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Nine

RYCLIFFE PLACE, LONDON- JUNE 13, 1816

XANDER

The light was fading too soon, and I still wasn’t precisely sure what was wrong with my landscape. I preferred the morning light of the room I chose for my studio, but the afternoon was close on morning’s heels.

The painting wasn’t quite right. The early dawn sky was too bold, and the grass wasn’t muted enough.

For days, the watercolors had refused to do my bidding, each work a greater disappointment than the last.

I wasn’t an artist, not by any means, though I did fancy myself a connoisseur. That meant I had more than enough understanding to know precisely how far I was from being an artist—a true artist. But I was rich and idle. And painting was something to pass the time. Something to avoid the unpleasant thoughts of recent days.

My shoulders met the wall as I stepped back to take in my work. The fired orange and honeyed reds swirling in the sky and kissing the edges of the clouds were more vibrant than I’d intended. It was too much, cloying. It also wasn’t a problem I’d ever had before.

I enjoyed watercolors for their gauzy, soft qualities. There was a dreamy note in them—the world as though beneath bedsheets, in that hazy place between waking and sleep.

But ever since the masquerade—since that night, everything felt wrong. My skin stretched too tight on my frame. The stitching on my shirt chaffed my arms. Food was under seasoned and uninteresting.

And my nights, oh my nights. Long, lithe fingers caressed my skin as husky whispers promised to shoulder my responsibilities if I only let go. Prussian eyes traced my form, looking not to judge but because doing so brought him pleasure. Increasingly filthy words were whispered by soft lips against my flesh. It was maddening and wonderful at the same time.

Consumed within a lovesick melancholy for a man I didn’t even know. Utterly absurd.

A knock sounded, interrupting me as I was wiping my hands on a rag—Godfrey, my valet.

“Your Grace?” A tentative, pitchy quality laced his tone. Which only meant one thing.

“What has she done now?”

“Your mother sent a note that your sister is missing. She requests your presence at Hasket House.”

A sigh broke from my chest. “Is that all she said?”

“Well, Her Grace used more words than that. And a scented parchment.”

My fingers found the bridge of my nose where an ache was already forming. I pinched away the more pleasant thoughts of my nighttime paramour.

“It all smells like that.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“Thank you, Godfrey. I should dress.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

A change of clothing followed by a brief stop in my study to locate my purse, and I was off.

When I arrived at Hasket House, Mother had taken to her chambers in a fit of histrionics, as was her usual way.

I found her in her dressing room, curled on the floor beside her shoes with a very distraught—and new—lady’s maid trying to coax her to a nearby settee.

The girl fled eagerly at my dismissal.

“Mother?”

“Oh, Alexander! It is too wretched to conceive. Your dear sister has relinquished, forsaken, discarded all the comforts of this dazzling abode. She is lost to us, to all amiable society henceforth. How should I be expected to endure such a grievous loss? Another precious babe, taken from me prematurely!”

My head gave a disgruntled throb behind my left eye. Mother was moments from a full episode. They’d become more frequent after Gabriel’s death, and more common still after father passed. But they were no less dramatic for their frequency.

If I could not produce my sister, and soon, Mother would be bedridden for weeks with ailments ranging from megrims, fatigue, and nervous flutterings to vertigo and aching in her joints.

I helped her to the chaise, one arm around her shoulder to guide her. She threw herself on it, face first, and collapsed with a dramatic wail.

“How do you know she is gone, Mother?”

“My darling Davina left a missive, but she neglected to convey the rest of her stratagem.” She cried into the fabric, so shrill and loud that I could make out every word.

“She left a note?”

“That is what I said.”

I refused to begin yet another argument over semantics with Mother. “Where is the note?”

“I abandoned it on the vargueno when its contents overtook my sensibilities.”

Leaving her to sigh pathetically on the chaise, I strode over to find the slip of parchment in Dav’s messy scroll. It contained the usual sentiments. I want to go on an adventure. London is dreadfully dull. Then I found the details of this specific misdeed. I’ve learned of a third-rate naval ship docked at the port. I plan to board and sail to the East Indies. By the time you read this, I will be long away.

How the devil…

No matter. It was more information than she often left.

