseph Franklin.”

  She laughed. “Any of them family names?”

  “My mother had a German grandfather, which is where Maximilian came from. David was our father’s father’s name, and Joseph was our mother’s father’s name. Other than that, I think she created them to match.”

  “So, the both of you will answer to either Max or David?”

  He nodded. “And we did—often.”

  “The two of you must have been the bane of tutors and instructors alike.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right. Although, as we grew older, our mother had specific touches added to our clothing that, as boys, we didn’t notice. Everyone but the two of us knew which of us, for example, had white or black, silver or gold buttons or which color of embroidery was on our coats.”

  “Truly?” she asked in awe. “Your mother must have been a saint.”

  He grinned, but shook his head. “Definitely not a saint, but she paid special attention to the details. We didn’t catch on until we were much older, and by then, we were distinct enough in temperament that there was no need to exchange places very often.”

  Sarah studied him as he fell silent then turned to look out the window. It was a fine day and a cool breeze swirled through the small windows on both sides of the coach. As she looked out at the countryside, she noticed that their speed had slowed. She could actually make out small hamlets in the distance, and men working in the fields they passed.

  She wondered why she hadn’t known of the two of them before. Max’s brother, Viscount Royden, was heir to the Earl of Calderbrooke. Statler Hall marched with one of the Calderbrooke properties, although not the family seat. Perhaps they hadn’t visited Calder Lodge when they were young. It wasn’t very large, but she was acquainted with the housekeeper and knew that the earl brought occasional hunting parties there.

  “Did you never visit Calder Lodge in Kent?” she asked him.

  Max turned away from the window. “Rarely,” he replied. “My father used to take friends there for shooting, but we were usually left with our mother. She refused to go because she said she didn’t like all the dirt, mud and mess that accompanied my father’s hunting parties.”

  “But you didn’t believe her?”

  The truth was, he didn’t know what to believe when it came to his parents. Thinking of Calder Lodge reminded him of how much his mother hated his father’s hunting parties. She was convinced he met another woman while there. Of course, if she hadn’t made their home life difficult, his father might have stayed more.

  Arranged marriages were commonplace in the ton, but rarely did they produce such animosity on each side as they had between the Earl and Countess of Calderbrooke. Max never wanted to believe they’d hated each other, but as an adult, that was the only word he knew to describe them. His mother had masked her contempt for their father by her attention to them. She’d never said a cross word to either of them, but they were well aware of the fights that marked their father’s infrequent appearances at Calderbrooke.

  Did Sarah know the history between Calder Lodge and her own home? Nearly two hundred years ago, the properties had been one, but one of the previous earls had gotten himself so deeply in debt that he started selling off pieces of Calder Lodge. When a later earl established the Ca
lderbrooke Trust, the family began repurchasing the pieces. The only piece left was the one Statler Hall sat on, a piece his father had been trying to buy without success for a number of years. It seemed likely that David had been trying to regain the property when he agreed to marry Sarah.

  The breeze coming through the window fluttered the ribbons on Sarah’s bonnet as she looked out at the passing countryside. There was little enough to see—or do—on such a long trip. They may as well get to know one another. Anything to keep memories of his mother away.

  His body reacted to the thought of getting to know Sarah better and he had to force himself to relax and think of other things to bring himself under control. It could take as long as a week to reach Calderbrooke. As he studied her smooth cheeks, delicately arched brows and full mouth, he knew however long it took would not be long enough for him to get his fill of looking at her.

  Now that she wasn’t wearing a dress that was three times her size, he could see that she had a slim shape, curved in all the right places. Today the simple dress under her cloak was blue, which gave her eyes a deeper hue than they normally had. Or perhaps, he thought, they were just reflecting the sky. Whatever it was, they were hypnotizing in their intensity, and he found himself watching her just to get a glimpse of them.

  “I don’t know whether I believed her or not, but David and I never went hunting with our father until we were adults.”

  “I must have been away at school,” she said. “I don’t remember encountering either of you when I was growing up.”

  “Most likely. I think I would have remembered you had I done so.”

  She sent a grateful smile his way. “I don’t think so. I was nothing but a scrawny girl. All arms and legs until just a few years ago, with freckles to boot. I suspect you would have taken me for one of the farmers’ children and ignored me.”

  He didn’t think so. Her eyes alone would have intrigued him. And even if she was right about her appearance in the past, there was nothing scrawny about her now and his fingers fairly itched to touch the soft skin of her cheek, to stroke down over her jaw and the smooth column of her throat. He curled his hands into fists to keep from reaching out.

  Memories of the kiss rose to taunt him, reminding him that if he hadn’t passed out, he might have tasted her sweetness again. Yet, for all that, he hadn’t tried to touch her again. After their revelations, and her subsequent agreement to travel with him to London, they kept their distance from one another. Something he knew was for the best. He didn’t want her lumping him into the same category as his wayward brother. There were too many things yet to sort out before he could think about acting on his attraction.

  With good weather and dry roads, they reached Calderbrooke four days later. The large house was a welcome sight after so long in a coach, even for Sarah who hadn’t seemed to mind the long hours on the road. The accommodations along the way had been stellar, but the closer they got to their destination, the more restless Max became.

  Sarah glanced over at him now. He was rubbing his leg around the area of the wound again, frowning as he looked out the small window. She sensed his uncertainty as the house came into view.

  “Are you sure you want to stop?” she asked.

  He turned solemn eyes on her. “I’m not certain I have a choice,” he replied. “Lion’s letter said my father was ill, so I have assumed he would be here rather than in London.”

