The Scarred Heir

by Denise Patrick

  Now that he had the chance to study his father, Max could see why the doctor was checking up on him. When he’d left, the Earl of Calderbrooke had been a tall, commanding figure of a man. With his dark hair and silver eyes, he’d been the target of many a matrimonial-minded widow. Now, seated before a small table, he looked as if he’d aged considerably in the last three years. He was hunched over in his chair and his hair was almost completely white. Only his eyes still held the same knowing look Max often associated with him.

  The earl allowed the butler to put the tea service on the table before him then turned to Max and Sarah. Max made the introductions, and seated Sarah in the other chair.

  “Standish, huh? Not related to Viscount Lakersby, are you?”

  Max smothered a grin as he watched Sarah stiffen at his father’s offhanded comment.

  “He’s my father.”

  “A good man. Drives a hard but fair bargain.” Then he turned to Max. “So, you finally decided to return home. What kept you?”

  Max hesitated. “Before I answer that, just who do you think I am?”

  “Max, of course.”

  His mouth dropped open before he could catch it. “But how…?”

  “Caesar doesn’t like David. Won’t let him in the room.”

  Still reeling a bit from his observations, Max glanced around the room. Despite his father’s frail appearance, it didn’t look much like a sickroom. The bed was made, his father was dressed, and the balcony doors stood open to allow in the cool outside air.

  “Would you like some tea, my lord?”

  Sarah’s voice, addressing his father, pulled him out of his reverie and he shook his head to clear his thoughts.

  “No, thank you. You’re a pretty little thing. Where’d Max find you?”

  Sarah blushed. Max took one of the two remaining empty chairs around the table and answered for her. “Hiding from David.” A white eyebrow rose, but Max wasn’t in the mood to satisfy his father’s curiosity. He had too many questions of his own.

  “What kept me? What do you mean?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Sarah pour a second cup of tea, add two lumps of sugar then put it in front of him. That small gesture, he was certain, told his father much more than he wanted him to know about Sarah and him. Of course, introducing her as his fiancée hadn’t helped. Caesar moved beside her chair and she stroked the wolfhound’s head. He watched as she surreptitiously fed the dog a small biscuit and knew she’d made a friend for life.

  He smiled. Despite his size, Caesar was a big baby. Except, apparently, where his brother was concerned.

  “To hear your brother tell it, you’ve been living high in London, refusing to come back to this ‘pile of old stones’. Did my last letter finally make you see sense?”

  His father’s words brought him back to himself. “What letter?” His throat seized up, but he managed to ask a second question on the heels of the first. “London?”

  His father didn’t seem to notice. “What letter? Did you not get my last letter? Then why are you here?”

  Max’s head was still spinning with the idea that his father thought he was living in London. Had David not told him about the murder? Surely he would have heard? If not David, then the servants. His father’s valet, Jenkins, was a gossipy old codger, worse than a London tabby. Surely Jenkins would have said something.

  Lion’s warnings rang in his head as he digested the information. He’d warned Max to be careful. Things in England were not what they seemed. He’d admitted that much of what he’d relayed was gossip or speculation. But that which he had been able to verify had been troubling.

  “I came to see you,” he responded cautiously. “I’ve been remiss since you’ve been ill. I’m sorry.”

  His father sat back in his chair and studied him long enough to make him squirm, but he didn’t move. He was no longer a green youth and refused to act like one. Staring back, he noted the speculation in his father’s eyes. Curious.

  “Well,” his father conceded with a sheepish grin, “I might have exaggerated just a little in the last letter.”

  The tension around the table eased up a bit. He grinned back. “A little?” He took a sip of his tea. “Well, since I didn’t get that particular letter, why don’t you tell me what you exaggerated?”

  The earl hesitated. “It’s no longer important since you’re here.” His gaze slid to Sarah and back. “Are you planning on having the banns called?”

  Sarah turned to look at him as well.

  “Not yet,” he answered smoothly. “We have to find her father first.”

  “Find her father? Is he missing?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “How so?”

  “He was reported drowned in a boating accident in France,” Sarah responded.

  The earl turned his attention to her. “And you don’t believe it?”

  She shook her head. “No. My father and I were very close. I think I would know somehow if he were truly dead.”

  “Then I hope you’re right.”

  Sarah stood at the balcony door of the room she’d been given. The housekeeper told her she was in the Rose Room, and that Max’s room was across the hall. The garden below was just beginning to bloom and she could see buds in various stages on the bushes and in the flowerbeds. Outside her window, a trellis held a climbing rose plant and she noticed that it too, was beginning to bud.

  Questions swirled around in her head. Listening to Max and his father talk had been confusing. Max had been unaware of the severity of his father’s illness, and it was obvious that his father knew nothing of the murder. In addition, his father didn’t seem to know that Max had been living in France for the past three years. And what happened to the letters Max said he’d written? Had David intercepted them? Why?

  “Will that be all, Miss?”

  Startled, she spun around, having forgotten the maid who was unpacking her trunks.

  “Yes, thank you. I think that will do for now.”

