“We’re fighting a bloody war in Europe, or has that slipped your mind, you imbecile?”
“Then I’ll go east … to Turkey perhaps. I want to study art.”
“Turkey, my arse! Only fops and weaklings are interested in art! You forget, young sir, I am the paymaster here. I control the purse strings!”
“I’ll pay my own traveling expenses. My allowance doubles now that I am twenty-one.”
“Don’t dare to defy me, Christopher! I shall cut off your allowance today unless you promise you’ll do your duty and beget a Hatton heir.”
There was a low tap on the door, then it swung open to admit Nicholas.
“What the hellfire do you want? You are forever sticking your bloody nose in where it isn’t wanted,” his father spat.
“Well, I want his opinion, if you don’t!” Kit shouted.
“Are you aware our houseguests can hear you both?” Nick asked quietly.
“He actually wants to announce my betrothal at the hunt dinner tonight! What the hell would you do, if he insisted that you marry Alexandra Sheffield?”
Nick masked the surprise he felt and quickly controlled his emotions. He saw the look of pure panic on his twin’s face at the thought of marriage. “I’d take her in a heartbeat,” Nick said quietly.
“I’m not ready for marriage!” Kit cried.
“You gutless young swine! You haven’t the balls for anything save gambling, drinking, and whoring!”
“He had a good teacher,” Nicholas defended his brother.
Kit’s gray eyes narrowed with hatred. “I’ve far more guts than you realize, Father.”
“Good! Then you’ll act like a man when I announce the betrothal at the dinner tonight.” He glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel. “Ten o’clock; the whip will have the staghounds ready.” He lifted a hunting rifle from the gun case. “Are you coming, or are you as squeamish about hunting as you are about marriage?” he asked contemptuously.
Alexandra, along with the other guests, could hear Lord Hatton and his son having a terrible row. Though no one could make out the words exchanged, the timber and tone of the voices told everyone they were having a fierce argument. Since the Hatton twins’ voices were identical, none knew which son had invoked Henry Hatton’s fury, but all knew he frequently vented his vile temper on Nicholas. Alexandra too assumed it was Nicholas, since he was the usual recipient of his father’s wrath, and relief washed over her when the shouting abruptly ceased.
She tapped on the door of the adjoining bedchamber. When she opened it she was surprised to find Dottie wearing a silk morning gown rather than a riding habit.
“I’m not joining the hunt, Alexandra. Lord Staines isn’t up to it, and it will give Neville and I a chance to be alone.”
“Did you hear all the shouting?”
“Fiddle-faddle, darling; it doesn’t signify. In a household of men, shouting and brawling is the order of the day. The morning after men have imbibed, their tempers have hair triggers. Best to avoid them at breakfast. By the by, what are you planning to wear tonight to the hunt dinner?”
“My jade green silk, I think.”
“No, no, darling, wear that blush pink thing; it’s more maidenly. Take that rebellious look off your face, Alexandra. I’ll come along to help you dress and we can argue about it then. No point in ruining the day with an argument that can be postponed until the evening, is there?”
Alexandra laughed. “I suppose there is logic in that.” It was only when she got to the ground floor of Hatton Hall that it struck her as being odd that her grandmother planned to help her dress.
* * *
The hunters gathered in the courtyard made a colorful tapestry in their bright coats and fashionable riding habits. Today they were not after fox, but deer. The staghounds were straining on their leashes and baying loud enough to frighten off any game within a five-mile radius. The men’s mounts were equipped with saddle holsters and guns; the ladies, however, were not armed. They joined the sport today as mere spectators.
Alexandra tightened the girth on her hunter and thanked Rupert for saddling her mare. She spied the twins across the courtyard, guessing that Kit wore red, and Nick wore green. A furious blush rose to her cheeks as the intimate details of the encounter with Nicholas came flooding back to her. The humiliation of Nick’s rejection still stung her pride. Moreover, both twins seemed to be avoiding her, so she deliberately snubbed them and trotted over to join the ladies. She eyed Annabelle Harding’s full figure, pictured her without her stays, and wondered if it were true that Lord Hatton was bedding her. The corners of her mouth went up. What a wickedly amusing lampoon it would make, with Annabelle clutching the bedpost as Henry struggled with her laces, trying in vain to stuff her abundant flesh back into her corsets!
