by Amy Atwell
“Lots of them. Some from the finest families—even the Royal family. Johnny, do you know who your parents are?”
“My mother was Martha’s cousin. I’ve heard Martha say her cousin wasn’t wed, and that’s how I came to be apprenticed to Tom.”
“You don’t know who your father is?”
“No, my lord.”
“I think—and I bet Curtis thinks it, too—that you are the image of the late duke. I believe he’s your father, and you are his illegitimate son.”
Johnny seemed to ponder this long and hard. “Is that why Martha wants me to talk right, and Tom won’t let me help him with the heavy work in the garden even though I’m his apprentice?” The boy thought some more and then smiled. “My father owned Ambersley,” he stated with a simplicity that tugged at Derek’s heart.
He couldn’t help but ask, “Would you like to own it one day?”
“That wouldn’t be right,” Johnny answered with immediate sincerity. “Ambersley is yours.”
They sat in companionable silence as a few lazy bees hummed in the midsummer twilight, until the boy hopped off the bench and sketched a tiny bow. “I have to go eat supper.”
Derek watched the small figure disappear into the chestnut grove. Alone in the rose garden, he grinned at the prospect of little Johnny swinging at Curtis. How like the boy to so casually accept the circumstances of his birth and defend his good name. He sobered as he recalled his own stormy confrontation with his father all those years ago. Goaded by his stepmother, he’d barged into Reginald Vaughan’s study like a mannerless urchin.
“Stepmother just told me the truth about Mothe—That I’m a bastard. Father, tell me she’s wrong.” Derek prayed his father would sweep away the grimy soot of these lies. Instead, Derek read shame on the older man’s face.
“I’m sorry. I hope one day you’ll understand and be able to forgive your mother and me. Sit here, and I’ll try to explain—”
“There’s no need to explain, sir,” Derek spat out with dignity. Inside he was shaking with humiliation as he recalled his mother’s cold, selfish behavior. He’d always thought the blood in his veins was tempered by Reginald Vaughan’s warmth and kindness. Now he didn’t know who his father might be. “The story is plain. You were snapped up by a common trollop. She got what she deserved, and you’ve been stuck with me.”
Reginald Vaughan came around the desk, and Derek never guessed his intention until the older man backhanded him sharply across the face. His eyes swam with unshed tears as he felt the stinging heat rise on his cheek. This man he had called father had never struck him before.
“You’ll show proper respect for your mother around me, my boy. I loved her.” Reginald’s voice cracked on the last words, and he turned away.
“Then I am sorry for you, sir. I think, under the circumstances, it will be better if I leave this house. I cannot believe we will ever see eye to eye on this.” Derek waited, but the older man said nothing. His heart urged him to run, to lock himself in his room, to cry the frustrated tears of a child. But he was no longer a child. He wished fervently he had never learned of this. He could have lived his whole life in contentment never knowing the truth. He marched toward the door.
Reginald’s voice stopped him. “One day, my boy, you will love one woman with all your heart. Then, you’ll understand.”
“Indeed, sir, I sincerely hope not,” Derek replied bitterly.
He went directly to his room where he packed a single bag to take with him. Shirts, hair ribbons, brush, razor, breeches and stockings all went into the bag without thought.
His stepmother opened the door a crack. “Derek?”
He proudly held his ground as she entered.
“Your father tells me you plan to leave us,” she said quietly.
“Immediately.” Derek lifted his bag from the bed.
She held out a small pouch heavy with coin. “You cannot go without means.”
Derek battled with himself, but finally took the bag. He’d left for foreign lands and toiled in many kinds of work. The Army had been an enlightenment, though it unnerved him how fast he took to leading men into death and destruction. He had his mother’s quick temper—did he have her killing instincts as well?
For three years now he’d planned to hand the title to Curtis once finances were secure and return to the simple, deadly life of the Army. But judging by taunts and fisticuffs, it was clear Curtis was yet unprepared for the responsibilities demanded by the estate. Derek glanced back toward the chestnut grove where Johnny had disappeared. The lad worried about all the tenants as if they were family.
Noblesse oblige. Derek no longer doubted Johnny’s father had been the late duke. Unfortunately, Johnny had no means to look after the tenants, only his unwavering faith that Derek was the best duke ever. If only the boy knew the truth—Derek was another bastard son who shouldn’t be admitted to the ton. With a resigned sigh, Derek rose and walked toward the library. He was already thinking of the letters he’d have Pritchard send to Minton and Broadmoor. One of them could arrange for blankets, new thatches and, God help him, a dentist.
Chapter 8
Ambersley, June 1811
The staff and tenants commemorated the tenth anniversary of the Hall fire with a candlelight vigil on Midsummer’s Eve. They gathered in the wide drive as dusk surrendered to the stars, and Johnny listened to her elders reminisce while candles glowed upon faces of young and old alike.
