by Wolf, Bree
Home.
But he did not dare.
Again and again, he read his brother’s letter, reminding himself why he was staying and why he could not fail. Still, that was easier said than done.
As it seemed, Gusford had been far more successful in gaining the necessary information than Zach himself as none of the peers he’d addressed had felt the need to share anything of note with him.
“Yes, my lord,” Gusford confirmed in that annoyingly calm tone of his as though he were conversing about the weather. “He was killed a few weeks past in a duel.”
“A duel?” Zach frowned. “What about?”
Gusford’s lips thinned, and for a moment, he remained quiet, clearly unwilling to share more.
“Come, old man, we haven’t got all day!” Zach pressed, once more rising to his feet. While his statement was perhaps not completely truthful, he could not help but feel restless the longer his desire to return home remained unsatisfied.
Gusford drew in a slow breath. “Rumor has it,” he began, the sour tone in his voice clearly betraying what he thought of rumors as well as the habit of repeating them, “he was called out by a Lord Sandston, who had come to…suspect that Lord Mortimer had been…intimately acquainted with Lady Sandston not long ago.”
Zach snorted. “What a scoundrel! It would seem that Lord Mortimer was indeed a man of questionable character. After what he did in Boston, he still goes around seducing other men’s wives.” Shaking his head, Zach ran his hands through his hair. “Still, that should not come as a surprise.” He turned to look at his butler. “What about the ring?”
Gusford shook his head. “I’m afraid none of his servants knew anything about a ring as you described it, my lord.”
A curse flew from Zach’s lips, and Gusford flinched. “Sorry, old man,” Zach apologized before his legs began to carry him around the room aimlessly. “What is there left to be done?” he began to mumble to himself. “I can hardly search the man’s home, and if no one knows anything…” Sighing, he shook his head, then stopped and looked at Gusford, frustration swelling in his chest. “How am I to find a small item like a ring in a city like London?”
For a long while, not a muscle twitched in Gusford’s stoic face. The moment Zach was ready to give up and dismiss his butler, the man stepped forward. “Someone does know something,” he said, his voice calm, but adamant. “Someone always knows something…my lord.” The last part he added as though it were a mere afterthought.
Zach grinned. “But how can we find out who?”
Again, Gusford took his time answering, his blue eyes sweeping over Zach in an almost unobtrusive fashion. “May I be frank, my lord?”
Zach chuckled. “Have I not always asked you to be so? Was it not you who all but appeared scandalized at the mere thought of it?”
Gusford’s gaze narrowed.
“All right, old man,” Zach said, throwing up his hands. “Be as frank as you can, but you cannot begrudge me to be the same.”
Clearing his throat, Gusford lifted his chin a fraction. “There is a fixed code of conduct among upper society that dictates the terms of human interaction, my lord. While some things can be easily overlooked, others will soon see one cast from societal hub.”
Zach drew back his shoulders. “Are you saying I’m not acting as I should? That it’s my fault I’m not considered trustworthy by those snobs?”
An indulgent sigh left Gusford’s lips as though he were speaking to a child who refused to see reason. “Nothing will be gained by laying blame. The rules are the way they are, whether one would deem them just or not. Therefore, if one desires to move within said circle, one will have to act according to those rules.”
Zach grinned. “So, you are saying it is my fault?”
“Not in its entirety.”
“But partly?” Zach pressed, amused by the way his butler all but glared at him.
Gusford’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”
A large grin stretched over Zach’s face. “Bravo, old man. Uttering that single word went against everything you were trained to be, didn’t it?”
Gusford inhaled a slow breath. Yet the look on his face remained all but expressionless.
“Well, then what would you suggest, dear Gus? What do I need to do to fit in? To be considered trustworthy?” He shrugged. “Still, I cannot change how I grew up nor how my fortune was obtained.”
“If one conducts oneself with decorum, with time, people will see past it.” Gusford swallowed. “Eventually.”
