Lord of Fortune

by Darcy Burke

  Penn pointed upstairs. “She’s my mother.” And he couldn’t believe she’d gone along with it.

  “Would it help you to know that she wanted to tell you?”

  It did, a little. But again, he wouldn’t give his father any satisfaction. Not now. “The fact remains that neither of you did, and now I find myself wondering what the hell I do next. I don’t want to be a goddamned earl.” Penn couldn’t keep his lip from curling as the anger he’d felt last night returned with brutal force.

  Father winced. “I know.”

  “You know? How could you know? If you had, you would have managed this differently. My entire life feels like a lie. Do you understand that? I’m not Pennard Bowen, scholar and adventurer, I’m William Kersey, Earl of bloody Stratton.” Just saying the title made him shake with rage and, if he was honest, a bit of nausea.

  “You remembered that name?” his father asked softly.

  Penn pivoted from the table and from the intense remorse in his father’s stare. “What happened to her, really?”

  “She was ill, just as she told you, and she died a few months after you came to live with me, which I also told you.”

  “So that much was true.”

  “Yes.”

  “And when did she take me away from Stratton?”

  “You weren’t even born. Stratton was a terrible man. She didn’t want him raising you, and she was right to keep you from him. You’ve seen what he’s done to Gideon.”

  Hell, Gideon. Penn’s half brother. As angry as Penn was, how would Gideon react? He’d suffered his father and his mother’s abandonment, and now his birthright had been stripped away. Not only that, but if his mother hadn’t actually been married to his father, he was illegitimate. Penn turned his head to glower at his father. “Why was I spared Stratton’s parentage and Gideon was not? You protected me and not him. And you’re still doing it. Exposing this secret doesn’t just make me the earl, it makes Gideon a bastard.”

  Father paled as he opened his mouth, then closed it again, his jaw working. “I…tried. I tried to include him in our family as best I could, but you must know there was no way on earth Stratton would let anyone take his son from him. Why do you think your mother—the woman who gave birth to you—ran? She knew it was her only chance to keep you from him. So she faked her death with the help of her parents and the vicar of their church, and that vicar ensured your birth was recorded and hidden.”

  “To be uncovered at the appropriate time.” Penn swore under his breath before turning his body toward his father and crossing his arms over his chest. “Why does this vicar need to come forward? Why not let Gideon be the earl? He’s been raised to the title. I have not, nor do I want it. What of my position at Oxford? I have a life, Father.”

  His father came around the table then, and Penn dropped his arms, ready to flee if necessary. “I know you do!” Emotion ripped across his father’s features, and tears welled in his eyes. “But there is nothing to be done. The vicar made a promise to Eleanor Kersey and to her parents that you would be the earl.”

  Why hadn’t his grandparents taken him in? He feared he knew the answer. “Are my grandparents still alive?”

  Father shook his head. “I’m sorry. They died before you came to live with me.”

  He’d expected that, but also realized that even if they hadn’t, his mother might not have given him over to them. If she had, Stratton might have found him. “I never met them. At least not that I can remember.”

  “Eleanor broke with everyone from her life after you were born. I imagine it was painful for her and for your grandparents.”

  “You imagine?” Penn asked.

  “She didn’t reveal too much when she came to ask me to care for you.”

  “Enough to persuade you to take me in.”

  A bittersweet smile curled his father’s lips. “It wasn’t difficult. At the time, I had no marital prospects, and the idea of a son appealed to me.”

  Because of the close relationship he’d shared with his father. Penn had heard of him so much that he sometimes felt as if he’d known his foster grandfather.

  “Penn, being the earl isn’t all bad. You’ll be free to do whatever you choose—Stratton was a very wealthy man.”

  “Free?” A hollow ache started in Penn’s chest. “What of my responsibilities to the title, to the estate, to the tenants, to my seat in the Lords? All that will take time away from my occupation, my passion.” The word brought Amelia to his mind, where she lingered for a moment and took some of the sting away. “I’ll be anything but free.”

