by Amy Atwell
Harry interrupted his thoughts. “So, when the daughter is declared dead…”
“I inherit a sizeable fortune.” A large portion of which he would invest for his siblings.
“And if she’s alive?”
“Then Minton and I would become co-executors of her estate, and she’d continue living here with my family.”
“But you still couldn’t touch her money.”
Derek shook his head and drained his glass.
Harry toyed with the empty glass. “You don’t need a place as large as the Hall. Do you own another property?”
“Some smaller estates, and a house in London, but it would cost a small ransom to open it and outfit with a staff. I don’t want it known in London just how tight things are.”
“You could sell—”
“No.” Derek’s response was immediate, visceral, and surprised him. More softly, he reasoned, “The holdings are entailed. I feel it’s my duty to rebuild the Hall. I just don’t know how I’ll finance it.” The pair sat in silence for some time.
“You must marry an heiress,” Harry said flatly.
Derek choked out a harsh laugh. “I doubt any woman wants to live with me in that burned out shell.”
“I have it, cousin.” Mischief lightened Harry’s tone. “Find the missing daughter and marry her. She has impeccable breeding and a fortune to boot.”
Derek responded to the ribbing with a shudder, but Harry’s humor had dispelled his low spirits. “Impeccable breeding usually means freckled and short-sighted with teeth like a horse. She would be far too young to marry anyway, better to wring her neck and be rid of her. Then I’d have all the money I—”
A gasp sounded from the doorway. Frowning, he turned in his chair to see the housekeeper holding her hand over her mouth, dismay evident in her eyes.
“What is it?” Embarrassed at being caught making an unkind jest, Derek spoke more sharply than he intended.
“I beg pardon, Your Grace. Paget thought you might like to join Lady Vaughan and the children for tea and cakes.” Mrs. North’s voice trailed off as he stared at her.
“Thank Paget for me, but we’ll be leaving shortly with Mr. Minton.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Mrs. North hastily retreated from the room leaving silence in her wake.
Derek massaged his forehead ruefully. “And now the staff believes I murder children.”
Harry chuckled. “Give yourself time. You need to get to know the staff and let them get to know you. In the meantime, perhaps you should…” He paused, searching for words.
“Watch my step?” suggested Derek with a raised brow.
Harry nodded. “And maybe your back as well."
Chapter 6
Derek and Harry with his makeshift crutch took a coach to Bath the following day as Harry was anxious to tell his mother of his return. After gaining Harry’s promise to return to Ambersley soon, Derek left for London to finalize his inheritance. Here, Minton took him to view the residence on Grosvenor Square—which boasted twelve bedrooms and its own mews—and it began to seep in that he truly was the twelfth Duke of Ambersley. Minton asked if His Grace wished to open the residence for the remainder of the Season. Without regret, Derek declined and announced he would return forthwith to Ambersley and start repairs on the Hall.
On a bright April afternoon, Derek and his burly servant Cushing rode up the long drive to Ambersley Hall. As they rounded the final bend, Derek experienced that same eye-stinging sense of homecoming. Cushing let out a low whistle that made Sabu prick his ears and prance in delight. Derek controlled the desert-bred stallion with a steady hand on the rein and a stroke along his arched neck. He looked sidelong at the servant. “It makes an impression, doesn’t it.”
“It’s as big as a bloody palace, beggin’ your pardon, Master—I mean, Milord.” Cushing tapped a heel to move his newly purchased gelding apace.
“Don’t let it fluster you, Cushing. You know I don’t stand on ceremony.”
“To think you went all the way to India to seek your fortune when this was waiting right here for you the whole time.”
Derek shook his head. “The irony is, I have inherited one giant expense and not nearly enough coin to support it.” Regardless, he had no regrets. Not about this.
“That will come in time, Master.”
In time. The question was, how much time did he have? There remained the possibility that somewhere lived a man who could offer up proof that Derek was not truly a Vaughan. If his stepmother found such a man, she wouldn’t hesitate to rid the place of Derek and put Curtis in his stead. Though drawn to Ambersely, he needed to remember his time here was temporary.
“We need to start training Sabu,” Cushing said. “I’m sure he could win at the races. Look how quickly he’s recovered from being aboard the ship.”
It was true. Sabu had finished the leisurely two-day journey from London as fresh as he’d started. “There will be racing at Goodwood in late summer. I don’t know whether they’ll allow a foreign-bred horse.”
Cushing scratched his rather bulbous nose. “The Duke of Richmond might bend the rules to allow the Duke of Ambersley to race his best horse. You could write to him.”
“Or have my secretary write him.” Neither spoke another word, but they wore broad smiles as they drew rein at the stables.
The head groom trotted out on bowed legs to take their horses as they dismounted. “Welcome back, Your Grace,” he said with a nod.
