The Scarred Heir

by Denise Patrick

  “I see no reason why I should contact him. It is not as if your father named him your guardian.”

  She relaxed. “True. Although, as my aunt was kind enough to sponsor me for my season, I will contact them soon. If only to let them know I have not yet breathed my last. In the meantime, I will need access to some funds. I need a completely new wardrobe, then I plan to return to Statler Hall.”

  Mr. Payne nodded. “Very well, Miss. If you will have the bills sent to me, I will ensure they are dealt with.”

  Once in the carriage on the way back to the Pulteney, she breathed a sigh of relief. “That was not too bad.”

  “You did very well,” Max told her. “And I think telling the solicitor that you could tell us apart without divulging that I wasn’t really Royden was a stroke of genius.”

  “It was a fine line. But I’m glad I managed it without an obvious lie.”

  Max left Sarah in her room with the modiste after lunch. Mindful of Dodson’s words about being seen, he took a hackney to his destination then told the driver to return for him in two hours. As the hack rumbled away, he turned to look at the wall. It wasn’t as tall as he remembered it, but he tried the gate first and found it open. Slipping through, he found himself in a neat, well-kept garden.

  He knew it was only sheer luck that allowed him to traverse the garden and slip into the back door of the house unnoticed, and he sent profuse thanks skyward for that bit of fortune. Standing in the shadow of the rear stairs, he debated where to go first. The decision was made for him as he heard soft footfalls coming down the hall. He stole up the stairs on silent feet, breathing a sigh of relief when he reached the upper floor.

  There was no sound on the floor and he crept down the hall to the door at the end and slipped inside. He did not expect the brightness that met his eyes, but it allowed him to immediately ascertain that the room, and the attached dressing room whose door stood open, were empty. The faint smell of sandalwood mixed with another scent reached him, relieving his fear that he hadn’t remembered correctly.

  He had no idea what he was searching for as he carefully rifled through the Hepplewhite chest and bedside cabinets. He found plenty of IOUs and markers, most marked paid, but their amounts didn’t add up to anything large. Had David taken to frequent gambling? He supposed it was possible that what Dodson saw as payoffs were actually the settling of debts of honor. Perhaps David and Sir Samuel often found themselves on opposite sides of gaming tables. He shook his head. That didn’t sound like David either. Of course, he no longer knew his brother, so anything was possible.

  There was a recipe for a salve for skin irritations and a small vial of clear liquid that was unlabeled. Nothing suspicious there.

  The dressing room was next. A thorough search of David’s clothing revealed no incriminating letters or anything else out of the ordinary. He did note, however, that his brother had coats with gold and silver trimming. It made him pause again and wonder why David would feel the need to impersonate him. Or why, with Max out of the country, he still used the same method his mother had used to tell them apart.

  As he left his brother’s room, he glanced at the door across the hall then turned toward the back stairs. He hesitated. Something pulled him back and he moved toward the door without thought. He wasn’t sure what drew him, but he needed to take a peek. Just one peek inside. Then he would go. He reached for the knob but drew back, shaking his head. Nothing would be gained by looking. He had other things to do. He turned to go again and, once more, the decision was taken from him as he heard soft footfalls on the stairs. Quickly, he slipped inside his old room.

  The stillness, the emptiness was what he noticed first. Oh, the room was clean enough, but there was no life. It was as if he’d entered a room where a death had occurred recently. From beyond the door he could hear muted voices. He couldn’t leave yet.

  There was very little of him left in the room. Curiosity compelled him to look around. The few clothes he’d left behind still hung in the dressing room along with a cleaned and pressed uniform. Strange. He hadn’t remembered bringing a uniform to London. He thought they had all been destroyed. Certainly the one he’d worn in his last battle had been shredded by his injuries and the doctors who treated him. He didn’t remember even seeing a uniform once he was back in England. Perhaps Dodson had brought this one back before he was taken to Calderbrooke.

  The voices in the hall had moved on and he cracked the door open to see if it was clear. Silently, he crept down the back stairs and into the hall. The knocker on the front door sounded as he stood in the shadows behind the staircase. The entryway boasted two marble columns on either side of the staircase, which now provided a hiding place. He pressed himself against the wall beneath the stairs and behind a column as the butler crossed the front hall to open the door. The door to the library was on the other side of the hall, but just out of sight of the front door.

  Glancing to his right then left, Max moved swiftly across to the door. Once inside, he breathed a sigh of relief. At least he needn’t go back into the hall to get out. He’d just slip out of one of the library windows facing the alley to the mews.

  The library had never been a very large room. What it lacked in size, though, it more than made up for in unique features. One such feature was a half-story gallery reached by a spiral stair. As far as he and David knew, it was rarely used by anyone except themselves when they were young, although someone cleaned it regularly enough. As boys they’d often climbed to the small sitting area, hiding first from their governess, then tutor, before being sent off to school. Absently, he wondered if David ever climbed up there anymore. Shaking off the memories, he turned toward the desk, a monstrous piece of oak furniture sitting almost directly below the gallery.