  His father’s forehead creased into deep furrows. “There will be a way to manage it all. I know there is.”

  “Because you have so much experience being an earl?” Penn asked, not caring if he sounded cruel.

  “No, because I know you, and I’ve no doubt you’ll excel in this as you do in everything.” His father’s gaze was full of admiration and pride.

  Penn allowed a soft grunt to push past his lips. He didn’t want his father’s pride right now. And he sure as hell didn’t want this nuisance. He was supposed to be hunting the White Book of Hergest and the real Heart of Llanllwch. “I came here on a mission,” he said with more than a bit of irritation. “Not to be an earl.”

  “And no one will interrupt that. When Gideon arrives—”

  Penn cut him off. “He’ll be devastated. And furious. I can’t imagine he’ll stay to help me get the book, and I wouldn’t blame him.”

  His father flinched. “We’ll work it out. Penn, I’m so sorry for this. Even if I’d told you before, it wouldn’t change things. You are who you are. You’re still Penn, as well as William Kersey, Earl of Stratton.”

  Again, the name and title grated, like the edge of a blade scoring his flesh. “Maybe if you’d told me sooner, I could’ve learned to be.” If he’d known he was to inherit a title, he would’ve done things differently. He wouldn’t be working for the Ashmolean, and he wouldn’t be chasing antiquities.

  Was that true?

  Penn thought back to the first Roman coins he’d found as a young boy. He’d been six years old, living in a town near the Welsh border. Digging in the yard of the small cottage where they’d been staying, he’d found five coins, which he’d later identified as Roman with the help of a man in the next place they’d lived. That man had given Penn a few other coins and shared with him his own meager antiquities collection—some pottery, more coins, and a spectacular bronze dagger that Penn had coveted.

  A spark for discovery and knowledge was kindled that day, and so when Fate delivered him to an academic with a passion for medieval manuscripts, Penn had felt a connection. Losing his mother had been excruciating, but he’d thought he’d found a place where he belonged. A place where he could be the man he wanted to be and lead the life he craved.

  He was fooling himself if he thought he could’ve changed who he was meant to be. He was an antiquary. A scholar. An adventurer. A protector of history. He lifted his gaze to his father. “You’re right about that—I am who I am. I am not an earl. And I’ll be damned if I let Gideon be a bastard.”

  Penn turned and left the kitchen without getting anything to eat. His mind was far too heavy with plans for what to do next.

  Chapter 12

  The press of lips against Amelia’s temple roused her from sleep. A smile curved her lips as she inhaled Penn’s scent. Rolling to her back, she opened her eyes. Her vision filled with his handsome face as he bent over her. Then his mouth found hers, and she closed her eyes again, sighing contentedly into his kiss.

  When he pulled away, her lids fluttered open, and she blinked toward the window. “What time is it?”

  “Early still,” he murmured. “But I need to leave, and I wanted to see you first.”

  She pushed herself up to a sitting position, and he perched on the edge of the bed next to her. “Where are you going?”

  He took her hand in his and rubbed his thumb over the backs of her knuckles. “I need t
o deal with this earl nonsense.”

  Amelia rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “What does that mean?”

  “I need to find the vicar who will provide proof that I’m William Kersey. Then I’ll convince him to destroy it and forget I ever existed.”

  “Can you do that?” She considered everything she knew of him, particularly his charm. She’d detested him on sight, and now look at them… “Never mind, of course you can. How long will you be gone?” She liked seeing him with a purpose—the spark was back in his gaze after yesterday’s shock.

  “Hopefully no more than two days. I’m not entirely sure where the vicar is located, and I don’t want to ask my father. He’ll likely try to persuade me not to go. Besides, I’m still angry, and I don’t want to talk to him.” He sounded a bit like a belligerent boy, but she couldn’t blame him. His entire world had been turned upside down.

  “If you don’t know where to go, how will you find him?”

