by Amy Atwell
Harry’s face paled, and his fingers clenched the cushion of the divan until his knuckles turned the same ivory color.
Rosalie’s eyes narrowed as she surveyed the carnage at the divan, and she shuddered as if in sympathy to Mr. Harry’s pain. “Lud, Derek, could you not have chosen another room? This divan is ruined.”
Derek glanced at the cognac and blood stained brocade. In truth, he hadn’t given a thought to anything beyond Harry’s welfare. “It was expedient. I’m sorry if the piece is ruined, but there’s no object here I value more than my cousin.”
“Of course not. You haven’t lived here for nearly a year as I have. You don’t consider this your home, or these your belongings.”
“As you do,” interpreted Derek.
Rosalie looked down at him proudly, if a trifle coldly. “As I do. Someone must look after the Vaughan interests.”
Derek’s back stiffened. “I’m sure I can count on you for that, Mother.”
With a huff, Rosalie seemed to acknowledge a stalemate. “Derek, can you not spare a moment to greet your brother and sister?”
Ill at ease with this lie, Derek rose to look past the divan at the young faces of his supposed siblings. They flanked a tall austere woman he surmised was their governess. The woman didn’t look unkind, simply unimaginative. Curtis, Reginald Vaughan’s true son, would be eleven now. He was an awkward colt with a long neck, black hair and icy blue eyes that appraised Derek and then swept dispassionately over the room. Olivia was a tiny replica of her mother with raven black hair and blue eyes. She would be seven, Harry had told him.
He’d interrupted his life to return and ensure the welfare of these two youngsters, and their distrustful eyes followed him as though he were a bear intent on devouring them.
“How do you do.” Derek inclined his head before offering his hand to the boy. “Curtis, I doubt you remember me.”
Curtis stood frozen, until his mother sniffed loudly in some unspoken command. Finally, he took Derek’s hand with a frown. “Your Grace, I am honored as is my sister,” he said in grand tones befitting the lord of the manor.
My sister. The lad used a proprietary tone. At least little Olivia had a champion. “You must call me Derek, for we are one family. Will you introduce me to your sister?”
Curtis seemed to consider this a just request, and with only a brief glance at his mother, he motioned to his young sister who stepped forward. “Derek, this is Olivia Vaughan.”
Fear painted Olivia’s face until it nearly matched the white pinafore she wore over her green dress. Blue eyes widened as she said, “Mama said the new duke might send us away from Ambersley. Will you send us away?”
Derek stole a glance to see his stepmother blush and purse her lips. So, she’d painted him the ogre. He kneeled before the delicate girl who backed into the comforting arms of her brother as if Derek might breathe fire upon her. “Olivia, I’m the new duke but I’ll not send you away. We’re family and we belong together.”
“Prettily said, Derek,” Rosalie said from his left. “You see, Olivia? I told you we lived here at the duke’s will.”
“You said we were at the duke’s mercy,” Olivia corrected ingenuously.
Derek noted the dark look shared between Rosalie and Curtis, the boy’s mouth tight.
Paget reappeared at the open doorway. A small shadow lurking behind him materialized into that gardener’s boy, Johnny.
“My lady, luncheon is prepared. We shall serve it at your leisure.” Paget’s simple statement spoke volumes on how his stepmother ran the household.
“Derek, will your party join us for luncheon now, or shall we wait upon your convenience?”
“Thank you, but I’ll await the barber here with Harry. Mr. Minton, please dine with them. I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable than camped in here.”
The solicitor seemed only mildly flustered by this. “Since Your Grace and I shall have leisure this afternoon to speak, I’ll happily join Lady Vaughan for lunch.”
“Paget, whisk that urchin back to the kitchens where he belongs.” Lady Vaughan nodded toward Johnny.
Johnny’s eyes widened at being caught. She never should have snuck in here, but she’d been concerned for Mr. Harry. She glanced from Olivia’s smiling face to Curtis’s glare, which dared her to speak. And Paget looked down his hooked nose as though he’d eat her in two bites.
But Mr. Harry came to her rescue. “Leave the boy here, will you? I still owe him a crown.”
She beamed at her benefactor and ran to his side. “Truly, sir, ’tis not necessary.”
“Come, children. We shall leave your brother and his party.” Lady Vaughan exited with a rustle of silk, leaving Miss Trent to lead Olivia from the room. Johnny’s triumphant smile dimmed before the menacing look Curtis shot her as he left. Why should he be angry with her?
Mr. Minton conferred with the duke. “After luncheon, you’ll grant me a few hours?”
“Once the barber has seen Harry, you may have my whole afternoon.”
Harry held his peace until the door closed softly behind Paget. “You should have dined with them.”
“Nonsense. You cannot sit at table, and I’ll not leave you while you’re in pain. Paget will fetch us something when he gets a moment.”
