Ambersley (Lords of London)

by Amy Atwell

  He said not another word but wrenched open the coach door and hopped out. With a wave, he directed the coachman to pull away at a smart trot.

  Left alone on the flagway, Derek silently cursed Johanna, his own folly and his traitorous heart, now deflated and empty.

  ~

  Unwilling to return to Worthing’s hospitality and even less willing to follow his wife home, Derek walked through the cool night to his club. Here, he tried to blot out the evening’s events by drinking and playing cards with three gentlemen he would barely have tolerated on a normal day. The gentlemen were pleased to count the Duke of Ambersley at their table and lost their money almost as happily as they won it. Derek left the table well after midnight, his pockets significantly lighter and his heart significantly heavier.

  He returned to Grosvenor Square to find his room empty. He’d known it would be, but hadn’t expected the emptiness to be so bleak. He knew Johanna was only through the adjoining room, but the threshold may as well have been an ocean for all he could cross it.

  He sat on the bed, his head in his hands, still haunted by the vision of her cloistered with Worthing in a puddle of torchlight. Approaching from behind, he’d seen a golden cast to her hair and noted the upturned chin as she spoke to the marquess. But it had been the way she’d boldly placed her hand on the man’s jaw that had cracked his calm. That and the deference Worthing showed her. Worthing truly cared for her. Worthing was the better man.

  Damn.

  A shiver descended his spine as Derek dragged himself to his feet. More than anything, he wanted to look upon his wife, to ensure she was safe. He stepped quietly to the door separating their rooms. No sign of light bled beneath the door, and the room was silent. By the light of a single taper, he pushed the door open.

  Johanna lay curled on her side. Wearing a sheer white nightgown, her chestnut curls spilling about her shoulders, she resembled a sleeping angel. If not for the frown bending her lips, he might have faced her with a clearer conscience. As it was, he couldn’t blot out the horrible accusations he’d flung at her.

  He desperately wanted Johanna to love him. And therein lay his painful dilemma. He couldn’t bring himself to believe her words of love now—not after he’d ignored her refusal to marry him and denied her the freedom to choose her husband as she’d begged him. The fault was not hers but his, for even if he believed she loved him, he couldn’t accept her love. He was so far beneath her, and his parentage had little to do with it.

  Your worst enemy is yourself. St. John had hit home with that remark, and now Derek understood why.

  Despite the power and prestige he commanded, he knew himself to be a usurper. He wouldn’t confess his love without also revealing to her the truth behind his ignoble birth. And how could he face telling Johanna of his birth without first doing right by the true Vaughan heir? In Derek’s determination to deny Rosalie access to the Ambersley coffers, he’d unfairly denied Curtis his birthright.

  He’d dishonored Reginald Vaughan. Generations of Vaughans. Would he continue to dishonor the woman he loved?

  No. Derek now understood he would never be worthy of her love until he mended this situation. How Society viewed him no longer mattered. He needed to look in the mirror and see a man deserving of Johanna’s love—a man with the courage and honor to restore Ambersley to the Vaughan family. A man who was St. John Trevarthan’s equal, if not in rank, than in character. A man with the selflessness to place his wife’s happiness first. Even if it left him with nothing.

  He stole back toward his room but stopped in the doorway to gaze again upon his wife.

  “I do love you, don’t ever doubt that,” he muttered with ferocity. Snuffing the candle, he exited her room and closed the door without a sound.

  Chapter 21

  Johanna awoke with a blinding headache, the kind that only comes after a night of tears. She’d lain awake for hours trying to find the words that would somehow convince Derek she held nothing but an abiding friendship for Worthing. She still wasn’t sure if her husband had ever come home last night.

  She reached for the hand bell to ring for Nancy, but her arm brushed across something on her pillows. She leaned up on an elbow while her head swam, and focused on the notepaper sealed with a wafer. Lifting it, she recognized Derek had addressed it to her. Nervously, she broke the seal and read the brief note.

  Forgive me. Last night has reminded me of a duty I cannot forswear. Believe that I want only your happiness, so while I denied you your right to choose a husband, I grant you leave to choose your love. Should you wish to leave, Paget will help you make preparations.

  Johanna frowned over the words, trying to decipher their meaning. Choose your love…should you wish to leave… Was he such a dolt that he didn’t believe her word when she said she loved him?

  Johanna threw back the covers and paid with a reeling head. It was a small price, and she pulled on her wrapper as she ran to Derek’s adjoining room. Sunlight poured in through the open curtains, but the room was empty. Retrieving her slippers, Johanna rang for Nancy. The girl appeared in less than a minute with her breakfast tray and apologies.

  “I’m sorry, my lady. I know you don’t usually like to sleep late, but his lordship made me promise not to disturb you until you awoke.”

  “Never mind, Nancy. Where is his lordship?”

  “Why he’s left. Called for Cushing to harness a coach and four this morning. He took a bag with him. I heard him tell Paget he’d be gone for a few days.”

  Disappointment descended like a cloud, but Johanna fought valiantly to hide it. She allowed Nancy to prepare her bath while she sipped tea and pretended to eat a piece of toast. An hour later, bathed and dressed, she descended the stairs in search of Paget. She found him in the pantry packing away silver.