Zach groaned. “That sounds like it will take an awful lot of time.”
His butler’s brows rose ever so slightly, a clear challenge.
Zack sighed at the thought of what lay ahead of him. Still, he could not deny that he was relieved to have Gusford at his side. “Fine. Where do we begin?”
In a rather monotonous voice, Gusford listed the many areas in which Zach possessed insufficient training. They ranged from posture, tone of voice and facial expression to conversational niceties, appropriate topics of conversation and correct forms of address, to name only a few. By the time, Gusford was done, Zach wished he was the one who’d been shot dead in a duel and not Lord Mortimer. It seemed the more appealing fate.
Still, there was no choice if he wished to see his brother’s guilt lifted, and so Zach begrudgingly placed himself in Gusford’s trusted hands, knowing he would hate every moment of it.
At least, Gusford might get a kick out of it!
It was the least the old man deserved.
Chapter Three
Whispers
“He is a magnificent animal, and I consider myself quite fortunate to have him.”
Meeting Lord Tedious’ gaze – for surely he had to be jesting, no one in his right mind would speak about a dog with such passion – Rebecca felt tempted to knock some sense into him. However, glancing to where Aunt Mildred and Uncle Conrad were watching their exchange from across the ballroom, Becca altered her tactic. “Truly?” she asked with as much disbelief as she could muster – not that that was a difficult feat. “But Great Danes are quite ugly, wouldn’t you say?”
To Lord Tedious’ credit, the friendly smile on his face never faltered. However, a spark of displeasure momentarily lit up his eyes at her open insult of his most trusted friend. “I suppose that lies in the eye of the beholder.”
Quite diplomatic, Rebecca thought, wondering what it would take to rile friendly-to-a-fault Lord Tedious in a way that he would lose his temper. Had he ever lost his temper?
Rebecca doubted it very much, and the thought of spending the remainder of her days by this man’s side turned her stomach.
The monotony.
The dullness.
The boredom.
And the goddamn dog!
“Are you all right, Miss Hawkins?” Lord Tedious asked, his green eyes slightly narrowed in concern. “You look a bit pale. Are you unwell?”
Sighing, Rebecca played the delicate female. “I must say I feel a tad faint.”
“Remain here,” Lord Tedious instructed eagerly. “I shall fetch you a refreshment.” And off he went with the utmost haste.
In these moments when the man showed his utterly caring side, Rebecca felt bad for toying with him. She truly ought to tell him outright that she’d rather cut out her heart than agree to be his wife. Yes, the thought was a bit melodramatic, but it only spoke to her deep conviction that the life he offered would make her miserable and no doubt send her to an early grave!
Again, perhaps a bit melodramatic, and yet, utterly fitting.
“What did you say to him?”
At the sound of her uncle’s voice, Rebecca flinched. Then she turned to meet his gaze, a hand to her heaving chest. “Uncle Conrad, why would you sneak up on me like this?”
“Lord Coleridge seemed displeased,” her uncle observed, glancing to where Lord Tedious was standing by the refreshment table. “What did you say to him?”
“Nothing,” Rebecca growled out, her eyes nar
rowed. “He merely offered to fetch me a drink. It is quite stuffy in here, wouldn’t you agree?”
Tugging on his tight collar, her uncle nodded. “Do try to be pleasant,” he hissed at her. “This is a desirable match, and it will benefit Caroline as well.”
Rebecca gritted her teeth, hating it when her uncle dragged her cousin’s welfare into this. After all, she, too, worried what would become of shy, obedient Caroline if she failed to catch a husband. “I’m well aware of it, Uncle. There’s no need to point it out.”
Her uncle’s eyes narrowed as he shot her a warning glare. Then he turned on his heels and hastened back to his wife’s side across the room from where they could watch their niece’s conduct.
Rebecca groaned.
“Here, drink this.”
Flinching for the second time that night, Rebecca spun around and almost knocked the proffered drink out of Lord Tedious’ hand.
