The Scarred Heir

by Denise Patrick

  She trembled and pressed her face into his shirtfront, sliding her hands beneath his coat and around his waist.

  “Why?” The question was whisper soft.

  “Because I can’t. I cannot allow you to make such a choice out of fear.”

  She raised her head. “It wouldn’t be fear. I understand what I’m asking.”

  “Do you?” His lips quirked. “Have you thought about all the possibilities? What if we find your father alive? You will have taken the step unnecessarily.”

  She sighed. “Perhaps, but if my uncle were to have forced me to it, I would still be married, and whether my father was alive or not wouldn’t matter.”

  He sighed. “You are right, but your uncle will not force you—and neither will I.”

  She huffed and stepped back. “You wouldn’t be forcing me—”

  The door opened and Dodson entered, followed by Annie. Sarah gasped in horror at the sight of the maid’s face. There was a large bruise marring her features and her lip was swollen.

  “Annie. Oh Annie, what happened?”

  “I tol’ him I didn’t know where you was, an’ he hit me. Said he didn’t believe me.”

  Sarah hurried over to the maid and took her in her arms.

  Dodson looked at Max. “I started packing. The uncle said he’d be back with a magistrate. I figured you didn’t still want ta be here.”

  “Heavens no,” Sarah interrupted. She looked at Annie. “Come, I’ll help you finish my packing.”

  Thirty minutes later they were pulling away from the Pulteney and Sarah began to relax. She was thankful her order from Mme. Marchand had arrived and they were able to pack it as well. Yet she wouldn’t have quibbled at leaving it behind had it been necessary.

  While she and Annie packed, she’d replayed the conversation over luncheon in her head. She remembered the moment she realized she wanted to marry him. It was the same moment he’d admitted he would be nothing more than a fortune hunter. It was also the moment she realized she’d fallen in love.

  She turned her face to the window, sightlessly watching the streets of London roll by. For now, she’d have to let him have his way. His promise to take her to France was driving him at the moment. Maybe when they reached Calderbrooke, before the information from the solicitor arrived, she’d talk to him again.

  Regardless, she’d bring him around. He cared for her. His refusal to consider marrying her for financial reasons told her that. But her dowry was substantial. Would that make her off-limits to him forever?

  Chapter Eleven

  They drove straight through, only stopping to eat a light meal and change horses several times. By the time the parapets of Calderbrooke came into view under the light of the nearly full moon, they were as exhausted as the horses.

  “I don’t know about you,” Max said with a yawn, “but I’m looking forward to a bed.”

  Sarah smiled, stifling her yawn. “I’m sure the coachmen are looking forward to their own beds as well.”

  The two coaches had made good time and he was glad of the comfort when it came to traveling. But his leg ached. He’d tried not to let it show, but he’d been aware of her glances each time he shifted in his seat.

  Dodson brought him a warm towel to wrap around his leg as he settled into bed. Sending his man off to find his own bed, Max doused the candle and stared into the darkness. He was tired but sleep eluded him.

  I wouldn’t consider you a fortune hunter. Sarah’s words came back to haunt him.

  There were so many things wrong with their situation, but those words gave him hope. He was convinced now that David had killed Millie. Even though no one else seemed to care, he wanted to know why. Especially since he wondered if David had done so deliberately in order to assume his identity. Which once again begged the question of why?

  He’d written a letter to David before they left London. He wanted to speak to his brother but not in London. Telling him he was at Calderbrooke seemed the best step. Whether David would return home before he and Sarah left for France was anyone’s guess.

  Max shifted in the bed to make his leg more comfortable. Tomorrow he’d let Dr. Clayborne look at it. Just to make sure he hadn’t made it worse with all his recent activity. With the upcoming trip to France, he wanted to ensure he wasn’t doing himself irreparable harm. At the moment, he couldn’t ride a horse without pain, but he didn’t want that situation to become permanent.

  Did Sarah ride? Would she like to? When he’d taken her around the estate, he’d used the curricle. The stablemaster was glad to have someone use it. He’d told Max that David had brought it home, but rarely ever used it when he was there, preferring to ride about the estate, and use one of the coaches to come and go from London.

  Perhaps he’d ask, after the doctor took a look at his leg. And if the doctor didn’t tell him to stay off horses for a while longer.

  He drifted off to sleep remembering the feel of Sarah’s lips beneath his and wondering what it would be like to wake up to those lips every morning.

  “Tibbens said you wanted to see me.”

  Max looked up from the ledger he’d been reviewing as Dr. Clayborne entered the library.

  “I hope he didn’t send for you,” he said in greeting as the doctor crossed the room.

  “No. I was in the area and often stop by to check on your father if I have time. He’s much stronger these days and I suspect he enjoys my company more than my advice.” The doctor put his bag down on a table just inside the door.

  Max laughed as he rose from the chair. “I would not be surprised to hear that.”

  “As it happens, however, I am glad to see you. How’s that leg?”

  “That’s what I thought to ask you,” Max replied. “I suspect I may have done too much on it in London.” Climbing ladders and in and out of windows was not conducive to helping gunshot wounds to heal.

