Ambersley (Lords of London)

by Amy Atwell

  “This isn’t about my family. It’s about yours.” She watched wariness overtake his devilish eyes. Oh yes, Derek had been so good to feed her this little tidbit of gossip about Worthing’s father.

  “I see. And what sort of price did you have in mind for such valuable information?”

  Triumph nearly in her grasp, she maintained her demur tone. “We both know my son Curtis is the real duke. There’s a sizeable fortune that will settle on the dukedom in a few years, and then all my needs will be met. But in the meantime, I could use a little something to tide me over.” She need not be greedy. Worthing came from one of the wealthiest families—a family that avoided scandal at all costs.

  The marquess rose stiffly. “You’ll excuse me, but I have no taste for your enterprise.” He looked down his aquiline nose at her to add, “Perhaps you may find someone hungrier than I.”

  “But you don’t understand—”

  “Believe me, I grasp all the particulars. My sole interest in the diary is to protect my family from the stigma of my father siring a bastard. By offering to sell it to me, you’ve told me the diary contains no clear evidence of Derek’s paternity.” His eyes narrowed. “That, or you do not even have the diary in your possession.”

  “How—?”

  “Because if you did, you would hardly be blackmailing me to keep it hidden.” He retrieved his hat from the table by the door. “Go ahead. Publish it.”

  Disliking the challenge in his tone, she rose. “I may do so.”

  He gave an irritating chuckle, as if he found her bravado quite droll. “A word of caution. Don’t do so unless it contains irrefutable evidence. Derek has gained Prinny’s notice, and slandering him will do your children no good unless you can prove he must surrender his title.” He opened the door. “Good day, Lady Vaughan.”

  Rosalie twined her fingers, unwilling to smash any of the porcelain decorations at hand. They were hers. All of this was hers, and one day, all of London would know it. She went to the window to watch Worthing ascend into his chaise. She hated him almost as much as she hated Derek.

  Worthing had called her bluff, and now she would have to search for some new form of action. There had to be a way to get around Derek. Until she found it, she would have to wait. Fortunately, she had patience.

  Yes, like a spider, she had patience.

  ~

  While Rosalie and her children enjoyed the entertainments of London, Derek and Harry returned to Ambersley where they disrupted the staff with their unbridled laughter.

  “It looks better than it did,” Harry remarked during Derek’s tour.

  “I could have burned it to the ground and made it look better than it did,” Derek replied. “You’re supposed to be admiring the craftsmanship of the plastering and woodwork.”

  “Craftsmanship—is that what you call it?” A smile danced on Harry’s lips. “Were there, in fact, any craftsmen involved, or merely rank amateurs?”

  “Rank amateurs? I’ll have you know I’m a duke, young man. Step into the library, and we’ll discuss this matter at length.”

  Harry laughed. “No, thank you. I stepped into your library once before, and fell at length.”

  Derek looked over his shoulder as the butler passed. “Paget, are you humming?”

  The butler’s stride faltered. “Certainly not, my lord,” he said gruffly.

  Beckoned by summer sunshine, the cousins spent their days by the stream, pretending to fish and sleeping under the shade of the willows. Once Johnny discovered their retreat, the boy made it a habit to join them as soon as he’d finished his chores.

  One idle afternoon, Harry watched Johnny wade into the water intent on a fat frog. Something about the boy tickled his memory, and when the sun cast a glint of silver in Johnny’s blue-green eyes, Harry swore beneath his breath.

  Tossing his hat at his half-asleep cousin, he whispered loudly, “Have you ever noticed that Johnny looks exactly like the portrait of the late duke hanging in the library?”

  Derek rolled on his side to blink at Johnny. His eyes narrowed. “You may be right.”

  “He must be the old boy’s bastard. Didn’t you tell me the late duke and his wife buried seven children in infancy? He must have found himself a sturdy yeoman’s daughter to bear him a child and then placed the child secretly with Tom and Martha.” Harry chewed on a blade of grass. “Do you suppose the rest of the servants know?”

  With a yawn, Derek sat up. “The boy’s underfoot everywhere. If you recognized the resemblance, I’m sure others must have.”

  Harry looked at his cousin shrewdly. “Will you acknowledge him?”

  “He’s a bit young to understand, I think.” Derek watched as Johnny tried to mimic the frog’s full-throated ribbit. “Still, it wouldn’t hurt to encourage him. The boy is filled with admirable qualities.”

  “And what would those be, pray?”

  Derek thought them through. “Good sense, a positive nature, resourcefulness, a generous spirit, but most of all honesty.”

  “Sounds like a recipe for a good mistress, even a wife.”

  Derek laughed darkly. “As if you could find half those traits in any woman.”

  “Oh, come now. They’re not all bad.”

  “Maybe it’s just my luck then, eh? Remember Helena?”

  Harry let forth a crack of laughter. “Ha! Won’t she be sorry she turned you down when she learns of your inheritance. She’ll be eating her heart out over it, you may be sure. You were well out of that one.”

