Once Upon
a
Christmas Knight
barbara devlin
copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2017 Barbara Devlin
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Barbara Devlin
The Pirates of the Coast Badge is a registered trademark ® of Barbara Devlin.
Cover art by Lewellen Designs
Interior Art by Dar Albert
ISBN: 978-1-945576-82-9
Dedication
For my readers, because you inspire me.
once upon a christmas knight
prologue
London
April, 1813
Scandal manifested a great equalizer, as neither man nor woman and neither king nor peasant escaped the accompanying derision, censure, and isolation. For some the ensuing loneliness presented a hellish torture, unbearable in its relentless assault. For others, for those who welcomed shelter from the glare of the social spotlight, disgrace offered sanctuary.
It was in the quiet confines of the shadows that Percival Henry Forester Howe, beloved cousin of Barrington Howe, the Marquess of Ravenwood, found safe harbor from the usual harried pursuits of The Season, which he always disdained. Owing to his estimable lineage, he had no choice but to endure the gross opulence that characterized the ton, but things had changed since last year.
After a night out, Barrington returned to find a murdered maid in his bed, and rather than face the associated investigation, he fled a humiliating arrest and criminal charges. Of course, not for a minute did Percy believe his relation capable of committing such a heinous deed, but innocence mattered not to people who thirsted for the misery of others. In the wake of the nefarious events, the entire Howe family, including Ernest, Barrington’s younger brother, bore the resulting shame.
So, at the Netherton’s masque, he savored the anonymity provided by his medieval knight costume, as he strolled through the crush of revelers. Still, he grew restless and sought the peaceful confines of an empty study, when he detected a graceful melody coming from the rear of the grand residence.
Moving swift and sure, he tiptoed into a music room, where a lone woman, garbed as an angel, complete with gold mesh wings, played the piano. In an instant, he recognized the fluid beauty of Mozart’s signature “Andante” from Piano Concerto Twenty-one, in the hands of a skilled musician. Light and quick, her fingers caressed the ivories, and she tilted back her head and closed her eyes, as she gave herself to the elegant composition, and never had he looked upon such an ethereal vision, unmatched in its appeal. Without thought, he neared, and she flinched and halted her play when she noticed his presence.
“Who are you?” Clutching her throat, she emitted a soft sob. “What are you doing here?”
“Why, you are crying.” Given she had removed her masque, he could not miss the tears streaming her delicate cheeks, and he drew his handkerchief from his pocket, knelt at her side, and offered her the square of linen, which she accepted. “It strikes me as the height of cruelty that the most beautiful woman at the ball should hide in a back room.”
“You think me beautiful?” Margaret Hogart, known throughout the ton as the lesser twin, bit her bottom lip, and he found her inexpressibly appealing. “Not that I believe you, because no one ever sees me.” She hiccupped. “Everyone prefers Miranda, not that I am envious, because I am proud of my sister, but I wish just one person might consider me adequate and favor me with a dance.”
“I find you a vast deal more than adequate, and your talent is unparalleled and altogether surprising.” As he revisited memories of the last Hogart musicale, a painful experience nonetheless remarkable for her less than stellar performance, he chuckled. “Why do you pretend to be something other than what you are, my dear, as you do us all a grave injustice?”
“Because I detest those musicales, but my mother insists I participate.” With a frown, she lowered her chin and slumped her shoulders. “And Miranda can neither sing nor play an instrument, thus I would not embarrass her.”
“So you temper your abilities to avoid outshining your sister, in your forte, but she does not do the same for you, in the ballrooms, where she reigns.” He tucked a stray tendril behind her ear and caressed the gentle curve of her jaw. “You are as stunning on the inside as you are on the outside.”
To his surprise, she leaned forward, and he could not resist the implied invitation. With care, so as not to frighten her, he touched his mouth to hers, and she whimpered, and hers was the sweetest flesh he ever sampled.
“Oh.” Just as fast, she withdrew and stiffened her spine. “I should apologize, but I would not lie, as I could never regret my first kiss, and I am in your debt, kind knight.”
“Trust me, the debt is mine.” Given their location, he realized he risked her reputation, and she was far too young to be thus tainted, so he stood. “If you return to the celebration, I would be honored to claim a dance.”
“Of course, I would love to partner you. Will you take off your masque, that I might gaze upon your face?” Clutching his handkerchief to her bosom, she rose from the bench, and he would have given anything to exist as that simple scrap of material, in that moment. “And I would know to whom I am beholden, as you know me.”
“You should wait here, until I have rejoined the festivities.” Ignoring her entreaties, he retreated toward the door. If only he were not mired in controversy, he would offer for her. But he could not, in good conscience, entangle her in the tempest that was his life, given he knew not when or if his cousin would return to London and settle his dispute with the authorities, once and for all. “Later, I shall seek you out, perhaps, for a waltz.”
“I look forward to it, kind sir.” Then she stepped in his direction. “Wait—I do not know your name. What should I call you?”
