Page 72

Sam

Trenton Abbey

Hampshire, England.

The last few days had been a blur of legalities and ledgers, wading through a mountain of records on the estates’ holdings—estates plural, because Sam’s inheritance also came with a big bloody castle in Scotland with a whole separate set of tenants he was now responsible for.

Holy. Fucking. Shite.

But Sam was glad for it all. The pure onslaught of figures and facts being thrown at him every day, combined with being updated on the country estate he hadn’t set foot on in over two decades, had his mind and body in a permanent state of exhaustion.

When his head hit the pillow at night, he didn’t even have time to dwell on the aching hollowness inside his chest. Because his heart was still back in London.

He blindly let his solicitor lead, because he wasn’t capable of anything else, not when it took every bit of strength he had to avoid breaking down.

“Now, you also have your estate in Scotland,” Sam’s solicitor, Mr. Holmes, said.

He was far younger than Sam would have expected, a bit overeager with spectacles that kept sliding down his nose and a cowlick at his crown.

He was nothing like what Sam would have expected.

Sam would have thought some silver-haired, solemn cove who had been with his family since the beginning of time would be his solicitor.

But Sam had learned many of the staff had been turned over when his second brother, Edmund, had inherited, including the hiring of Mr. Holmes.

He had a feeling that was for the best. Sam had no idea what Mr. Holmes’s knowledge was of Sam’s past, but the man hadn’t shown Sam anything but the utmost respect.

He was pacing and droning on about Sam’s estate—something about how his brother had hired a very capable steward who could continue running things in Scotland if that would please Sam.

Sam was having quite a bit of difficulty giving a bloody fuck.

He drew in a deep breath. But people depended on him now, so he needed to at least ensure his people were taken care of.

This was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? Purpose.

Sam choked back a delirious laugh, and all the occupants of the room—Mr. Holmes, Ash, and Felicity—shot him a concerned look.

But how could one not laugh like a lunatic at this?

Life just threw him two estates full of purpose.

But stole away everything that really mattered.

Now, he’d give anything to go back to being Felix’s kept man, to be fully dependent on him. Hindsight was a twisted bastard.

“You will also need to take your seat in the House of Lords. Once the Crown is notified of your succession, the necessary steps will be taken to verify your claim.”

Sam’s attention snapped to the armchair across from his desk where Ash sat.

Felicity’s teacup froze halfway to her mouth from where she perched on the leather couch just beyond the desk.

This was it. This was the reckoning—when his past and present would finally collide.

Right now, no one knew Sam had been found.

No one knew he was at his family’s estate— his estate.

But he couldn’t indefinitely avoid the glaringly empty seat in the House of Lords.

Which meant the Crown would know where he was.

“Have you already notified them?” Sam kept his voice neutral, his attention never leaving Ash’s.

“I have. My letter should have arrived—or will, any day now. We should expect your writ of summons within the fortnight.”

Sam’s stomach dropped to the floor. Or what would be more likely, they’d verify the succession, conduct their due diligence, and it wouldn’t be long until someone in Whitehall connected the new Earl to the fugitive who escaped the noose four-and-twenty years ago.

Mr. Holmes delicately cleared his throat.

“There’s something else. Your brother had a special request in his will.

” Mr. Holmes went over to his satchel and pulled out a worn leather journal.

“This was kept in a safe only your brother had access to,” the solicitor said.

“He was adamant that this be left for you and you alone.” He cast a hesitant glance at Sam’s visitors, like he didn’t think they should even be present for this, but Sam had made it clear Ash was staying by his side through this.

He needed a trusted adviser. Who better than a Duke best mate?

“I will leave you to…peruse this.”

As soon as the door clicked shut, all demure, poised duchess vanished from Felicity and she scurried over to Sam’s desk, slapping her palms down on the surface. “Come on now. What does it say?”

Sam threw her a pointed glance as he unfastened the tie around the journal—the unopened journal he quite clearly hadn’t had time to read yet.

“Patience, Lissy,” Ash murmured. But he was leaning forward eagerly, too.

“I don’t understand why my brother would leave me a journal,” Sam said, thumbing slowly through the pages. “Why would someone who stood there, condemning me to death, leave me something so personal? And something he so plainly kept secret.”

The journal was filled with entries spanning at least a decade. Sam fanned the pages, and the journal fell open to where a note had been tucked between them. A letter. One addressed to Sam. At Devonford Castle.

He swallowed hard. Ash had mentioned Edmund had known where Sam was for quite some time. He unfolded the letter with shaky fingers and began to read.

Sampson, I’ve written this letter a thousand times over the past twenty years, and not once did I find the spine to send it.

Words will always be a paltry offering for what our family did to you.

I never agreed with Mother and Father’s decision.

I never shared their beliefs, but I stood quietly by while you were sentenced.

A coward, who would let his own brother be condemned, lose his life, rather than defy his parents.

You have no idea the elation I felt when I found out you had somehow escaped.

I’d discreetly looked for you. I just needed to know you were alive and well.

And then I found you. I had been building up the courage to visit Devonford, to ask about you.

If anyone knew of your whereabouts, I knew it would be him.

But I was terrified of what my reception would be, given your friendship.

That’s when I saw you. You and Devonford had entered the village tavern where I’d sat, trying to gather my nerve with liquid courage.

You looked nothing like the boy you were when I last saw you—a lanky lad of eighteen, shaking, screaming after us as you were taken away by the constables.

That vision, your cries, have haunted me ever since.

A nightmare I deserve to relive. But there you were: older, larger, broader—so much like Grandfather.

You smiled, laughed. You looked happy, safe.

I will forever be in debt to Devonford. I have no doubt he was the one who saved you.