  He sat on the floor and began his search in the bottom drawers, and was rewarded almost instantly. Tucked in the back of one of the bottom drawers he found a small book. Here was part of the information he needed. David had been paying someone identified as SA and another person identified as GW large amounts regularly up until three months ago. The payments to GW stopped then, but SA’s continued. It looked as if payments were being made at least twice a month. Why?

  Another document in the drawer was a deed in the name of M. David Dayton to a small estate in Sussex. Templeton Manor. A piece of paper attached identified its location, which Max calculated as being less than a day’s ride from Calder Lodge. Max frowned. Templeton Manor was familiar, but the significance was just out of reach. Perhaps he’d ask the family solicitor about it.

  He was replacing his finds when he heard the sound of a carriage coming to a stop in front of the house. Thankful the drawer closed silently, he hurried to his feet and headed for one of the windows facing the alley running alongside the house.

  As he opened the window, he heard the sounds of booted feet outside the library door. He only managed to climb through the open window and drop to the ground before he heard the door to the library open. Flattening himself against the side of the house, he froze. His leg throbbed from the abuse and he couldn’t close the window without being seen. His jaw clenched knowing that if he tried to move on this gravel, he might very well be heard. His only choice for now was to stay still and hope whoever was in the library wouldn’t notice the open window.

  “Now, tell me what you know.” He was certain that was David’s demanding voice, and he cocked his ear in the direction of the window to listen.

  “She’s back. That’s all I know,” a timid voice responded. “I was out delivering some papers, so I didn’t see her myself. But when I returned Mr. Payne told me Miss Standish had returned.”

  “That’s all?” David’s voice rose. “So where is she?”

  “That’s not all. One of the other clerks told me she came in with a gentleman. He thought he heard her say the gentleman was her fiancé.”

  “He thought? I don’t pay you for speculation,” David snapped. “Did you, by any chance, find out where she was staying? Or who t
his fiancé is?”

  “No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. I know where she’s staying. She’s at the Pulteney. But I didn’t find out who the gentleman was.”

  “Well, that’s something. Any idea how long she’ll be in London?”

  “Mr. Payne said she was ordering a new wardrobe, so I would say at least a week. Then he said she was headed for Statler Hall.”

  “I see.” David’s voice was lower now, but it had taken on a speculative tone. The silence stretched for at least a minute, then he said, “Let me know as soon as she leaves town. And not a word of this to Sir Samuel.”

  The clerk’s voice had a nervous catch in it. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

  “Any word from Jarvey, yet?”

  “No word, but I heard a rumor he’s dead. I’ve been trying to confirm it.”

  “I see. Find out what you can as soon as you can. He should have been back by now. I don’t want any more slip-ups.” Max heard a drawer open, close, the clink of coins then David’s voice again. “There’ll be more next time if the information is better. Now go. And make sure no one sees you leave.”

  Max looked around. It was midafternoon. How in the world could the clerk leave and not be seen by anyone? Then it hit him and, heedless of the pain in his leg, he sprinted down toward the mews. If the clerk exited out the back gate and saw the hackney Max was sure should be waiting for him, he might feel compelled to go back and tell David. Luckily for him, the clerk took his time walking through the garden so Max was able to give the driver directions and hop in before the clerk emerged from the back gate. Slouching down so he couldn’t be seen meant that Max also did not see the clerk’s face.

  “Damn!” he swore as the hackney carried him away from the Calderbrooke townhouse toward Piccadilly. What the hell was David up to? And why did he care that Sarah was back?

  Sarah spent the afternoon poring over pattern books and fashion plates. She was thrilled to discover Madame Marchand remembered her from two years ago, and happily allowed the modiste to guide her through the newest fashions.

  She dithered over whether to order at least one ball gown, but found two patterns irresistible and so ordered two. Madame promised her at least two day dresses over the next three days, and Sarah agreed to come to the shop for a fitting for the evening and ball gowns near the end of the week. By tea time, Sarah was exhausted.

  “I don’t know why,” she told Max as she poured him a cup. “I never even left the room.”

  “Perhaps it was the excitement,” he replied as he watched her add two lumps of sugar to his tea then hand it to him. “I’ve been told that young ladies find shopping—even from the comfort of their own homes—exhilarating.”

  “I’m not sure I ever found it exhilarating, but it’s wonderful to be able to look one’s best. And new clothes do that, I suppose.”

  He chuckled. “I should probably take myself off to a tailor tomorrow and order myself some new clothes as well. The wardrobe I brought with me from France is probably adequate, but not for someone who wants to blend in.”

  It was her turn to smile as she looked over at him. She didn’t see anything wrong with the coat, shirt and breeches he wore. And his neckcloth was nicely tied, not that she knew much about how men tied their cravats. The breeches fit him almost like a second skin and she blushed as her eyes snapped to his face. She took a sip of her tea to cover her confusion. “Did you finish your errands this afternoon?”

  The quirk of his lips caused her to blush hotter and she set her cup and saucer down on the low table before they gave away her shaking hands. Selecting a biscuit, she bit into it before looking back up to find him watching her.

  “Not all of them.” Suddenly he was all business as he sat forward and put his own cup and saucer down beside hers. “I went to the Calderbrooke townhouse.”