  He grinned, and her heart skipped. “You must know by now that I’m exceptionally good at finding things. And that includes people. My mother, that is, the woman who gave birth to me, left me enough clues. I believe this vicar is located in a village near the English border. We skirted it several times, and I was sure she met with someone on a few occasions. In retrospect, I think she visited this vicar or perhaps her parents.”

  With his free hand, he tucked an errant hair behind her ear. “Will you wait here for me so that we may continue our quest when I return?”

  Wait here with his parents with whom he was angry… That wouldn’t be awkward. “Perhaps I should go with you.”

  He shook his head gently. “Egg is already preparing our horses. We’ll leave shortly and, if we’re lucky, return late tonight. You’ll have all day to peruse my father’s library, and he will undoubtedly relish the opportunity to share it with you.”

  “I don’t know,” she said uncertainly. “I suspect everyone may be too upset to behave as if nothing’s wrong.”

  His jaw tightened, and he glanced away before stroking her hand once more. “It will be fine. I promise. I have to do this. You understand, don’t you?”

  She brought his hand to her lips and pressed a kiss on the back. “I understand you want your life to remain as it is. I’m not sure you can accomplish that feat, but I support your endeavor. Please know that—I will support you no matter what.” Support him? What did that mean? She had feelings for this man. She cared for him, reveled in his company, admired him… But she’d no idea where it would lead. The most she could promise, and the most she could expect in return, was friendship.

  “I appreciate that more than you know.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. “I wish I had more time,” he said softly against her mouth as his hand caressed her nape.

  Delicious shivers raced down her spine and along her arms. “I wish you did too.”

  He pulled away from her with a frustrated groan. “Someone will likely bring you a breakfast tray shortly. I should go before I’m discovered.”

  She withdrew her hand from his. “It wouldn’t do for an earl to be caught trying to seduce a house guest.”

  He grumbled low in his throat. “Another reason to avoid this bloody title. Nobody cares what Penn Bowen does.” He arched a dark brow at her. “In any case, I’m not trying to seduce you, my love. If you recall, I was quite successful.”

  She swatted at him, and he stood with a soft laugh. “Maybe I was the successful one,” she said smugly.

  “Indeed you were.” His eyes glimmered in the early morning light. “One more thing. I’m leaving the heart with you.” His gaze strayed to the table next to her bed upon which sat the, probably, fake Heart of Llanllwch. “You’ll keep it safe.” It wasn’t a question, but a confidence in her ability. “I hope to see you tonight.” He blew her a kiss and departed, leaving the stamp of his presence long after he’d gone.

  Some time later, a housemaid delivered a tray, and Amelia finally roused herself from bed. She went to the small table near the window, and her gaze immediately caught a slip of paper tucked into the corner of the tray. It had to be a note from Penn. Smiling, she plucked it up and opened the parchment. Her good humor fled as she read the missive.

  Mrs. Forrest,

  I was acquainted with your grandfather, and I know how much the White Book of Hergest meant to him. I am in possession of this book and will trade it to you for the Heart of Llanllwch. You must meet me where the River Monnow meets the River Wye at dusk this evening.

  * * *

  It is imperative you come alone. If Mr. Bowen accompanies you, there will be no trade. In fact, you are advised to keep this entire affair from Mr. Bowen if you prefer to ensure a smooth transaction.

  Amelia’s hands shook as she reread the short note. She turned it over in her hands searching for the author’s name, but there was no indication of who’d written it.

  Immediately, she considered it must be from the Order, or more specifically, from the Camelot group. Foliot purportedly had the book. Had he penned the note? Why go to the trouble to steal the book in London several years ago and decide to trade it now? Unless the heart was just that important to him.

  She turned her head to where the stone sat on her bedside table. How did he—or whoever had written the note—even know she was in possession of the heart? Somehow, they were aware that Penn had taken it from the museum.

  Penn.

  It didn’t even occur to her to abide by the author’s threat. Of course she would tell him. If he was still here.

  She dressed hastily without assistance and made her way downstairs. In the hall, she encountered Thomas, the butler. “Excuse me, has Mr. Bowen—that is, Penn—departed already?”

