* * * * *
The next morning dawned cloudy with the promise of coming rain. He’d asked Wiggins to wake him at eight of the o’clock. The dowager greeted him in the breakfast room. Her eyes were red and shadowed, her face drawn.
“Mother, did you sleep last night?”
“There were arrangements to be made. I will rest after I have eaten.”
A footman presented a salver, a single letter upon it. He unsealed the note. The missive came from the solicitor who oversaw Millicent’s father’s affairs.
“Mr. Simpson sends his condolences. He advises me Millicent’s father has no idea who he is or that he has a daughter. The old Duke is thought to suffer from dementia.” A thought came to mind. “How did the man already hear of Millicent’s accident?”
“I sent a note to Mr. Simpson last night to inform him of Millicent’s death.” His mother shook her head. “There will be little enough to do as Millicent had no family save her father. The notices to the papers have been sent. The funeral will be in three days. Mr. Simpson has my instructions on how to proceed with the service and burial.”
His mother had been busy. The dowager had been through the preparations for a funeral before. The drapes were already drawn in the townhouse and mirrors were covered. The few servants he’d encountered wore black armbands.
“Is there anything left for me to do?” he asked.
“Death is a woman’s business, Devlyn.”
He thought how ironic it was that the same women who were often tasked with preparing a body for burial were deemed ‘too delicate’ to attend a funeral.
“I expect to return from Kent by tomorrow afternoon.” When his mother looked a question he said, “Do not worry. Cameron will be with me.”
The letter from the Duke’s solicitor reminded him of a note he must compose. With the news of Millicent’s death last evening all thought of his meeting with Anna had fled from his mind. He would explain the cause of his absence later. Right now, a short apology would have to suffice.
The roads to Kent were dry. He welcomed the company of Wiggins on his journey. Both men rode on horseback, his only luggage a satchel attached to his valet’s saddle. Despite his mother’s concerns he anticipated returning to London on the morrow with Cameron in tow.
Neither man felt inclined to speak. Silence suited him. He hadn’t seen Cameron for a long time and was more than a little anxious about how his brother would react when they were reunited.
Devlyn remembered sitting next to his brother’s bed not a week after the accident. It disturbed him greatly to see his normally vigorous and healthy elder brother confined to a bed. He told Cameron he’d accepted an assignment from Joseph Planta at the Foreign Office. He would leave the next day, bound for the Continent.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Cameron said.
“Not entirely, perhaps. Regardless, I feel responsible for your injury and the loss of the babe.”
A troubled expression settled on Cam’s pale, drawn face. Millicent had miscarried the day after Cameron nearly lost his leg in the carriage accident. “You don’t need to leave the country.”
“Cam, I need to do something with my life. I am the second son. I need a profession and have no desire to buy a commission or join the clergy.” He paused. “I have a new appreciation for life. I don’t want to waste a single day.”
“Are you sure you’re not running away?” Cameron yawned. He’d been given heavy doses of laudanum to help with the severe pain of his leg injury. A side-effect of the medicine was pronounced fatigue.
“There is no running from the doctor’s diagnosis,” he replied.
His brother had already fallen asleep. It was the last time he saw Cameron before leaving England.
The Maitlin family seat, Wiltham Hall, sat between the larger towns of Farmingham and Aylesford. Devlyn chose to rest the horses at Farmingham, in the hope he would avoid many residents near the estate who might know him. Two miles from the hall lay the estate village of Willstone. He and Wiggins rode through the hamlet without stopping. Small villages were a breeding ground for gossip. He wanted to avoid any pitying looks from the villagers who might recognize him.
His thoughts turned again to the day of the carriage accident as his horse trotted over the same stretch of dirt track on which the mishap occurred.
“He told me he would rather die, Dr. Franklin,” his mother said to the doctor when the man again advised the amputation of Cam’s leg below the knee.
Dr. Franklin protested the stubbornness of both mother and son. In the end, Cam’s wishes were followed. According to the dowager, the surgeon brought from Framlingham had used numerous stitches to sew the skin of Cameron’s calf together. Against the surgeon’s wish, the viscountess demanded she be present for any treatment Cameron received.
He’d had his own injury to recover from. One of his testicles had been badly bruised and was extremely swollen.
“The problem is in the veins,” the doctor said. “If the swelling doesn’t decrease…”
The man didn’t finish the sentence and Devlyn was thankful. The idea of a knife anywhere near his groin wasn’t something he cared to think about.
He wasn’t in the room when Cam’s calf was stitched together. He’d been relieved his brother didn’t want anyone other than the surgeon and their mother to see the result. A few days later the swelling in his testicle went away. He was sore for weeks afterwards. He knew he’d gotten off lightly even when the doctor gave him the grim news.
“In my opinion you won’t be able to father a child.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“I’ve read about injuries like yours and in nearly every case where there has been acute trauma to the genitals, the man is left with no bullets as it were.”
At the time he’d been more concerned with his brother’s injury. Cameron wasn’t out of the woods by a long shot as a severe infection or the resulting fever of one could still kill him.
What his brother had stated was indeed true: guilt from the consequences of daring Cameron to pass the coach compelled Devlyn to leave the estate and England.