Over the years, I’ve kept my distance, occasionally making it as far as returning to the village nearby, hoping for a glimpse of you, just to ensure you were still well.

Like I said, I was—am—a coward. I feared your anger, your hurt.

I feared Father’s reaction if he were to find out.

They were happy to pretend you ceased to exist after you escaped.

I didn’t want to do anything to risk that changing.

I never expected to inherit. But perhaps fate saw fit to give our family what it deserved.

The carriage accident that took Father and Mother…

Alfred’s fall from his horse… None of it was swift, slowly paying back their penance in pain.

And I can’t pretend to mourn them. I hope they suffered for everything they did to you.

My own reckoning is surely coming. For even if it was never a fate I wanted for you, I was complicit.

I did nothing. That is betrayal enough. So I deserve whatever punishment the fates see fit to deliver.

All I can offer you is this apology, and what I was able to achieve once I inherited.

The first use of my newfound authority as Earl was to seek a royal pardon on your behalf.

Enclosed in the back flap of this journal is the certified warrant bearing the Great Seal, confirming that pardon.

Now, if you are reading this, I am most likely no longer walking this earth.

Let us be honest, I’m unlikely to ever summon the courage to send it.

I will forever regret my silence, my weakness, and my failure to protect you, my little brother.

I’m so sorry, Sammie. I will carry this guilt to my grave and beyond.

Because the only sinners in this tale were us: your family, executioners of our own kin.

As one final note: I dismissed many of the staff when I ascended to Earl.

I sought to rid the estate of those who shared the beliefs of our parents and elder brother.

I am sure some still remain who cannot be trusted, but Mr. Holmes is an ally you can rely on.

He is loyal, and he knows the full truth.

With love, regret, and what little atonement I can offer, Edmund

The letter trembled in his grip, and Sam shook his head in disbelief, lips moving soundlessly.

A storm was brewing in his chest, a gale of anguish and rage, of resentment and relief.

It was like his body, his mind, didn’t know how to feel.

His brother— one bloody person in his family— didn’t want him dead, cared for him.

It was the saddest joyful realization. He did have kin who loved him.

But still would have let him swing. It was like fate was determined to heal his heart, just to shatter it again.

How could a person ever allow that to happen to someone they loved?

Was there really anything Edmund could have done?

Did that absolve his brother of his sins?

He swallowed, clenching his jaw to hold back the emotion climbing its way up his throat, and passed the note over to Ash.

Felicity quickly sank onto his lap, and they read the note together.

Their eyes flitted back and forth, brows furrowing, and Sam saw his own reaction play out on their faces.

Felicity gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

Ash’s eyes went wide, and his gaze shot to Sam’s.

“Christ, Sam,” Ash said hoarsely. “Your brother— He had you pardoned. You’re safe.”

Something lit in Sam’s gut at Ash saying that fact out loud, a realization that was warm and light and so bloody hopeful.

It drowned out the conflicting emotions the letter had spurred.

“I can stay here at Trenton Abbey,” he said, realization reeling through his mind.

“I can live a quiet life here. I’ll take a page out of your book, Ash, and become a broody recluse. ”

Ash chuckled. “You’re always welcome to visit Devonford Castle, of course. Even if we have guests. I don’t give a bloody damn what society will say or think.”

Sam returned his friend’s grin and then it froze on his face. Felicity was pointedly avoiding Sam’s gaze, picking at Ash’s waistcoat.

“Felicity…?”

She glanced up, amber eyes the exact shade as Felix’s staring back at him. Eyes he hoped to hell he’d be seeing again soon. “I am completely aligned with Ash, Sam. You are always welcome…”

But…

“My brother could never risk coming here, seeing you,” Felicity added quietly. “Not as an unmarried gentleman.”

All that bubbly warmth turned ice cold. Of course, it wasn’t this simple. He was the biggest fool to have even dared believe it could be.

“If you isolate yourself; people will talk. I’m not sure what they would find, how publicized your case was.

But your seclusion would look suspicious, feed into the rumors.

And if it was found out, people would treat it as an admission.

That’s what happened with Mr. William Beckford.

He lived alone, an exile of his own making of sorts, just still in England.

Everyone knew of his preferences, but his wealth and seclusion protected him from any repercussions. ”

She paused, her voice turning whisper soft. “However…if Felix was ever caught visiting you? It would implicate him. The Bentley name…”

Sam cursed under his breath. It would stain the Bentley name. Everything Felix and his father before him had worked so hard for, ruined. He’d be ostracized. Possibly force Felix into exile as well.

“There has to be a way to bury what happened. To erase it or hide it so deeply, no one in society would think to look. Even if I can’t—if we can’t—it would kill me to never see him again.

” He stared beseechingly at Felicity and Ash, begging them to give him the answers he knew they didn’t have.

“We have to find something that would outweigh the black marks on me, then there could be a way, somehow, for Felix and me to still…”

Two sorrowful gazes met his own, and he couldn’t bear the sadness reflecting back at him.

He dropped his head in his hands and fisted his hair.

Bloody hell. The relentless tide of emotions was too much for his body to take.

Elation one moment, panic the next. Then in came this dizzying hope.

A pardon. Safe. Possibility. Only to have it ripped away—fate, the cruelest pickpocket of all.

And all he was left with was the question: did any of it even matter if he couldn’t be with Felix?

“We’ll do our best, Sam,” Ash said solemnly.

“I should bring this news to my brother,” Felicity added quietly. “If anyone can figure out how to fix this, it’s Felix.”

Sam’s eyes slid shut as pain radiated through his frame. Fix-it Felix. Don’t let this be the one thing you can’t mend, love.