by Lauren Smith
Delilah stood and turned her head defiantly. “I am walking out, but not because you told me too. I want to go home, and I shall.” Mirabella ran after her as they exited the church.
Ryan placed his hand in nanny’s. “Do they know the way?”
“I don’t know, poppet,” she said. “We best follow after them. Those two are going to make me crazy. Pretty soon we will long for the quiet, and have trouble recalling what it was like.”
He nodded at nanny even though he didn’t understand. Why would he not have any more quiet? Shouldn’t he always have it in his room? That was his safe space. He supposed he’d figure it out later. It was a happy day. His father told him so, and he chose to believe it.
England 1800
“Ryan,” his stepmother shouted. Her shrill voice pierced his eardrums even from the distance that separated them. He still couldn’t believe he’d been excited to have that woman as a mother. “Come down here now, you silly boy.”
He stared at the bare walls of the attic she forced him to sleep in. His nice bedroom had been taken away and given to Delilah. Oh, it hadn’t happened at first, but once his father died Lady Penelope had gained complete control over him. He should be preparing to go to Eton, yet he remained stuck as Lady Penelope’s unpaid labor. She claimed they didn’t have the funds to send him to school and give her girls the proper education they deserved. So she’d hired tutors for them all. He got his education by default. She wouldn’t have have allowed him to meet with the tutor at all if she could have prevented it; however, his grandfather, the Duke of Ashthrone insisted on quarterly reports. If he didn’t hear from Lady Penelope, then they wouldn’t receive any funds.
Ryan hopped down the stairs two at a time and headed into the sitting room. Lady Penelope sat on the chaise reading a book. Her two daughters, Mirabella and Delilah were in chairs opposite of her. Delilah worked on needle work, and Mirabella painted watercolors on a canvas.
“It’s about time,” Lady Penelope scoffed. “I need you to start a fire. It’s getting chilly in the room.”
His stepmother had dismissed almost all the servants. Another way to be frugal and spend money on her daughters and herself—they were all selfish. The only staff they’d kept was a cook and a driver. Ryan couldn’t be seen on top a carriage driving them around. That would make it back to his grandfather, and then she’d have a lot to answer for. As far as cooking—Lady Penelope had tried to make him do that. She’d given up when she realized he was horrid at it. He’d never been so grateful he was terrible at something. Ryan had practically been his stepmother’s slave since his father’s death a few years ago. He couldn’t wait until he came into his inheritance, small that it was, and make Lady Penelope leave his home. Surely she had relatives she could live with. He’d never disliked anyone as much as he did his stepmother and two stepsisters.
“Right away,” Ryan replied.
He set to work lighting the kindling in the hearth. Soon flames licked the wood and warmth spread outward. Ryan stood and brushed his hand over his pants, leaving a streak of ashes and soot in their wake.
“Go and wash. You look disgraceful.”
Ryan clenched his jaw tight and nodded at his stepmother. He didn’t trust himself to speak. A loud boom echoed through the hall, followed by a bellow, “Where is everyone in this blasted house?”
Lady Penelope leaped to her feet to rush out of the room, but she didn’t make it two steps before the owner of the bellow entered. “There you all are.” He looked at Ryan and frowned. “What do you have all over you?”
It was the Duke of Ashthrone himself—Ryan’s grandfather had finally come to check on him. He hadn’t been at the house since his father’s death. He honestly didn’t understand why the duke had left him with his stepmother. At the time, he’d been grateful for it. His grandfather was not a kind man, and he’d believed his stepmother the better of the two options. He’d thought he had to stay there until it was time to go to Eton. But that hadn’t happened.
“Hello, grandfather,” Ryan greeted him. “I was lighting a fire for the ladies.” He didn’t say that Lady Penelope had made him do it. That would have earned him several lashings with her favorite whip. His stepmother had an evil side that rivaled any malevolent entity. For the life of him, Ryan didn’t understand what his father had ever seen in the woman. Her two daughters were fast becoming miniature versions of her too.