The nearly three years he resided in the Netherlands in service to the crown had changed him. He was no longer the spoiled young man who ran away from his troubles. He’d kept the unpleasant business with Franco from touching his family. He was ready to see Cameron.
“There it is,” he said on a breath.
The road topped out over a shallow knole. Below him Wiltham Hall could be seen surrounded by formal gardens and lush parkland. Beyond that, the estate was ringed by stretches of the woodland the northwest portion of Kent was known for. The ruins of a small gatehouse stood to one side of the track down the hill. Happy memories of using the ruins as a fort when he and Cameron were children came to mind.
Despite his preference for city life, he experienced a twinge in his chest when he saw the fortified manor house before him. Many happy hours had been spent in that house and the surrounding parkland with his mother, father, and Cameron.
He recalled his mother had warned him the estate in Kent suffered from neglect. The dowager had been at the house until Michaelmas the year before. Her description of the grounds at Wiltham Hall led him to believe he would find the gardens of the great house unkempt. He was pleasantly surprised to see the grass trimmed, flower beds ablaze with color and the hedges clipped.
“It is an impressive house,” Wiggins said as the two men rode into the forecourt.
He made no reply. He was struck dumb by the sight of two men walking around the side of the hall. One of the men walked with a cane and a decided limp. A large orange cat followed behind him. He recognized the broad shoulders of his brother.
Cameron and his companion walked toward the front of the house as he and Wiggins dismounted. A boy came running from the direction of the stable block and stopped by the horses. Wiggins untied the satchel from his saddle and took it in hand before the stable boy led their horses away.
“Devl
yn?” Cam’s query came when he and his companion were still some yards away.
“The prodigal son has returned.” He managed a weak smile. Emotion threatened to overtake him. The joy of seeing his brother walk was tempered by his apprehension at their meeting.
The man who walked next to Cameron came to a halt near Devlyn. “Devlyn, how very good to see you again.”
He studied the other man a moment before he recognized the estate manager.
“It is a pleasure to see you here at Wiltham Hall, Mr. Jenkins. Still putting up with my brother, I see.”
“I believe the boot is on the other foot,” Cameron said, his voice gruff.
“He knows if he gets rid of me my wife goes as well,” Jenkins replied, his tone smug. “Best cook in Kent, she is.”
Cameron didn’t refute the estate manager’s claim. He did ask the man to escort Wiggins to the housekeeper. The cat at his heels mewled loudly.
His brother bent down with a grimace on his face. His weight shifted to his good leg and cane as he patted the large feline. When he resumed an upright position Cameron said, “Off with you now, Tom. Time to earn your keep. Go catch yourself a nice juicy mouse.”
The large cat sauntered off toward the stable block. It looked a mangy beast with a notch cut out of one ear and large clumps of fur missing from its tail. Cameron had loved animals as far back as Devlyn could remember and the sight of his brother fussing over a cat brought a grin to his face. He remained silent on the subject. After the years abroad he didn’t yet feel free to tease his brother.
“Cameron, there is something of great importance I must speak to you about. I can wash off the dust of the road later.”
They made their way into the house without speaking. The footman who held the door open for them had been at the hall from before Devlyn had left England. After the man’s well wishes to Devlyn, Cameron advised the servant they would remove to the study and wished not to be disturbed.
Despite his limp and use of a cane, Cameron walked down the corridor at a good pace. Devlyn knew the effort cost his brother dearly as Cam’s face was flushed, his breathing heavy when they reached the study.
“Brandy?” Cam inquired once both men were seated; Cam at their father’s desk and Devlyn in an armchair.
“We’re going to need it.”
“What is this important matter you need to speak to me about?” Cameron passed him a brandy filled tumbler.
“It’s Millicent,” he replied after he took a healthy swallow of his drink. “Cam, she’s dead.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Anna read the note from Devlyn and then read it again. A family emergency had necessitated he leave London for Kent. There was no explanation of the emergency or any personal message to her included. She had been disappointed last evening when he didn’t visit her as promised. She’d known something must be amiss as she didn’t think he would be so unkind as to ignore a promise.
She did not read the papers at breakfast, or for that matter, read the papers very often at all. The Times frequently contained an excess of bad news. She had no interest in the gossip sheets therefore she was notified of Lady Millicent Cameron’s death the old-fashioned way: through her maid.
“Fell out of her box at Drury Lane Theatre,” Mary said to her mistress while she assisted her to dress for the day. “Dropped her reticule into the pit and attempted to go after it.”
“How dreadful,” Anna replied, her words sincere. She’d never met the woman, true, but wasn’t every death a loss to someone?
A part of her wished Devlyn had written about Millicent’s accident in his missive. She knew the death of a family member probably wasn’t something he wanted to announce in a letter. A tragedy had occurred. He had responsibilities to his family.
“That Mr. Maitlin of yours went down to Kent to take the news to his brother, I’ve heard.” Mary sighed. “Most likely took his handsome valet with him.”
She ignored the maid’s comment of ‘that Mr. Maitlin of yours.’ She also ignored the impulse to advise the girl of the implausibility of Devlyn’s sophisticated valet wishing to attach himself to a lady’s maid.
