Nodding, the duke felt himself fill with a sudden and fierce resolution. Lord Burrton was right. Daniel should have been the first to marry, the first to produce a child, but instead, he was shutting himself away in his country home and refusing to engage with society in any way. As the current duke and also Daniel’s father, Ware had let this go for too long, had been far too indulgent with his son.
“Very well,” he said, firmly, the matter now decided. “I will have my solicitor draw up the contracts.”
Lord Burrton nodded, raising his glass in a toast. “To the future.”
The Duke of Ware followed suit, lifting his glass in return. “To the future,” he agreed, before throwing his brandy back, draining every last drop.
1
“No!”
Daniel Harrington, Marquess of Ravenhall, sat bolt upright in bed, sweat trickling down his back as he struggled to catch his breath.
It had been the same nightmare, the same blood-soaked vision that had returned while he had been deep in sleep. Try as he might, he could not rid himself of it, and he wondered just how many years he would continue to be tortured by not just dreams, but memories that refused to leave him.
There came a quiet rap at the door. “My lord?”
It was his ever-faithful butler, Gregory Woodward, one of very few people who knew precisely why Daniel was so troubled.
“Come in, Woodward,” he called, wiping the sweat off his brow. “What in the hell are you doing here so early?”
The butler did not smile as he set down the breakfast tray at the table in front of the fire before going to pull back the drapes. “The hour is actually fairly late, my lord,” he replied calmly. “There is coffee for you, but I can fetch something stronger if you need.”
Daniel considered it for a moment but then shook his head, running a hand over his face to clear the fog. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“Is there anything else you may need, my lord?”
“No, not in the least,” Daniel replied truthfully, not wanting even his staff to witness any weakness. “Go on, off with you. I’ll be down shortly.”
The butler inclined his head. “Very well. And shall I have the bath drawn for you in the next room as usual?”
It had become Daniel’s custom, whenever he had such a nightmare, to have a bath as soon as he could afterward. It was to wash the sweat from his body, as though a physical cleansing would rid his mind of the vicious memories that had brought on the nightmares in the first place.
“Yes, thank you,” he muttered, throwing back the bedsheets and rising on slightly unsteady legs. “Give me an hour or so before sending in the valet.”
“Of course,” the butler murmured, a slightly worried expression on his face. “Are you sure there is nothing else that you require, my lord?”
Daniel shook his head. “No, you may go for now.”
“Very good, my lord,” came the reply as the butler made to leave. “May I also remind you that there are two letters sitting with your breakfast tray, my lord?”
“The ones I chose to ignore last evening?” Daniel asked, with a slight lift of his eyebrow.
“Yes, those two,” the butler replied, without even a hint of censure. He had been with Daniel for far too long to be affected by his ever-changing moods. “Excuse me, my lord.”
Daniel slumped in his chair, glad that the fire was lit, even though it looked to be a warm day outside. He was always chilled after one of his episodes, and it would take him at least an hour to regain some semblance of warmth in his bones.
Letting out a long breath, he poured himself a coffee and added a splash of cream, taking a sip immediately even though it scalded his lips. He needed the heat, needed the wakefulness that coffee would bring.
He would go a few days without the nightmare, and then just when he convinced himself that he had broken away, it returned with the force of a slam from a runaway carriage. He closed his eyes, fighting the vision, but it flooded his consciousness nonetheless. He was standing on the threshold of his home, his nerves on edge from the creak of the door swinging open on its hinges. The dark of night followed him over the threshold into the entrance, where the flicker of a nearly spent candle cast just enough light for him to see his betrothed, Miss Laura Churston, lying on the floor, blood pooled around her head while her eyes remained open and staring at him. Her expression was one of surprise, of such profound shock, that for a moment, Daniel had expected her to move, to scream, to do something other than just lie there.
It was always the very same memory playing out in exactly the same way it had happened. His butler, Woodward, and his friend, Lord Hudson, had followed him into the house and urged him to leave the dead young lady alone, but Daniel had been unable to do so. Falling to his knees, he had cradled Laura’s broken body in his arms, blood staining his hands, his clothes, his very soul. The authorities had come soon afterward and everything else had grown hazy.
From what Daniel knew, she had arrived at his London townhouse with her maid in tow, excited, for she and Daniel were to make their grand entrance to Lord Hazelhead’s ball as a newly betrothed couple. But he had not been at home as expected. He had received a note stating that his mother had fallen gravely ill at his parents’ manor, and he had gone there without a second thought — only to find that she was quite well and in perfect health. His friend, Viscount Albert Hudson, had arrived at Daniel’s home just as he had returned, and had come upon the scene merely seconds after Daniel.
It had only been later that Daniel had realized that he’d been duped by a man desperate enough to take Laura’s life rather than see her with another. Lord Northcliffe had been absent from London since that day, and Daniel knew with certainty that he was the one responsible. He must have arranged it all, ensuring that she would be alone and Daniel would find her. The butler had been a witness and told the authorities what had happened. He had opened the door to a gentleman, only to find himself shoved back hard as Lord Northcliffe slammed the door open, determined to get inside.