With a practiced hand, he kept the liquid from sloshing over the rim and then once more held the drink out to her. “Perhaps we should step outside,” he suggested, casting a glance over his shoulder at the terrace. “A little fresh air will do you good. Do you think your uncle would object?”
Taking a sip from her glass, Rebecca knew that the opposite would, in fact, be true. “I doubt it,” she answered, “as long as we remain within sight.”
“The terrace it is then.” Offering her his arm, Lord Tedious led her through the crush of people and out onto the terrace where other couples as well as small groups of men and women stood conversing in the balmy evening air. “Better?” he asked, looking down at her.
Granting him a grateful smile, Rebecca nodded. Still, she could see her uncle craning his neck through the glassed terrace doors.
“Perhaps in order to truly appreciate Rufus,” Lord Tedious continued their earlier conversation, “you’d need to spend more time with him. As I said, he’s a magnificent animal, and I have no doubt that if you were to…”
Gritting her teeth, Becca merely nodded along, unable to listen to the man any further. If indeed she were to meet that wretched dog one day, he might not live to tell of it!
Relieved that Lord Tedious was satisfied with the occasional monosyllabic comment from her every once in a while, Rebecca allowed her mind to travel elsewhere. The fresh evening air felt heavenly, and it soothed the mild headache that always seemed to assault her whenever she found herself in Lord Tedious’ company.
“Have you heard? He’s come to London,” a lady to Rebecca’s right whispered to her friend.
“Who?” the other asked in a hushed tone.
“The new Lord Pembroke.”
“The American?”
“The very one,” the first lady giggled.
Rebecca frowned at the name as it sounded familiar. Still, it took her a moment to put the pieces together and remember the dear friend she’d met in school. A young woman with a similar disposition to Caroline’s, shy, timid, obedient, but kindhearted and caring. Her name was Eugenie Caswell, daughter to the Earl of Pembroke. Unfortunately, her father had passed on not long after his only son, Eugenie’s elder brother, had died in the war.
Rebecca had only heard bits and pieces about these events as she and Eugenie had not seen each other in over two years. Their lives had led them in different directions, and they’d drifted apart as was so often the case when two people no longer saw each other every day. Rebecca could not remember when she’d last written to Eugenie. She hadn’t even known of her friend’s marriage to one Lord Wentford until she’d seen the announcement in the paper.
Perhaps it was time to reach out to her again.
“You cannot be serious?” the first lady all but shrieked, then covered her mouth with her hand and huddled closer to her friend. “She was found alive after three years?”
The other lady nodded, her eyes aglow with triumph that tended to come with imparting information the other did not possess. “My cousin lives near Wentford Hall. She’s written to me about it, confirming that the rumors are true.”
“But what will become of the new countess?”
Rebecca’s heart paused as a sense of foreboding came over her. Wentford Hall? Were they talking about Lady Wentford? Eugenie? Her friend from school?
The second lady leaned ever closer, her voice dropping to a new low, that Rebecca found herself shifting onto her other foot, straining to hear. “Apparently, the marriage has been declared void as Lord Wentford’s first wife is still among the living.”
A shocked gasp left the first woman’s lips. “She’ll be ruined.”
“Apparently,” the second lady whispered, “Lord Wentford arranged for her to marry an old friend.” The woman’s eyes sparkled, and Rebecca’s heart tightened at the thought of the next bit of information she was about to impart. “Rumor has it that it’s the Beast of Ravengrove.”
The first lady looked ready to faint. “The scarred beast who lost his family to a fire, who can scarcely be called a man?”
“The very one.”
Rebecca felt her knees turn to water at the thought of her friend’s misfortune and wanted nothing more than to slap those two chattering hens, who were enjoying the heartbreak of another as though it had been meant for their entertainment.
Rebecca, too, liked to be well-informed. But there was a considerable difference between sharing a strategic bit of information and spreading news of a tragedy merely to amuse oneself.