“I can fetch you something from the kitchen if you’re hungry,” Johnny said eagerly. “Tom always says I should make myself useful. Being Tuesday, Mrs. Chalmers will have baked steak and kidney pies. Lady Vaughan doesn’t like them, but Mrs. Chalmers makes them every week anyway. Rory says the late duke enjoyed them with ale.”
Mr. Harry cocked a brow at his cousin. “Then by all means, go tell Mrs. Chalmers that the new duke would like to taste her pies and ale.”
Johnny needed no further encouragement, but left the room in a trice.
Entering the kitchen, she heard Paget speaking. “He must have poured half the bottle over his cousin’s injured knee. I remember the day the old duke put aside that cognac. It was the day Miss Amber was christened, and he said he’d toast her wedding with it. He was so happy that day. Somehow, I always believed we’d find Miss Amber, and I’d be able to carry out her father’s wishes and give her that bottle for her wedding.”
Mrs. Chalmers wiped her floury hands on her apron. “Is he so impetuous then to not let you finish a sentence in his presence?”
“Wouldn’t let me complete a thought before issuing another command. He likes a tightly run household.”
“Then he’s no better than her ladyship?” Mrs. Chalmers asked doubtfully.
Paget shook his head. “No better. I hate to think what will become of Ambersley.”
Johnny stepped from the shadows to ask Mrs. Chalmers for pies for the duke and his cousin. Mrs. Chalmers and Paget shared a look, but neither asked if she’d heard their conversation. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but she knew she would share what she’d heard with Tom. He was always interested in what Paget thought about the Vaughans.
~
Following luncheon, Minton returned to the drawing room in time to hear the barber’s encouraging prognosis that nothing appeared broken. As the practitioner repacked his bag, he recommended the gentleman stay off of the leg for a week and then have the stitches removed.
After Paget ushered the visitor out, Minton cleared his throat. “Your Grace, the library is at our disposal. We can meet at your convenience.”
The young nobleman looked back, reluctant to leave his cousin.
Mr. Coatsworth laughed, only a trifle worse for a small dose of laudanum. “Go conduct your business with Minton. Johnny will bear me company and fetch anything I might need.”
Johnny smiled with evident delight and seemed to relieve the duke’s concerns. Without further ado, Minton led his new employer to the library.
He couldn’t have asked for a finer specimen of youth and vigor to take the reins at Ambersley. At five-and-twenty, his lordship stood tall and straight, kept his head in an emergency and took command when the situation de
manded. He’d been abrupt with some of the staff, but Minton felt his military training would work to his advantage. Here, at last, was a man worthy of inheriting a dukedom.
“Perhaps I should begin at the beginning.” Minton waited for the duke to take a chair before beginning his narrative. “Minton & Son has proudly served the Duke of Ambersley for three generations. At all times, our goal is to protect our clients’ interests. I myself have acted on the duke’s behalf for twenty years.”
Lord Ambersley nodded his understanding.
For the next hour, Minton disclosed the history of the tragic fire, Miss Amber’s mysterious disappearance, and his lengthy search for the heir. “I traced the lineage to Reginald Vaughan and you over a year ago. When I sought you in London, your mother—”
“My stepmother,” Lord Ambersley corrected, his tone unbending.
“Indeed. Lady Vaughan told me they’d received no word from you since you’d left your father’s household years ago.”
“I’ve returned to fulfill my familial obligations. I’m not surprised there are debts to settle.” Despite the averted eyes, Minton felt the younger man’s tension. Something had driven a wedge between father and son, that much was obvious.
“I have a full accounting of them, but we’ll handle those another day.” Minton pushed his spectacles higher on his nose and stood. “Since a blood tie exists between you and your half-siblings, I suggested Lady Vaughan remove her family here to the Dower House. If I acted incorrectly, I humbly beg your pardon.”
“Not at all. There has been some dissension between my stepmother and me, but they are family. I could not put them out on the streets.”
“Precisely so, Your Grace.”
Lord Ambersley leaned against the mantle, resting one foot on the fender, a hand on his hip. “Mr. Minton, are you sure you have the right man?”
The solicitor suppressed a smile. “Yes, I rather believe I do.”
He turned his head to stare into the unlit fireplace. “But when you say the title must be passed down to the closest male heir—”
“My research has been quite thorough, I assure you. It led me eventually to Reginald Vaughan and to you.” He waited, unsure what had prompted these concerns.
“And if I were to pass this title along now to my half-brother, Curtis, could I do that?”
A cold gloom permeated him. “You may, but why would you wish to do such a thing?”
Lord Ambersley turned to face him. “I’m a soldier, Minton, and rather a black sheep.”
Minton inspected the younger man for a moment before answering. “You refer to the scandal surrounding your mother.”
“She was convicted of murder and hanged. Hardly the blood to introduce to a peerage.” The young man watched him with hooded eyes and a frown.
He’d rather sacrifice the title than bring shame to the dukedom. Minton was impressed. “A peer is not only blood, but behavior.”
