Page 24 of How to Court a Rake (Wed Within a Year #1)
PROLOGUE
Oxford University—May 1809
T he four men swayed down the rain-washed cobbled streets, singing out of tune and laughing heartily, their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders as they made their way to their favourite inn. And there was nowhere else Ezra Hart would wish to be on his last night at Oxford.
He had found happiness here and if there was one thing this place had taught him, it was just how essential his friendships were. Friends, he’d discovered, were far more important than family.
They managed to secure a cosy corner at the Crown in Cornmarket and began to make light work of another bottle of cognac. The inn was alive with the buzz of conversation and men downing drinks, smoking, some even brawling and taking it out on to the street.
Ezra tipped up his glass. ‘To the future!’ he said, before knocking back some of the amber liquid, feeling the burn in his throat on its way down.
‘To us,’ Ash, Hawk and Adam replied.
They had been through a lot these past four years together and Ezra was sad it was all coming to an end, that they would now be going their separate ways. He’d had a taste of freedom here, of adventure—he had been able to make his own choices. And as of tonight, he’d made another one. A life-changing one.
‘To freedom,’ Ezra said.
He wondered if he would ever see them again, as tomorrow he was signing up to fight the French in the war against Napoleon. Not that he’d told his friends yet. He was waiting for the right moment, because he knew they would call him a fool and try to talk him out of it.
But this was something he had to do.
During his time at university, he’d taken a keen interest in politics and the fate of their nation. He’d been watching Napoleon’s ambitious advance across Europe with growing unease. The man was a threat to British order and he had to be stopped. Ezra was prepared to stand up and fight him, to risk his life for his friends and his country. And he didn’t think it would hurt to exorcise some of his own demons on the battlefield.
He felt he needed to do something brave. Something notable. He wasn’t ready to go back to London—not yet. He had to accomplish something on his own terms, to prove his worth. And what could be better than seeing more of the world, earning a reputation of being a damn good soldier and winning glory in battle?
He would not return to Artington Hall—home—without it.
Home.
Could he even call it that?
It had never felt like it. Not since the day he’d gone to live there eleven years ago. Only these three men sitting around the table knew the truth of his heritage; it wasn’t something he was keen to share with anyone else. In fact, it was a truth he went out of his way to keep hidden.
He’d never forget that one bright autumn afternoon, not long after his tenth birthday, when the colours were starting to change to rust on the trees, the leaves beginning to fall. Ezra had been playing with his siblings in the garden, catching frogs, chasing butterflies around the pond, when he’d been called inside to bathe and dress in his finest clothes. His mother and father had ushered him into the drawing room, trying to tame his damp, wet curls, and presented him to his father’s patron, the Viscount Hart and his wife. He hadn’t known much about them—only that they provided his father with a modest living at the rectory on the Harts’ estate in Derbyshire.
As his parents and their important guests had sat and talked, Ezra had been preoccupied, staring longingly out of the window at his brother and sisters still frolicking outside, wondering why he’d been the one made to miss out, willing the adults to finish their tea in the stuffy room so he could get back to the others. Finally, they’d all stood and, looking up, he’d seen their gazes were focused on him and they had begun congratulating him, clapping him on the back. Unbeknown to him, it seemed something had been decided. Something huge. And that something had been his fate.
William Hart and his wife were grieving the loss of their only son, a boy Ezra’s own age, and wanting to fill that void, it seemed the role of the Viscount’s heir had somehow been granted to him. There were no other living male relatives that the Harts knew of. And due to the lack of a legitimate claimant, the Viscount’s title would fall into abeyance. While there was nothing Lord Hart could do about that, he could leave his property and lands that were not entailed to someone of his choosing. Someone he and his wife had brought up as their own, moulded into their way of life.
Ezra.
And it seemed they had offered to compensate his family handsomely.
Ezra didn’t know what he’d done to deserve it—this blessing, this burden. No one had even asked him if it was what he wanted. And it hadn’t been. He felt as if he’d been put up for sale and bought by the highest bidder.
As his trunk had been packed, he’d begged his father to let him stay; he had pleaded with his mother, tears rolling down his cheeks. They’d had to prise his fingers from her dress.
‘Do not cause a scene, just go,’ his father had said, trying to hold back his own emotions as Ezra was escorted to the coach, the door slamming shut with him inside. ‘One day you will understand,’ his father had whispered, as the carriage began to pull away, heading for London. ‘This will change your life—and ours.’
And it had. Ezra’s life as he’d known it had ended.
He’d become heir to the Viscount’s fortune overnight and later his name had been changed from Whittaker to Hart so he could one day inherit the Artington estate. But he hadn’t seen or heard from his family again and the wound ran deep.
At first, he and the Harts had tried to get along, but all too soon it became apparent just how misguided their attempts to fill the hole in their hearts had been. Too trapped in their grief, it became obvious that they couldn’t love Ezra like their own son and, what was worse, he seemed to be a perpetual reminder to them of what they’d lost.
He had been sent off to Eton boarding school, returning only at the weekends. And the Viscount had been hard on him—strict, determined to at least mould him into a man suitable to inherit.