It had all been over in a matter of seconds. The authorities did not confirm that Lord Northcliffe was the man responsible for Laura’s death — for they only had the eyewitness of a slightly stunned, loyal butler — but Daniel knew that Northcliffe’s removal from society only added to his guilt. Laura’s maid had run, the butler told him, never to be seen again.
Taking another sip of his coffee, Daniel closed his eyes and tried to thrust the pictures from his mind, but as usual he could not easily do so. It took a great deal of effort to force them to fade, and he found himself wishing he could remember Laura as she had been in life — elegant, refined, and beautiful. Instead, whenever he thought of her, all he could see was her bloodied body on the floor of his house, her eyes wide and staring.
Groaning, Daniel straightened his seat and threw his head back, his gaze upon the ceiling as he attempted to push it all away.
“I need to forget,” he said aloud, hearing the emotion in his voice and cursing himself for it.
A quick knock at the door was followed by the voice of his valet. “My lord, are you—”
“Go away, Roberts,” he growled. “I’m not ready for you yet, as I’m sure Woodward told you.”
Daniel winced at the anger in his tone as he heard the valet rush away down the corridor. A pang of regret pricked his conscience for how harshly he had spoken with Roberts, but the man should have known better than to bother him so soon after he awoke.
These memories mocked him, refusing to disperse. They were a part of him, in his bones, in his marrow, in his very soul, and they turned him into a different man than he had previously been. He vowed that never again would he allow himself to love, for it was not worth the price of the pain that remained when it was taken away.
“I will find him,” Daniel whispered, savagely. “I will find Lord Northcliffe.”
Letting his head slump forward once more, Daniel took in a few long breaths, counting to ten each time in an attempt to ke
ep a hold of his composure. It was often difficult to do so, but Daniel continued to focus regardless. Slowly, he felt himself take control once more. The terror in his heart lay down to rest, the tension in his body began to fade. It was going away, as it always did, but Daniel knew it would be back.
* * *
An hour later, Daniel had taken his bath and was nearly ready to leave the room. He had eaten his breakfast and had drunk copious amounts of coffee, leaving him feeling a great deal better than he had before, and he once again hardened his heart to block out the pain and the memories of the past, focusing instead on what could be done in the present.
“The letters,” he muttered to himself, picking them both up and grimacing as he did so. One was from his solicitor, which he did not particularly care about, for it would, most likely, simply be some information on his holdings, while the other was from his father. He recognized the seal and knew that he ought to open it, as much as he dreaded it. His father had been trying to worm his way back into Daniel’s life for some time, trying to get through the wall that Daniel had built up around himself, but Daniel was unwilling to allow him entry. He had no interest in taking back up his responsibilities. He had far more important work to complete, which his father could never understand.
Daniel was aware that his father and mother were both rather confused about his change in behavior over the last few years, but that was because neither of them knew the truth about Laura. They knew that she had died in some horrible accident, but they had never known that it had been in his home, that he had been the one to find her body. That had all been very carefully covered up, as requested by her father, Lord Stawell himself, the moment he had arrived at Daniel’s home, having been sent for by one of Daniel’s footmen.
Lord Stawell had not wanted all and sundry to know the horrific details of his daughter’s death, knowing that the ton would take it and chew over it for years to come. Even in his grief, he had reminded Daniel that he was the heir to a dukedom, that he had expectations and responsibilities in his future. He had told Daniel that if any knowledge of this escaped, it would make his entire future darker, including the future of his family. All in society would distrust him. Rumors would spread that he had been the one to kill Laura, particularly if there was no evidence to the contrary except the eyewitness of one faithful butler. He had been told to think of his future wife and children, that the stain of this could spread to them were he not careful. Daniel had no interest anymore in marrying, nor creating heirs, but he had four siblings whose lives could be greatly affected.
And so, it had all been very neatly, very discreetly, taken care of. The authorities had interviewed him at his home, the blood had been cleaned up, and Lord Stawell had told anyone who asked that his daughter had died in an unfortunate accident — nothing more.
Daniel could still remember attending the funeral in a state of shock, feeling numb and disconnected from everything and everyone around him.
He’d retreated to his estate then and, over the last six years, had done nothing but run his estate, protect those who needed it, and watch out over his siblings from afar. On occasion, he took himself to London when his work required it of him, to do what he could to help those in need of his aid. He would even see his family on occasion, though he knew he hardly spoke to them, even when he was in their presence. But the majority of his time was spent here. Society, balls, dancing, and eligible young ladies held no interest for him anymore. They didn’t matter.
Daniel broke the seal and unfolded the letter, recognizing his father’s familiar scrawl across the page. Most likely, this would just be another plea for him to come to London for the Season, to find himself a bride and beget an heir. Daniel had no intention of doing anything of the sort. He noted the door opening as he picked up the letter, and he nodded as Woodward entered and began to clear away his breakfast dishes. While the chore was beneath the butler, Daniel trusted few to enter his own chamber.