  The maid picked up the blush pink gown she’d pulled from the trunk. “I’ll have this pressed and back in time to help you dress for dinner. Would you like me to have a bath sent up?”

  “That would be wonderful. Thank you, Annie.”

  After the maid was gone, she stepped out onto the balcony. The air was cool, a hint of moisture in the air, and she noticed clouds building in the distance. A light breeze picked up, whisking her skirts around her ankles.

  When she’d run away from London two years ago, she hadn’t cared about anything except getting away. It was Betsy who packed for her, then bribed a couple of footmen to carry two of her trunks down to the back of the house and load them into the hackney. She’d insisted that Sarah would eventually need something other than her disguise to wear. Now she was glad for Betsy’s foresight.

  She could hear the water splashing in the fountains in the garden below. In the distance stood a small pavilion with what looked to be a lake beyond it. She wondered if the tall hedge she could see was a maze. Beyond that, the land sloped down and out of sight. She sighed. It was beautiful. Peaceful. Paradise. And something here was very wrong.

  “It’s a nice view, isn’t it?”

  Once again she started and spun around to face the speaker. Max stood in the doorway, one hand casually resting against the doorframe.

  “I knocked, but no one answered.”

  “Oh.”

  He joined her on the balcony, staring out over the view.

  “So, what did you think of my father?”

  “I don’t know. He doesn’t seem very sick to me, just old, but I’m not a doctor.”

  He nodded. “I thought the same thing. He has definitely aged.”

  Silence fell between them. She sensed his tension, and wondered at her awareness of his moods. “Do you find it strange that he doesn’t seem to know about Millie?”

  He turned to look down at her. The pain in his dark eyes caused her heart to squeeze. “I’m not sure what to th
ink.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the railing. “I just had a very interesting talk with Jenkins, my father’s valet.”

  “About?”

  “Millie’s death. The few people who knew about it have been sworn to silence. Millie’s parents have left the area. My father was never told.”

  “And his health?”

  “According to Jenkins, he began having spells about a year ago. Sometimes he’d seem near death, only to be up and about the very next day. And sometimes they would lay him low for a week or more.”

  “And the doctor can’t figure out what’s causing them?”

  “No. He just says it’s a weak heart since the spells usually start with chest pains.”

  “Is there a pattern to them at all?”

  “Not that anyone can figure out.”

  She fell silent. The clouds in the distance came closer, the sky darkening as the cool breeze picked up to become a cold wind.

  Max broke the silence. “I would offer to show you the estate, but it looks as if a storm is blowing in. Perhaps tomorrow.”

  “That would be nice,” she agreed, but her thoughts were not on touring the estate grounds and neither, she suspected, were his.

  Despite the sharpness in the air, she was comfortable standing beside him. Strands of hair escaped from her bun to whip into her face, and she brushed them away impatiently. Max noticed the movement.

  “Perhaps it is time to adjourn inside.” He put his arm around her shoulders and led her back into her room, closing the glass doors behind them. A small clock on the mantle was chiming the hour as they entered. “I will leave you to rest for a bit before dinner. My father keeps country hours, but that doesn’t mean he disregards all the formalities.”

  For a few moments, he stared down into her eyes and she felt a small shiver roll through her. Warmth sizzled up her arms, and her knees seemed to be dissolving. Then he stepped back and raised her hand to his lips. The light brush set off nerve endings throughout her body, causing her head to spin. By the time she regained her equilibrium, the door was closing behind him.

  Max strode down the corridor, then down the stairs to the library. He needed to write some letters before dinner time, and he needed a good stiff drink. Being so close to Sarah was making him crazy. Making him crave things he shouldn’t want. He knew better than to allow himself so close. She might wish his brother to perdition, but she was a source of peace for him. Did she have any idea how badly he desired her?

  Entering his father’s library, he detoured to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy. The room hadn’t changed much, he noted. The blue and brown color scheme was welcoming, reminding him that this would always be home. He made himself comfortable behind the desk and began his letters.

  The first was to a friend in France. Frankly, he hoped Marceau would write back that Viscount Lakersby was alive and well. If he didn’t…there was little Max could do if Sarah’s father was truly dead, but he did not want to be the one to break the news to her.

  Lion was the recipient of the second missive. It would be returning with the coach and contain an apology for the bullet hole in the door, since he never finished the letter he’d begun at the inn.

  The note for Dodson, his batman-cum-valet, was harder to write. When he was done, he questioned his motives in asking his manservant to spy on his brother. He put his head in his hands.

  There was much more to this whole debacle than covering up a murder. David was hiding something. Whatever it was, Max had been an unwilling participant and he did not doubt his return would cause further disruption. For now, he’d stick around at Calderbrooke and see to his father. Having sent a message off to France, he wasn’t sure there was much else he could do for Sarah, either.

  Unless she wanted to return to Statler Hall.

  Perhaps he should ask her.

  Chapter Seven

  There was another storm brewing. The early morning calm with clear skies had turned overcast and blustery. The wind carried a scent of moisture.