There were so many responses, suggestions he might give her, were he not hindered by the actions of another. Yet, he could not leave her wanting, when she already yearned for something more, which he was in no position to offer.
“At present, I should count myself most fortunate, if you considered me a friend.” As Percy crossed the threshold, an idea occurred to him, and he glanced over his shoulder and winked. “And should you beckon, I would answer to Prince Charming.”
once upon a christmas knight
chapter one
London
December, 1819
Fear and ignorance manifested an impressive shield against the cruelties of the world, as the tortured soul never ventured to take a chance on life or love. Alone and willing to let fate drive his destiny, the coward had only to contrive a response, one that required little participation on his part. Yet, the inherently human characteristic of curiosity lured even the most irresolute man to gamble on a woman’s heart.
It was for that reason Percival Howe agreed to meet with the sender of a most mysterious missive, when he prepared to depart for Derbyshire, to spend the holidays with his family. Had it been any other gentleman, he would not have given the note, and its singular plea for assistance, a second glance.
The particular individual, an estimable member of the society, possessed something precious, an invaluable masterpiece Percy coveted. Yet, no one knew of his admiration, because he lacked the courage to act on his regard, but the winds of change blew in his dire
ction.
“A Mr. Hogart to see you, sir.” Fenton, the butler, stood in the doorway to the study. “Shall I show him to the drawing room?”
“No.” Percy adjusted his cravat and tugged on the lace-edged cuff of his sleeve. “You may bring him here.”
“Yes, sir.” The manservant dipped his chin.
Rolling his shoulders, Percy walked to the window and peered at the sidewalk, as passersby, their arms overflowing with parcels, rushed in either direction. For too long he persisted on the fringe of the ton, always afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing. Not so, anymore.
“Mr. Hogart.” Fenton stiffened his spine.
“Thank you, Fenton.” With an outstretched hand, Percy welcomed his guest, and they shared a vigorous shake. “Mr. Hogart, it is good to make your acquaintance, at last, given I have had the distinct pleasure of attending your wife’s musicales. Must confess I found your missive rather intriguing.”
“I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your agreeing to see me on such short notice, but I am told you are the man to help me with my particular issue, which requires discretion.” Hogart compressed his lips. “Might I sit?”
“Of course.” Percy indicated one of the matching chairs near the hearth, where a roaring blaze warmed the study. “May I offer you a brandy?”
“Indeed, as I believe I require a balm to alleviate, if it is at all possible, the shock of my sad tale.” As Hogart eased to his seat, he unbuttoned his coat. “And I am doubly grateful of your hospitality, if you have endured Beryl’s torture sessions. Really, I do not understand why she persists in such nonsense.”
“A provoking statement.” After filling two crystal balloons, Percy joined his visitor, and handed Hogart a drink. “And I would not dare cast aspersions on your wife’s events, as they have afforded me countless hours of entertainment.”
“For all the wrong reasons.” Hogart snorted. “I suppose I should thank that idiot Kleinfeld for marrying Miranda, when everyone knows she can neither sing nor play an instrument.”
“To comment further would be unkind, so I shall confine my remarks to the situation that brought you to my doorstep.” Still, Percy could barely contain his laughter, as the Hogart musicales posited the greatest longstanding joke within London’s fashionable ballrooms. “So, what can I do for you?”
“First, I beg the utmost discretion, as what I am about to reveal could ruin my reputation and destroy my family.” Hogart shifted his weight and cleared his throat. “In light of the scandal involving your mother, and the ton’s propensity to seize upon such misfortune, you can appreciate the need for secrecy.”
“Sir, whatever your trouble, you can rely on me.” Indeed, Percy knew well society’s fickle nature. In the wake of his mother’s crimes, in which she conspired with a servant to murder an innocent maid and place the blame on another family member, so that her son could inherit a marquessate that was not his to own, he had been shunned by those who once welcomed him into their homes and by others who once sought his counsel. “Whatever we discuss, you have my word it will not leave this room.”
“Thank you, Mr. Howe.” With shaky fingers, Hogart lifted his glass. “Three years ago, I solicited the services of Mr. Ratking, to manage and invest the vast holdings of my estate, for a nominal fee, based on the glowing endorsement of a close acquaintance who shall remain nameless, as he finds himself in similar circumstances. Do you know of Ratking?”
“A little, because I make it my business to know those in finance, but he conceals his methods, so there is not much to recommend him.” For some reason Percy could not quantify, he did not trust Ratking, and when a friend expressed approval of the taciturn investor and offered to arrange an appointment, he politely declined the invitation. “But I would never put all my eggs in one basket, as any downturn in the market could be disastrous, and I would be suspicious of anyone encouraging such risky behavior.”
“How I wish I had spoken to you before I did just that.” In that moment, Hogart winced. “Instead, I made the mistake of entrusting the whole of my estate into Ratking’s care, and I lived to regret it.”
“I take it his efforts produced naught, and you seek another advisor?” Percy reflected in the various intricacies the responsibility entailed. “To be honest, despite what you may have heard, that is not really my game, as I manage a portion of wealth for various relations and friends, but not for personal gain and most definitely not for business.”