Ezra had hated him, blaming him for taking him away from his family, destroying his happiness and for making him feel unlovable—a disappointment for never living up to their expectations.
He had always felt like an imposter at the imposing Artington Hall, because although his fortunes might have changed, he could never inherit the title of Viscount—a constant taunt of his modest heritage. An affirmation that he would never quite be good enough for that. And as if the Viscount felt the same, it had been kept a secret, always.
Besides, it seemed the Viscount was more concerned with a suitable heir taking over the estate than the title. But then, the Harts wouldn’t be around to bear the consequences when the truth finally came out, would they? The scandal that might occur when they eventually passed and Ezra inherited—and people found out he could not be made Viscount as he and the Harts were never related. The Viscount wouldn’t have to deal with the judgement of society, but Ezra would and it weighed heavy on his mind.
In the end it was a relief when he’d finally left for Oxford and escaped his guardian’s watchful gaze. He’d finally been able to live a little.
He’d worked hard, needing to be the best at everything, needing to make it on his own terms to be reassured of his value. He wanted to fill his own coffers without having to rely on the allowance the Harts had given him. And he wondered now what they’d think about him using some of it to purchase a commission into the Thirteenth Light Dragoons rather than returning home to take up his duties on the Artington estate. But by the time his guardian found out, Ezra would be halfway to the Continent and there would be nothing the Viscount could do about it.
He was just considering the best way to tell his friends about his decision, when one of his classmates slapped a copy of The Times on their table.
‘Bloody Napoleon is on the advance again! Completely unstoppable. He’ll be coming for us next.’
‘Well, we can’t defeat France without more men prepared to stand up and fight against him.’ Ezra got to his feet and started pacing, restless. ‘I loathe Napoleon with every fibre of my being. I’m not going to sit by and wait for him to attack us. That’s why I’m going to do something about it.’ He took a breath and raked a hand through his unruly hair. ‘I’m joining up tomorrow to do my bit to stop him, purchasing myself a commission in the cavalry. You should all know tonight is my last hurrah as a civilian.’
Silence descended on the table as they all stared up at him, aghast.
‘Don’t be an idiot,’ Hawk finally scoffed. ‘You wouldn’t last five minutes in the army without us watching your back.’
‘He’s right,’ slurred Ash. ‘You’ll end up dead without us.’
Ezra placed his hands on the table and leaned in. ‘Then put your money where your mouth is and join with me.’ Ezra slowly stared at each of them in turn and when he was met by stony silence, shook his head. ‘Somehow I didn’t think any of you would risk your cosy futures for King and country.’
It was a challenge. He knew it and they knew it. And he wasn’t even sure if it was one he wanted them to accept. He didn’t want to be responsible for making sure they came back unharmed. Was he being selfish? Yet he’d come to realise he didn’t belong anywhere apart from with his friends. And he was reluctant to let them go. This was his way of holding on to something of his own—his friendships and his pride.
‘I’m wondering how you’ll cope as a soldier when your respect for authority is all but non-existent?’ Ash said.
‘They’d better promote me up the ranks and put me in charge, then.’ Ezra winked.
There was a long silence before Adam spoke. ‘Well, seeing as there is nothing cosy about my miserable future and I loathe the prospect of being a vicar with every fibre of my being, how much is a commission?’ Adam was just as reluctant as Ezra to return home—he wanted to be a lawyer, yet his father was insistent he go into the priesthood.
‘Seven hundred and fifty pounds—but you’ll make that back in no time in salary and pension.’
He could tell his friend was tempted.
After a beat, Adam placed his glass down on the table with an air of finality. ‘Then I’m in. For King and country.’
‘Me, too,’ said Ash out of the blue.
Ezra frowned at his best friend. ‘Because you have a sudden, visceral loathing of Napoleon, too, that you’ve kept hidden from me all this time?’
‘Because I don’t want to be left out if you and Adam are going and because I’ve never been to the Continent and I am due an adventure,’ slurred Ash as he reached for more cognac. ‘Besides, how on earth would I live with myself if you two idiots got yourself killed simply because I wasn’t there to save you?’
Hawk glared at the three of them and then huffed. ‘Thanks a lot.’
‘For what?’ asked Adam.
‘For ruining my graduation, all my plans and my life in one fell swoop.’
‘How is us joining up to fight the French ruining your life?’
‘Because we all know that none of you will last five minutes in the cavalry without me constantly watching your backs.’
‘So you’re really coming with me?’ Ezra said, surprised, worried at what he’d got them all into, but also excited that perhaps their adventure together wasn’t over—not yet. They were delaying the future for a little while longer.
‘Of course. We’re always with you, Ezra.’
‘Then I feel, gentlemen, that a new toast is now appropriate.’ Ezra raised his tumbler. ‘To the cavalry and victory!’
‘To the cavalry and victory!’ they said in unison, clinking their glasses and tipping back the rest of their drinks.
And in a few months’ time, he’d be back—and able to prove to Viscount Hart that he was a soldier and a man to be respected, worthy of all he was set to inherit.