  The butler’s gaze reflected a mild surprise, but he covered it quickly. “I believe so.”

  “You knew he was leaving?” Rhys Bowen’s voice from the doorway of his study drew her to pivot in his direction.

  She saw no reason to lie. “Yes.”

  “And you know where he went and why?”

  Unsure if Penn’s father knew, she hesitated before answering, “I think so.”

  Mr. Bowen gave a slight nod. He looked tired. Defeated perhaps. She briefly considered telling him about the note but decided Penn wouldn’t want that. At least not right now. That she felt a loyalty to Penn ought to have surprised her, but they’d forged a relationship that went beyond what she would have expected.

  “We’re glad to have you here,” Mr. Bowen said. “Please excuse my wife and me—we’ll try to be engaging hosts, but this is a difficult time.”

  “I understand,” Amelia murmured. What a tangle. She understood Penn’s anger but also saw the regret etched into his father’s expression. “I think I’ll just take a walk outside. Please don’t trouble yourself over me.”

  He nodded before retreating to his study. Amelia turned and walked toward the back of the house, eager to see this place in the woods where Penn went. Perhaps being there would help her decide what to do, since she couldn’t talk with him.

  She stepped outside, where the late summer morning held a touch of crispness. The temperature would creep lower and lower as the days shortened, but for now, she lifted her face to the cloud-dappled sky and closed her eyes while the sun’s rays heated her cheeks.

  Taking a deep breath, she mentally chastised herself for leaving her bonnet inside, but then she hadn’t planned to come out here. She walked toward the wooded area beyond the yard.

  As she picked her way into the canopy of trees, the temperature dropped, and she shivered. Wrapping her arms around her chest, she took a few more steps before her eye caught a small shelter nestled into the trees ahead.

  Curious, she increased her pace until she arrived at the small lean-to. A bench was built against the only wall. Carvings on the wall drew her to move inside and study what had been written—or drawn. There were what looked like Celtic symbols as well as foreign words. Welsh, she thought. She bent and read the one word she coul
d definitively read, carved just above the bench: Penn.

  Again, she wished he hadn’t left. She’d tucked the note into a small pocket in her skirt and now removed it. She scanned the lines again and realized she’d nearly memorized it.

  “Find something good?”

  The deep masculine voice startled her, and she let out a squeal before turning around, her heart in her throat.

  The gentleman leaned against a tree just outside the lean-to. “My apologies.”

  Amelia willed her heart to slow as she stiffened her spine. Folding the paper in one hand, she slipped it back into her pocket. “I believe you’re trespassing.”

  “Actually, I was going to say the same thing to you.”

  She narrowed her eyes wondering if this man could be…

  “I’m Kersey,” he said, affirming her suspicion.

  She exhaled, relieved he wasn’t a brigand. Given her past experience with the dagger and now the note she’d received earlier, she wasn’t sure what to expect. “I’m Mrs. Amelia Forrest, an associate of Mr. Bowen’s.”

  Kersey’s brow arched with interest. “Have you brought a medieval manuscript for him to review?”

  “No, not that Mr. Bowen. Mr. Penn Bowen.”

  The interest in his gaze deepened. “Penn is here?”

  “Er, no.”

  Kersey was a bit taller than Penn, but their frames were similar with broad shoulders and narrow hips. He was perhaps a few years younger than his half brother, and while their hair was a similar dark brown, Kersey’s eyes were a storm-heavy gray instead of Penn’s striking blue.

  “He’s not here and yet you are. Why would he arrange to meet you here instead of at Oxford?” Kersey shook his head. “I suppose it’s none of my affair.”

  Her mind warred with itself over what she knew and what she ought to disclose. It certainly wasn’t her place to tell this man about Penn’s parentage or where he’d gone. She could, however, talk with him about the White Book. That was, after all, what she and Penn had come here to do before everything had fallen to pieces with the Earl of Stratton’s death. Penn would want her to pursue their quest, she was sure of it. “Actually, it is your affair. I came here with Penn in the hope of finding you.”