The Puzzle of a Bastard
Page 1
The Puzzle of a Bastard
Linda Rae Sande
This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.
The Puzzle of a Bastard
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2020 Linda Rae Sande.
V1
ISBN: 978-1-946271-30-3
Cover photograph © PeriodImages.com and 123rf.com.
All rights reserved - used with permission.
Edited by Katrina Teele-Fair.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please go to an online bookseller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Contents
Also by Linda Rae Sande
1. Alone But Not Lonely
2. A Rhyton in Ruins
3. Aphrodite Arrives
4. The Ride Home
5. Reconstructing a Rhyton
6. A Stepmother’s Appeal
7. An Invitation Arrives
8. Cousins Unite at White’s
9. A Homecoming of Sorts
10. Appraising Aphrodite
11. Breakfast for Two
12. A Bold Move
13. Dinner for Two
14. Puzzles of a Different Sort
15. A Walk in the Garden
16. A Perplexing Pot
17. Of Mistresses and More
18. Dinner with a Reluctant Guest
19. Reading and Ruminating
20. Dinner Interrupted
21. About a Ring
22. A Move is Made
23. In the Dark of the Garden
24. Secrets Revealed in the Dark of Night
25. The Shape of a Bum Revealed
26. The Reality of Mornings
27. The Wonders of a Morning
28. A Truth is Revealed
29. Breakfast for Two
30. Breakfast for Three
31. A Woman Says Yes
32. A Perplexing Plot over a Pot
33. A Conclave of Cousins at White’s
34. A Quiet Night Before Bed
35. Monday Morning Murmurs
36. An Unwelcome Visitor
37. A Necessary Confrontation
38. Reasons to Marry
39. A Wedding Gift of Monumental Proportions
40. A Wedding Gift of Modest Means
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Also by Linda Rae Sande
About the Author
Also by Linda Rae Sande
The Daughters of the Aristocracy
The Kiss of a Viscount
The Grace of a Duke
The Seduction of an Earl
The Sons of the Aristocracy
Tuesday Nights
The Widowed Countess
My Fair Groom
The Sisters of the Aristocracy
The Story of a Baron
The Passion of a Marquess
The Desire of a Lady
The Brothers of the Aristocracy
The Love of a Rake
The Caress of a Commander
The Epiphany of an Explorer
The Widows of the Aristocracy
The Gossip of an Earl
The Enigma of a Widow
The Secrets of a Viscount
The Widowers of the Aristocracy
The Dream of a Duchess
The Vision of a Viscountess
The Conundrum of a Clerk
The Charity of a Viscount
The Cousins of the Aristocracy
The Promise of a Gentleman
The Pride of a Gentleman
The Holidays of the Aristocracy
The Christmas of a Countess
The Heirs of the Aristocracy
The Angel of an Astronomer
The Puzzle of a Bastard
The Choice of a Cavalier
Stella of Akrotiri: Origins
Stella of Akrotiri: Deminon
Stella of Aktrotiri: Diana
Chapter 1
Alone But Not Lonely
December 1838, Woodscastle Manor, Chiswick
The sound of horse’s hooves had Emily glancing up from her book. Ensconced in the library since breakfast, she had become so engrossed in The Story of an Earl, she had completely lost track of time.
Not that she was expected anywhere. Or expecting anyone.
She straightened on the long leather sofa and directed her gaze towards the leaded glass windows that faced the front of the house. Even as she stood to discover who might be outside, she heard Humphrey, the butler, open the front door.
The horse, a beautiful bay with a white blaze and black stockings, stood alone in the crescent-shaped drive. Footprints in the snow showed its rider had already made his way to the front door, but he couldn’t be seen from her vantage.
A stable boy hurried to take the reins and to lead the horse to the stables, but he was apparently ordered to remain in place for the time being. The boy offered the beast a carrot as a few snowflakes fell from the sky.
Perhaps it was just a delivery then. A courier or a footman sent with a note, probably for her brother, Thomas.
Curiosity had Emily setting aside the book on the library table beneath the windows. She made her way out to the hall and the entry beyond to see a rather tall gentleman standing just inside the front door. He was dressed in riding clothes, and Humphrey was speaking to him in his usual quiet but impressive baritone.
Pasting a pleasant expression on her face—her mother had taught her and her four sisters the importance of a welcoming expression—Emily said, “Good morning,” as she made her way past the round ebony table that marked the center of the large entry to Woodscastle. Her slippers barely made any sound on the black and white patterned marble floor.
“Ah, I had hoped to find Thomas at home,” the visitor said as he turned his attention to her.