  Shocked, she stared up at him. “You did? Why?”

  “Because I wanted to look for something. You needn’t worry that anyone saw me. They never knew I was there.”

  Relief blossomed in her chest. “Oh. Did you find anything of interest?”

  “I think my man is correct about David being blackmailed. I found a book of payments being made to two people, but one payment stopped about three months ago. The other is to someone named SA. Another payment is due to be made in two days. I think I’ll set Dodson to watch the house on that day and note who comes and goes.”

  “SA? You think that might be my uncle?”

  “It’s possible, but with only initials to go on we can only speculate.” He picked up a small sandwich and popped the entire thing in his mouth. After a few moments, he said, “There’s a spy in your solicitor’s office.”

  “A spy? What do you mean?”

  “As I was leaving, David came home. He wasn’t alone and I was standing under the library window. I didn’t see who it was, but the person informed him you were back. It shouldn’t be too hard to find out who it was because he was out of the office when we were there. I can have Dodson ask around, or we can go to Mr. Payne and reveal all. How much do you trust him?”

  Dread engulfed her. What if he told her uncle she was back? Did the clerk know where she was staying? How much did he know and how would they find out?

  “I-I don’t know. I never met him before today.”

  Max rose and walked to the window. As he stood with his back to her, she admired his figure. Physically, he was so much like David. Had she not known of his duplicity, she would have married David willingly, thinking her attraction more than superficial. But Max drew her not only with his physical attributes, but also his kindness, sensitivity and something else she couldn’t define. She hadn’t lied to Mr. Payne earlier. She was certain she could distinguish Max from David.

  Careful, her inner voice warned. You don’t want to fall for him. You want to be independent. Your own person. She sighed. She did want all that, but someday she wanted a home of her own and children too. As an only child, she’d wished many times for brothers and sisters to play with, but when her mother died and her father had no inclination to remarry, that hope was lost.

  At least he doesn’t want your inheritance. That thought calmed her. Hadn’t he told her David had no need of her inheritance? But David was the heir. David would someday be the Earl of Calderbrooke. What about Max?

  “I sensed he was trustworthy,” Max interrupted her thoughts. “But I will admit I was distracted.” He turned and looked at her intently enough to make her blush.

  “My father trusted his father, but the elder Mr. Payne would not help me when I told him I didn’t want to marry David. I was afraid today I might have been faced with him and not know what to do. I am sorry to hear he is in ill health, but I am not sorry I don’t have to deal with him any longer.”

  Max was quiet. The small clock on the mantelpiece ticked away the minutes. At another time and with another person, the silence would have been unnerving, but here and now, it was comforting. As if the two of them had slipped into comfortable domesticity where neither needed to talk to communicate.

  She sighed. Replete from her tea, she relaxed against the cushions of the sofa and closed her eyes.

  “At least,” Max finally spoke, “your uncle will not learn of your presence. I heard David tell his informant not to tell your uncle you had returned.”

  She heard Max approach and stop beside the sofa. Was he looking down at her? What did he see?

  “Would you like to go for a walk?”

  Her eyes popped open and she found herself staring up into misty-colored eyes. Heat washed over her.

  “A walk?”

  He nodded. “I thought you might like to get out for a bit. Since this is the time of day when we are least likely to encounter many members of the ton, I thought a walk might be in order.”

  Once again his thoughtfulness struck her. David had never deliberately been alone with her and he certainly never sought out her company. Nor did he ever seem to care about her comfort.

  She’d been cooped up all da
y. Oh, she’d been out. Once. But she’d ridden in the carriage to the solicitor’s office and back.

  She rose to her feet. “I’d love to. Thank you for thinking of it.”

  A short time later they were in a hackney headed for Hyde Park. The early evening was still comfortably warm, so she’d only worn a pea-green spencer over her light green muslin walking dress.

  Max directed the driver to stop near the river, and helped her out, keeping her hand on his arm as they strolled. The park was nearly deserted at this time of day, the only sound that of the light breeze rustling through the trees and the occasional splash of water from the Serpentine. Raising her face to allow the brush of cool air against her cheeks, she sighed in pleasure.

  Max’s arm was warm under her fingers, the muscles firm beneath the sleeve of his coat. She paid little attention to where they walked, content to let Max guide her.

  “Do you know who the heir to your father’s title might be?”

  Max’s question startled her. “No,” she answered after a moment. “I don’t think I’ve ever really thought about it. I’m sure my father never mentioned it to me. Why?”

  “I wonder why someone might want not only your father dead, but you as well.”

  Shocked, she stopped and he turned to look down at her. “Me? Why would anyone want me dead? And why would you think that?”

  “Mr. Payne this morning mentioned that he was glad to discover that the rumors of your death were unfounded. I am merely questioning why anyone would start such a rumor.”

  “I-I hadn’t considered that.” She turned and started walking again. He fell into step beside her. “I think I assumed it might have been because I had been out of circulation for so long.” Glancing sideways up at him, she noticed his eyes were on her. Hope spread through her at the concern she saw there. “Regardless, the only people who would benefit from my death now are the patients in Bedlam, students at Oxford and Eton, and the worshipers at the small village church near Statler Hall.”