“Would that it were so simple, Mr. Howe.” With a heavy sigh, Hogart pulled a sheaf of papers from a leather satchel and passed the documents to Percy. “Recently, I engaged an auditor, under the supervision of my solicitor, to conduct a thorough review of my accounts. You will find his report and startling conclusions, on the last page.”
“All right.” At first glance, Percy admired the estimable fortune, indicative of generations of prudent ventures and acquisitions. The subsequent projections struck him as reasonable, even during the war. But the image turned bleak, the further he delved into the information, in direct association with Ratking’s influence. When he perused the final assessment, he read and reread the numbers. “How is this possible? You linger on the brink of—”
“Insolvency.” Compressing his lips, Hogart shook his head. “Mr. Howe, I am at your mercy, as the situation is grim, and I could be facing bankruptcy as early as next April, if I do nothing.”
“But, I do not understand.” Again, Percy flipped through the papers. “What happened to all your money? While I can decipher the reduction in your balances, nothing explains the loss of your sizeable fortune, in such a short span of time. Even if Ratking were the most incompetent of financiers, he should have had some successes through sheer luck and simple odds, yet your capital steadily dwindled each month.”
“You would think.” Hogart leaned against the armrest and cradled his chin in his palm. “But it appears there is a method to his incredibly consistent ineptitude, which defies credence, and a forensic examiner believes the pattern of uniform losses suggests a far more nefarious supposition.”
“Forgive my impertinence, sir, but why did you leave the sum of your future in the charge of a bungling manager, when the statement of transactions painted such a bleak portrait?” Percy scanned the ledger and shuddered. “After two months’ worth of losses, three at the most, I would have terminated the arrangement, posthaste. Why did you remain his client?”
“Therein lies the core of my stupidity.” Hogart averted his stare. “During Ratking’s tenure, I received verbal assurances as to the health of my accounts, and I am ashamed to admit I accepted them, without question.”
“Do you mean to say he provided naught but his claims as to his returns?” When Hogart nodded, Percy swallowed hard, as he could scarcely digest the predicament. “He extended no physical proof of his abilities and expertise?”
“None.” To Percy’s shock, Hogart bent forward and wept. “What am I going to do? While Miranda is just married to Sir Kleinfeld, I have her sister to support, as well as my wife, not to mention the generations of Hogarts past, and I would not have them bear the burden of my miscalculation.”
“Sir, it is to your credit that your first thought is of their safety and reputation, when you are equally encumbered and imperiled.” Resting elbows to knees, Percy gazed into the blaze, as the flames flickered in the hearth. “What is it you ask of me?”
“Your cousin, the marquess of Ravenwood, declared you a miracle worker, and it is at his insistence that I am here, prostrate, and begging for your assistance.” Wiping his eyes, Hogart sniffed. “Please, Mr. Howe. You are our only hope.”
“Inasmuch as I appreciate Barrington’s glowing testament to my character, I cannot claim such talents, as I am but human.” After another quick scan of the tally, Percy reflected on his aptitude and the opportunity Hogart posed. Perhaps, if Percy could save the Hogarts, he just might salvage something of his own destiny, because, heaven help him, he was lonely. “If I do this, I shall enlist th
e aid of my solicitor, a man of great prudence and tact, because if I make inquiries, I could impact the efficacy of the investigation, to your detriment, given my skills are quite known in society. And I must have your promise that, should we discover anything nefarious in Ratking’s dealings with you, we will take your case to the authorities, as I suspect you are not alone.”
“I understand and support your efforts, wholeheartedly.” After pulling a handkerchief from his coat pocket, Hogart blew his nose, with a resounding blare. “And I received an invitation to celebrate the holidays with your family, at Whitstone, given Lord Ernest’s wife is creating my daughter’s new wardrobe, which I am inclined to accept, if you will be in attendance, that we might further our discussion, as I must economize and retrench, and I would avail myself of your direction.”
“Of course, I will gather with my relations, especially in light of the felicitous news of Henrietta’s pregnancy.” Percy chuckled. “Given her delicate condition, Ernest is beside himself, and he dotes on her without shame. In fact, the reason we assemble at Whitstone, as opposed to Garring Manor, is because Ernest will not permit Henrietta to make the short journey to the Ravenwood ancestral pile.” And how he envied his cousin, because he yearned for a wife and children. “Yet, I do not blame him, as I would do the same, were I in his position.”
“How well I remember those days, when Beryl and I celebrated our joyous news.” Hogart smiled. “She had a devil of a time, given she carried twins, and while I wanted a son, I prayed for a healthy babe, and we were doubly blessed. However, owing to complications, my wife was never able to conceive another child.”
“That is all that matters, is it not, and I am sorry for your difficulties?” Before Percy met the grand dame’s other half, he knew not what to expect in John Hogart, but he comprehended why their marriage worked, in that moment. “And I am more than happy to compose a budget, based on your reduced holdings, as well as a margin for investment, that we might dig you out of the mess Ratking created.”
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