The Duke's Brother

by Claudia Stone

  “My Lady has asked if you would like to accompany her while she visits some of her charities,” Sarah said with a sniff. The young girl had never forgiven Aurelia for her snootish tone on the first morning and as such wore the expression of a suffering martyr whenever she had to deal with Aurelia.

  “Oh,” Aurelia replied, her eyes bleary with sleep. It was hours before eight o’clock, the time she usually woke at; “Is she leaving this early?”

  “Oh, no M’am,” Sarah’s tone was innocent; “I just forgot to ask you last night is all. So, shall I tell her when she wakes that you’d like to accompany her?”

  “Yes please,” Aurelia replied, trying to keep the querulous tone from her voice. Her stomach rumbled loudly and she looked at the maid hopefully; “Is breakfast served yet Sarah?”

  “Oh, no M’am,” the girl responded with a wicked smile; “It’s far too early for that.”

  The door clicked shut as the girl ducked out, leaving a frustrated Aurelia staring up at the canopy of her bed. The grey light of dawn was creeping into the room through a chink in the curtains and Aurelia decided that since she was awake, she might as well rise.

  She washed in cold water, not wanting to ring for Sarah, least she quarreled with the girl, and then dressed quickly in a simple dress of white lawn. The sound of pots and pans clattering in the kitchen could be heard as she descended the sweeping staircase; breakfast was being prepared at least, even if it was not yet ready.

  A strange feeling of restlessness crept over Aurelia, as she realised that there was at least an hour to while away before breakfast was served. She did not feel comfortable enough in the Sutherland’s home to simply take up residence in the Marquess’ library reading a book, or to deposit herself on the sofa in Lady Caroline’s drawing room. True Caroline had become a friend, but Aurelia was still only officially there as her paid companion.

  A walk might be nice, she decided.

  The palatial home of the Marquess of Sutherland faced out onto St. James’ Square, which had a private, enclosed garden at its centre, available for residents’ use only. Lady Caroline had gifted Aurelia a key on her first day, which she had kept in her Purse of Practicality, for moments just like this. The square itself was quiet when she stole out the door into the misty morning air, save the milk-cart which was turning down Charles Street towards Pall Mall. The gate to the garden, which was wrought iron and painted black like the railings, was unlocked when Aurelia arrived, and she pushed it open without a second thought. Perhaps it was a governess out with her young charges, she mused as she made her way along the path, for who else would be awake this early? Birds sang in the trees above her head, and she allowed herself to hum softly as she took in the fresh air and the peace and quiet of the gardens…

  “Oh!”

  The sight before her caused Aurelia to gasp aloud. In the clearing that the path led to, which was concealed by high evergreen bushes, was Sebastian Black, stripped down to his shirt sleeves, performing push ups on the grass. Aurelia allowed herself a moment to savour the sight of the strong, sinewy muscles of his arms and shoulders as he performed his exercises with ease and grace. Last night when Aurelia had compared Sebastian with his brother she had thought that he was not as broad or as muscular as the Duke, but now she could clearly see how wrong she had been. Where the Duke of Blackmore possessed heavy, bulky muscles - Sebastian’s were lithe, like a panthers’, but even more threatening for their elegance which suggested a deadly speed.

  Reluctantly Aurelia tore her eyes away from the exotic sight of a near undressed Sebastian, and took a step backwards, hoping to escape before she was seen. But her boot landed on a rather large twig, which snapped with an ominously loud crack, sounding even louder in the quiet mornings’ air.

  “Aurelia?”

  Sebastian was on his feet in a second. He strode towards her, blissfully unaware that the top buttons of his white shirt were open, revealing the glimpse of tanned skin and the hint of the beginning of dark, black curls. Aurelia gulped; she had never seen a spectacle so primal and masculine in all her life.

  “I wasn’t spying on you,” she squeaked as he reached where she stood.

  “I didn’t think you were,” was his amused response. He bent down to collect his jacket, which was folded on the grass by Aurelia’s feet, and carelessly donned it.