Emily’s first thought was to ask if he wanted her uncle, Thomas Wellingham, or her brother, Thomas Grandby, but then she recognized the man. “James? James Burroughs?”
His eyes widened, but he paused a moment before he said, “I know you’re not Ariel or Sarah, so you must be... Amy?”
Grinning, Emily shook her head.
“Christina?”
She shook her head again. “Emily,” she offered as she dipped a curtsy, impressed that James Burroughs could remember all of her sister’s names and the order in which they had been born.
“Well, that would have been my next guess,” he claimed as he stepped forward and took her proffered hand to his lips.
Emily had to resist the urge to pull her hand from his gloved one, so startled was she by the courtesy. She had expected to simply shake his hand—she hadn’t had the back of her knuckles kissed in several months.
“We haven’t seen you in an age,” Emily said as she regarded him with a brilliant smile, “although Tom mentioned you would be returning to London soon. Were you on the Continent?”
James had the bearing of one who had served in the militia, but he had instead followed in his father’s footsteps and become a banker. Despite his occupation, he was still trim, his broad shoulders emphasized by the very latest in men�
��s fashionable top coats. The dark green riding jacket he wore was pinched in at the waist and featured a pleated skirt that nearly reached his knees. His buff-colored trousers disappeared into the tops of black Hessians. Although they had probably been shined just that morning, a sheen of melting snow covered them now.
“Nothing that far away, I assure you. I’m just back from Bath,” he said, tucking his top hat under one arm. “Father wishes to retire, so there’s finally a position for me at the Bank of England.”
Emily reached out and placed a hand on his arm. “Can you stay for tea? I was just about to order a tray be delivered to the library, but we can certainly take it in the parlor.” She noticed Humphrey hurrying off towards the kitchens, secretly glad the servant wouldn’t hear every word of their conversation. At twenty-four, she had decided she no longer required a servant be present when a member of the opposite sex paid a call, especially one to whom she was distantly related.
James looked uncertain for a moment, but then allowed a grin. “Of course. I could use some refreshment,” he agreed, deciding not to admit he hadn’t yet had breakfast. “And a chance to catch up on the Grandby family antics.” He allowed her to take his riding crop and hat and watched as she carefully placed them on the half-round table next to the front door.
Emily grinned as she led him to the parlor, a ground floor room on the opposite side of the front entry from where the library was located.
A fire was still going in the fireplace, a clear sign one of the servants had thought she would be spending her morning in the peach and green parlor instead of the wood-paneled library.
Ever since the rest of the Grandby family had departed for Derbyshire for the Christmas holiday, the usually bustling household was unusually quiet. The servants seemed uncertain as to which of the public rooms to keep heated for her use.
“You must have come looking for my brother,” she said as she indicated an overstuffed chair near the fireplace and then took the one opposite. The low table between would allow her to serve the tea.
“I take it he is in town?” James asked as Humphrey entered with the tea tray.
Along with the pot of tea and cups and saucers was a plate of biscuits and several small cakes. Emily knew the cook, a recent hire, was using his recipes instead of those left behind by the prior cook. With most of the family gone, he was expecting her and the servants to weigh in with their reviews of his latest creations.
“Almost always these days,” she affirmed. “Tom took a room at one of his men’s clubs—”
“One of his men’s clubs?” James repeated, the sound of disbelief evident in his voice. “How many does he belong to?” Given the cost of annual dues, most men belonged to only one—if they could gain membership.
“At least two?” she guessed. Emily dimpled as she placed a cake on a small plate and offered it to him. Starving, James gladly took it and then watched as she prepared the cups for tea.
“I think just the two,” she continued. “He was concerned the one was becoming too political, and the other offered apartments and a dining hall so he would not go hungry at night.” She poured hot water into one of the cups and swirled it around to warm the porcelain. “He rarely comes to Woodscastle anymore. I think because he prefers a quieter environment.”
James was about to argue—Woodscastle was six miles southwest of London and surrounded by trees and parkland—but then he remembered Emily had siblings. Lots of them, including some who had married and were raising their families at the large manor house.
“So... Tom is still not married?” James guessed. He had seen the capitalist in the past year when Tom was in Bath on business, but he knew first-hand how quickly a young man’s circumstances could change.
“He is not, and he’s been making comments that suggest he may never,” Emily said with a shrug. “I cannot tell you how many of my friends are heartbroken. They had hoped he might take notice of them. I suppose with his fortune, he would seem a desirable catch.” She said this last as if she couldn’t agree. “Do you still take milk in your tea?”
