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CHAPTER ONE

Henry

Spotting Crosswood Hall from the window of the carriage as I approached brought no happiness. Only a bone-deep weariness. I had always believed I would, one day, return home in triumph.

Instead, I was coming home a broken man. Broken in so very many ways. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually.

Just…broken.

When the carriage pulled up, the footman—whose name I had been told and then had promptly forgotten—moved to assist me.

I glared.

He stepped back and bowed his head.

My leg nearly gave way as I descended the stairs. Overbalancing, I almost fell.

A quiet, but audible, gasp went up from the assembled staff.

The staff I would have insisted not assemble. If I had had my wits about me. Which I had not and here we were.

“Your Lordship.” Mr. Wiggins, the estate manager, stepped forward. “We are most grateful you are returned to us.”

If he had said in good health, I might have been forced to fire him on the spot.

As things were, I needed him now more than ever. “Thank you, Wiggins. I will expect a full accounting.” Because that is what lords do…correct?

“When you are able.” He gave another bow.

Fortescue, my butler, gave a short wave to the assembled staff.

They departed.

Except the one man I both expected and dreaded.

Percy Dankworth .

He stepped forward. “My lord, with your permission, I am to serve as your valet.”

Wiggins had explained this in a letter. The one confirming not only was I the heir—after the deaths, first of my father and then of my brother—but that Caroline had died as well. A mere two months after giving birth to my niece.

Now I was not just heir to Crosswood and the vast estate, but I was also uncle to a six-month-old innocent infant.

I had received assurances she had a wet nurse—and all a babe could require—but that would never make up for the fact she was an orphan.

With a world-weary and war-injured uncle.

“Dankworth, I will be requiring your services.” I rotated my right shoulder, emphasizing my pinned sleeve.

Solemnly, he nodded. “I understand and will meet your every need.” He met my gaze with determined blue eyes. “Would a bath be in order? To relieve you from the discomfort of the journey from London?”

A voyage made all the worse by the constant rain. The muddy roads had hampered our journey north to the seat of the Hartridge family home.

“That would be appreciated.” I held that steely gaze—but with difficulty. “I shall require your assistance in all things.”

“You shall have it. You only need ask. I hope, in time, I will be able to anticipate your needs and fulfill them all.”

I blinked. Must be dust in my eye . “As you say.”

Fortescue, who had been conferring with the cook, stepped forward. “I shall have your case brought to your bedchamber. Will you have other things?”

“No. Just a uniform in need of cleaning, a commendation I do not want, and discharge papers.” Again, I gestured to my arm. “Not useful for anything at this point. A cavalryman without a sword arm is pointless.”

“We have use for you here.” Percy tilted his head. “You have been missed.” Then, as if realizing his words, he added, “My lord.”

The position in which I found myself upon my return required formality.

I hoped, once we were alone, but we might return to the informality of our youth.

We had been friends once. Although our positions dictated that could no longer be the case, my fervent wish was that he could remind me of the time when I had been content.

Before Caroline.

Before the debauchery.

Before the war.

And, finally, before every person in my family died.

Everyone except my niece, Isabella.

“How is the child?”

Percy smiled. A soft and gentle smile that lit his eyes. “She does well, my lord. A healthy set of lungs, which she uses frequently. Mrs. Fernsby dotes on little Isabella.” His expression darkened for a moment. “Her child died of a fever, and her husband died a day later. She…”

“Needed employment.”

“Yes.” His nose twitched. “She also needed a purpose. Isabella has given her that. I cannot fathom her loss, but she smiles around me, continuously demonstrating how your niece grows stronger every day.” He smiled. “You may be very proud.”

If only I did not have such…animosity…toward her parents. I had yet to forgive Caroline and William—my own elder brother—for the treachery. Their complete indifference to my feelings. Those feelings had turned to hate.

Yet, slowly, that hate was abating.

Their untimely deaths—mere months apart—left me with more sadness than glee at having lost two people I disliked so intensely.

“Once I am clean, I would like to see both Isabella and Mrs. Fernsby.”

“Of course, my lord. I will give her notice.”

“Thank you, Dankworth. You have always been—” I searched for the correct word. “—good to me.”

“As it should be.” He stepped aside, allowing me to pass.

Never had I been more grateful that Crosswood Hall did not have a grand staircase leading to the house. As a young man, I had questioned why we did not have what I considered a status of great wealth.

My father had never, to my mind, provided a satisfactory answer.

Now, as I hobbled through the front door, I let out a breath of frustration.

I was not simply missing part of my right arm. No. My leg had also suffered extensive damage, and I now walked with a pronounced limp.

So much for dignity.

I eyed the staircase to the upper rooms.