“I imagine Mr. Maitlin, and his valet, will return to London very soon. There will be a funeral to attend.”
Satisfied with the dressing of her hair, she dismissed Mary.
After she’d eaten breakfast she would send her written condolences to Devlyn’s family. In the afternoon she would call on Devlyn’s mother.
Anna felt a sense of purpose as she ate her solitary meal in the breakfast room. She imagined Devlyn’s mother all alone in the townhouse. Her son saw only the dowager’s strength and undoubtedly never thought twice about leaving his mother to ride off to Kent. She knew very well sometimes what people see when they look at you is what you choose to show them.
Once she returned to her bedchamber, she composed a somber condolence note to be delivered to Lady Cameron. Mary appeared and handed her mistress a recently arrived letter.
The maid left the room to ensure the conveyance of her mistress’s correspondence. Anna opened her letter and a smile crossed her face as she read about her brother-in-law’s stay in Yorkshire.
Neil was so unlike his brother. His letter contained an account of his having stood up with all the wallflowers at a local assembly. “He is always a gentleman.”
At the end of his letter her brother-in-law added a postscript.
Expect me for dinner Wednesday evening. There is a matter of some importance I must speak to you about.
The day was Tuesday. She looked forward to seeing her brother-in-law on the morrow. Neil’s reference to a matter of some importance did not overly concern her. Really, what did a young man of nineteen years have to be concerned about?
* * * * *
His stomach full, Devlyn reflected again on the excellence of Mrs. Jenkins’ skill as a cook. With very little notice, the woman had made all his favorite dishes to include roast lamb and gooseberry pudding. The meal was served al dente in the small dining room. He and Cameron helped themselves to liberal portions of all the dishes. He was happy to see his brother had a healthy appetite.
Their hunger sufficiently sated, they moved to the billiards room for brandy.
“How did you find your time in the Netherlands?” Cameron asked as he took his shot to see who would begin the game.
Devlyn was accustomed to Cam losing to him and wasn’t surprised when his own ball rolled closest to the baulk.
“Very agreeable,” he replied as he sighted his first shot. “The populace looks quite favorably on their British ally.”
“Have you plans for the future?”
He won a hazard and turned to his brother. “The undersecretary would like me to consider a post in the Home Office.”
“I know our mother would be happy to see you remain in England.”
Devlyn had relayed the account of Millicent’s death, careful to paint the incident as an accident. Left out of the narrative was any mention of Franco or blackmail. After Devlyn finished his story, Cameron deflected all attempts to turn the conversation toward the accident three years ago.
Cam limped away from the billiard table to take a seat in a stuffed chair. He saw a brief flash of pain cross his brother’s face. He knew Cameron had stood as long as he could in an attempt to hide any sign of infirmity.
“Mother is worried about the estate,” he said to his brother as he potted the second cue ball. “She was particularly concerned about the state of the gardens.”
“I imagine she would be. When she left Wiltham Hall last Michaelmas the grounds and I were in a sad state.”
Devlyn placed his cue stick on the billiard table and took a seat near his brother to sample the liquid in his glass. He let the silence lengthen as he knew Cameron would explain himself if he chose to.
“Soon after you left for the Continent, I developed a serious infection in my leg. Mother pleaded with me to allow the local surgeon to amputate. I made her promise me no matt
er how close to death I was, she would never allow it.”
“Good heavens, Cam, I’m so very sorry.”
His brother shook his head. “Dev, I didn’t have to take the dare. You didn’t force me to do anything. We were both reckless.”
After a long moment Cameron said, “The surgeon told me it was a miracle I survived the fevers and numerous infections I contracted the next few months. Very often the pain was unbearable. There were times I wished I’d let Dr. Franklin send for the surgeon to amputate my calf.”
Devlyn took a deep breath to quell the nausea he experienced at the thought of what amputation entailed. He had no concept of the agony Cam had endured.
“Eighteen months after the accident the skin on my calf had knitted together and healed as well as it ever would. I began to believe one day I would be able to walk again.” Cameron paused to drink the remainder of his brandy in one large swallow. “Unfortunately, during my recovery I became dependent on laudanum.”
“Mother never told me. Why did she leave Kent? From the content of her letters she has been in London quite a while.”
“She was here until the day I decided not to take the medicine anymore.” Cameron let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t want our mother to see me deal with weaning myself from laudanum. For several months I have struggled to rid myself of the desire for it.”
“In mother’s letters she told me you were getting better, stronger. I didn’t know about the laudanum.”
“You couldn’t know.” His brother shrugged. “I didn’t want to worry you. By the time mother left last year the grounds were in disarray and I’d either scared off or dismissed most of the staff.”
Before he could ask about their oldest retainers, Cam raised a staying hand.
“Suffice it to say I came to my senses and most of the staff forgave me.”
He hated to pry into Cameron’s personal business any further. Although reluctant to hurt his brother, his mother had told him Cameron deserved to know the truth about the paternity of Millicent’s baby. Perhaps the knowledge would help him come to terms with the loss of the babe.
A Lady's Addiction (Honor Prevails Book 1) Page 22