The Hatton twins held their hunters on short reins as they conversed. Nicholas had given his new pistols to his brother in an effort to cheer him up, but Kit’s dark brows were drawn together as he tried to solve his dilemma. “If I tell the old man I’ll start paying court to Alexandra, do you think it will get him off my back? I could hint that I’ll agree to some sort of understanding; anything so long as he doesn’t announce my betrothal tonight!”
“Alexandra is very young. She isn’t ready for marriage either, Kit. I think it’s a good idea to postpone things.” Why did the thought of Alexandra and Christopher seem so appalling to him when their families had had an understanding since they were children that they would marry some day? He loved his brother deeply and wanted him to be happy. The trouble was he loved Alexandra too, like a sister he assured himself, and he couldn’t bear the thought of her unhappiness. That’s the biggest bloody lie you’ve ever told yourself. You don’t love her like a sister at all! But Nicholas knew it was a lie he would have to desperately cling to and live with for the rest of his life.
A hunting horn sounded and the dogs were unleashed. “I’ll go and talk with him. Hunting usually puts him in a good mood,” Kit told his brother and determinedly spurred Renegade and took off after their father.
An hour into the hunt, Nick spotted a doe with a fawn that must have been born late in the season. He did not raise his horn to his lips to summon the other hunters but watched the pair disappear into the woods that led to a dense forest. He could hear the staghounds baying in the distance and was glad they were not close enough to pick up the doe’s scent.
Alexandra, riding with the ladies, had long since ceased to listen to their incessant chatter about what they planned to wear to the hunt dinner. Her mind wandered back to the strange conversation she had had with Dottie that morning, predicting that an argument was in the offing. She had a feeling that it was going to be about more than her choice of gown. Her brows drew together as she remembered Dottie and Henry Hatton going off for their private talk yesterday. Then, like a revelation, it dawned on her that their plans concerned a betrothal between herself and Christopher. She had nothing against Kit Hatton, of course—nothing except that she was secretly in love with his twin! Alexandra immediately drew rein and turned her hunter about. She’d be damned if she’d allow them to arrange her future for her. The Hellion would mount a rebellion!
Nicholas, who had become separated from the hunt, raised his head to pick up the sound of the horns or the baying of the staghounds. Suddenly, he heard a shot that sounded quite close and urged his horse in that direction. He drew one of his hunting pistols from the saddle holster just in case a stag bolted through the trees from the direction of the shot. He came to a clearing and recognized his brother. It took him only a moment to spot another red-jacketed figure crumpled on the ground.
Kit’s head jerked up with alarm as his brother approached. “There’s been an accident!” he cried.
Nick holstered his gun and was out of the saddle in a split second, running to the man lying on the ground. “Good God, it’s Father!” Nick saw the ugly chest wound, smelled the metallic scent of blood, and heard his own heartbeat hammering in his ears. He felt f
or a pulse in vain. He looked up at Kit, who was still clutching his pistol. “He’s dead!” Nicholas said with disbelief.
“It was an accident, I swear! Oh Christ, what am I to do?” Kit dismounted, took one step closer, threw down the pistol and clutched his head with his hands. “It was an accident!”
“Of course it was an accident,” Nick assured him.
“But they’ll never believe me … they’ll say I murdered him …. Everyone heard the terrible row we had this morning … Dear God, Nick, help me!”
Nicholas looked down hopelessly at the body he held; his father was already going cold. “Of course I’ll help you. We’ll explain it was an accident.”
“No one will believe me! I killed him, and I had a motive … They’ll arrest me!”
“They won’t arrest you if it was an accident, Kit. Try to get hold of yourself and tell me what happened.”
“A stag … we both saw it … I had a clear view … He rode directly into my path as I fired.”
