Given his dedication to duty and figuring he would be leaving London once he received his orders, Barbara knew she had very little time to secure an offer of marriage, very little time to arrange a quick wedding and take her leave of London. Desperate to see her plan come to fruition, Barbara spent the few weeks leading up to Easter seeing to it the gentleman paid calls only on her, that he danced with her at early spring soirées, that he took her and only her on rides in Hyde Park. When an opportunity to spend time in Lord Weatherstone’s garden presented itself, she made sure they were there together. And then, on his last night in London, she made sure she spent it with him. The entire night.
When he finally put voice to an offer of marriage during his final night with her, Barbara accepted—despite the fact that her plan had failed.
Failed on every level but one.
There wasn’t enough time for a quick wedding—he would be departing London the following day. There wasn’t another place she could go to live while he completed his tour of duty.
But she accepted his offer anyway.
For at some point during her seduction of William Slater, Earl of Bellingham and heir to the Devonville marquessate, Barbara Higgins fell in love with the man. Fell in love and then had to say “good-bye” as she watched him sail away.
Returning to Pendleton House, the massive mansion occupied by only servants and her father, Barbara resigned herself to a lonely life.
Damn him, she cursed nearly every morning and every night. Damn him all to hell.
For the next few months, Maxwell Higgins, Earl of Greenley, enjoyed a rather interesting status as a gambler who consistently lost but always came back for one more game. Everyone in the aristocracy wondered how long the earl could continue losing at the gaming hells before he would run out of money. Talk of debtor’s prison was a frequent subject in Mayfair parlors during afternoon tea. And yet, the man seemed unconcerned, and so talk died down for a time.
That is, until the evening he learned something about Barbara. Something so shocking, his alcohol-addled brain had him reacting in a manner that assured he would never again see his daughter. At least, not if she could help it.
A few weeks later, Alex Bradley bagged his band of money smuggling bandits—a collection of spies tasked with helping France fund their war effort—so the Crown no longer supplied the earl with his gambling allowance. He was forced to use his own funds to feed his habit.
Although his luck was no better when he gambled with his own money, the Earl of Greenley occasionally won a game or two, his winnings sometimes in the form of money or jewelry or the deed to a piece of unentailed property. As he had done in his earlier gambling days, the money would simply end up at the next gaming hell. The jewelry was sometimes pawned or added to his late wife’s collection.
The deeds?
Although he considered using them as collateral, he decided they would do him more good if he kept them. He could always sell them if he needed to restock the Greenley coffers.
How fortuitous, then, that he always gave the deeds to his solicitor, Andrew S. Barton, Esquire, for safe keeping.
Fortuitous for someone else as well, for without his knowledge, one of those properties had become his oldest daughter’s home.
Where else could Barbara go? Her father had banished her from Pendleton House, after all. And even if he hadn’t, she couldn’t stay in London.
Nor did she ever want to go back.
Chapter 2
Brothers Enjoy a Brandy on Their Last Day at Sea
May 1818
“One more day.”
William Slater, Earl of Bellingham and commander of the British naval vessel HMS Greenwich, looked up from the map he was studying. “The winds favor us,” he agreed as he moved to shake hands with the man who stood in the threshold of the captain’s quarters. The intruder was not quite a year younger and bore a remarkable resemblance to him. But then, half-brothers usually did.
“I was actually referring to your position, Commander,” Stephen said, giving Will a raised eyebrow. The handshake turned into a punch into his upper arm. “Ow!” he added as he moved to rub the spot, rather stunned at Will’s assault.
“Don’t remind me. I can’t decide if I’m looking forward to the life of a gentleman, or if I should request that the War Office deny my request to resign my command.”
Stephen regarded his brother for a moment. “After six years, I know I want dry land under my feet,” he said with a nod. “Especially given the lack of action on the high seas.”
The Greenwich hadn’t shot more than a single ball from one of its seventy-four cannons in over a year, and that had been done to warn a pirate ship off its pursuit of a civilian vessel on its way past the Straits of Gibraltar.
Will gestured toward the overstuffed chairs at one end of the cabin. “Share a brandy with me? I promise I won’t report you to your commander,” he teased.
Stephen allowed a wan smile. “I can only stay a few minutes,” he said. “I go on duty soon.”
Will frowned and pulled out his chronometer, stunned to find the time much later than he thought. “You and me both,” he replied. “Christ, I spent far too much time on this last report,” he said as he pulled two tumblers and a decanter of brandy from a cupboard. He poured a finger’s worth into each glass and offered one to Stephen. “To England,” he said, his chin lifting.
“To the Devonshire marquessate,” Stephen countered.
Will gave a nod and sighed before taking a drink. Although the brandy had come from France in the form of contraband taken from a pirate ship off the coast of Africa, he rather doubted it was their best these days. Perhaps his father’s study would offer a better vintage. Certainly the scotch would be excellent. His uncle, Donald Slater, distilled the best in Northumberland.
“You haven’t met him, have you?” Will half-asked, realizing the bastard son of William Slater, Marquess of Devonville, had rarely been to London, at least, not since his mother had moved him to Kent when he was four years old.
