by Julia Donner
“The previous Lord Loverton was invalid. He was known as a bruising rider until a mishap left him unable to walk. He spent all of his waking hours reading and cataloguing his library. Sir Edmund hid a portion of his thievery by selling the rare, illustrated works. Emboldened by that success, he went on to other forms of embezzlement.”
“I gather you had a personal grudge with Sir Edmund.”
“He sent off my mother and sister with nothing. Lord Loverton had made a specific condition in his will that she and my sister have a home for life at Oakland, which included the pension my father was to have. When he cast them out, they scarcely had enough money to travel to relatives near Stirling.”
“Surely a family member could have addressed this issue in court.”
With an unblinking stare, Sir Cameron replied, “Only a few are left on my mother’s side of the family. They were not in the position of having funds for a long court seige. At present, I have little confidence in a justice system that allowed for that entry in Loverton’s will to be crossed out. It left my mother with no funds but a pittance to support herself and a child.”
Max studied Sir Cameron’s up-tilted chin, the hard glint in otherwise cheerful eyes. He’d kept his resentment alive and burning, while his quieter sister had accepted their plight with resignation.
Beginning to like the man, Max strolled back to the ledger-covered table. “Such actions are unconscionable. I have the suspicion that Sir Edmund was a solicitor.”
“He was.”
“And you say he took over the estate while you were at sea. There were no other legal administrators?”
“Where are you going with this line of inquiry, Loverton?”
It was the time for truth. It was obvious that neither Sir Cameron nor his father had any involvement in the murder of his parents. The history of the estate rested in all the materials in this room, easily at hand for verification of their innocence. Everything pointed to Sir Edmund, who stood to gain. That left the problem of how to find him.
Max fingered the pages of the nearest ledger. “You said he left the country. Why didn’t you shoot him down for what he did to your mother and sister?”
“That was my dearest wish at one time.” When Max looked up with another suggestive lift of his eyebrows, Sir Cameron continued. “One has to keep in mind the repercussions. My sister is no longer a girl. Her prospects for marriage had been nonexistent for years. In Stirling, Mother had no access for introduction to suitable marriage options. Agnes had very little in the way of dowry. I had to consider the consequences of a duel where I killed a man, and I would have done so with any weapon handed to me at the time. Such an action, as pleasing as it would have been for me, would’ve ended in scandal and me leaving the country. My goal was to get Mother and Agnes back into their rightful home and associating with people of their own rank. Which leads me to a topic I had hoped to present after you’d settled in, but now that we are being frank, I shall extend my wish to hand over the estate matters to someone else as soon as it can be arranged. I do wish to travel, and take my mother and sister with me.”
That announcement wiped all investigative thoughts away, dashing them right out of Max’s head. He could only think one thing, and it came rolling out of his mouth before he could stop himself. “You wish to take Agnes away?”
The sudden stiffness in Sir Cameron’s stance and hardness within his glare gave notice of what was to come. “You are on such intimate terms with my sister that you feel the right to use her name so freely?”
The tide had indeed shifted. Now Max was on the defensive. “My apologies, sir. She did not give me leave. I have been thinking about her and blurted the familiar use of her name. You were saying that I should look for someone else to manage the estate?”
Sir Cameron continued to drill him with a level-eyed stare, which slowly gave way. He accepted the apology with an abrupt nod. “We shall let that subject go and press on. I can give you names, reliable men for you to interview.”
“Thank you, and I apparently require a different housekeeper. Can you offer suggestions?”
Sir Cameron came around the table. “Mrs. Smithers should have taken up her pension twenty years ago. It’s doubtful she could answer a question regarding the present condition of household matters. My housekeeper will no doubt know someone in the district willing and competent to take over the position. If not, she will know an agency to contact without having the bother of placing an advertisement. Before we start on this mountain of numbers, why don’t I show you the book-room? I have the impression that you are a reader.”
“Habitual. Addiction is more like. It’s getting more and more difficult to find works of interest. May I ask as to how soon you plan to take your family on a tour?”
They went down a flight of steps. Max noticed that the wood banisters, wall panels, and steps could do with a polish. Perhaps he should have people brought in to give the place a thorough cleaning. He disliked untidiness or when fine wood was left unattended.
Max again noted the neglect as they went down a corridor. The carpets were of excellent quality but in dire want of dust removal. “Didn’t Carnall keep a full staff on hand? It appears little cleaning has been accomplished.”
“They weren’t in residence that long and stayed mainly in the other wing. Dominic, I should say, Lord Carnall, had no intention of living here for any length of time. He mainly sought privacy and didn’t wish to stay at the inn. Signing a lease was the easiest way to have a roof over him while he decided what he and Lady Carnall would do. I thought it best to wait for you to make household decisions.”
There wasn’t much to argue about with his explanations. In fact, it showed respect for keeping a lean budget with minimal maintenance until the heir was in residence. “Do you have any specific places in mind to visit when you go to the Continent?”
“My sister has an interest in art. My hope was to travel with her to the cities with the finest art exhibits. Here we are.”