Nicholas eased his father’s body back down to the ground, then got up from his knees and bent to retrieve the silver-mounted Heylin pistol from the grass where Kit had thrown it.
“It’s your gun, Nick. Say you did it … please help me!”
Nicholas stared at his twin’s chalky pallor and saw he was trembling like an aspen leaf. He felt his brother’s plight as sharply as if it were his own. Nick wished he had been to blame; how in the name of God would Kit carry the burden of guilt? He walked over to his brother. “Pull yourself together, Christopher.” Nick didn’t put his arms about him, because one hand held the gun and the other was covered with his father’s blood.
A look of crazed panic came into Kit’s eyes as they heard the hounds approaching. “I’ll shoot myself! It’s the only way out.”
Nicholas prevented him from snatching the gun, even though it was no longer loaded.
Three hunters rode into the clearing. “What the devil has happened?”
“Keep the dogs off!” Nicholas ordered. “I accidentally shot my father.”
Chapter Five
The three mounted men stared in disbelief at the horrific scene before them. As more members of the hunting party rode into the clearing, Nicholas realized with a sinking heart that some of them had been spectators that night at the Hardings’ summerhouse when their father had lain stretched out upon the grass. He experienced an eerie feeling of déjà vu when someone asked, “Is he dead?”
As it happened, the two legal authorities required to attend an accidental death were among the weekend guests. Colonel Stevenson was a Justice of the Peace; Lord Staines was the County Coroner.
Lord Harding was the first out of the saddle. He glanced at Christopher and said with his usual air of authority, “Help me get your father up to the house.”
Kit stepped back in horror, but at that moment Colonel Stevenson quickly intervened. “No, no, Harding. The scene must not be disturbed until we establish exactly what happened here. The body must not be touched until the Coroner has pronounced him dead.”
Nicholas saw his twin’s deathly pallor and the terrified look in his eyes. He feared that Kit would either begin to confess his hatred for their father or pass out from shock, and he knew he had to get him away from the body. “Christopher and I will be up at the house, Colonel. The accident has unnerved us. I shall inform Lord Staines that you need him immediately, then I will answer any questions the two of you may have.” Nick turned to Hart and Rupert, who had just arrived and stood gaping helplessly. “Will you see to the horses?” he asked quietly, then moved to his brother’s side and touched his arm as a signal that they should leave.
Mr. Burke took one look at the twins’ faces as they entered the hall and knew something terrible had happened. “Whatever is amiss?”
“There’s been a hunting accident,” Nick said quickly.
Kit ran his hand distractedly through his hair, over and over again, trying to brush back the curl that fell over his forehead. “Father’s dead!”
Mr. Burke stared and shook his head in disbelief.
“Burke, would you be good enough to inform Lord Staines that he is needed at the accident scene? Rupert will show him.” With a steadying hand on his brother’s elbow, Nick guided him up to his bedchamber. Kit, shaking from head to foot, stumbled on the stairs as his legs threatened to give out under him.
The moment they were inside the chamber, Nick locked the door and shoved his brother into a leather chair.
“Whiskey,” Kit muttered.
Nicholas poured water from the jug and washed his father’s blood from his hands. Then he went to a cabinet and sniffed at the contents of two decanters. “Brandy will do you better at the moment … it’s a restorative.” He splashed the golden liquor into a goblet and brought it to his brother.
Kit tossed the fiery liquid down his throat and gasped as it took his breath away. He shook his head as if to clear it. “I cannot believe he’s dead! Any minute I expect him to come crashing through the door, raving and shouting his orders, browbeating me into a bloody betrothal.”
“Kit, we haven’t much time. They’ll be here with their questions very shortly.”
“They won’t question me! It was your gun! You admitted doing it … They won’t question me, will they?” he asked desperately.
“They might, Christopher. They may ask if you witnessed the accident.” In a calm voice Nick explained, “They are within their rights to ask anything they wish. They are investigating the death of Lord Hatton, a Baron of the Realm.”
“I am Lord Hatton!”