Rory recalled the bucket brigade they had started. “We couldn’t get the water fast enough. It was windy, and smoke billowed everywhere. That’s when I saw the ghost of Miss Amber.”
A hush fell over his listeners, and Mrs. North murmured a brief prayer.
Rory continued his story while Johnny listened, enthralled. She’d heard the tale dozens of times over the years, but it always made shivers race across her skin. She noticed Martha’s fingers nervously tapping the base of her candle and reached her arm around the older woman’s fat waist to comfort her. Martha always grew weepy over the thought of Miss Amber’s death.
Tom glanced over the lanky fourteen-year-old Johnny. Her short-cropped chestnut curls were swept forward into what he’d been told was a Brutus cut, and she’d mastered the neat folds of many neck cloth arrangements to hide her slim throat. He knew—because Martha had shared with him—that Johnny had started getting her monthly flux, and he’d helped Martha shred their second best sheets to bind Johnny’s budding breasts. It would never do for everyone to discover at this late date that he and Martha had been harboring Miss Amber for all of ten years.
From the Hall’s large drawing room, Rosalie looked out over the flickering candles in the front driveway and barely suppressed a bored sigh. The high point of the Season, and she was still at Ambersley. She glanced sidelong at Derek, who stood at the next window watching the scene in the drive. She’d like to blame him for keeping her here, but this time it was Curtis’s fault. One lark too many during his first year at Oxford, and the dons had rusticated him until the Michaelmas term.
She couldn’t monitor Curtis in London. No, he’d give her the slip and be off with any number of his young friends, none of whom she trusted. Better to keep him here in the country. And perhaps it was time Curtis came to know his stepbrother better. After all, Curtis was now eighteen. Soon he’d be taking over Ambersley.
True to her expectations, she hadn’t been able to budge Derek from his role as duke once he had his fingers in the Vaughan family fortune. Trapped with him in this hellish masquerade, she watched his expenditures as closely as he watched hers. His settlement of a generous allowance mollified her somewhat, and when he granted her leave to come and go at will to any of the family properties, she decided she could bide her time longer.
Stepping back from the window, she addressed her stepson. “Shall I ring for some port?”
Derek raised a brow at her. “The servants are all outside.”
Her shoulders sagged at this reminder. “Of course.”
“They have so little to enliven their days” She seated herself with a sigh and watched as he moved about the room restlessly. “Did you wish to join them, or didn’t Paget invite you?”
“Oh, he asked, but I never knew Cyril or Dianna Vaughan. I felt the staff should have a private memorial.”
“Of course.” She pursed her lips. Apparently, she was the only person on the property who hadn’t been invited. “You’re so considerate of all of them.”
He stopped to look at her, but she felt confident that she’d veiled the sarcasm well enough.
“I’ve been thinking about Johnny,” he said.
Rosalie tilted her head, immediately alert. “Indeed?”
“I’m setting aside some money for him. It’s clear to look at him that he’s Cyril’s…son. I believe his father would have done something for the lad.”
Throughout Derek’s speech, she had to forcibly maintain her calm demeanor. Twice she had to uncurl her fingers from the pillow near at hand. That urchin was constantly underfoot, and Derek openly doted on him. Clearly, he preferred Johnny’s company to that of his own brother, but how dare he throw money away on that worthless by-blow?
Pushing aside her frustration, she sniffed. “You spoil that lad, Your Grace.” She drew Derek’s attention by introducing a better topic. “I wonder if I might ask your help with Curtis.”
“What trouble is he in now?”
“No trouble, nor does he need money.” She withdrew a handkerchief from her sleeve. The white linen against her lavender silk gown looked quite nice as she laced it artfully between her fingers.
“Then what does he need?” Derek asked more kindly.
She looked at him over the back of the divan. “He’s become a man, overnight it appears. I hardly know him anymore, and he won’t confide in me the way he once did. He needs guidance, but I…well, this is something I cannot do for him.”
He contemplated her words while she held her breath. Finally, he said, “I could show him the breeding operation and some of the colts we’re training.”
“Yes, anything to occupy his mind so he won’t look for trouble while he’s here. All he wants is a little of your time.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
“Thank you, Derek.” She smiled at the success of her ploy. She’d waited years for this day. Reggie’s debts were paid, as were hers. That Vaughan chit’s money was secured and the Hall repairs completed. Curtis was old enough to assume the role of duke, but young enough to be led by her. Yes, it was more than time. Curtis would be the next Duke of Ambersley.
Only one hurdle barred his path.
~
The following morning, Curtis strolled down the stairs for a late breakfast. Even with the hour approaching noon, he doubted his mother had roused yet. The last time he’d sought out Olivia this early in the day, Miss Trent had been teaching her rudimentary dance steps. He’d be damned if he’d suffer through another morning as dance partner to his childish sister.