  Max limped toward him. “Then let’s have a look. Shall we go upstairs to your room?”

  Upstairs in his room, Max stripped down to his smallclothes and allowed the doctor to look at the injury.

  “I have to tell you, son, you were very lucky. Another inch or two and you’d still be laid up at that inn. As it is, I’m amazed you’re walking on this leg as well as you are.”

  Max winced as the doctor poked, prodded and squeezed the area around the wound. He didn’t need his childhood physician to tell him how lucky he was. He’d been at Waterloo. He knew what could have happened. He’d seen too much of it on too many battlefields.

  As the doctor finished looking at Max’s leg, he bent down to get a closer look at another large scar that stretched from below his knee to his ankle. It had been there for as long as Max could remember. The army doctor who first treated him told him that it was an old burn scar and it must have happened when he was quite small. That explained why Max didn’t remember it, but it didn’t explain Dr. Clayborne’s sudden fascination with it. Of course, Dr. Clayborne had brought Max and David into the world—he probably knew where and when the incident happened.

  “I’ve always wanted to know where that scar came from,” Max now said. “I must have been quite young because I’m sure I would have remembered something that left such a disfiguring mark. It must have been quite painful.”

  The doctor straightened. For a long moment, he looked at Max. Astonishment crossed his features before he blurted, “You’re Maxwell? Not Maximilian?” His tone was incredulous.

  Max slid off the bed and reached for his breeches. “Of course.”

  The doctor slumped into a chair near the fireplace. “My God! How did it happen?”

  Max began tucking his shirt into the waistband. “How did what happen? The burn? I was hoping you’d tell me.”

  “No. No, not that. That happened when you were about six months old. A negligent nurse let you too close to the fire and your gown caught a spark. There’s another, smaller, scar on the back of your thigh on the other leg and, I think, a small scar on your back. All from the same inci
dent.” He looked up and shook his head. “No, I meant how did you two get so completely switched?”

  Max sat on the edge of his bed and picked up a boot.

  “What do you mean, completely switched?”

  The doctor was silent while Max put on his boots, watching him with a curious expression.

  “I could say I should have known it might happen, but I don’t think anyone could have anticipated this.” He sat up straighter as Max stood and shrugged into his coat. “I think you’d better sit.”

  For the first time, Max realized how agitated the doctor was. There was an apprehensiveness about him that caused a feeling of unease to slip down his spine. He took the chair opposite the doctor before the empty fireplace.

  “I think I should tell you this from the beginning.” He stared at the small clock on the mantle for a moment before turning his eyes on Max. “It was only about a month before you two were born that I realized your mother was carrying twins. She’d been having a difficult time of it and Wanda and I agreed that she was much too big.”

  “Wanda?”

  “The midwife. Once I determined there would be two babies, I had her come in to help with the birth. Your parents were happy, I believe, and your mother spent most of the month before you were born sorting through names. Your father has never been devoted to our current monarch’s family, so when your mother wanted to name the baby Maximilian if it was a boy, he said no. His heir would not have a German name.” The doctor looked around him for a moment. “We should have had this discussion in the library. I could use a drink and I think you’ll need one before I’m through.”

  Max went over to the bellpull and tugged on it. A footman entered and was sent for brandy. After they settled with their glasses and the decanter between them, the doctor continued his tale.

  “The night you were born was unremarkable, except for all the people in the room. The decision had been made that the first baby out would have a piece of yarn tied around its ankle and the second one would have a piece tied around its wrist. All went smoothly and two healthy baby boys were sleeping in their respective cradles by the time I left in the wee hours of the morning. I suspected that each of you was born on opposite sides of midnight, but no one was keeping track.

  “A month later I was present at the christening. I’d checked on the two of you on and off. You were both healthy, and even though the piece of yarn was eventually removed from the second baby’s wrist, the piece around the older one’s ankle remained.”

  Max was hoping the doctor would get to the point soon, although he was beginning to suspect where this was leading. He wasn’t sure how he was going to feel if what he suspected the doctor was about to tell him was true. He took another sip of his brandy, feeling it burn all the way to his stomach.

  “Your father held the eldest baby, your mother the second. When the archbishop asked the child’s name, your father looked beneath the child’s gown and took note of the yarn tied around the child’s ankle. Then he said clearly, “This one is Maxwell David Joseph Franklin Dayton, Viscount Royden.”

  Max was glad he was sitting down. He felt as if he’d just been sucker-punched. With his suspicions confirmed, he put down his snifter and laid his head back against the chair. He, too, wanted to know how it happened. Had it just been a mistake? Or had it been done deliberately?

  “Do you have any idea how it could have happened?” His voice was a hoarse whisper.

  “I can speculate, but it’s not very complimentary to your mother.”

  “Why?”

  Dr. Clayborne put down his balloon glass beside the decanter.

  “I think after your father refused to let her name the heir Maximilian, she thought she’d thwart him by switching you. The one thing she didn’t do, however, was change the string tied around the baby’s ankle. I suspect she wanted to know who was really who. Then the incident happened that resulted in the scar on your leg. I know it was you because when I got here to tend the burn, I cut the string off myself. I remember telling your mother that it was no longer needed because Lord Royden was the one with the scarred legs.”