  “What are you doing up so early?” he asked, looking down at her curiously.

  Was it Aurelia’s imagination or was he acting more aloof than usual?

  “I woke early and had nothing to do while I waited for breakfast, so I -” she gestured to the gardens they stood in; “So I decided to take a walk. And you?”

  “I always exercise before breakfast,” Sebastian shrugged, he seemed almost wary of her; “Sometimes I ride, on other days I do strengthening exercises - you’ve caught me on one of the other days. As you can see.”

  She didn’t mean to, but as he held his arms out, her eyes traversed his body from top to toe, a blush staining her cheeks.

  “Do you like what you see Aurelia?” Sebastian asked with amusement, as her eyes finished their impudent journey up his body and finally reached his face.

  “I -,” Aurelia licked her lips, which had suddenly gone dry.

  How had she not realised fully, just how big and tall he was? For when Sebastian put his hand on her waist and drew her towards his body, the top of her head only reached his broad shoulders.

  “You - you?” he teased knowing full well she had lost the ability to speak, his lips curling upwards in an amused smile before he bent his head to capture her own lips with them.

  Aurelia had never been kissed before and she did not know what to expect - but she certainly had not expected it to be so rough. So demanding.

  All that she had read about romance in novels from the circulating libraries had not prepared her for the sheer strength of Sebastian Black, as he held her against his hard chest and sensuously plundered her mouth with his own.

  Her head felt light, her knees weak - and though she knew that she should be resisting him, somehow she could not muster the strength to push him away. It was only after the initial rush of passion had receded to a softer assault on her senses, that Sebastian pulled his head away from hers, his blue eyes appearing black and clouded with desire.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Aurelia whispered stupidly, for she did not know what else to say. She pulled away from his embrace, and took a step backwards so that she could put space between her body and Sebastian’s, before she did anything stupid. Never, in her all her years, had she felt so lacking in control.

  “No,” Sebastian’s voice was curt; “I apologise. It was my fault, I shouldn’t have…”

  A silence fell between them, in which each regarded the other with nervous eyes.

  “I must return to the house,” Aurelia whispered, wondering if Sebastian would be able to hear her above the pounding of her heart; “Before anyone misses me, or finds us here alone.”

  “Yes, of course.” Sebastian inclined his head, his voice almost bitter; “Wouldn’t want to be caught alone with a man like me.”

  “I -” Aurelia began to protest, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand.

  “Hurry along Aurelia,” he said, his eyes now ice-blue and distant; “Lady Caroline is sure to up by now.”

  Confused, Aurelia lifted the hem of her skirt and fled back up the garden path. She had no idea what had just happened, or why Sebastian had gone from being red hot with passion to ice-cold in the space of a minute, but she knew that the last five minutes had been the most passionate experience of her life to date.

  “Oh lud,” she thought, as she let herself back out the gate and onto the footpath; “What have I done?”

  Sebastian’s heart slammed against his chest as he watched Aurelia hurry away. He longed to run after her, to take her back in his arms and kiss her senseless. In fact, he longed to do much more than that -

  Don’t be so stupid, he chastised himself. Aurelia St. Claire wa
s a lady, with lady-like expectations. She probably thought him a sweaty barbarian for accosting her in such a manner and was on her way home to wash her mouth out with carbolic soap. Sebastian was stirred once more at the sudden thought of her mouth; her lips had felt like soft velvet beneath his, and her low moans had near driven him over the edge of control.

  Pull yourself together man, he said to himself sternly, following the same path that Aurelia had just walked, back out to the square. The sound of silence greeted him when he arrived back to his house. Sebastian kept just a small number of servants, and their jobs were exponentially easier than most, due to the fact that Sebastian was rarely at home and when he was, he was rarely demanding and entirely self-sufficient.

  He washed in the water that his valet Reeves had prepared, and dressed in the clothes that the fastidious servant had washed and ironed so that not a crease was visible. When he first came to work for Sebastian the young man had been highly offended that his master did not actually wish him to physically wash and shave him - but had quickly come around when Sebastian had given him a carte blanche when it came to purchasing his yearly wardrobe. As such both Sebastian and his valet were two of the best-dressed men in London town and today he donned a fitted black jacket, with crimson velvet lapels that Reeves had insisted was the height of fashion.