“Thank you, er—”
“Rory, my lord.”
Derek turned to Cushing. “Bed the horses down. Rory can help you find a loose box for Sabu.” Over the horse’s shoulder, he saw the groom’s mouth gape and tensed.
“I’m sorry Your Grace is displeased with my work. I’ll help your new man find his way around then pack my things.” Rory’s voice shook with emotion.
Belatedly, Derek realized his error. Gruffly, he said, “Good God, man, he’s not replacing you. This is Cushing—he’ll be supervising Sabu’s training for the races.” As Harry had suggested, he would need to learn the rank and file of every staff member or risk offending them.
Rory’s mouth closed, and he stepped back to consider the two horses before pointing to Sabu. “You plan to race this horse?”
The little stallion arched his neck and pricked his ears in reply.
Cushing laughed. “He’s a might on the smallish side, but wait ’til you see him run.” He took Sabu’s reins and allowed Rory and the gelding to precede him into the stable.
Derek would have followed, but he spied Paget. The butler—without his coat—wiped his hands on a large white linen handkerchief as he approached.
“Forgive me, Your Grace. We weren’t expecting your return.”
“And where else should I be?”
“Lady Vaughan has been preparing to withdraw to London for the Season. We assumed the family was joining you there.”
How like Rosalie to take immediate advantage of his return. She’d waited nearly a year for Minton to publicly acknowledge her immediate family’s claim to the title. Now out of mourning, she would be eager to open the ducal residence and throw lavish soirees. It would hardly matter to her whether Derek was there or not.
“My fault for not discussing it with her. The family will remain here for the summer.”
“Very good, my lord.” He started to turn away but Derek stopped him.
“Paget, what duties brought you to the stables?”
The older man squared his shoulders. “I was planting vegetables.”
Derek’s lips twitched at the butler’s discomfiture. “Do you have a penchant to be a farmer?”
“No, sir. Merely to help provide for the household. Will that be all, my lord?”
“One last thing. I’ve brought my manservant from India with me. I’ll need a suitable position for him on our staff.”
“It so happens, my lord, the late duke’s valet accepted employment elsewhere long ago.”
“Excellent.” Derek was reliev
ed to know he wouldn’t have to face some fop who would try to turn him into a courtier. At least Cushing would know better than to try and dress him.
“Send him to me, and I’ll have Mrs. North arrange a room for him.”
Derek recalled many of the servants were quartered in the least damaged wing of the Hall. “Let’s do it now. Cushing!” he shouted then turned back to the butler. “If there’s a spare room, I’d like to use it as my own.”
Paget’s hooded eyes widened. “My lord, there are plenty of rooms at the Dower House—”
“Better suited to a duke,” finished Derek as Cushing approached them. “But, I’ll be more dedicated to repairing the Hall if I’m living under its roof.” Derek still read concern on the butler’s face. “Remember I’ve lived much of the last three years in an army tent in India.”
“This will be high living compared to that, eh Master?” Cushing’s boisterous laugh turned to an embarrassed cough under Paget’s disapproving regard.
~
Upon hearing of Derek’s return, Rosalie told the butler she wanted a word with the duke.
“I’ll inform His Grace that you’ve requested an audience, my lady.”
This reinterpretation of her directive did not please her, and she barely managed to bite back an angry retort. How irritating that Derek not only had reappeared in their lives, but he had the gall to accept the title. She’d much preferred having full command of Ambersley in the duke’s absence. Honestly, he’d been living in India all these years, couldn’t he have returned sick, wounded—dying?
She collected herself when Paget announced the duke would see her in his study. His study. Already he was laying claim to rooms. Then Rosalie realized the advantage and smiled. She would play on his eagerness to be rid of her and the children. Smoothing her green silk gown, she entered the study prepared to be an agreeable, perhaps even loving, mother.
“Welcome home, Derek.”
He kept his back to her as he ran his index finger along a row of books on the shelves. “Thank you.”
“I’ll ask Mrs. North to prepare a room for you.”
“No need.” Derek selected a book and turned to her. “Paget has found room for me at the Hall.”
She clasped her hands before her. “How good of him. Will you be comfortable there?”
“Tolerably.”
“If you don’t wish to share the house here, I can easily take the children to Grosvenor Square. Curtis is of an age where he could use a little town polish. Even Olivia might enjoy a museum.”
“Yes, Paget mentioned you were planning to open the London house, but I fear that’s out of the question. There’s precious little money at hand and a mountain of debt. We cannot afford to staff two homes.”
Rosalie flexed her fingers as she tried to remain calm over Derek’s ploy to control her. “Surely Minton can loosen the purse strings now that he’s found you.”
“They’re not Minton’s to control. Not to bore you with my financial woes, but…” In brief, Derek shared with her the details of their limited funds and that the bulk of the late duke’s fortune could not be touched for years.