  “But none of this explains how it happened!” Max was trying, in vain, to keep calm.

  “I know, son. But the other piece of the puzzle is your nickname. Your father insisted on calling his heir, David, and the second son, Max. That’s where I think your mother made the switch. She just began calling you Max and your brother, David, thereby making your father think David was Lord Royden. Everyone knew that’s what he preferred to call his heir, so no one bothered to occasionally check to see that the right son was being called by the right name. And, when you went off to school…”

  The doctor’s voice fell off. Max didn’t need him to finish the sentence. He remembered very well the day they were presented to the headmaster at Eton, his father proudly presenting “David” as his heir. He hadn’t remembered whether his father gave full names, but obviously he hadn’t in the boys’ presence or Max was certain he would have spoken up. He wondered now whether the records at the school were accurate. Probably not. After all when the boys could, and did, answer to both Max and David, confusion could not be far behind. Yet, he’d always known he was Maxwell and his brother, Maximilian. That knowledge had just changed his life significantly.

  “You’ll need to tell your father—and your brother.”

  Max was jolted back to the present. How could he not think of what this would mean to David?

  “I think,” he forced himself to speak slowly, “you might be the best person to break this to my father. As for David…” He had no idea. What was he going to say to his brother if he arrived home merely expecting to talk to him regarding blackmail and murder? Oh, and by the way, you’re not really Lord Royden. I am. Would his brother be pleased to become “Max” in reality?

  “Very well, but you should accompany me.”

  Max lightened the mood a bit as they stood. “At least you’ll be on hand if he has an apoplexy.”

  The doctor chuckled. “You might want to order him a brandy first.”

  Max wasn’t sure he wanted to witness his father’s reaction to his mother’s duplicity. “She couldn’t have possibly thought she could change who inherited by changing names.”

  “Maybe not,” came the agreement. “But think of what would have happened had you been killed at Waterloo—or any of the other battles you participated in.” The doctor finished off his drink and replaced the glass on the table. “I know she died years before you purchased your commission, but the possibility can’t be overlooked.”

  Max suddenly saw his mother in a much more nefarious light. As children she’d encouraged his wilder tendencies. When he and David learned something new, he was the one she insisted try it first. David had not been allowed to climb trees, ride fast, or learn to swim. At least not within her orbit. David had eventually done all those things but not with his mother around. Worst of all, it was his mother who encouraged him to purchase a commission when he got older. She’d all but made him promise as she was dying. As a second son, she told him, it was his best opportunity not to be beholden to his brother for the rest of his life. It made sense at the time.

  And now, other things were beginning to make sense as well, not the least of which was one of the last things she said to him. He will be glad I’m gone, but I will win in the end. He and David had looked at each other after those words, wondering what she would win by dying, although neither misunderstood the reference to their father. Had she hated their father so much that she’d disown one son in favor of the other over a name? What kind of person destroyed an innocent in order to win a disagreement over a name?

  Did David already know? Was that why his brother was so determined to adopt his identity? Had David wanted him to die in battle? In France? If Lion and Dodson were to be believed, he hadn’t wanted Max to return to England. Still, nothing added up. As Max, David had developed his own reputation in Town, a reputation Max was beginning to suspect would not ma
ke him a prime catch on the Marriage Mart.

  Caesar greeted them enthusiastically at the door to his father’s suite. As the dog leaned in to his hand for a pat, he was reminded of Sarah and wondered where she might be. He glanced at the afternoon sunshine coming in the windows and surmised she’d be in the garden. What should he tell her? And what would she think if he proposed now?

  I wouldn’t consider you a fortune hunter. Her words reminded him that she hadn’t been averse to marrying him when he had nothing. That barrier was now gone. Would his new circumstances change her mind?

  Dr. Clayborne was succinct in his recitation regarding the scar on Max’s leg and what it meant. His father’s shock was obvious, but he did not respond as Max expected.

  “In truth, I should have expected it, but I never considered she’d go to such lengths,” he said in a tired voice.

  The last thing Max expected was that his father would accept part of the blame. Yet he had to concede that if his father had been more vigilant or more willing to remain at home, his mother might not have been able to deceive him so thoroughly. He had spent time with both boys, but never did he call them by anything except their shortened names.

  Max tried to remember if there had been a time when he’d been called anything other than Max. When he purchased his commission, he’d used his full first and second names, but as soon as the papers were signed, he’d reverted to being Max. And now that he thought about it, even the deed to Templeton Manor did not have his full name on it. The name on it could be either of them. Or had David changed it?

  The doctor rose from his seat. “You no longer need my presence, my lords. I will see myself out.”

  It took a moment for Max to realize the doctor included him in his farewell. It would take some time to adjust himself to the title. Once the doctor was gone, he turned his attention back to his father with a question.

  “Why? Why would she do it?”

  The earl took a sip of his brandy. “I can only think it was her way of getting what she wanted, but even I would never have imagined she’d try to orchestrate your death.”