  “Indeed. ’Twas a hard lesson, but one well learned. Women are mercenaries who will lie to achieve their ends.”

  “In her case, decidedly,” Harry agreed. “But what of my mother? She has all those qualities you named.” Harry tossed aside his blade of grass. “In fact, I have most of those qualities, Derek. Why not marry me?”

  His dark mood broken, Derek laughed. “Because you subvert all your good points by being vain and far too gregarious.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Harry batted his eyes and pouted his lips in jest.

  “And you’re a fool,” Derek finished. “If I met a woman like you, I’d be forced to strangle her.”

  Harry lay back in the warm grass with a sigh. “If I found a woman just like me, I’d have to marry her.”

  From where she stood knee-deep in the stream, Johnny caught the second part of the men’s conversation. Admirable qualities. Good sense, a positive nature, resourcefulness, a generous spirit, but most of all honesty.

  But most of all honesty. But most of all honesty.

  She blushed with shame, suddenly conscious of the lie she lived. She glanced at the duke. Should she tell him the truth? But then, he would send her away, for a girl couldn’t apprentice in the gardens, and a girl couldn’t play by the stream with him and Mr. Harry. Besides, he seemed to think all women were liars, and she hated to lose his regard. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she swore he would never learn the truth about her.

  Autumn heralded the return of Lady Vaughan and Olivia from London, but Curtis remained away to attend Eton. Johnny was thankful he hadn’t returned to torment her. Curtis’s absence made it easier for Johnny and Olivia to see each other, especially since the duke found nothing wrong with their friendship. He encouraged Johnny’s efforts to befriend Miss Olivia, even going so far as to ask Miss Trent to include the boy in Olivia’s lessons. Johnny proved an apt pupil and even made Olivia pay more attention to her studies.

  Tom marveled at her good fortune. “Reading is a gift, Johnny. You be sure to thank his lordship for this opportunity.” But Johnny had to wonder whether the duke would encourage her to take part in Olivia’s lessons if he knew she weren’t a boy.

  ~

  Ambersley, July 1808

  As the months tallied to a year and then another, the duke traveled far more, assuming his seat in Parliament, visiting Mr. Harry and his mother in Bath, or staying as the exalted guest of other members of the aristocracy. Johnny sniffed the roses blooming in the garden
and wished the duke could be home to enjoy them. She bore his absences with patience but missed him tremendously. Her favorite person on the whole estate was the man who owned everything around her.

  “The duke’s returned,” Tom announced as he entered the cottage by the stream on a warm evening in July.

  Johnny sat erect at the table, eager but frozen as a setter sighting game. “Please, may I go see him?”

  Martha’s hands gravitated to her wide hips. “What about your supper?”

  Johnny threw a pleading look to Tom.

  “Supper can wait an hour. Just this once.” Tom said. “But don’t be a nuisance to his lordship.”

  Martha tossed up her hands in defeat. “Go child, if it’s so important.”

  Johnny raced around the table to hug the aging woman’s fat waist. “It is. If all went well in London, he’ll declare a special holiday.”

  Martha returned the tight hug with a chuckle. “What nonsense, declaring a special holiday. Whatever for?”

  Halfway out the door, Johnny spun around. “Didn’t you know? His Grace went to London with Mr. Minton to declare Miss Amber dead. If they succeeded, he promised he’d hold a big memorial for Miss Amber and declare it a special holiday so everyone could attend. I can’t wait to find out!”

  She dashed out, leaving behind a stark silence.

  Settling her bulk into a chair, Martha worried her fingers in the folds of her apron. Tom rubbed his hand back and forth across his mouth. The silence stretched taut.

  “Tom?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “They’re going to hold a funeral for her. They’re going to all but bury the child while she stands and watches. It’s too horrible.”

  “Shh.” Tom reached for his pipe. “Maybe we should tell His Grace and Mr. Minton the truth.”

  Martha wiped at her eyes. “But she’d have to live with Lady Vaughan.”

  “She’s eleven now, and I think she’d be safe enough with her ladyship. I’d face jail to see her restored to her family, but for one thing—she don’t remember.” His voice broke on the last word. “I don’t know if she could take learning the truth.”

  Martha tried to imagine Tom swearing Johnny’s true identity to the duke’s disbelieving household. They’d be put in Bedlam! And would Johnny herself ever believe them? Would it bring back the horrible nightmares she had suffered the first year she spent with them? And if they succeeded, Johnny would be taken away from them, and they might never see her again.

  She pushed aside the guilt. “You’re right, Tom. She don’t remember anything about her past, and she’s safe and happy with us. We should keep our silence. For her sake.”

  Tom nodded sadly. “And may God have mercy on our souls."

  ~

  Johnny ran all the way to the Hall and arrived out of breath at the front drive. The coach had left, and the Hall’s doors stood closed. She knew knocking on the heavy walnut panel would only draw a severe scolding from Paget. Faster than a puppy on a fresh scent, she bounded to the rear of the Hall by the rose garden and was rewarded with a glimpse of the duke inside the library. She stole up to the French doors and tapped lightly on the glass.