“We could establish a room for you on the main level.” Percy clearly caught my reticence. “Or we can carry?—”

“No one is carrying me anywhere. As long as I am able to walk, I will do so.” I was not going to waste the miracle that I was alive by acting the invalid I was. I had too much pride for that.

“As you wish.” He stood expectantly.

I grasped the handrail and, with some difficulty, hobbled my way up the stairs.

Need to use the cane the doctor gave you.

My belief was that only old men and men of leisure used canes.

The one Doctor Monroe provided had a brass handle and was, he informed me, all the rage.

Naturally, I wanted none of that. In my days of debauchery, I might have used one as an ornament.

Now? Anything that emphasized my lameness was to be avoided.

At the top of the stairs, I turned right.

Percy cleared his throat.

I sighed.

Yes, you are the master of the house now. You must occupy that suite.

William’s mother, my father’s first wife, had died forty years ago. My mother had died nearly thirty years ago. My father just eight months ago.

Caroline and William would’ve barely occupied the room—less than four full months before he died of lung fever. And she mere months later.

Likely they all died in that room.

I was not a superstitious man. Unlike my major, who believed certain rituals must be completed before each battle.

Myself?

Whatever was going to happen was the way God intended. If I had been meant to die at Waterloo, then I would not be standing here.

And Isabella would be truly alone in the world.

Right.

I pivoted left and headed toward the master suite. I had been in it only a few times over the years.

The hunter-green velvet drapes were secured to the sides of the windows. I moved to the glass and stood, looking over the vast land—all of it belonging to the Hartridges.

To me.

We were at the southernmost edge of the Lake District. Not far beyond my fields of golden wheat and corn lay moors with heather. I hadn’t appreciated the majestic beauty of this land before now.

Land I had never thought to see again when I left for the war on the continent. Dying in France had been my accepted fate.

Except I had not. A stubborn surgeon decided I would not die.

And so I had not.

“Your bath is ready. Perhaps you might want to enjoy it while it is still hot?”

Percy’s approach had gone unnoticed by me. I had been absorbed in thanking God for bringing me home.

You do not really believe in God.

Well, we had a love-hate relationship. He kept saving me from myself, and I kept denying His existence. An interesting way to approach life.

“I require assistance.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Finally, I turned to him. We were alone.

“I wish you to call me Henry when it is just the two of us. I understand that is a breach of decorum. I even believe you might be uncomfortable with it.”

“You know me well.” Still, he chuckled. “I am unclear about your intentions, but I am able to call you Henry when we are alone.” Slowly, he unbuttoned my dusty jacket. “We have moved your clothes into the closet. My bed is there as well. You need only call and I will attend to you.”

Gently, he pulled my jacket off. “We should get your cufflinks changed.”

I cocked my head.

“You have gone from Henry Hastings to Lord Henry Hastings Hartridge. You require a third H .”

I sighed. “Not a priority.”

He grinned. “No.” He unbuttoned my shirt. “You must accept your position as lord of the estate. You did not receive the training for the position, but I am certain you will succeed.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Because you are Henry Hastings. Fearless leader of everyone you have ever met.” He assisted me from the shirt—affording him a view of my mangled stump where my right arm used to be.

He did not bat an eye as he undid the buttons of my trousers. “You should sit, so I may remove your boots.”

“Yes, of course.”

Without my having to ask for assistance, he was there—understanding I could not do everything for myself. I sat on the bed, and he removed my boots, and then he removed my pants. Now, my damaged thigh was on display as well.

“I am useless.”

To my shock, he crouched so he was gazing up at me.

“You are far from useless. You are master of this estate. Your farmers and tenants are counting on you. Your niece requires you to be strong. She will need your guidance as she grows. Need to know someone loves her very much. Those are things only you can do. I do not see the scars—I see the man who survived a war. Who came home to take on a responsibility he was not born to. That he was never prepared for. But that he will succeed at nonetheless.” He rose.

“The water grows cold. Let us get you into the bath, and then I will request more water.”

I grasped his hand. “You know the challenges I face.”

He nodded. “You have always borne them. Your wealth provided you with privilege and a place in society you would never have had access to otherwise.”

“Unlike others.”

“I have never seen you as anything but Henry. The spare to the heir. Now you are the heir. You should know that Lord John Blackmore has returned from seafaring. He was a simple sailor until his uncle died. Then, mere months later, his dreadful cousin, Mortimer, died. He was never to inherit either.” Percy cleared his throat.

“Not all in society have accepted him. But many have. Yes, you both are…different.” He leaned toward me.

“The staff here accepted your mother, while she lived, and will accept you as well. If not, Wiggins will happily send them on their way. Now, bath.”

Lord John Blackmore . I did not know him. I would have to discover more about the man who like me, apparently, had black skin.