Once more, Rosalie saw her hopes dashed. Despite her patience, she now had to wait three more years until her family could have the money they deserved. She resented that Minton hadn’t shared these important details with her before now.
“So you see, we’ll have to live very simply for awhile.”
“Why? The money is there.”
“Minton still has investigators seeking Miss Amber.”
“Miss Amber,” Rosalie spat. “Have Minton call off his hounds. He’ll never find her.”
“Though I agree with you, he thinks otherwise. Since it’s legally still her money, I cannot stop him.”
Rosalie took an agitated turn of the room. “I’m heartily sick of that girl. She’s dead—you cannot convince me otherwise. Eventually we’ll be able to settle all the accounts, so why can we not live as we should?”
“I’d rather not be burdened with more debt. I intend to start repairs on the Hall.”
She bit back a laugh. “With such limited funds, how will you pay for that?”
“We’ll do the work ourselves. I’m afraid I’ll need to borrow the staff during the day. I hope that won’t inconvenience you.” With that, he sat on a chaise and opened the book. “Oh, I’ve already told Paget you and the children will be remaining at Ambersley throughout the summer.”
“How dare you!”
He closed the book with a snap. “I dare because it’s my duty to make the decisions now. You see, Mother, I’ve had time to think this through as well. Curtis is too young to handle the responsibilities here.”
“I can see to them—”
“Ambersley is already at rack and ruin, so I’ll not leave the finances in your hands. I feel it’s my duty to support the children, but I’ll not be blackmailed into footing outlandish bills. You dare not expose me when you have no proof. For now, we’re at an impasse.”
She hated that he was right. As long as he was the acknowledged duke, she’d be forced to wheedle what she could from him. “Curtis is the true duke, and that’s his money. I want it set aside for him.”
“When I inherit the money, I shall set up funds for both children.”
“And you’ll grant the title to Curtis? And leave?”
“We can discuss that in three years. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He set the book aside and rose. “I need to talk to the bailiff.”
She allowed him to walk past her, but if he thought she would allow him to order her life, she would ensure he learned otherwise. Derek Vaughan had become the devil, and for now, she consigned him to hell.
~
Johnny expected the new duke’s arrival to make everyone at Ambersley happy. Instead, Lady Vaughan became more demanding and Curtis more short-tempered. Olivia cried more, though she never could say what was wrong. The duke always seemed preoccupied and spent much of his time with Mr. Broadmoor, the bailiff.
Remembering how tense the staff had been when Lady Vaughan first arrived, Johnny wasn’t as surprised by the worries she heard them express. Mr. Pritchard retold the story of the duke’s murderous mother and how she was hanged, but Johnny wasn’t clear why that made the duke a bad person. Most troubling to her was the sadness and worry she saw reflected in Tom and Martha’s eyes, as if they feared the duke would do something awful to them. She’d hear them whispering deep into the night, but the one time she’d dared ask, Martha had wiped away a tear and said with her matter-of-fact tone that naught was amiss.
Johnny nodded at the lie and did her best not to upset anyone.
As the initial turmoil of the duke’s arrival eased, Johnny was allowed to join the swarm of activity at Ambersley Hall. Tom had told her how the staff had been pressed into service to clean out the Hall and start repairs. To contribute to the cause was an honor.
Her first task was to scrub the soot from the main staircase so the duke could decide whether the treads could be sanded and preserved. At the top of the stairs, the duke rasped burn marks from the banister. Stokes and Mr. Pritchard worked behind him, sanding the wood that had been cleaned and dried. Throughout the main floor, other small parties were similarly employed.
Tom set a bucket of clean water at the bottom of the stairs, and she trailed his gaze as he watched the duke work. “Can’t make heads nor tails of him,” Tom muttered. “Doesn’t seem to know his own importance.” He was still shaking his head as he carried away her dirty water.
Johnny hid her smile as she bowed her head and returned to work.
Late in the morning, Paget carefully stepped past her as he climbed the stairs to bring the duke a salver piled high with letters.
The duke paused, the rasp still in his hand. “What’s this?”
“The mail, my lord,” Paget responded. “I suspect you have received a number of congratulations on your inheritance.” As the duke didn’t seem inclined to take the salver, Paget retrieved the top let
ter and held it out. “This one bears the Royal seal, my lord.”
Johnny watched the duke wipe his hand along his breeches before taking the envelope and turning it over. He broke open the seal and his eyes scanned back and forth across the paper. Then he sat down on the stairs with a thump. “I’ve been invited to dine with Prince George the next time I’m in London.”
Paget nodded gravely. “The Crown has always held the Duke of Ambersley in the highest regard.”
To everyone’s shock, the duke burst out laughing.
Johnny tugged on his sleeve. “Is the Prince funny?”