Son,
You are expected in London for the Season. As you sold your townhouse some years ago and appear not to have any intention of purchasing a new one, I have done so for you. As it happens, it is directly across from our own. Therefore, you will reside in your new townhouse and dine with your mother and me regularly. I expect you no later than a week this Friday.
Daniel frowned and snorted. This did not sound like his father, given that there were no questions, no mention of how quiet Daniel had been of late, nor even the suggestion that Daniel was able to refuse such a request. Given that he was of age, he had no need to obey his father, even though he did not want to anger the man unnecessarily. After all, it was not as though Daniel’s solitude was the duke’s fault.
“I have no intention of coming to London,” Daniel said aloud to the letter as if his father could hear him. “Regardless of what you want, I will not be joining you and Mother for the Season.”
“My lord?” came the reply, and Daniel started slightly as he realized Woodward was still in the room.
“My apologies, Woodward,” he said. “I was speaking aloud. My father, it seems, forgets I am no longer a young lad, but a man grown, capable of making my own decisions.”
It was a letter he would have to respond to but, since he did not feel any particular urge to do so at that very moment, Daniel set the letter aside and picked up the other.
Sighing, he opened the one from his solicitor, fully expecting to read something about one investment or another. What he read instead shocked him to the core.
Lord Ravenhall,
I have been tasked by your father to place a hold on your accounts for a time. As he still has control of your fortune, since it is, in fact, his wealth, I have had no alternative but to do so at once. I have been informed that it will be released to you again when your father wills it to be so. The address of your new townhouse is enclosed.
Yours, etc.
Daniel had to read the letter three times over before the truth finally registered, and he clenched his fingers into a fist around the paper until it was nothing but a ball. His father was manipulating him through his wealth in order to force his return to London. He would have little other option but to do so, for while his estate was his in name, all funds ran through his father’s accounts, which would, one day, become his. Daniel had known this the day he had come of age, the day he had been given his own small estate and his father’s secondary title, but he had never expected his father to use this knowledge in such a way as to manipulate him into doing what he wished.
“How dare you!” Daniel sputtered, throwing the letter across the room and leaping from his chair. Pacing back and forth, he shoved one hand into his hair, his eyes staring at nothing while he struggled to come to terms with his father’s actions.
“My lord, can I be of assistance?” asked Woodward, subtly reminding Daniel of his presence. He turned to look at his butler, seeing no fear in the man’s eyes, and silently acknowledged he was one who truly knew him. Most men now approached him rather warily, if they did at all.
“No,” he growled, just managing to catch his anger and frustration as it nearly boiled over while he raged inwardly as to what to do. Despite his turmoil, rational thought crept in as he accepted the truth. “There is nothing to be done. My father has quite firmly … requested … that I return to London for a time. Prepare everything for my departure within the week."
He was caught. If Daniel disobeyed his father, his work on behalf of those troubled souls he helped would have to cease. His estate was somewhat profitable, but it had only recently become so, and Daniel knew he could not sustain his activities while still paying his workers and purchasing required goods. Why was the duke doing this? Was it his way of forcing Daniel’s hand, in an attempt to pull him from his life of solitude? The duke was typically a jovial sort, and, unless the situation was one which would cause hurt to his children, he left them to do as they pleased.
Apparently, something had changed. Daniel leaned heavily on the windowsill and
looked out at the gardens below.
“Very well, my lord.”
Letting out a long breath, Daniel rested his forehead against the cool glass in an attempt to quell his boiling fury. Underneath it all, whether he wanted to admit it or not, Daniel knew there was a lingering fear in his heart — fear that he hid by driving all away from him. He was afraid of how he would react when he was once again among polite society. What would he do if he saw Lord Northcliffe? Would he lose himself in a fit of madness? While he mourned Laura, what he felt following her death had quickly been replaced by a need for revenge against the man who had taken her from him. He had spent years imagining what he would do if he were to see Lord Northcliffe, how he would extract retribution for Laura’s death.
He had to ensure that when he found him, when he took his vengeance, it was discreet enough that his father, mother, and siblings would suffer no consequences.
“And once I find him,” he whispered, his breath frosting the glass, “I will be free.”
Closing his eyes for a moment, Daniel tried his best to find the motivation he knew he needed to sit down at his writing desk and compose a letter to his father. A letter that would agree to what his father had asked of him. A letter that would force him to return to London to face his demons once more.
2
“Christina?”
Miss Christina Princeton, daughter of the Marquess of Burrton, looked up from where she reclined on her favorite seat in the library, a leather-and-walnut chaise.
“Ah, there you are,” her father boomed, marching into the room with his usual grandiosity. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Christina inwardly rolled her eyes at her father. He either paid no attention to her usual whereabouts, or he simply wanted to make a point, for she spent much of her time in this room and it should come as no surprise to find her here. The windows were large and overlooked the countryside, while the pale green of the walls had a calming feel to them that allowed Christina to escape into her favorite stories.
Searching Hearts Box Set: Books 1-5 Page 59