James allowed a half-grin at hearing her claim. “A bit of milk, yes,” he replied, surprised she would remember his preference. It had probably been twelve or more years since he’d had tea with the Grandbys. “Aren’t you being a bit harsh when it comes to the opinion of your friends? I should think Tom a desirable catch even if he didn’t have a fortune.”
She allowed a slight giggle of delight. “I admit I do not know him as well as when he used to spend more time here at home. Perhaps he is no longer so serious as to seem stuffy.”
“Stuffy?” James repeated with a guffaw.
Her smile bright, Emily nodded. “So much so, I tease him about it. He’s even on the board of the British Museum, if you can imagine.”
His eyes widening at hearing this tidbit, James was about to admit that the museum was one of the topics he wished to raise with Tom. Instead, he ate his cake as he watched Emily pour the tea and then add the milk, his gaze on her slender fingers and the perfect oval fingernails at their tips.
No rings graced either hand, but he noted that a gold ring was threaded on the chain she wore around her neck. There was a gemstone embedded in it, but given how it hung from the chain, he couldn’t see its color. “And you? You must have two or three of your own children by now,” he guessed.
Emily offered him the cup of tea on a saucer. “I do not, actually. Like Tom, I am not married—”
“Wot?” James nearly spilled his tea at hearing her comment. “But... but you’re spoken for, surely.”
Long ago, Emily had learned how to keep the pleasant expression pasted on her face even during discussions like this one. Despite how the topic rankled her—a broken heart seemed to take forever to heal—she was usually able to claim that no one had yet captured her fancy and then would simply change the subject.
From James’ look of shock, she almost wished she hadn’t extended the offer of tea. “I am not,” she said, just before she lifted the plate of biscuits and held it out in his direction. He took one, although he didn’t seem to pay attention to his choice.
Emily furrowed a dark blonde brow at seeing the reddish-brown biscuit he took. “I thought you didn’t like Dutch biscuits,” she commented, just before she set down the plate, added another cake to his plate, and took a sip of her tea.
His gaze going from her hands to his own, James regarded the ginger-flavored biscuit as if seeing it for the first time. “I do not,” he agreed. “How is it...?” He rolled his eyes. “I cannot believe you remember that I don’t like molasses and ginger.”
Emily grinned, leaned over, plucked the Dutch biscuit from his hand, and lifted the plate of biscuits in the other. “I remember only because Father used to give you such grief over it. He couldn’t believe you would not prefer Dutch biscuits over the lemon ones.”
“Because he knows my father loves Dutch biscuits,” James said as he helped himself to the lemon equivalent. “Apparently they used to fight over who would get the last one.”
Emily could easily imagine what he described. Like most in the extended family that had begun with Margaret Merriweather Burroughs, Dowager Duchess of Ariley, their fathers had grown up in Merriweather Manor with dozens of cousins and aunts and uncles.
“You mentioned he wishes to retire from the banking business,” Emily prompted, referring to Andrew Maximillian Burroughs. “He cannot be that old.”
“Six-and-fifty,” James countered, his eyes widening with the claim. “He wants to take my stepmother and their son to the Continent while he can still walk.” He said this with a hint of humor, suggesting his father was actually in robust health. He tucked into the second cake, secretly glad she had seen to serving him more without even asking him if he wanted another.
“Andy will love it,” Emily said, referring to the son. Her eyes rounded. “Why, he’s twenty now. The perfect age for a Grand Tour.”
“So... you know my half-brother?”
Emily allowed a chuckle. “Since he was born. He has always lived down the road at Merriweather Manor.” She paused as she considered his query. “Didn’t you?” She knew James was much older than she was—mid-thirties—but he was still young enough to be in school when his father, a widower, had married Jane Vandermeer Fitzpatrick during the banker’s extensive renovation of Merriweather Manor. That had been twenty years ago.
“Only when I was home for the holidays. I was at Eton and then at Cambridge, and then working in Brighton before Bath.”
“But... you have a room there,” Emily hinted.
He pretended shock. “You say that as if you have been in it,” he teased.
Her grin faded as color suffused her porcelain complexion. “Your stepmother gave me a tour of the house several years ago, so... yes, I admit to having seen it.”
Rolling his eyes, he said, “Lady Andrew has kept it exactly as it was when I was still in school, which is to say, more elegant than I probably deserve.”
Thinking she shouldn’t have mentioned the bedchamber, Emily dipped her head. “I was sorry to hear about your older brother. Pneumonia, was it not?”
She tried but failed to hide a wince. She knew very well Henry Burroughs had died of pneumonia. She had sat by his bed for an entire day and night as she had watched him succumb to the illness. Heard his feverish words of what had happened to his mother. His pleas that his real father be forgiven for what he had done to his mother. His vows to God should he be spared.