I turned back to my mother’s feigned sobs. “Mother, I need to retrieve her. Can I have anything brought to you for relief?”

“Yes!” she cried. “Procure my precious babe, my dearest, beloved daughter.”

“That is my intention. Is there anything else? A cup of tea?”

“No, not a thing. I shall not take nourishment until she is returned.”

“I’ll be off then,” I replied, desperate to escape.

I froze on the entry steps for a moment, considering—I could go to the docks, try to find Dav on my own. Or perhaps it would be more efficient to go straight to Mr. Summers and have him try to lessen the effects of whatever crimes she had committed in pursuit of entertainment.

In the moments I wavered, a boy, no more than twelve and wearing a blue coat, ran past. Oh good lord. He was here for me. He made it another full house before he realized his error and doubled back.

The ship’s boy skidded to a stop, panting in front of me with one hand on his side.

“M’lord,” he wheezed out. I wasn’t about to correct him.

“Are you here about Lady Davina?” I asked, urging him to sit on the steps. A knock on the door produced Mother’s butler. “A glass of lemonade, if you please.” He nodded his affirmation and slipped back inside.

“M’lord,” the boy tried again. “I was supposta find you at Rycliffe Place. But your butler said you’d be here. M’lord, it’s your sister,” the grubby boy broke off, wheezing. The butler returned with the glass, holding it out with thumb and forefinger as though it were dirty and not its recipient.

The child took it eagerly in both hands, not so much drinking as pouring it down his gullet.

“I take it she was caught?”

“In a lieutenant’s coat an everythin’.”

The place behind my left eye throbbed. “She is unharmed? Safe and still in England?”

“Yes, m’lord. But the Master at Arms is sayin’ he wants her punished. He don’ believe her story an says he thinks she might be spyin’. Esponge, he says.”

It took a moment for my head to translate his meaning. Espionage. My stomach jolted. Surely they couldn’t… not a lady.

“Why are you here? If he didn’t believe her?”

“Your sister. She said you’d pay the gentleman who assisted in her release.” The boy straightened his spine, tugging on the lapels of his coat between wheezes.

I slipped a hand into my pocket and placed three guineas on my outstretched palm. He grasped one coin between both thumbs and forefingers with an expression of pure awe. “They’re all for you, lad. And there’s another five in it for you if you can keep her from being arrested until I can get there.”

His grey eyes widened in a way that would have been comical if I weren’t oscillating between letting them arrest my sister to serve as a lesson and joining my mother in a panicked, inconsolable heap on the chaise upstairs.

“O’course, m’lord. Anything you need, I’m your man.”

“What’s your name, lad?”

“John Taylor, m’lord.” There was a sense of pride in the way he announced it.

“Very good, Mr. Taylor. And your ship?”

“The HMS Grampus .”

“All right. Mr. Taylor, I need to meet with my solicitor. I want to be sure we are prepared for any legal troubles that Lady Davina might be facing. Can you give the Master at Arms this card? Tell him I’ll be there to sort this out right away.” I pulled my card from the other pocket and handed it to him.

“Yes, m’lord.” He nodded eagerly before pulling off his boot and stuffing the coins in the toe. He slipped it back on and rolled his ankle experimentally. There was a soft jingle, but nothing that would be of note.

With both arms, he pushed off the steps to stand and set off at another run, back toward the docks, my card clenched in his fist. Hopefully it would still be legible when it arrived.

I stepped into the waiting carriage and set off toward Hart and Summers, Solicitors.

The damned bell was as unnerving as ever.

Will peered out from his back office with a concerned expression. I offered him a wave before gesturing toward Mr. Summers’s office. “Davina is making a nuisance of herself again,” I said by way of explanation. “As I understand it, her problems are Mr. Summers’s to solve.”

That caught the man in question’s attention and he stood from his desk and rounded the corner.

Will replied, “Of course. If you have a moment afterward, I’ve done some of that investigating we discussed.”

I nodded and turned to Mr. Summers and his questioning gaze. “She was caught trying to board a ship dressed as a lieutenant.”

“Right, I’ll leave that to Kit… Good luck,” Will called out.

Mr. Summers’s countenance shifted to something paler, more sickly as he ushered me into his office.