  “Good morning, Your Grace,” he said at his most formal. That never boded well.

  Johanna tried to sound nonchalant. “Paget, I understand Lord Ambersley left this morning. Did he say where he was going?”

  “No, my lady.”

  “Did he say when he would be back?”

  “No, my lady.”

  Johanna bit back her frustration with an effort. “Did he say anything?”

  Paget bowed slightly. “He said you might be taking a journey yourself. Will you be leaving us today?”

  Johanna wished for the days when she could have stuck her tongue out at the old hawk. Instead, she settled for her haughtiest tone. “No, Paget. I will not be going anywhere. My husband will have to come home and face me eventually.”

  Paget gave a silver spoon a final rubbing before placing it with its brothers. “His lordship did mumble something about making repairs. I do not think he was talking about any of his estates.” He looked meaningfully at her.

  “He and I both need to work at repairing things, Paget.”

  He nodded. “I suspected as much.”

  Johanna smiled ruefully, then stood on tiptoe and gave the butler a quick peck on the cheek. “Thank you, Paget. You’ve made me feel better.” She started out of the pantry, but turned for one last directive. “Oh, and Paget—I want to know the minute Lord Ambersley returns.”

  “Yes, my lady."

  ~

  Derek hadn’t slept a wink the previous night, and if it weren’t for his concern for the tenderness of his horses’ mouths, he would have sawed the reins like any common carter. Mid-afternoon saw him pulling into the busy streets of Bath, where he looked longingly for the Royal Crescent and Harry.

  He didn’t expect to be greeted at the Coatsworths’ door by Nigel Minton, and from the look on the older man’s face, Minton hadn’t expected this visit from the duke.

  “Your Grace.” Minton bowed slightly.

  “Minton,” Derek acknowledged as he entered. “Taft’s day off?”

  “As a matter of fact, it is.” The older man’s face reddened a bit.

  Aunt Bess’s voice wafted down the stairs. “Who was it, Nigel?”

  Despite his preoccu
pation, Derek smiled. Nigel? Why had he never seen this coming? Aunt Bess’s china doll face with its capped curls peered over the stair railing from above. She was surprised but not embarrassed to see him.

  “Whatever brings you to Bath, Derek? Is anything amiss? Where’s Johanna?”

  “She’s still in London.” Derek turned his hat in circles by the brim.

  “Come up, dear, come up. Nigel, don’t keep him standing in the hall.”

  Derek smiled again at Minton’s discomfiture. He was sorry circumstances didn’t allow him to enjoy this situation to its fullest. Harry would be making rare sport of the solicitor by now.

  As he topped the stairs, Aunt Bess gave him a warm hug. Derek kissed her forehead and apologized. “I seem to arrive here at the most inopportune times.”

  “Nonsense, you know you’re always welcome in this home. Come into the drawing room. Nigel will pour you a glass of wine.”

  “Is Harry home today?”

  Before Aunt Bess could answer, they heard the door open again, and Harry called up the stairs. “Fair warning—I’m home now, and I’m coming up to the drawing room!”

  Derek watched Aunt Bess color up crimson. “He went for a walk.”

  Harry strode into the drawing room with a smile on his face that only broadened when he saw Derek. “I thought that was your four-in-hand I saw drive through town. It’s good to see you. Where’s Johanna?”

  “She stayed in London,” Aunt Bess said.

  Harry nodded at his mother with a wink to Derek. “Have they told you the news?”

  Derek smiled. “No, but I can guess.”

  Minton cleared his throat. “Your Grace, Harry has already granted me permission to address myself to Mrs. Coatsworth, but as head of the family, it would mean a great deal—”

  “Minton, my aunt has been leading her own life for years now. She’s not a Vaughan nor is she dependent on me. If you’ve already secured Harry’s permission, there’s no more I can add, except perhaps to ask that you secure her permission and promise her happiness.”

  Minton smiled broadly. “Then I must inform you, she has already agreed to become my wife.”

  Harry laughed and clapped Minton on the back. “This calls for a toast.” He went to the sideboard and splashed Madeira into four glasses. Derek looked from Minton to Aunt Bess. Even across the room from each other they both beamed like mooncalves. Glasses were raised, and Harry proposed, “May your lives together be long and filled with happiness.”

  Derek drank a healthy dose of the fortified wine and then stared dolefully into his glass. “May you be happier in marriage than I have been,” he said to no one in particular.

  Aunt Bess touched his elbow. “Did you and Johanna quarrel, dear?”

  Derek laughed bitterly and drained his glass. Last night could hardly be summed up by so simple a word. “It’s a bit deeper than that, Aunt Bess.”

  She sat upon the divan and patted the cushion beside her. “Tell us about it.”

  Derek shook his head. “This is no time to hear about my problems.”

  “Nonsense. You drove all the way to Bath for some reason. I can only assume you wanted to talk to us about something.”

  “Perhaps I should be going.” Minton rose and tried to excuse himself gracefully.

  Derek stopped him. “No, Minton, please stay. All of you need to know what I am going to do, and why I must do it.”