  Sighing in frustration, Sarah cut the last of the flowers she wanted and carried the basket inside. Each day in the past week had kept to the same pattern. A bright, clear morning, followed by a gray, unsettled afternoon, and rain in the late afternoon or evening. She wished now she’d taken Max up on his offer to send her to Statler Hall.

  Reticence was foreign to her, yet a part of her didn’t want to leave him. She’d convinced herself it was because there were still questions unanswered, and she continued to worry about her aunt and uncle discovering she’d returned. But the real reason was her attraction to Max. She was comfortable in his presence and sought him out regularly. She didn’t know if Max found her behavior strange, or just thought she might be bored, but he always seemed to have time for her.

  The day after they arrived his father relapsed. The doctor found no reason for the earl’s difficulty breathing, tightness in his chest and racing heart. Two days of rest and the earl had recovered enough to descend the stairs for luncheon. Max found it strange the doctor had no explanation for it all, and she knew he suspected poisoning. Unfortunately, he had nothing to go on.

  She was carrying a vase of flowers into the drawing room when Max found her a short time later.

  “Would you like to go to London?” he asked without preamble.

  She set the vase on a small side table then looked up at him. “London?” He nodded. The look of grim determination on his face prompted her to ask, “Why?”

  “My father has asked me to see his solicitor and man of business. Why they could not be summoned here, I still do not understand, but he is firm that he wishes me to go to London.”

  She fussed with the flowers she’d carefully arranged moments before. “I suppose I could go.”

  A maid entered at that moment with the tea tray. After the maid left, Max settled himself in a chair and Sarah sank onto a settee. As she prepared him a cup of tea, she wondered if he noticed how easily they had slipped into the comfortable pattern of taking tea together each afternoon. She glanced back at the door, expecting his father to appear.

  “He’s resting,” Max said as if reading her thoughts.

  Handing him his tea then passing him the plate of biscuits, she then prepared her own tea. The clock in the foyer chimed the quarter hour as rain began to splatter against the windows.

  “My father has also hinted that I should pick up a special license while I’m there.”

  She was glad she hadn’t taken a sip of her tea. She would have surely choked on it.

  “Oh.”

  He sent a heart-stopping smile her way, causing her to put down her tea for fear of dropping it. With her head spinning under the onslaught of his charm, she picked up a biscuit and took a bite. The almond flavor burst on her tongue and she concentrated on savoring the taste as she chewed. Ruthlessly, she squelched her feelings and picked up her tea, thankful her hands were now steady.

  “I’m afraid my father is not above using subterfuge to get what he wants. You’ve made a great impression on him. So much so that he talks of little else when we are together.” She looked at him through wide eyes as a sheepish grin crossed his face. “I’m sorry. Had I known, I would never have introduced you as I did.”

  She finished her tea, put the cup and saucer down then made herself comfortable against the cushions of the sofa.

  “I’m frankly surprised my father hasn’t asked more questions about you. His own marriage was a disaster, which is why he has never pushed me or David to wed.”

  “Was it arranged?”

  Max nodded then changed the subject. “So, London?”

  She was silent for a moment. “I could visit my father’s solicitor while I’m there. It’s possible he might have had word.”

  “You could remain for what’s left of the season, if you wish. It would only be a few weeks.”

  She shook her head, unwilling to allow him to see how much she dreaded the suggestion. She would not turn twenty-one until June and it
was only the beginning of May. Not knowing where her aunt and uncle were, or whether her father might have returned, left her in limbo regarding possible participation in the season. For now, she would just as soon remain out of sight.

  “You should not have to hide because of my brother,” he began.

  “I’m not. I don’t know what my uncle and aunt might be doing, and if somehow my father is actually—” She took a deep breath to calm her racing pulse, trying to suppress the sudden fear that engulfed her. “I might…I might…” Her voice trailed off. She just couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

  “Don’t, Sarah,” Max’s concern pierced the despair threatening to overwhelm her. “We will find out what happened. Everything will be fine.”

  She hiccupped and inhaled his scent. When had he moved? Did it matter? Not when the arms holding her were warm, strong and gentle.

  Move away. The voice was insistent, but she ignored it. For a short time, she wanted to feel safe and protected. Just for a short time, she wanted to pretend someone truly cared for her. That, if her father was indeed dead, someone else shared her grief.

  Max knew he was playing with fire. He should not have responded to the desolation in her eyes, but her pain was so real, so tangible, he couldn’t help himself. He’d never been much of a praying man, but now he prayed her father was still alive. No one should have to bear the uncertainty she was going through.

  Hot tears soaked his waistcoat. He didn’t care. He could hold her forever. He wanted to hold her forever. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the fresh, clean fragrance. She’d been outdoors earlier and the smell of sunshine lingered. Despite the rain slashing at the windows, he was warm and content.

  How often during the past two years had she wept for her father? How often had she needed comfort, and had the Merriweathers supplied it or had she suffered in silence? His heart contracted painfully at the thought of her lonely and hurting while hiding from his brother.

  When Sarah finally raised her head, embarrassment painted her cheeks a fiery red.