Page 6

Harley House, Mayfair, London

A Mayfair address typically meant money, so when Leo arrived for his appointment, he’d expected to be shown in through the back door as usual.

None of these uppity people wanted to be seen letting in a member of the middle class, let alone a black man through the front like an equal.

So, when he’d arrived only to be told to use the front, he wasn’t sure what to expect.

Was this about his family or was it about a job?

Now he sat in the atrium having had his coat taken by a butler.

He wasn’t sure what to do with himself, so he observed.

The surroundings were not only lavish but old.

The style and makeup were Early Georgian, which meant this residence was likely one of the first of its kind there.

The furnishings had been updated but the style had not, which meant the age of the house mattered to them more than fashion. These people cared about their history.

His clients tended to find him by reputation.

But they also tended to seek him out at his office, not on the street.

These people, whoever they were, knew his name, which meant they could have made an office call.

Instead, they had gone through the trouble of having him followed.

They were either testing his ability or they had no respect for him whatsoever.

But if they didn’t respect him, then they could have dragged him to meet them.

It would have been difficult, but not impossible to bring him in by force.

They had the money to hire the manpower.

Instead, they left it to him and let him walk in through the front door.

So, they were testing him. To what end? Logic said it would have to be a job, why else bother evaluating his competence?

But the questions they had asked, and the information they had was disconcerting to say the least. Why would they bother looking at so much of his family tree to hire him for work?

A young man walked out to meet him with a cheery smile that immediately made Leo more suspicious. “Good afternoon, Mr. Kingston. My aunt is ready for you.”

Aunt ? “Does she make a habit of keeping people waiting?”

“Not as a rule, no. But she wasn’t feeling well this morning.” He gestured down the hallway to an open door. “Please follow me.”

Leo nodded and walked behind him with his hands loose at his side.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Albert Upton sir.”

Albert. The name didn’t ring any bells. He would stay only to understand their game. Once he knew it, he would leave. That was the plan. Until he entered the room and saw his host.

He almost didn’t recognize her as the presumptuous old bat from the Trawley Ball.

She sat in a wheelchair, eyes closed, skin almost grey from exhaustion.

Despite the summer heat, she was wrapped in furs and placed in a puddle of sunlight to warm her back.

This was a fragile, sickly old woman, not the brazen busybody he’d encountered days ago.

Then her eyes snapped open, and they were sharp and clear as day.

No matter the state of her body, her mind was as sound as ever.

“Hello again,” she said.

“Still here, I see,” he replied. There was no need to stand on ceremony, the woman had likely been school friends with Queen Elizabeth, and her sense of humor seemed as perverse as his.

Her answering smile was almost feral. “Oh, yes. I have unfinished business.”

“Is that why you had me followed? For showing up to a ball uninvited?”

“Not quite.” She let out a tired breath. “Have a seat, Mr. Kingston.”

“Is that an order?”

“A request. I cannot stand just now, and looking up at you hurts my neck. I assure you; I mean you no harm.”

Strangely, he believed that. This woman was not well. If his mother were here, she would have glared him into an early grave for inconveniencing an elder. He sat in the chair opposite her and watched her expectantly.

“Tea?” she asked.

“No, thank you.”

“It’s not poisoned.”

“I don’t take tea. As a rule.” Not since he’d had chai in India. The weak flavorless swill in England couldn’t compare. He’d take coffee any day.

“Ah.”

“Why am I here?”

“What an interesting question.”

“Is it?”

“There are so many ways it can be answered.”

“Seeing as you are short on time, and I am short on patience, might I suggest the direct approach.” He leaned back in his seat, aiming to give the impression of boredom even though something in her eyes had his teeth on edge.

She chuckled again, genuine amusement crinkling the corners of her eyes. “Very well, I will obey you. What do you know about your father’s family?”

“I know he comes from men of learning and women of dignity. They valued hard work.”

“All true.”

What was her angle here? “Lovely, was that meant to be illuminating?”

“Your name, Leopold. Were you named for him?”

The back of his neck prickled. Was that a good guess on her part or did she know something about his family? So far she knew too much for comfort. “For my great grandfather? Yes.”

“What do you know about him?”

“Less than you, I take it.”

“You’d be correct. Did you know for example that he was the third son of a baron?”

“A what?”

“You are the great grandson of the twelfth Baron Starkley.”

Impossible . “How very curious.”

“Isn’t it just?”

“Your delivery was sound, but the tale is a bit much for my tastes,” he said incredulously.

“Your grandmother was a lady’s maid from the West Indies, Antigua if I recall correctly. She was called Matu, but her name was Matilde Kingston.”

That caught his attention. His stomach dipped sharply as his mouth went dry. How on earth did she know about Grandmama Matu? Had his grandfather chosen to take his grandmother’s last name when they married? Why would he do that? “You’ve been looking into my family?”

“I’ve known your family longer than you have, my boy.”

“I’m not your fucking ‘boy’,” he snapped, the thread holding onto his patience, dangerously thin.

She likely didn’t mean anything by it, he knew that, but it felt too much like other times where his life had been twisted beyond recognition by the whims of someone else.

He hated the slippery feeling in his gut, the horrible sensation of unwanted exposure.

Who the fuck did this old woman think she was, looking into his family and having him followed in the middle of the night? What gave her the right? But she was not angered by his response. Instead, a strange, almost wistful look passed over her face.

“Yes, that is true. You are a Cambridge man by way of Eton, yes?”

He gripped the arms of the chair he was sitting in and struggled to get a hold of himself. This was absolutely an ambush, but one couldn’t lose control in a fight. The only way to survive was to get back control. “How long have you been looking into me?”

“Long, and not long at all. I’ve known you since you were born, but I didn’t recognize you until the Trawley Ball.”