  Once he had eaten a light breakfast of kippers and eggs, Sebastian was away to the West India docks. The waterways teemed with people; sailors and merchants were unloading their cargo onto waiting carts, whilst urchin children - ever present - swarmed at their feet attempting to catch any cargo that might fall to the ground.

  “Away with you,” an old, bearded sailor shouted at one persistent young boy. Sebastian’s heart ached a little as he watched the dark haired young boy dodge the sailors’ boot, before melting into the crowds and disappearing empty handed. No matter how much of his money he ploughed into charities and institutions for London’s unwanted children, there was always more children being born into the squalid slums of The Seven Dials, and Sebastian was begging to feel overwhelmed and disheartened.

  “Good mornin’ Sebastian,” Cedric said as he entered the offices of Black Night Shipping.

  “What’s so good about it?” Sebastian grumbled back darkly. There was heaps of correspondences on his desk, but he didn’t have the energy to tackle them; his thoughts were still far too occupied by Aurelia.

  “You got a belly full of food Sebastian Black,” Cedric chastised, none too gently; “So you’ve had a far better mornin’ than some.”

  Sebastian rolled his eyes but kept his grumblings to himself, for Cedric was - of course - completely right. He reached into the drawer of his desk and took out his paper knife, using the ivory handled blade to slit open the letters before him.

  The correspondences were from bankers and tradesmen, his factory managers in the North and even from as far away as Boston, where fleets of his ships engaged in trade. The last letter that he opened was the one which gave him the sudden jolt of inspiration. The Marine Society, a charity which placed poor adolescent boys into careers at sea, had written to thank him for his generous annual donation.

  “Cedric?” Sebastian called slowly, rising to his feet with excitement; “Are there any charities which care for repatriated injured soldiers?”

  “Only about a dozen,” the older man replied, his tone laden with sarcasm; “And you, in your benevolence, support them all.”

  A dozen charities - well that was a better starting point to use in the search for Theo St. Claire than simply searching Covent Garden from top to toe.

  “Cedric you’re a genius,” Sebastian replied, oblivious to his friends’ sarcasm. He raced from the offices without a backward glance, and missed the sanguine reply from his employee.

  “…Well I always thought so too.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  .

  The charities which Lady Caroline offered her patronage to were diverse. Aurelia spent the morning in The Foundling Hospital, a home for just some of London’s unwanted children. They then spent a brief interlude in The Magdalen Hospital for Penitent Prostitutes, where Lady Caroline distributed old clothes for the repentant women who sought shelter there.

  “I know it’s not one of the more fashionable institutions,” Caroline said with a sniff as they drove away; “But charity is not about being fashionable Aurelia, as well you know.”

  The young woman nodded, there had been far more ladies dressed up at The Foundling Hospital than at the Magdalen home, that was for sure. The carriage drove onward through the streets of London, which teemed with afternoon traffic; they were on their way to St. George’s Hospital on Hyde Park Corner, where Caroline intended to distribute food parcels of bread and sweetmeats to the sick.

  “You are so good to visit Lady Caroline.”

  The nurse who met them was dressed in a starched white apron, her hair concealed by a cap, also starched and white. It was impossible for Aurelia to determine her age, but her face was warm and kind when she enquired as to who Lady Caroline’s friend was.

  “Aurelia St. Claire,” Caroline made the introduction; “She is the daughter of the late Lord Epsom.”

  “Oh of course,” the nurse took Aurelia’s hand and gave it a sympathetic squeeze; “Your Uncle has been very kind to us. I was so sorry that the poor lad turned out not to be your brother.”

  “What?” Aurelia stuttered, what poor lad was the nurse talking about?

  “The soldier that was sent to us from the French Convent?” the nurse said, then covered her mouth, horrified at the thought that perhaps she might have disclosed an unknown secret. “Oh, oh, perhaps your Uncle did not wish to raise your hopes unduly?”