Nicholas stared at his twin, thinking it a strange thing for him to say. “So you are,” he said slowly. Nick suddenly had second thoughts. He never should have given in to his brother’s pleading to take the blame upon himself. It was time that Christopher took responsibility for his own actions. He was a man grown; it was high time he started acting like one.
“You won’t change your story?” Kit demanded fearfully. “You’ve always been there for me … We’re in this together, Nick, always together, right?”
Nicholas let out a long, slow breath, knowing he would capitulate. “I won’t change my story. It would draw suspicion to both of us—they might begin to think we conspired to kill him.”
“It was an accident, Nick. You do believe me?”
Nicholas knew his twin had left him no choice in the matter. “Yes, I believe you.”
As Alexandra rode into the courtyard, she saw a small group of hunters who were accompanied by two grooms transporting something heavy from the woods. For a moment she thought they carried a stag, but then she saw the red hunting jacket and realized it was a man. She spotted Rupert leading Renegade into the stables and spurred her mount to catch up with him.
“There’s been an accident.” Her hand covered her thudding heart as she searched Rupert’s ashen face. “Kit’s been injured—the black threw him!”
“No, no, Alex. It’s Lord Hatton. He’s been shot.”
“Oh, no! Is he badly injured?”
“He’s dead, Alex,” Rupert said through stiff, bloodless lips.
Alexandra sat stunned as she watched the grooms carry the body into Hatton Hall. Her very first thought was of the shouting match she had overheard this morning between Lord Hatton and his son. Nicholas, no! Her heart contracted. Nick would be blamed—Nick was always blamed. She rejected the thought instantly, then her own words about the house party came back to her.
She had said to Nick, “Keep your fingers crossed for something scandalous.” Alexandra closed her eyes as guilty remorse washed over her.
Nicholas opened his brother’s bedchamber door and admitted the two men who knocked. The questions by Colonel Stevenson, Justice of the Peace, were perfunctory. He completely ignored Christopher Hatton and addressed Nicholas. “Tell me what happened.”
Nick looked the colonel directly in the eye. “There was a stag. I thought I had a clear view. Father rode directly into my path as I fired.”
The colonel held out a gun. “Is this Heylin pistol yours?”
Nick did not hesitate. “Yes, sir.”
The colonel nodded to Lord Staines, who had brought a death certificate with him. Neville wrote accident against the cause of death, then signed it in his capacity as County Coroner. Colonel Stevenson added his signature as witness, and that put an end to the legalities. In a trice the matter was set right and tight as a drum; all clean, and legal, and above board. The gentlemen offered the twins their condolences and departed.
The members of the upper class were adept at cleaning up their own messes; they happened on a regular basis. Appearances were what mattered most to Society, and took precedence over any other consideration. Once the legalities were airtight, however, the gossip and conjecture of the beau monde would run rampant. The upper class was addicted to blood sport.
When Stevenson and Staines departed, Kit asked eagerly, “Is that it? Is it over?”
“Perhaps the legalities are over, but there is a plethora of things to do, arrangements to make, plans for the burial—”
Kit recoiled. “I can’t face any of that!” He strode to the cabinet and filled his glass with whiskey.
“Things have to be faced,” Nick insisted. “We have to go down and see what they’ve done with Father’s body. And we can’t just ignore a houseful of guests.”
Kit took three gulps of his whiskey. “Let the servants look after the bloody guests.”
“The people who serve us will be overwhelmed. They’ll be looking to us for direction.”
Kit lifted his gaze from his glass and looked into his brother’s eyes. “I’m still shaking. Since you’re so cool and calm, you give them direction.”
Nick threw his twin a look of contempt as he watched him lift his glass to his lips. Kit despised their father, yet he had many of Henry Hatton’s weaknesses. He got dog-bitten-drunk far too often. Nick rubbed the tension from the back of his neck. Perhaps he was expecting too much of his brother. He’d just gone through the horrendous ordeal of causing a fatal accident, and the guilt of it must be eating him alive. Kit would need time to come to terms with it all. “I’ll go down and cope with things.”
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