  He looked up from the paper he was studying, and Johnny grinned as she waved at him. His lips twitched in response, and he came to the doors.

  “Shouldn’t you be at supper?” he asked with a severe frown.

  Johnny wasn’t fooled. She threw her thin arms around his waist in a quick awkward hug. Recalling herself, she stepped back. “I missed you. You were gone forever.”

  He ruffled her hair. “I was gone less than a fortnight.”

  Unable to contain her curiosity, Johnny launched her many questions. “Did you see the magistrate? Did he give you the money? Did you—”

  “Whoa, Johnny. One question at a time.” The duke led her toward the rose bower where he seated himself. “Yes, my inquisitive little jay, I did speak to a magistrate, and so did Mr. Minton and a Bow Street Runner. The magistrate agreed with all of us that Miss Amber must surely be dead. So he signed a certificate and Mr. Minton is now transferring Amber Vaughan’s money into my accounts.”

  Johnny leaned forward. “Was she awfully rich?” she whispered.

  “Yes. Between you and me. Awfully,” he responded with a wink.

  Johnny whooped and spun around in her joy. When she came to a stop, the whole garden spun, but that was part of the fun. “Now you can finish repairing the Hall, and buy a new coach and four, and put the footmen in new livery.”

  “I can do all that and more,” he agreed with a laugh.

  “Will you open your London house and expand the stables here and re-thatch the cottages and bring a dentist to visit the tenants?”

  He tilted his head at this last item. “A dentist? Do your teeth hurt?”

  “Not mine, but Rory lost a tooth only last week.” Her head bobbed with earnestness. “He was in awful pain. Tom told me the late duke brought a dentist to Ambersley every year to see all the tenants.”

  He sat quietly while she continued her list in a rush—the Vaughan crest over the front door needed repainting and what color coach horses did he plan to buy and how it must be so exciting to visit London.

  When she paused for breath, he interrupted her. “What other things do the tenants need?”

  She scrunched her face with concentration. “The Tate family just had a new baby, and Martha said they don’t have enough room in the cottage for everyone. And this last winter, when it got so cold, Widow Sanders borrowed one of our quilts, and Tom won’t let Martha ask for it back. And—” She grasped for other things she’d heard. “And Mrs. Chalmers wishes there was a new stove in the kitchen—she said so the other day.”

  “I see.”

  His deflated tone made her shoulders slump in response. She joined him on the stone bench beneath the arbor. “Should I not have told you about the stove?” she asked with concern.

  Derek sighed as his responsibilities once again took precedence. “No, I needed to know it.” With Miss Amber’s coffers now open to him, he’d arranged with Minton to set up funds for Curtis and Olivia—funds their mother couldn’t touch. He thought he’d taken care of things, but apparently there were more people depending on him.

  He looked at the boy, so eager to please. “It’s vital I know what’s happening at Ambersley. Promise me you’ll always tell me the truth, Johnny.”

  The lad blushed. “Why me, my lord?”

  “Because I trust you.” He watched Johnny’s cheeks grow even pinker and noticed a discoloration of the skin surrounding the boy’s left eye. “Here, what’s this?” He touched the puffy skin, and Johnny flinched under his hand. “Who hit you?”

  Johnny became engrossed in the toe of his boot. “I’d rather not say, my lord.”

  Anger simmered within him. “Was it Tom?”

  Wide eyes flew up to his in reproach. “Never, my lord. Tom and Martha, they’d never strike me. Tom was right angry when I came home with this shiner. I got into an argument with someone, and this just happened.”

  Derek’s lips tightened. Numerous times he’d warned Johnny to stay away from the stable lads. The child seemed determined to fit in among boys older and bigger. He studied Johnny’s slight frame and doubted the eleven-year-old would ever grow large.

  “My lord, what exactly is a bastard?”

  The question caught Derek by surprise. He frowned, displeased anyone would sully the bright child with this word. “Does this have something to do with your shiner?”

  The boy grimaced, and his gaze fled to his boots again. After a long pause, he nodded.

  “Very well, lad. A bastard is a rather unfriendly way of saying that someone is illegitimate. By that, I mean a person’s parents weren’t married to each other when he was born.”

  Johnny mulled this over. “Does that make a person bad?”

  “No, I don’t believe that makes a person bad.” Derek watched and waited while the child wrestled with this information.
/>
  Johnny met his gaze with solemn eyes. “Curtis told me he’d learned I was a bastard, and I wasn’t fit to talk with him, or Olivia, or even you. I didn’t know what it meant, but I’ve always known my parents weren’t married. That’s why I live with Tom and Martha. I got angry when he said I couldn’t talk to you. I don’t care about talking with Curtis, but Olivia’s my friend. I didn’t like him calling me names and telling me what I could and couldn’t do. That’s when we started to fight.”

  “Curtis blacked your eye?”

  “Aye, but I bloodied his nose.” The brief spark of fire in Johnny’s eyes dimmed. “I’ve kept clear of him ever since. My lord, are there lots of bastards?”