  The oppressive air of the hospital corridor was becoming too much for Aurelia to bear. She could feel perspiration gathering on her top lip and she longed to wipe it with the back of her hand, but both Lady Caroline and the nurse were staring at her with such concentrated concern that she knew such an un-lady-like gesture would not go unnoticed. As often happened when she became overwhelmed her breath began to catch in her chest and she felt as though she were drowning, such was her struggle for air.

  “Oh I’ve given her a fit of the vapours,” the nurse said, catching Aurelia by the elbow and leading her towards a window. With swift motions the woman opened the sash window, so that a cool breeze rushed against Aurelia’s flushed cheeks, the sounds of the bustle outside on Hyde Park Corner steadying her somewhat.

  “Please, what exactly happened with the soldier?” Aurelia asked after a few moments. Her breath was steady now and she wanted to know, wanted to understand, what exactly her Uncle had done.

  “He was sent to us by a convent in Lille,” the nurse began, her voice faltering slightly at the intensity with which Aurelia regarded her. “He had been found by peasant farmers a few weeks after the battle, wandering the countryside. He did not speak for at least a month after he arrived at the convent, but when he did the nuns realised that he was English. The only problem being that once he began to speak, it became clear that the boy had no recollection of who he was. His memory had vanished.”

  “Oh,” Lady Caroline gave a gasp of pity; “That poor boy.”

  “How did he come to be here?” Aurelia asked urgently, interrupting Caroline.

  “Well, he was repatriated by the War Office, but because he did not know who he was they had nowhere to send him, so they sent him here,” the nurse replied simply. “The clerks in Whitehall worked night and day to compare the information that they had on the lad with their lists of soldiers that were declared missing.”

  “And one of the names they picked was my brother’s?” Aurelia finished, to which the nurse nodded.

  “The Matron wrote to your Uncle and he arrived the next morning, but alas the boy he found was not your brother.”

  “How do you know?” Aurelia questioned, causing the nurse no little alarm.

  “Well your Uncle did not recognise him,” the woman stammered, alarmed b
y the anger emanating from the petite brunette.

  “Well of course he would say that,” Aurelia cried; “If he had identified the soldier as being Theo, my Uncle would have lost his new title and estates.”

  “Oh,” Caroline gasped, looking between Aurelia and the nurse with alarm; “Oh dear.”

  “And that soldier had no recollection of who he was,” Aurelia continued; “You were foolishly relying on the biased testimony of my Uncle.”

  “That boy was later identified as being another man altogether,” the nurse snapped, tired it seemed of Aurelia’s tirade. “Your Uncle worked tirelessly to reunite that boy with his family, and it was not two weeks after Lord Epsom began his hunt that the young lad was back in the arms of his mother.”

  Aurelia fell silent at this news, but still something did not feel right.

  “Who was this woman?” she asked, her eyes narrowed, her suspicion written on her face.

  “I am not at liberty to say,” the nurse responded. “You will have to petition your Uncle or the War Office for that information. Lady Caroline, I thank you again for your kindness.”

  The two ladies found themselves being bustled down the corridor to the front hall, the nurses’ previous kindly air replaced by a a determined frown.

  “I just want to know who the woman was so that I can see for myself,” Aurelia pleaded one last time, but the nurse simply shook her head.

  “And I have told you that it is not my place to tell you,” was the tart reply that Aurelia received.

  “Oh dear,” Caroline’s voice was worried; “That didn’t go well at all. Still it’s not the end of the world, now is it?”

  “What do you mean?” Aurelia wailed, as she trailed Lady Caroline to the waiting carriage. “My Uncle will never tell me the name of the woman who thinks she has found her son.”

  “Oh no, of course he wouldn’t,” Caroline replied distractedly as a footman deposited her into the carriage. She smoothed down her skirts and gave Aurelia a winning smile as she took her seat opposite her; “But my husband is the head of the War Office, so I’m sure he’ll tell me.”