The heavy door swung open without a sound. Max halted as soon as he entered, astounded. Tiers of shelves rose up to plaster-carved ceilings. The room was so spacious it required three chandeliers. Ladders on rollers provided access to the highest shelves. Numerous tables held lamps and candelabras but few chairs. Every shelf was filled, and piles more had been stacked on tabletops and crammed inside glass-fronted cabinets.
Awed, Max whispered, “I’ve never seen anything like this, not even the book collection at school.”
“No one has done any cataloging since his lordship passed away. Sir Edmund sent off the gentleman who kept the records. You may want to hire a replacement.”
All Max could think of was leaping into the project immediately, or perhaps after he studied the titles on the lower shelves. Sir Cameron murmured to interrupt an avalanche of ideas crowding into his head, ways to organize, a long investigation of the titles, and how they were cataloged. There was so much exciting work to do.
Annoyingly persistent, Sir Cameron touched his shoulder. “Allow me to show you one of the most delightful aspects of this room.”
Still a bit dazed, Max followed him to a set of glass-paned doors, beyond which was a rectangular room walled in windows, its starkness enlivened with splotches of greenery. Light poured through the panes, feeding potted plants and illuminating the interior, the perfect setting for reading even on the cloudiest day.
Max sensed his companion’s amused regard before Sir Cameron asked, “Perhaps I should let you spend some time here and bring that list of names tomorrow?”
Max pulled his thoughts into order. “Forgive me, this is a bit overwhelming. Other than the brief comment made a few minutes ago, I’m not sure how you divined my love of reading. It’s not as though we discussed it.”
Smiling, Sir Cameron stepped through the glass doors, returning to the library. “No. You’re not the sort who gives away much in regards to his preferences. Agnes mentioned it. And you gravitate to the nearest book every time you
enter a room, lift the cover and peer inside.”
“I’ve not had that pointed out before, but now that I think on it, I suppose I do.”
Sir Cameron closed the glass doors to the reading conservatory and stared through the panes. Appearing to have made a decision, he looked Max in the eye as he spoke.
“I’m going to put forward my belief that your true reason for coming to England was more about your parents than for assuming the title. I’ve been eliminated from your suspect list. Is that the reason you purposely create an impression of remoteness?”
“No. I prefer most people at a distance.”
“And now that you’re here, you can see that it probably was Sir Edmund who brought about the deaths of your parents. You may have the right of it on that count, but more importantly to me is your marked attentions to my sister. I will not have her toyed with while you are here and summarily forgotten when you leave.”
Max studied the former Naval officer. A pleasant enough chap on the surface, but there was something about the man that urged caution. It had nothing to do with the nasty wound that scarred one side of his face. There was a great deal of talk about his decade of captivity, of outwitting a Barbary potentate to find his way to freedom and home to family and accolades.
What Max understood that others might not was that Sir Cameron had lived, fought, and survived every kind of hell. He carried with him the same kind of quiet courage Max had seen as a child in the survivors of Valley Forge. This was no frequenter of ton denizens, no effete dandy, nor a wastrel aristocrat.
The game of subterfuge and oblique interrogation was over. Max had no stomach for trifling with individuals who valued the meaning and purpose of integrity.
“Sir Cameron, may I have leave to court your sister?”
There it was again, that subtle, warning glint. Underneath the congenial gentleman’s mask was the warrior able to patiently wait for his opportunity to strike. Max stood his ground and gave Sir Cameron credit for attending to his position as head of his family.
“I will admit that I had hoped my first impressions of you were wrong, Loverton, but today you’ve confirmed some of them.”
Max nodded a bow. “The bald truth then. Yes, I had initially planned to use your sister’s accommodating nature to acquire information about my parents. And about you. It was only minutes after meeting you that I came to the understanding that your character would have no patience with evildoers. In regards to your sister, a single glance fixed my intentions.”
“Which are?” The quiet question sounded more like a threat than an inquiry.
“To see if we would suit. The problem inherent with my most respectful wish is that she is still quite heartbroken over another. And if you whisk her away to Europe, I’ll have no chance to help her mend.”
“What have you heard?” her brother snapped, every hackle raised.
“Nothing.”
“Then how can you come to this conclusion that she is heartbroken when you’ve only known her for the length of a party?”
Max quickly decided not to mention yesterday’s stroll in the woods. “I may be the least likely able to explain it. In truth, I can’t say why I know, but I do. She’s been wounded and remains extremely hurt. She will require careful attention and help to heal.”
“And you see yourself as the man able to mend her?”
“Please, sir, do not make a jest about my feelings for your sister. They are quite sincere.”
Sir Cameron silently mulled over that declaration as he strolled across the room to the door. He paused before it then looked back over his shoulder. “You rely on instinct then, not blatant fact, as most educated men do?”
“Both, most of the time. I was fortunate to have been given an exceptionable tutor. He advised listening to the heart more than the head. I happen to believe that Miss Bradford is meant for me, if she’ll have me.”