Stephen shook his head. “I have not, at least, not as an adult.” He took a sip of the brandy, closing his eyes as he felt the liquor burn the back of his throat. “But he owes me nothing.”
The commander took another sip of his own brandy before frowning. “He is your father. You were born to his favorite mistress, or so my mother claimed many a time whilst I was growing up.”
Stephen winced at the comment. Although he was a bastard, he had been raised in a rather wealthy household, the only son of Marie St. Clair, an apparently celebrated courtesan from France who had escaped before the Revolution and made her way to London about the time William Slater was in the market for a mistress. Although the man’s marchioness was already with child—with Will, in fact—the marquess had sought the services of Marie thinking his wife wouldn’t welcome him back into their marriage bed once an heir was born.
He had Marie with child before his first-born was six months old.
“Mother has told me similar tales,” Stephen agreed. “But she also said the marquess would only see to my expenses until I reached my majority,” he added, finding it odd he hadn’t discussed his situation with his half-brother the entire time they had known each other—the two years he had been assigned to the Greenwich. Given the differences in their ranks, it seemed safest to simply side-step the issue at first, so neither brought it up before a night of shore leave found them at the same public house in Spain. A few tankards of beer and a number of tapas plates, and the two were fast friends.
One of his brows furrowing, Will shook his head. “I do not think he will turn you away if you deign to visit Devonville House,” he claimed. “In fact, I am most certain he will claim you as his son and see to it you’re set up with an allowance. Not a generous one, perhaps, but at least enough to allow you to buy a modest townhouse and take a wife.”
Having discussed the situation with his mother, Grace Burroughs Slater, when he was about to leave for his first voyage as a na
val officer—that had been nearly eight years ago—Will knew his father was sorely mistaken in his beliefs about his mother. At least, by then, the two had returned to life as a married couple, the marquess claiming he had only ever loved her. Too bad Lady Devonville died and left the marquess a widower four years later.
Poor Hannah, he remembered thinking. His only sister missed her come-out that Season, and then again the following Season when their aunt died. Hannah was one-and-twenty before she finally made her appearance at London’s ton events, but it was no surprise to him she had been offered marriage the next year.
“Our sister is a countess now,” Will announced.
Stephen frowned. “Countess of Gisborn, is she not?” he half-questioned.
Will gave a look that suggested he was impressed by his brother’s comment. “She is. Henry Forster isn’t your typical aristocrat, though,” he said with a shake of his head. “Farmer first, inventor second, lands in Oxfordshire,” he added. “Or vice-versa.”
Stephen grinned then, remembering what he had learned of Oxfordshire and the Cotswold lands therein. “Let me guess. They live in a country manor amongst herds of sheep. She plays Little Bo Peep by day and Countess of Gisborn by night.”
Will laughed out loud, a sound that Stephen realized he had never before heard. “Not if Gisborn has anything to say on the matter. Father wrote in one of his letters that he hates sheep.” He sobered suddenly. “And you really shouldn’t say such things of my sister. Hannah is...” He sighed, rather sorry his sister hadn’t made a match with a gentleman who preferred London year-round. Or at least for part of the year.
Word from his father had it that Hannah and Henry lived in Oxfordshire year-round and that Henry hadn’t yet claimed his seat in Parliament. Apparently the man thought his first priority was to his tenant farmers and the village nearest the Gisborn farms. But at least his earldom hadn’t suffered severe famine as had most of England after the Summer of 1816. Apparently the earl had built greenhouses in which to grow fruits and vegetables, and he managed to keep his farmland drained of excess water during the rains that fell most of that summer.
“I hear she rather likes the life of a farmer’s wife,” Stephen said, his head angling to one side, not adding that he had the word direct from her hand. His half-sister had been sending him letters ever since she learned her brothers were assigned to the same ship. Stephen wondered if Will had been the one to share the news. “I should like to meet her, though,” he added hopefully. “Will I be allowed, do you think?”
Will considered the question. He had to give his brother chops for his willingness to jump into the life of a gentleman. “I think she will be very happy to learn she has another brother—”
“You haven’t told her?” Stephen interrupted, alarm evident in his features. Well, that confirmed that Will hadn’t been the one to inform their sister, which meant that their father had been the one to tell her. “Christ! I had hoped to travel to Oxfordshire to meet her before the snows,” he said with a shake of his head.
Will grinned. “I have not. Perhaps Father has mentioned you in his letters, though,” he said carefully. After a moment, he added, “I have written her with instructions to be prepared for a surprise. A good surprise.” His grin suggested he was teasing his brother.
“You bounder!” Stephen countered, deciding the joke would be on Will when he discovered Hannah had known of Stephen’s existence for some time. She seemed most glad of it, which had him hoping she would be as welcoming in person as she was in her writings.
“Watch it! I am still your commander,” Will claimed. He lifted his chronometer from his waistcoat pocket. “And we’re both supposed to be on duty now,” he added with an arched eyebrow.
Stephen was up and out of his chair in an instant. “Permission to report to duty, Commander?”
Will nodded and raised a finger to his forehead. “Permission granted,” he replied, giving his brother another punch in the arm.