“Explain yourself.”

“Nearly a century ago at age fourteen, I was engaged to your great grandfather Leopold Starkley until he threw me over for a former slave from the colonies.”

“I can’t say I blame him. You’re an impudent little busybody.” Who was determined to upend his entire life for the sake of her own agenda. What gave her the right? He was angrier than he’d expected, or perhaps he was afraid although he’d rather die than admit that.

“You forgot old. But I earned the right to be all three of those things. I was fourteen when he did it, he and your great grandmother were both of an age, twenty. My father was appeased, and I was married into a branch of the Starkley family when I was old enough.”

Burghley-Harrison. Now that his brain was in overdrive, he was remembering why that name was so familiar.

Edward Harrison. His former comrade in arms. A vicious, pompous man with more arrogance than courage.

Were they actually related then? He’d rather not think about it.

How many blows was he meant to withstand in one day?

No. He couldn’t take this nonsense seriously.

“Did you watch me out of malice to my grandparents?”

“How boring would I be if that were true? I was young, but I loved your grandfather. I loved him when I married my husband and bore my children. I’ve loved him my entire life.

I loved him more than any grievance I could have felt towards him for following his heart.

When his family cast him out for eloping with a former slave, I made sure they knew that I would still be his friend.

When his son, your grandfather was born, I was his godmother.

When his grandchild needed funding to attend the school of his forefathers, I funded it. ”

“You funded my father’s education?” How much of his life was entangled with this woman?

“Mmm. I made sure you went as well.”

“You—”

“With your grades you could have gone into law like my nephew Albert. He’s the young man who greeted you. But you chose the military instead.”

“You expect me to believe that my family owes their prosperity to you?”

“You owe it to your own effort. I gave one thing, the funding for an education equal to your family which you were entitled to by blood. What you made of the opportunities that education afforded you was your own business.”

“Why would you waste your money on the child of a man who abandoned you?”

“He fell in love. When given the choice between abandoning his principles and the woman he loved, or the protection of his family, he chose the wiser of the two. I was angry at first, but he would not have been my Leopold if he had chosen differently. My children are responsible for every ache in my bones, every silver hair on my head, every line on my face, but I would never turn my back on them for doing what was right instead of what was convenient.”

He couldn’t imagine anyone having that kind of a heart. What sort of woman supported the family of the man who had abandoned her? “He broke his word.”

“He never promised me anything. His family pledged him to a child. He wasn’t obligated to keep such a promise. The one he made a promise to was Matu, and that word he did not break. He was a man of integrity after all, and he passed that example down all the way to you.”

“You knew me at the ball.”

“I recognized those eyes. Only Starkley’s have those curious brown eyes. That shade is unmistakable.”

There had to be a reason she’d done all of this, a reason she was telling him about all of this, and it had nothing to do with the kindness of her heart. He was sure about that. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you are the last of that line.”

What on God’s earth? “I beg your pardon?”

“The last male descendent of the twelfth Baron Starkley is you.”

“I thought you said my great grandfather was disinherited.”

She shook her head. “He was cut off financially, not disinherited. No doubt they imagined he would abandon your great grandmother and return to the luxurious fold. But he was more stubborn and clever than they thought. Eventually with the first and second son married off and producing their own heirs, they likely expected it was too unlikely for his children to inherit anything.”

“Are you telling me I’m a Baron?”

“I am telling you that you have an undisputable claim to that title, should you decide to do so.”

“And why would I want to associate myself with a family that would have preferred I had never been born?”

“For the fun of it.”

There it was. In the end it was all for her own amusement. As if this wasn’t his life she was playing with. “You and I have different ideas of ‘fun’.”

“Are you telling me the idea of the rejected corner stone receiving the estate they preserved so diligently doesn’t tickle you a little.”

“Are you so petty?”

“Are you not?”

“Almost.” He was, but he’d rather cut out his tongue than admit it to her.

“So, you won’t do it?”

“I will not. Even if what you say is true.” And he resented her digging around in his family and ruining his peace for the sake of her own amusement.

For some ridiculous loyalty to a man who didn’t even want her.

His great grandfather left his family behind for a reason, what right did she have to drag him back there and expose himself and his family to the ton and their prejudice.

No doubt she imagined she was doing him a favor, as part of her ongoing charity work.

A last-ditch attempt to save herself from the blood money she inherited from her own forbears by enslaving his.

“If?”

“I have no interest in that life or in participating in a legacy that treated my grandparents like a gangrenous limb to be disposed of. I would rather belong to my namesake Leopold Kingston, not Leopold Starkley.”

“A rose by any other name.”

She would never understand. There was a tenuous peace that existed for people like him so long as they didn’t achieve too much, aspire to too much.

He’d learnt that lesson the hard way. Now she’d dropped this in his lap, what the fuck was he meant to do with it?

Better to leave it behind. He rose to his feet, sick to his stomach.

“I am sorry to have wasted your time seeing as you have so precious little left.” It wasn’t a kind thing to say, but he wasn’t feeling kind.

“Everything I have told you can be verified in any court in this land. My Bertie has a set of documents waiting for you in the hall. Proof for you to verify my claims by whatever means you deem fit.”

He and his family had not only survived but thrived in spite of this no doubt cursed barony and its cruel legacy. He would only be borrowing trouble by lowering himself to take it up. “I do not need it. Whether it is true or not my answer is the same. No,” he bowed and walked away.

“I did not ask if you wanted it, I simply told you it was there.”

He kept moving refusing to glance left or right. He didn’t trust his fingers not to snatch those documents. He wanted to return to his life and forget this ridiculous interlude ever happened.

“Mr. Kingston?” He heard Albert call him, but he kept walking. He paused only to snatch his coat from the rack by the door before yanking it open and rushing out into the bright sunlight.