“I left home and my family. I’ve led men into battle intent upon killing the enemy.”
“And yet, when you learned your father had died, your first instinct was to return and provide for your siblings. Was it not?”
“But a barony and a dukedom are quite different matters.”
Minton removed his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Your Grace, I doubt you comprehend the powers you now wield. As the duke you’re not only head of the Vaughan family, you hold a seat in the House of Lords. You own this estate, four smaller estates, and a house in London. This power carries certain responsibilities to your family, your tenants and staff, and your country. It’s my devout hope you’ll rule Ambersley with a firm and just hand, and that you’ll take your place in London society and evoke pride in the Vaughan name.”
Still unconvinced, Lord Ambersley’s lips set in an uncompromising line. “Pride, eh? More likely whispers behind gloved hands. After all, my father was a notorious cuckold, so what must that make me?”
Minton’s blood heated at the thought of people casting such aspersions on any member of the Vaughan family, much less his lordship. “The rumor mill is an endless, meaningless wheel, so don’t allow what is said behind gloves to trouble you. You will have the power to make and destroy reputations with a smile or frown. Remember that.”
The duke pushed away from the fireplace and took a few agitated strides across the room. “Fret not about me. The dukedom should provide sufficient funds for both children, but my presence here will only reignite gossip best left among the ashes. In the end, I want to do what’s best for the peerage and the Vaughan family.”
“Agreed,” Minton said. “Your Grace, let me outline the particulars of your inheritance. You may then judge for yourself what’s best for all concerned.”
With a nod, Lord Ambersley rejoined him to sit in the two chairs near the hearth. Without further delay, Minton unfolded the intricacies of the former duke’s personal fortune.
~
Derek returned to the gold drawing room, preoccupied with the information Minton had disclosed. He forced a smile for his cousin, reclining on the divan. “I’m sorry I was gone so long, Harry. I hope you found something to occupy you.”
“As a matter of fact I spent the time teaching our protégé his letters.”
“Who?” asked Derek, momentarily at a loss.
“The boy. Johnny.” Harry readjusted the pillow under his knee.
“Oh, yes,” Derek murmured. He rubbed his eyes, aware of the ache behind them, before looking about the room. “Where is he?”
“Gone home. Thought someone might worry about his whereabouts.”
Derek nodded and raised the dusty bottle with its remains. “Cognac for you?” Harry nodded assent with a yawn, and Derek poured a splash into a glass for the patient and a larger portion for himself.
I could still walk away from all of this.
When he’d first entered the library with Minton, he’d been prepared to tell him the truth: he was a usurper, denying a true Vaughan from inheriting what should remain in the family through the pure, unsullied, male bloodline. He hadn’t found the right words to express his thoughts before the solicitor had unfolded the many details of the inheritance.
“Was your discussion fruitful?” Harry asked.
Derek handed him the cognac, and the two raised their glasses in a mutual toast. Derek savored the warming touch of liquid while he considered Harry’s question. “There are a few difficulties I didn’t foresee.” Least expected had been the blossoming desire to stay, despite the hazards, and rebuild Ambersley. The Hall had all but spoken to him, beseeching him for help.
“Name one.”
The most pressing was that Minton seemed unconcerned whether Derek was truly a Vaughan or not. The solicitor clearly wanted Derek to accept the title, and once Derek gleaned the true financial situation, he could understand why.
Derek lowered himself into a chair opposite his cousin and stared at the water stains on the wall. “I’ve become the Duke of Ambersley, but I’ve only been given the income the property earns. The late duke’s personal fortune was left to his daughter.”
“But the daughter is dead,” Harry said.
“Missing, presumed dead. No one’s ever found a trace of her. According to Minton, if you don’t present a body for the inquest, you have to wait seven years to pronounce someone dead.”
“But that would be three more years,” Harry interjected. “You don’t mean to tell me you can’t lay hands on any money until then.”
“Small sums. The last duke obviously thought his heir would have a certain amount of money already. The cash sum he left me will pay off my father’s debts. Rosalie incurred more debts when she arrived here, and I’ll have to pay those.”
And there lay the crux of his dilemma. The staff hadn’t been paid in years, and the Hall was a shamble. If he left Ambersley now and Minton settled the title on Curtis, he feared Rosalie would drain her son’s resources just as she’d ruined the finances of both her husbands. Minton had reviewed h
er spending since her arrival at the estate, and Derek heard the unspoken plea in the solicitor’s voice for someone to help him curb her expensive habits.
It would be nearly ten years until Curtis came of age. Could Derek accept the title, face Society’s recriminations, and protect the Vaughan assets until then? Once Curtis could be relied on to look after his—and Olivia’s—interests, Derek could hand the title down to him. He hated the idea of living closely with Rosalie for such a long period, but he owed a duty to Reginald Vaughan to provide for the children’s future.
The only remaining hazard would be if someone in London unveiled the identity of his real father.