  Minton joined Aunt Bess on the divan while Harry stood by his chair, but Derek paced about as he formulated his thoughts.

  “I’m going to grant the Ambersley title to Curtis. He has much to learn yet, but I’ll remain at his side to teach him. Can I do that, Minton?”

  Minton pushed his spectacles higher on his nose. “You may do so, Your Grace, but one must ask why you would wish it.”

  Derek bowed his head. “I cannot face my wife and expect to win her love until I confess to her that I’ve been masquerading as the Vaughan heir all these years. She deserves the truth.”

  “The truth? What truth?” Harry asked.

  “I’m not Reginald Vaughan’s son,” Derek stated quietly.

  Aunt Bess gasped. “What mean you?”

  Minton grasped her fingers, and she clutched his hand, slack-jawed, as if recovering from a shock.

  Harry, for once silent, seated himself.

  Derek forged ahead. “I’m the bastard son of my promiscuous mother and one of her many lovers. How she convinced Reginald Vaughan to accept me, I’ll never know. We all know she was convicted of murdering one of her paramours.”

  “Derek, who told you this?” Aunt Bess asked quietly. Tears sparkled in her eyes.

  “Rosalie. She discovered it when she and my father were going though his personal papers. He explained it all to her. She came at once to me, to gloat that Curtis was his true son.”

  Aunt Bess shook her head. “And did you never question Reginald about it?”

  With a contemptuous laugh, Derek responded. “Oh yes, immediately. Like a small child, I wanted Father to make it right. I asked him if it were true that I was a bastard. He said yes. He apologized to me, as if that would make up for the fact that I had no last name. I left his home that night and never spoke to him again.”

  On the mantle, a clock ticked into the stillness. Minton removed his spectacles and rubbed the pinch marks on his nose. He held the spectacles up toward the light from the window and peered at them for a few moments, then settled them again on his nose.

  Derek bowed his head. “Rosalie has threatened to expose Johanna’s upbringing and the scandal behind our sudden marriage unless I grant Curtis the Ambersley patent. She’s held the knowledge over my head for years, but it’s not her threats that prompt me to do this. I love Johanna, and I cannot feel worthy of her while I live a lie and cheat Curtis out of his birthright.”

  “You never told me any of this, Derek.” From his chair, Harry looked like a wounded cub. “You’ve held this secret for years.”

  “How could I sully you with this, Harry? You always stood by me. I couldn’t bear what you might think of me if you knew the truth.”

  Harry rose to refill his glass. “I think you’re a fool if you believe my friendship is so casual.”

  Minton cleared his throat. “I must say, Your Grace, that for all my research into the Vaughan family, I never found reason to doubt your parentage. I don’t believe anyone can offer proof that you’re illegitimate.”

  “I can,” Aunt Bess set her glass on a table and rose. “Derek, I never addressed this subject with you because I’d no idea you were so misinformed. Reggie told me you left because you’d learned the truth and were disgusted by it. It’s true you’re illegitimate, but you’re not Alicia’s child. You’re the son of Reginald Vaughan and his mistress, Deborah Preston.”

  Derek stared at her, unable to comprehend her words.

  “When you left home, your father thought you couldn’t forgive him for having an affair with a servant.”

  Harry set the Madeira bottle down. “Mother, how came you to know this? This is not a subject for gently reared young ladies.”

  “Nonsense.” She retrieved her glass and had Harry fill it and the others. “In my day, women were not as missish as they are now. Alicia was my sister-in-law, and I learned the story first from her. It wasn’t my secret to tell, and truth be known, Reggie and I both hoped neither of you boys would ever hear of the scandal, for the secret was well-guarded. Even Alicia never betrayed it.” With every glass filled, Aunt Bess sat down again, and motioned Derek to an empty chair.

  Mechanically, he folded his legs and sat while she started her tale.

  “As a young man, your father fell in love with a maid who worked in his family’s house. Her name was Deborah Preston. When Reggie set up an establishment of his own in London, he moved his beloved Deborah into it and made her his mistress. He begged her to marry him, but she refused, saying his family would never accept her. Eventually, he did as his family thought proper and offered for Alicia Coat
sworth. Alicia was the toast of the Season with beauty, elegance, and what she lacked in breeding, she more than compensated for with her dowry. She could have had any man she wanted, but she’d set her heart on Reggie. They were wed, and soon thereafter Reggie discovered Deborah was with child. He immediately removed to the country with Alicia and found lodging for Deborah nearby.”

  Aunt Bess shook her head sadly, her lips forming an uncharacteristic frown. “Alicia told me she thought Reggie leased their romantic cottage because he wanted her to himself. In fact, Reggie was concerned because Deborah was losing her health. On the eve of delivering the child, she begged Reggie to promise her he wouldn’t abandon their baby. He promised, and when Deborah died in childbirth, Reggie brought the newborn home and unfolded his tale to Alicia. To her credit, Alicia stood by the man she’d wed and said that if he were determined to keep his son, she would like it presumed that it was her son, too. And so she willingly signed your birth record, even when Reggie insisted you be given your mother’s family name.”