“That’s what servants are for, boy.” He glanced around the room. “Go fetch me one. We’re going to need assistance for what I have in mind.”
Ryan glanced at his stepmother for direction. He didn’t know who he should fetch—the driver? They didn’t have maids or footmen. They had Ryan to do all of that. He wasn’t sure how his grandfather would react to the news that his grandson did all the dirty work around the house. The duke had always looked down on those in lesser stations. Would it change how his grandfather perceived him? He hoped not. That might not bode well for his future if it did.
“Is that necessary?” Lady Penelope asked. “The fire is already lit. Ryan’s a good boy taking care of us, and he can assist you with whatever it is you need.”
He barely refrained from rolling his eyes. His stepmother was good… She sounded so sweet an innocent. Ryan knew better—nothing pure or honest lived inside of that woman.
“I suppose,” the duke agreed. “I’m not staying long. I’ve come to fetch the boy.”
“Oh?” Lady Penelope said with a tilt of her head. “I thought you trusted me to see to his care.” More like she didn’t want to lose her servant…
The duke glared at her. That one look seemed to say, How dare you question my actions? Ryan wanted to perfect a look like that. It had shut his stepmother’s mouth faster than anything he’d ever witnessed.
“My grandson needs to learn his proper place in the world. That will not happen here. It looks as if my other son, the Marquess of Cinderbury will only have a daughter. His wife is unable to bear any more children, which makes this boy my heir. He’ll be a duke someday, and he has to understand that responsibility.”
“I see,” Lady Penelope said. “Must you rush off today?”
“Yes,” the duke said with finality. He turned to Ryan. “You have ten minutes to pack.”
Ryan didn’t need to be told twice. He practically ran out of the room and up to the attic. There wasn’t much he wanted to take with him. He had a small trunk in his room that contained all of his belongings. His stepmother didn’t think he rated a real armoire. So all he did was grab his trunk and drag it down the stairs. He didn’t even stop to make sure it was all there. It didn’t matter if he left anything behind.
His grandfather waited for him in the foyer. In some ways, the duke had turned into a cantankerous old fairy godfather to him. Strangely, that description fit him rather well. Though he might not be as old as Ryan believed—he was twelve, and everyone older than him seemed ancient.
“That was much faster than I expected,” his grandfather stated. “Maybe you won’t be a lost cause after all. You were a sniveling child the last time I saw you.”
If the duke had bothered to check up on him, he’d have realized Ryan had to grow up much faster than any boy should. First, he’d lost his mother before he realized what that even meant, and then his father several years after that. His heart had hardened, and he doubted he’d ever feel anything ever again. Emotions led to heartache, and he had no use for them. His grandfather might be his benefactor now, but he was far from benevolent.
“I don’t need much,” he told his grandfather. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
He nodded at Ryan and they headed outside to his carriage. Neither one of them stopped to say goodbye to Lady Penelope or her daughters. Ryan because he hated them all, and the duke probably didn’t give them any thought. In some ways, he was similar to them. He had expectations and would make sure Ryan met them, but at least his grandfather would prepare him for his future. His stepmother had wanted to use him as a slave. I
t was a trade-off he’d more than willingly take. Some things were worth taking a chance on. Not that his grandfather gave him much of a choice. He had to go back to his estate and learn everything about being a duke. He hoped he didn’t turn into an irritable old man like him.
The carriage rattled on the drive. The tiny house that had once meant something to him grew smaller and smaller as the carriage rolled down the road. At one time, he believed that could be a real home to him with a family that loved him. Some things weren’t meant to be, and he’d never have a doting mother in his life. At least Penelope would no longer have any control over him. It was his past, and he never wanted to see her or his stepsisters ever again.