  Which might also mean his brother was here too. They’d skirted the village because he hadn’t wanted to bring attention to himself, but she knew that news traveled the fastest in the smallest villages. The little time he’d given himself by doing so might be the difference between seeing his father unhampered and facing anyone who might still blame him for Millie’s death.

  Although the day was cool, bright sunshine filtered through the canopy of trees as they came up the drive. The dark gray stone stood out against the backdrop of green and blue, the crenellated roof resembling gray teeth against the blue sky. As they drove through wrought iron gates into the courtyard, Sarah looked around her in awe, wondering what it had looked like as a medieval keep.

  “It used to be a fully fortified castle,” Max explained, “but the curtain wall was torn down in my great-grandfather’s day. My grandfather used the stone to add the two wings, creating the courtyard.”

  The coach rocked to a stop before the massive front doors beneath an obviously added portico, and Max maneuvered his leg down off the seat beside her. She waited as he disembarked first, understanding that he might not want the family servants to see her help him down. Once he helped her down, they slowly mounted the steps to the open door.

  The inside did not deliver on the promise of a medieval castle. Expecting to find a large, great hall, and narrow, twisting, stone staircases, Sarah didn’t know if she was disappointed to find the interior looked as modern as Carlton House. The marble and oak staircase to the second floor was a magnificent touch, as was the light oak paneling with marble accents in the tiled entryway.

  “We did not expect you to return so soon, my lord.” Sarah felt Max start at the form of address then turn toward the butler.

  “Then Royden is not at home?”

  It was the butler’s turn to look astonished. “Master Max?”

  “In the flesh, Tibbens.” He drew Sarah forward. “And this lovely young woman is my fiancée, Miss Sarah Standish.”

  The butler quickly schooled his surprise into formality and replied, “Congratulations, sir.”

  Max grinned at Sarah. “Tibbens doesn’t like it when we surprise him.” He looked down at the plain coat he was wearing. “I’m not dressed correctly for him to tell me from David.”

  A distinguished-looking gentleman came down the stairs, drawing the butler’s attention. Max looked up and sobered quickly.

  “Dr. Clayborne. What brings you here?”

  The elderly gentleman reached the foyer and looked at Max for a moment before smiling.

  “A routine visit,” he replied. “Your father is doing much better today. And he will be more so once you visit him.” He held out his hand and Max took it in a firm grip. “It’s been too long, Max.”

  “It has, but will my father concur?”

  The doctor accepted his hat from Tibbens then turned back. “He has missed you. But don’t take my word for it. He would welcome visitors right now.”

  Max hesitated, but the doctor continued toward the door. “Come and talk to me after you’ve seen him,” he threw over his shoulder as he went out the door, leaving Max and Sarah still standing in the hall.

  Max turned to Tibbens first. “Please have Mrs. Wainwright select a suitable room for Miss Standish and see that her trunks make it there. Then send a light tea up to my father’s rooms.” He turned to her. “Shall we?”

  She preceded him up the staircase, only turning to address him once they were in the corridor and out of earshot of the butler.

  “Would you prefer to see your father alone?”

  He glanced over at her. “Not particularly.” When she didn’t respond, he continued. “My father and I used to get along well. The three of us became very close after my mother died, but I think he and David have developed a stronger relationship since I’ve been in France. I don’t blame either of them, but it means I cannot be sure of my reception.”

  She noticed he was limping slightly and his steps had slowed. “Do you think your father believes you a murderer?”

  He stopped and turned to look down at her. “I don’t know. He never wrote to me the entire time I was in France, even though I wrote to him. Yet, as far as I know, I have not been completely disinherited.”

  “He never said anything about the murder? Even when it happened?”

  He shook his head. “No. He was in London when it happened and I was too ashamed to do anything other than let David take care of everything. I didn’t speak to my father before I left. It’s just one of many things I regret about that time period.”

  He continu
ed down the hall with her following. His limp, she noticed, was becoming more pronounced. He must be in pain. Apprehension set in when he stopped in front of a set of double doors, knocked then opened the door. She hadn’t heard anything from inside. Had he assumed he would be admitted?

  Max refused to admit he was nervous. His leg throbbed and a thin line of moisture beaded his upper lip. As he stepped into his father’s room, he wondered if he should have left Sarah downstairs. Did he really want her to witness his father’s contempt? No, but then again, that was precisely why he’d brought her along. Once again, he was using her as a shield, hoping his father was too well-bred to castigate him in front of a lady.

  The room was as large as he remembered. The burgundy velvet drapes were pulled back from ceiling-high windows, allowing the sunlight to spill over the Aubusson carpet and wood paneling. The normally dark, very masculine room seemed inviting in its brightness. What he did not remember was the beast that met them at the door. Disconcerted, he nearly shoved Sarah back through the door until the animal stopped within a foot of him and sat, its tail thumping against the black and red pattern beneath its feet.

  “Caesar!” his father’s voice broke the shocked silence. “Here, boy!”

  Immediately, the dog got up and trotted back to the table at which his father sat in front of the balcony doors. He was rewarded with a scratch behind the ears and a pat on the head before he plopped down at his owner’s feet.

  “Well, don’t just stand there.” And Max realized he’d been doing just that. Staring too. “It’s about time you returned home, boy.”

  “Pardon, sir?”

  His father laughed, eyes like his and David’s twinkling at his stupefaction.

  “Caesar loves giving new guests a fright.”

  A knock on the door heralded the arrival of Tibbens with the requested tea.

  “I didn’t order anything,” the earl admonished.

  Max shook himself out of his daze. “I apologize for arriving unannounced, Father, but I met the good doctor in the hall and he insisted I come right up to see you. I ordered the tea for Sarah.”