He entered the dining room and stopped short at the sight of his half-brother seated at the head of the table. “What are you doing here?”
Derek set down his teacup with a frown. “I was hoping you’d join me for a ride, but perhaps today isn’t convenient.” He started to rise.
Curtis felt his face heat. He hadn’t meant to be rude. He’d always hoped his brother would notice him one day, and here he’d ruined it. “Wait. I’d like that. That’s—if you still have time.” He waited for the inevitable excuse.
“I set aside the day.” Derek’s lips twitched. “Though I had no notion you’d sleep half of it.”
Curtis relaxed under the gentle ribbing. “I’m awake now. Shall we?”
Morning rides became their habit, first in silence, but as they became more familiar with each other, their conversation took on a natural flavor.
“Mother wants to go to London before the Season ends,” Curtis shared one bright morning.
“And what do you want?”
“Me?” Expressing his own preferences was foreign to Curtis. “I never thought about it. Mother will just attend all the parties. I don’t much care for them, and Livvie’s too young.”
“Would she leave you and Livvie here with me, do you think?”
Curtis rolled his eyes. “I doubt it. She always wants us with her, even when we drive each other mad.” They waded into a shallow stream and paused while the horses drank. “Do you ever miss Father?”
Derek’s back stiffened. “Why do you ask?”
Curtis shrugged. “He once told me the best I could aspire to would be to emulate you. He was always good and kind to me. I miss him.”
His brother stared off into the trees. “As do I.”
Curtis enjoyed the hours they spent, but all too soon, Derek left for Goodwood. Whether his brother didn’t want him to come or his mother had negated any invitation, Curtis didn’t know. He only knew he was left behind with little to do. All too often he was sent to retrieve Olivia. The tiresome chit was forever slipping away from her needlework to play in the sunshine. She had a particular penchant for that Bendicks urchin, which always put Curtis in a foul mood. In an attempt to curb her attentions to the servant, Curtis offered to teach her to ride.
Her eyes brimming with gratitude, she threw her arms around him. “Oh, yes!”
Curtis felt rather like a hero, which pleased him. He was still pleased the next morning as he waited for his sister to join him for their first lesson, until he discovered she’d disappeared again.
Biting back an oath, he strode to her favorite haunt, the rose garden. As he suspected, she was following Johnny while he weeded.
“Curtis says he will teach me to ride. I’m thirteen now, you know.”
If the boy replied, Curtis couldn’t hear it as he approached.
“Will you teach me about the greenhouses? Miss Trent said it would be unexceptional for me to learn to arrange flowers.”
“If that’s what you wish, Lady Olivia.”
Fury engulfed Curtis. First this Bendicks brat had stolen Derek’s regard, and now Olivia had grown fascinated with him. The skinny youth had managed to usurp Curtis’s role with everyone here at Ambersley.
“Livvie! Come here at once.”
Olivia giggled, in no way contrite. But she came to him immediately. “Johnny’s going to teach me about the greenhouses.”
“We’ll discuss that later. Get along with you. I’ll be right after.”
Olivia glanced over her shoulder and waved farewell. Johnny didn’t dare return her regard, but he did make eye contact with Curtis.
Curtis stared him down. “Stay away from her.”
“Yes, my lord.” Johnny cast his eyes back to the ground.
For a moment, Curtis wished he could bury the bastard.
~
After that, Johnny did her best to avoid Curtis. When the duke returned, she had to forego his company as Curtis was prone to shadow his elder brother. She tried to remember her place. The likes of them and the likes of us don’t mix, Rory had said all those years ago. The duke didn’t seem to have time for her anymore, which only made her feel worse.
Finished with her chores, the September afternoon’s refreshing breeze beckoned her to the meadow by the stream. She stretched out to capture the sun’s warmth, the smell of tall grass filling her senses. Dark clouds building along the tree line warned of an impending storm.
The clanging of the stable bell alerted Johnny, who ran to see how she could help. Before she rounded the final bend in the drive, she realized the dark clouds were caused by smoke, its acrid stench filling the air. When the stable came into view, it was ablaze.
Rory and Cushing, each leading two horses by their halters, yelled for the stable lads to look lively. A water brigade was already forming, and Tom was pumping the well. When someone shouted that the coach house wasn’t safe, Paget grabbed Mr. Pritcha
rd by the arm, and the two set off to save the coaches.
In the midst of the mayhem, Johnny stood alone. Watching. Shaking. Unable to move. She didn’t know why.
Then she thought of the barn cat, forever raising her kittens in the harness room. In all this activity, no one would spare her a thought. Johnny judged the harness room was safe from the flames licking the sky above the hayloft. With a deep breath, she dashed into the stable and found her way to the harness room. The mother cat, carrying a mewling kitten by its scruff, squeezed herself between two loose boards into the next stall and scurried from sight. Johnny found two more crying kittens behind the barrel and bent to scoop them up.