His stepmother could have his childhood home. He’d much rather keep distance between them and forget they existed. His grandfather would shape him into a man capable of having complete control over his life. Ryan tried to find some part of his soul that remained happy and pure, but Penelope had snuffed it out of him after his father died. Now all he could do was move on and try to be a better person than those around him. He vowed no woman would ever have power over him again…
Acknowledgments
As always thanks to my cover artist, Victoria Miller. You are fabulous as always. Also thanks to Elizabeth Evans—you make writing fun. Thank you for helping me and reading all my rough drafts.
Chapter 1
Kent 1816
The carriage rattled as it traveled over the road. Sun streamed through the windows, highlighting the velvet-lined seats. Lady Annalise Palmer stared out the window at the various trees as they traveled. Not that the scenery was particularly breathtaking, though it did hold some appeal, but because she couldn’t be sure of her reception once they reached their destination. She’d written her stepsister, Estella—the new Viscountess of Warwick and explained why she’d acted as she had; however, that didn’t mean she’d forgive her. She’d received a letter from Estella, inviting her to visit Manchester Castle. Annalise couldn’t help wondering why they were in Kent, and not Warwick’s estate.
“Did you really need to travel out here to see Estella?” Her brother, Marrok—the Marquess of Sheffield asked. “I hate long carriage rides.”
“Not as much as I do,” she answered bitterly. “You’re a horrible traveling companion.”
“Be glad I agreed to accompany you. Father never would have let you out of the abbey otherwise.” Marrok yawned loudly. “He’s still quite angry for your part in helping Estella marry Warwick.”
Her father, the Duke of Wolfton, had no idea everything she had done to help Estella. He thought she’d sent her funds to live on, but she’d done far more than that. Her father was not a good man and had done his best to make sure Estella would remain miserable the rest of her life. Annalise had wanted to help her sooner, but hadn’t known how it could be possible. The duke watched her every move, and if she’d even tried, he’d have found a way to prevent it. She’d had to be smarter than him, and that requited an enormous amount of patience. Her scheming had paid off when she found a way to bring Estella together with the man she loved.
“I have no regrets,” she said. “Estella needed my help.”
“I don’t disagree. Father is an arse—Estella should never have been sent away.” Marrok stretched his arms over his head. “How long have we been in this bloody carriage anyway?”
At least her brother had not turned into a replica of their father. Oh, he wasn’t perfect by any means, but he didn’t have a cruel streak. Marrok had no patience for idiocy and didn’t suffer fools. He could cut someone down to nothing with a glance or a few choice words if he decided to make the effort. In short, he put the description broody male to shame, and in fact, had perfected it. Annalise loved her brother, but even she could only tolerate him for so long. She pitied the female he decided to marry one day. He would be rather difficult to live with. Hell, there was no rather about it—he was a right arse on a good day. She tore her gaze away from the window and turned to him and replied to his question, “About as long as the previous time you asked. You’re worse than a small child.”
“No more than you are.” He leaned over and peeked out of the window. “I’m serious though. Shouldn’t we be there already?”
As he spoke the words Manchester Castle came into view. The structure was majestic and breathtaking to behold. The Wolfton ancestral home had its own beauty to it, but in a different way than Manchester. This castle seemed lighter—happier somehow. Maybe she was being a little whimsical or perhaps she longed for the freedom to be herself. Because of her father’s expectations, she always had to put on an act and pretend not to care about anyone or anything.
“Oh, thank heavens.” Marrok leaned back on the seat. “Soon I can stretch my legs properly.”
Annalise rolled her eyes, though she didn’t really blame him. Every inch of her muscles were stiff from sitting in the carriage for hours. It would be good to finally exit the blasted thing and walk for a little bit. The carriage turned on to the long path leading to the castle. It rolled over a bump and threw Annalise upward. Pain shot through her bottom and up her lower back as she landed on the seat. “Ouch,” she yelped, unable to hold it in.
“I’m willing to bet you’re glad we have almost arrived as well.” Marrok chuckled gleefully. “Admit it.”
“I hate you,” she muttered.