He watched as his slightly younger brother took his leave of the cabin and rolled his eyes. There were times like right now that he rather wished he were the bastard son and that Stephen was the legitimate son. Tomorrow, he would return to London and once again be the Earl of Bellingham, heir to the Devonville marquessate. Although it was merely an honorary title, it was a title none-the-less. He wondered how long he would be able to keep it.
The very last position Will was interested in attaining was that of Marquess of Devonville.
From his perch at the bow of the Greenwich, Stephen watched the white caps rush past and wondered if he had made the right decision. He could have simply continued serving in the British Navy, perhaps made a career of being a navigator, although he knew he would have to do so on a different vessel with a different crew. The Greenwich was due to undergo repairs while docked in Wapping and wouldn’t return to service for several months.
Choosing a life in London certainly held more appeal. There was the opportunity to meet more members of the opposite sex, to be sure, but there was also the promise of a life that didn’t include sleeping in a hammock every night among a dozen other men and days spent on the deck of a ship bobbing on the ocean, miles of water in every direction.
Having lived a comfortable life with his mother, either because of her profession or in spite of it, Stephen found he missed the comforts of a house. The accoutrements of a well-appointed home. The idea of a wife and children. If what his half-brother had said was true, he might be able to secure such a life.
The thought that he would have to rely on his father to provide the funds for such a life rankled, though. He wasn’t a good enough gambler to think he could fund his life at the gaming tables. His skills as a navigator would no doubt be worthless in a city, although his ability to read and write must be of some worth, he thought. He could speak and understand several languages. He could dress himself without the assistance of a valet. He could get along with even the most disagreeable men aboard ship. But as to how he would apply his limited skills to life in London, he had no idea.
Movement off on the port side of the ship had him lifting his spyglass to his right eye. Closing his left, he finally spotted the spray of a whale on the horizon. At least, that’s what he thought he was seeing when he realized the arc of water wasn’t indicative of a whale. Or any other sea creature.
Land.
Jesus! Stephen glanced at the sails and noted how they were all unfurled and all filled with wind. Will wasn’t joking when he said the winds favored us, he realized as he lifted his spyglass again and studied the horizon. Even in the growing twilight, he could make out the silhouette of a land mass. Hurrying to the wheelhouse, Stephen entered and rushed to pull down the maps of the coasts of Spain and France. He knew they had been somewhere near the Bay of Biscay the night before. Could we have already passed by Brest?
He leaned out of the wheelhouse and took another look at the horizon. Guernsey, he realized. We’re in the English Channel!
Stephen found his brother leaning over the railing on the starboard side, his attention on the moon just then appearing above the western horizon. “We’re in the Channel,” he said quietly, not wanting to startle his brother.
Will chuckled. “I wondered how long it would take for you to realize where we were,” he countered with a grin. “As I said, the winds favor us.”
Stephen punched Will in the shoulder. “You must have a favorite ladybird,” he accused before moving back to the starboard railing.
Will frowned and turned around to address Stephen’s retreating back. “She is not a ladybird, I assure you,” he stated firmly. “And you shall stay far away from Lady Barbara Higgins or risk a musket ball in your gut.”
Stephen straightened before turning to regard his half-brother.
Barbara?
Well, this was news. “I shall avoid every Barbara at all events, Commander,” he responded with a salute.
Will dipped his head, rather surprised by the vehemence in his threat. Even af
ter nearly eight years, it was thoughts of Barbara Higgins that had him climbing out of his bunk every morning. Thoughts of Barbara that kept him warm at night and wondering as to what might have happened to the love of his life. It wouldn’t be long now, he hoped. Wouldn’t be long before he found her and pulled her into his arms and made her his wife.
Chapter 3
Homecoming
The following day in London
Stephen and Will disembarked from the HMS Greenwich at the same time, both complaining of sea legs and an inability to walk straight until they were on the pavement and could hire a hackney. They made their way to Devonville House in Mayfair, a Palladian mansion located on the edge of Hyde Park in Park Lane. A magnificent structure lit with gas lamps and surrounded by neatly trimmed bushes and flowering plants, Stephen thought it the most impressive house he had ever seen.
“Come on,” his older brother said as he plucked his coat sleeve and led the way to the double-doors at the top of three steps. Topiary bushes trimmed into spirals flanked the doors, and the lion-head knocker seemed to scowl at them as they waited for a butler to answer.
“What about our trunks?” Stephen whispered, jerking on his waistcoat in an effort to straighten it.
Will grinned. “The footmen will see to our luggage,” he answered, nodding in the direction of several liveried men who were already making their way to the hackney.
When the door opened, Will didn’t wait for the butler to step aside but merely stepped up and into the house. “Good evening, Hatfield. I am home from the wars,” Will said lightly.
Stephen was forced to suppress a grin—nay, an out-and-out laugh at the startled expression displayed on the butler’s face. Weren’t butlers usually known for their impassive expressions and unflappable manner?
“Lord Bellingham!” the butler finally said, his gaze dancing back and forth between Will and Stephen, as if he were trying to decide which was really the Earl of Bellingham.
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