Two of a Kind
sasha cottman
Copyright © 2019 by Sasha Cottman
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Epilogue
Author Note
Also by Sasha Cottman
About the Author
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To Dean and Laura
Chapter One
London 1817
A crowded, dirty riverside tavern
* * *
“I’m getting married.”
James Radley choked and spluttered on the large gulp of ale he had just taken into his mouth. Beer dripped down the front of his shirt and jacket.
“What the devil?!”
He wiped his lips with the back of his hand before looking dejectedly at the mess that was now his clothes.
Guy Dannon, his old school friend from Eton, met James’s gaze. A wry grin sat on his face. It was obvious Guy knew exactly the sort of reaction his sudden announcement would provoke, and he was enjoying every moment of it. A friend he might be, but even James knew that Guy took particular delight in being a manipulative bastard when it suited him.
“Thought it was time for me to make a run for parliament. Everyone knows that a chap needs a wife in order to secure preselection for a safe seat. A couple of weeks ago, I went and spoke to someone with strong political connections, who not only agreed to help me get preselected, but who conveniently has a highly eligible daughter,” replied Guy.
James carefully set his tankard of beer down on the table, not wishing to risk choking on another mouthful. It was bad enough that he now stank of beer.
He would put money on having never heard the words Guy and wife used in the same sentence before today.
“Things are already that far in motion?” replied James.
“Of course. Why do you think I went and bought a house and some land? It wasn’t from a sudden need to display my grand wealth.”
“I was wondering why you had done that. It makes sense that you would want one so as to entice a wife,” said James.
Guy gave him a look of disgust. “I settled on a property because I cannot run for parliament if I am not a landowner. I have never had to do any sort of enticing when it comes to women, and I don’t intend to start now. Especially not for a wife,” said Guy.
James considered his ale.
I wonder if someone has slipped something into my drink.
Guy had always declared that marriage was for other men; it would never be for him.
“While I understand your political ambitions, Guy, even you would have to admit to being nothing more than an unashamed rake. You only see women as a means to sate your lust. You use them, then toss them aside,” said James.
“And what has that to do with me getting married?” replied Guy. He seemed to find James’s less-than-enthusiastic reaction to the news of his impending nuptials a little perplexing.
“How do you intend to be any sort of a decent husband and father when you think so little of the fairer sex?” said James.
Guy sat back in his seat and studied James. Slowly he shook his head, picked up his tankard and held it high toward James. “I know your family holds with foolish notions about love and fidelity, but I am a practical man. I have chosen a young lady from a politically connected family as my future spouse. She understands how these things work. Securing a seat for myself in parliament is what’s important. Now drink up. We should be celebrating,” Guy finally replied.
James didn’t touch his drink. He knew enough about women to know that most held firm opinions on the subject of marriage. Given half a chance, a woman would not marry purely for the sake of political connections. It was love or nothing for many of them, and especially for the women in his extended family.
Instead of feeling elated over Guy’s sudden announcement, he was filled with sadness over the news that some poor girl was about to be condemned to a cold, political union.
“So, who is this poor chit who is going to be saddled with you for the rest of her days?” he asked. If it was someone else the words might have been spoken in half jest, but when it came to Guy, James was deadly serious. His friend would make a terrible husband.
“Her name is Leah Shepherd and from what she has said, I think your sister Claire knows her.”
James frowned. He had a vague recollection of perhaps having been introduced to her at some point but couldn’t recall what Leah Shepherd actually looked like. He did, however, know of her father. Tobias Shepherd was a kingmaker in the lofty circles of English politics. “I can’t place her, but there are always lots of young women coming and going from home. When do you intend to introduce her to your friends?”
“Tomorrow. You are going to meet Leah at a garden party in Richmond,” replied Guy.
James leaned across the table and stared hard at his friend, unsure as to whether he had heard Guy correctly. Had he just said that they were going to a garden party? “I am not going to a bloody garden party. Those things are dangerous. Every unwed young miss in London will be in attendance, and they will all be on the hunt for one thing: a husband. Cupid will have his little sharp arrows trained on every bachelor’s arse. Hell will freeze over before I set foot inside a garden party.” James snorted.