“No, you don’t,” Marrok replied then laughed again. “You adore me, and we both know it.” He winked at her. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you grovel and apologize for being mean.”
“As if I would,” she replied. “You can wait forever, and that still wouldn’t happen.” Annalise couldn’t stop her lips from tilting upward. Marrok’s revelry had lifted her out of a sour mood. She was worrying too much over nothing. Estella wouldn’t have invited her to Manchester if she hadn’t forgiven her for her actions. Lord Warwick hadn’t been harmed—much—in her scheme to place him on board Estella’s ship. They both had been miserable without each other. Now they could be happy, as they should have been all along.
The carriage came to a stop and Marrok pushed the door open before the driver could. He was in that much of a hurry to exit their conveyance and put his feet on solid ground. Annalise chuckled lightly at his actions. Some things never changed. Marrok had always hated traveling, but he did remember how to be a gentleman. He turned and reached for her hand to help her disembark as well. “Thank you, dear brother.”
“As always, sister dear.” He winked. “You know you can count on me.”
They walked up to the front door and it slid open before they had a chance to rap the knocker against it. A tall lean man greeted them. “How may I help you?”
“We’re here for a visit with Lady Warwick,” Annalise replied. “I received an invitation from her.”
“Lady Annalise Palmer, I presume,” the tall man said. “And you are, sir? I was unaware anyone else would be accompanying the young lady.”
“I’m her brother the Marquess of Sheffield.” Marrok lifted a brow. “Did you really expect my sister to travel alone?”
“No,” the man replied. “I thought perhaps a maid, but not another peer. Please come in. I’ll have a footman see to your trunks.” The butler—at least that is who Annalise presumed the man was—shut the door behind them as they entered. “Will you want to rest from your long journey, or would you like to join the Lady Manchester and Lady Warwick in the sitting room for tea?”
“I’d rather go for a walk,” Marrok replied. “I am restless from inactivity.”
“Very good, my lord,” the butler replied. “It’ll give the housekeeper time to prepare your chambers.” He turned toward Annalise. “And you, my lady?”
She was starting to think she should have written Estella before she left to let her know Marrok would be coming with her. “I’d like to join the ladies for tea.” Resting could wait until after she had a meeting with her stepsister. She’d never be able to relax properly otherwise.
“Then please
follow me,” the butler replied.
He led her down a long hallway and into a large room. It didn’t resemble any sitting room she’d ever been in. There weren’t even any chairs in the room but there was one long table. “You’ll find the other ladies on the other side of the room. The butler turned and exited, leaving Annalise to fend for herself. The man was rather rude…
She walked farther inside and could hear the distinct sounds of metal banging on metal, quickly followed by female laughter. Annalise tilted her head at the noises. How interesting… She quickened her step toward where she heard it coming from. After she turned a corner, she found the reasons for the laughter. Estella was in the midst of a fencing match with another lady. Annalise had never seen the other woman before and couldn’t be certain who she was, but she suspected it to be Lady Manchester.
“Enough,” Estella replied after another clang of foils. “If we keep this up, your husband will come in and thrash us both.”
The other lady relaxed her sword arm and then wrinkled her nose. “Garrick wouldn’t dare.”
“No?” Estella lifted a brow. “He lectured us both for a full hour before agreeing to let us fence. I somehow doubt he’d appreciate it if I let you overdo things.”
“All right,” the lady agreed. “Garrick would be upset. But I think it’s safe to say your husband would never let him lay a finger on you.”
“That is also true.” Estella’s laughter reverberated through the room. She walked over to a nearby table and set her foil down, then picked up a teapot and poured some into a cup. “Do you think this tea is still warm?”
“I don’t know,” the lady replied. “But I don’t care. I’m suddenly starving.” She picked up a tea cake and practically shoved it into her mouth, then grabbed the teacup from Estella’s hand and drank the contents. “That’s amazing.”
“Pregnancy does strange thing to women.”