Poor Eugenie! If indeed this gossip was true, then there was no telling what a kindhearted and gentle soul like her would suffer. The Beast of Ravengrove? Becca mused, wondering about a man who would inspire such a name.
Still, from experience, Rebecca knew that generally very little truth could be found at the bottom of such rumors. Perhaps the man was merely scarred, inside and out, by his experiences in the war. Perhaps he would be kind to her friend. Rebecca could only hope so for there was none other more deserving of a kind husband than Eugenie.
And Caroline, of course.
Glancing at Lord Tedious, who was still droning on about his insufferable dog, Rebecca wondered what would be worse: being married to Lord Tedious or the Beast of Ravengrove?
Perhaps she ought to see for herself what truth lay in the matter and visit her old friend. Circumstances had separated them for long enough. Perhaps it was time to renew their friendship. If only half the rumors were true, Eugenie could certainly use a friend and God knew that Rebecca could do with a little bit of distance from Lord Tedious.
It was, indeed, something to think about.
Of course, her uncle would refuse her. And yet, he could not do so if she simply were to forget to ask for permission. He would be furious, but that alone was reason to do so, was it not?
“So, what do you say?” Lord Tedious asked, a soft smile on his lips as he looked at her expectantly. “Would you like that?”
Drat! Rebecca cursed silently as she had no idea what it was he was asking. “Well, it…does sound like…a,” she inhaled a deep breath, “good idea?” Her voice rose into a question as she waited for his reaction.
Clearly pleased, Lord Tedious beamed at her. “I’m relieved you think so. I assure you that Rufus will steal your heart as he’s stolen mine. I shall speak to your uncle about an appropriate place and time for our outing.” Eager steps carried him from her side.
Rebecca groaned. Had she just agreed to meet the man’s damned dog? It would seem she had. Indeed, it was time to consider leaving London for a little respite or she would surely lose her mind. Now, on how to go about it?
Chapter Four
A Siren’s Call
Zach was done with English society, done with England in general!
Standing in the arched entryway that opened up the wide corridor into the vaulted ballroom, Zach allowed his gaze to sweep over the crème de la crème of English society…and his scowl deepened.
Never in his life had he met people more arrogant, more condescending, more vain. It seemed that nothing else mattered
but a family’s lineage, their fortune as well as its origin, connections and the strict adherence to proper conduct…as ludicrous as these rules proved to be!
In a nutshell, Zach was furious and frustrated and would have turned his back on England and all of its inhabitants in a heartbeat if it hadn’t been for the pain lurking between the lines in his brother’s letter. The thought of Nate’s broken heart still haunted him, for Zach knew how fiercely his brother had loved Abigail.
The only way to soothe his brother’s wounds at least a little would be by seeing his father’s ring returned to their family.
Unfortunately, that still proved to be an impossible feat!
Despite Gusford’s diligent instructions and Zach’s every effort to listen and obey, most of his peers still looked at him as though he were a bug they’d like to squash. Perhaps he was a bit dramatic in this assessment, however, none of his inquiries had born fruit so far. The only change in people’s opinions toward him was that apparently they were beginning to consider him a potential marriage prospect for their daughters.
Daughters who were equally arrogant, condescending and vain. They giggled without thought, batted their eyes at him without ever truly looking at him and congratulated him without shame on inheriting his uncle’s title. As though the man’s life had meant nothing!
Zach had to use every ounce of self-control in order to keep a straight face and smile and nod as Gusford had instructed. By the time these events came to an end, his face generally felt as though it would never again recover from the grotesque mask he’d forced on it all evening.
Every night, Gusford reminded him that it would take time and patience to change the way people looked at him. But time and patience were things Zach had very little of.
A few weeks past, he’d sought out Lord Mortimer’s heir, the man’s cousin, and politely informed him of Lord Mortimer’s dealings in Boston, asking to buy back the ring in question. The man had laughed in his face and shaken his head, mumbling something about silly girls.