The whole notion was preposterous. Garden parties were full of lovestruck couples making doe eyes at one another. He shuddered at the thought. Guy may well have his plans, but for James, marriage was not anywhere on the horizon.
Guy slowly smiled. “I’ll tell you what, James. Let me buy us a large bottle of whisky and then we can discuss what you will or won’t be doing tomorrow afternoon.”
“Sounds like a plan,” replied James.
Guy could buy all the whisky he wished; James Radley was not going to a garden party. Absolutely not.
Chapter Two
Richmond, London
Hell has frozen over
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* * *
As the carriage bounced along the road to the garden party, James roused from his monstrous hangover and shot Guy the filthiest look he could muster. “You are a dirty, rotten blackguard, Dannon. That was a low thing you did last night,” he muttered, his voice rough.
“Stop whining, Radley. I didn’t hear you complaining when I pressed any one of those ten glasses of whisky into your hand,” snorted Guy.
“Ten? I thought it was only seven,” replied James.
Guy chuckled. “Ten. It took that many before you finally agreed to come.”
“As I recall, I was on my knees beside the River Thames at the time, and you refused to help me to my feet until I caved to your demands. Even then I didn’t think you were serious about me going,” said James.
Guy raised an eyebrow. “That would explain why you were not ready when I arrived to collect you this morning. Trust me, James, I have never been more serious about anything in my life,” replied Guy.
“But if you have already chosen this girl, why are we here?” asked James.
“To help seal the deal. I might not believe in love or any of that sentimental claptrap, but the ton likes to think it does. If a chap wishes to get hitched, he has to go through the motions of courting a young lady. Society expects me to pay Leah special attention and lavish pretty compliments on her before I make an official offer of marriage,” replied Guy.
James silently chided himself. As his friend, Guy would expect him to be supportive of his efforts to secure a suitable marriage. Yet his conscience pricked at him. The way Guy was going about getting himself a wife was all too cold and dispassionate for his taste.
The stylish carriage pulled up at the end of a long line of similarly painted black ones outside an elegant country house. The younger adult members of London’s social elite were all gathering for a pleasant Saturday afternoon, while James just wanted to go home and climb back into his bed until he felt more human.
With undisguised reluctance, he climbed out of the carriage after Guy. Then he stopped. He had been in a foul mood since Guy had appeared at his bedroom door earlier that morning and demanded that he promptly dress and make himself presentable. And as much as it had been Guy who had pressed glass after glass of whisky into his hand, James knew that he had no one to blame for his painful hangover than himself. A gentleman should learn to suffer for his sins in silence.
“Go on ahead. I shall catch up with you momentarily. I need a minute to find my good humor,” said James.
“Suit yourself. I shall see you inside.”
Guy headed toward the garden gate which was gaily decorated with bright yellow ribbons. Footmen in black and yellow livery lined either side of the entrance. This was one of the most highly sought-after party invitations in the final days of autumn. Soon it would be too cold to host outdoor events.
James glanced up at the sky. Fortunately, only small fluffy clouds dotted the blue heavens. Even the sun had made a welcome appearance. A man should be happy on such a fine day. But not James.
He frowned as he watched his friend depart. The prospect of Guy and Leah both willingly entering into a loveless union weighed heavily on his mind. He knew it was not his place to judge the decisions of others, but a marriage for political gain went against all that he had been taught to value in a lifelong union.
He pulled a cheroot out of his coat pocket and lit it. Leaning back against the side of Guy’s town carriage, he drew back on the petite cigar.
Other carriages continued to make their way up the long drive and James watched with interest as various groups of young people and their chaperones alighted. There was laughter and smiles on everyone’s faces. All except his.
He mustered a half-hearted wave to some new arrivals, then fixed a smile to his lips as an old university chum, Rupert Gill, began to make his way over to where James stood. Lots of his friends would be attending today and he knew he should make a better effort to be congenial.
“Radley. Didn’t expect to see you here today,” said Rupert.
James shrugged. “Guy Dannon got me drunk and made me come. He is courting a young lady who will be here today.”
Rupert’s eyebrows reached for the sky. “Guy Dannon is courting someone. Well I’ll be damned. He is the last person I would expect to be hurrying into the arms of wedded bliss.”