Sir Cameron pinched his lips into a line. “One can’t say that you’re shy about saying exactly what’s on your mind. Before I give you an answer regarding my sister, I suggest we take a trip up to London. Lady Asterly may have the information you seek. I would suggest that her ladyship is the best person to satisfy your questions about Sir Edmund. After we return, you may speak to my sister, but I don’t make decisions for her. She’s past the age of consent and does her own thinking. Unless she asks me to take a belaying pin to your head.”
Relieved, Max joined him at the door and stuck out his hand. “Fair enough. London, on Friday.”
He wasn’t happy that he’d have to delay the start of the portrait sittings with Agnes, but this quest for discovery about his parents had to be done. It had been his original intent for journeying all the way to England, even if a sweet-natured angel had caused a distraction that veered him off on another trail. Best to get the past settled so he could move on to future plans.
Chapter 8
Lark woke him before dawn on Friday. He hadn’t slept well due to dreams he couldn’t remember but were nonetheless disturbing. He shaved while Lark busied himself with packing a valise, a task that shouldn’t take long, considering the sparseness of his attire, but when Lark opened the wardrobe, it contained more than Max recalled owning.
“Those shirts, Lark, where did they come from? That was empty when I got here.”
Lark lifted out a hanger. “There were some shirts and such left in a closet, which I thought would do until you made an appointment with a London haberdasher. There’s a village tailor, but he won’t do at all for your London engagements.”
“I see.” Max pulled on trousers. Unless he was riding or tramping the woods, he preferred the feel of cloth to that of leather. “I also noticed that you cleaned the buckskins. No easy task with all that fringe. I don’t think I’ve ever had them cleaned.”
“So I had noticed, my lord. I will be so bold as to say that the unusual style, the long fringe, presented a challenge. I do not expect that you wish to take that sort of attire to London.”
“No. Not really the thing for the city. I’m not sure why I packed them and didn’t leave them at home. This shirt you’ve handed me is definitely not mine.”
“If you will permit, my lord, this material will feel more comfortable for extended travel. And I’ve located a waistcoat more appropriate for your visit to Cavendish Square.”
Succumbing to the valet’s judicious bullying, Max pulled the shirt over his head. “Servants at home are not so well informed and impertinent.”
“That is to be expected, my lord. We in England pride ourselves on knowing every important detail in order to better serve.”
Having knotted his neckcloth in a simplistic knot sure to displease Lark, Max accepted the proffered waistcoat. As he buttoned it up, he did think that the dark green would complement the drab brown of his jacket. Perhaps a visit to a London tailor was in order.
Max assessed the results in a long mirror, glancing at Lark, who whisked a final brush over the coat material on his shoulders. “I have the impression that you are planning to attend me on this jaunt to London.”
“Why, yes, my lord. I packed my things this morning before coming up. Sir Cameron sent a message that his chaise and four will arrive here before nine of the clock. He’s also sent ahead a note that he’s arranged for rooms at Claridges. The best sort of establishment, but I have no doubt that her ladyship will offer you and Sir Cameron lodging.”
It occurred to Max that servants were often the best source of information. He’d heard it complained about at more than one dinner table often enough. “Perhaps you will be of use beyond pressing my clothes and polishing my boots. Must say that you’ve put a shine on these like I’ve never been able to achieve.”
Lark’s obvious gratification over an offhanded remark caused Max an inner squirm of guilt. There was no cause to be so callous to a man only seeking to do good work. He was taking out his frustrations on a servant. This trip to England was turning out to be nothing like he’d planned. In addition, the title was h
aving an ill effect on his personality. He wasn’t usually so unkind and blunt. Or was he? He couldn’t place the vague recollection of someone accusing him of being perpetually taciturn.
He glanced at the valet. Lark’s simple pleasure at serving and having been promoted glowed in his youthful face. On closer inspection, he wasn’t all that young, but his delicate features and complexion made him appear so. No longer a footman, Lark didn’t have to wear a wig. His baby-fine, dark blond hair required pomade to stay in place. His gloves had concealed hands far more elegant than Max’s.
When Lark extended an engraved pin, Max asked, “What is that?”
“For the neckwear, my lord.”
“Yes, yes, I understand that. And where did it come from?”
“There is a drawer full of them. No jewel box for traveling, of course, but I’ve taken the liberty of packing a few of the better pieces in the event Lord and Lady Asterly invite you to stay. Since you do not have more than one jacket fit for evening wear, the addition of a jewel will help it along until more clothes have been made.”
“I see. And now what do you have in your hand?”
“Your signet ring, my lord.”
“I have no signet ring.”
“This belonged to the late baron. It now belongs to you.”
Resigned to the inevitable, Max took the ring and slid it on his little finger, the only one it would fit. He stood still as Lark performed a final once over. He’d attended many stately dinners in Philadelphia. Some of them actual state affairs. He’d worn the same black jacket he’d worn the other evening at Oakland. His friends at home kept up with styles more assiduously than he did, but socializing in London was apparently another matter.
Max glanced at the clock. Half-past eight. He accepted the gloves Lark offered. “You’ll be riding up top, I expect, so I won’t have the chance to ask before we get there. Tell me about Lord and Lady Asterly.”