James took little comfort in the knowledge that he was not the only one to think that Guy and marriage were not suitable bedfellows.
“And what about yourself, James? Are you heading back to university soon?”
He rolled his eyes and shook his head. Going back to Cambridge was the last thing he wanted to do. Ill health had seen him abandon his studies in the previous year and he had not yet returned. If James had his way, he would never go back.
“At the moment, I am working as a clerk for my uncle, Charles Saunders, at his shipping office. A chap needs coin for beer and onion skins.”
Rupert nodded. “Those are the important things in one’s life. So, will you go back next term?”
“I don’t want to, but according to my father, I have little choice. He thinks it is beneath my station to take up a full-time career as a clerk. He says I lack purpose and what I need to do is to establish myself on a path of progress and respectability. Oh, and of course to stick to it.”
Rupert screwed up his face. “My father said a similar thing to me, which is why I am now attending these garden party shindys. I figure that there is no point in arguing the toss anymore. I should simply get on with the business of establishing myself and finding a nice girl to settle down with and raise a family.”
James sighed. At least he was not the only young man in London having to deal with parental expectations. But unlike his friend, he was determined not to yield. His father was, in the main, right. Right in that as the son of the Bishop of London he should be aiming for a higher position than a mere shipping clerk. And he was also right in saying that James’s life lacked purpose. But James baulked at the idea of setting out on the same path of respectability that his father had. If Hugh Radley had his way, James would soon be curate at one of London’s major churches before taking up the role of a church minister and eventually becoming a bishop. A nice, predictable stepping-stone career. That had been Hugh’s dream for himself, and he was living it.
And James knew that as far as his father was concerned, it was a foregone conclusion that James would be packing his travel trunk and heading back to university after Christmas. It wasn’t the worst fate James could think of, but it didn’t fill him with joy.
James could just imagine how his father would take the news that Guy Dannon had decided on a wife. Another lecture loomed.
“Well good luck with your future, James. I hope you and your father can come to an agreement which suits you both. I had better go inside,” said Rupert.
They shook hands, and while Rupert headed toward the garden gate, James went back to leaning against the carriage and smoking his cheroot.
A short while later, another carriage drew up behind his and he glanced over. It bore the Saunders family crest. “Thank God,” he muttered. His cousins were here. Caroline and Francis Saunders could be relied upon to display the right amount of disdain and utter disgust that this sort of event deserved. His day was saved.
“James!” cried Francis as he caught his eye. Caroline, wearing one of her trademark tight smiles, followed close behind as Francis jauntily headed over to join James.
Francis quickly slapped James on the arm with one hand, while at the same time, he reached out and stole the cheroot from James’s fingers. It was a deft move which had Caroline laughing.
“James, darling, what heinous crime did you commit to be sentenced to an afternoon at a garden party?” she asked.
“Nothing and everything. But it is still better than staying at home on a Saturday afternoon while Papa polishes off his Sunday sermon. If he knows I am about the house he is likely to seek me out and start asking question
s,” he replied.
With the tense way things were between himself and his father, much as he hated to admit it, the party was the safer place for him to be. He was not, however, going to tell Guy that any time soon.
“Oh, you poor thing. We all know how much of a tyrant your father is,” said Caroline.
Francis smiled. Everyone knew that Hugh Radley was a sweet and kindhearted man who only wanted the best for his children.
Fair-haired Caroline bent and gave her immaculately pressed skirts a brief once-over. They, of course, were impeccable. Her matching bonnet sat perfect on her head. Francis, meanwhile, removed his hat and ruffled his shock of pure white hair; he then drew back on the stolen cheroot. James resigned himself to the fact that he would not be getting his smoke back.
“Just remember the joy of the garden party when my father has you up to your eyeballs in shipping ledgers on Monday. Or worse, in the foul-stinking hold of one of the recently arrived ships, checking on cargo. There is one thing that a chap learns when he works for a living, and that is to treasure his Saturday afternoons,” said Francis.
“So, why are the two of you here wasting your precious Saturday? I thought you didn’t particularly like these sorts of events,” James replied.
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