“So Lady Davina has boarded a naval ship?” he asked in a shaky tone as he returned to his seat behind the desk. I hadn’t thought her behavior could shock him any longer.

“So it would seem.”

“Right, I just… She could be hurt. The obvious dangers of ship life, of course, but also… all the lonely men.”

My stomach dropped. I hadn’t considered that.

“Surely they wouldn’t. They’re men in his majesty’s service.”

Mr. Summers swallowed. “I pray they would not. If the ship has left, there’s nothing that can be done but pray and follow her to their next port.”

“It hasn’t. She managed to convince a ship’s boy to locate me. She’s being held by the Master at Arms, who isn’t convinced of her identity. The boy said something about espionage.”

He swallowed thickly. “Right, well, she is a stowaway… There’s a fine. And possibly hard labor, I cannot recall. They certainly wouldn’t sentence a lady to hard labor anyway. Espionage… It’s not my expertise. Shockingly. But I suspect proving her identity will go far in convincing him of her innocence.”

“We should go at once.”

“No, no. Her reputation—we need to keep this as quiet as we can. A duke’s presence will only draw more attention. I’ll hurry over there and see what can be done.”

“But… You’re an earl.”

“Barely. And I look like a solicitor.”

“You’re certain this is the best course?”

“Positive. I’ll get her back, Your Grace. I give you my word.”

“Very well. Whatever you need to do, anything you need.” I handed him the entire contents of my pockets, coins and banknotes alike. “There’s a ship’s boy, John Taylor. She’s being kept on the HMS Grampus . I owe him five guineas if he brought my card to the Master at Arms.”

Kit raised a brow at the sum but nodded. I’d authorized him to offer whatever was necessary. Of course I would pay the lad what was promised.

“I’ll be off,” he said, then jumped up and strode toward the door.

“And I’ll just be here. Looking like a duke,” I muttered, unable to entirely erase the irritation in my tone. The day, once so promising, had been overtaken by waves of panic leaving me tetchy and snappish. My head throbbed in a way that only Davina could cause. And I was rendered entirely superfluous except for the contents of my pocket.

As soon as that thought took hold, it refused to leave. It whittled away until all that was left was a needling question that seemed to have no real answer. What, precisely, was I doing here?

My feet carried me to Will’s office without my head ever giving the order.

He invited me inside and gesturing toward my usual chair.

“Come in, come in. Everything sorted?” he asked.

I shrugged, still perturbed. “Kit is going down to the docks.”

“Better him than me. I’ve had some time to look at your property holdings.”

“Scotland—is the place inhabitable?”

His head tilted questioningly for a moment before righting itself. “Your steward seems to think so. How long are you planning to stay? You may wish to arrange some improvements if you’re to be there the rest of the summer.”

For a moment, I hesitated. Then I recalled why I was still here, rather than at the docks helping my sister. My sister who was managed perfectly well by others at Wayland’s. My sister, who was, at this very moment being rescued by Mr. Summers. Without me.

I forged ahead. “That was one of the things I wanted to review. I would like to settle there. For that to be my primary residence.”

“Pardon?” His brow shot to his hairline.

“I would like to move. To Scotland. Permanently,” I repeated.

“But, with all due respect, Your Grace?—”

“It’s Xander, Will. You’ve known me forever.”

“What about your mother? And your sister? And a wife?”

“Will, I think we both know the answer to that last one. And why it’s time for me to leave.”

His bright eyes met mine with something like sympathy in the set of his brow. He cleared his throat, then asked, “And the first two?”

“That’s why I have you. I need to set up provisions for Mother and Davina, and Celine, too. How much control are you able to give Celine? She’s the only one with a lick of sense. I’ll need everything that isn’t entailed to be split between Mother and Dav if anything were to happen to me. However, I do not think they would do well with immediate, unfettered access.”

“Well, the Yorkshire property belongs with the dukedom. The Scotland property is yours outright, though it doesn’t bring in a great deal. The houses here in town I’ll need to look into. The Rycliffe house, at least, should not be entailed with the dukedom. But, Xander, are you certain this is what you wish to do?”

“I have a great many wishes. Unfortunately, wishes cannot change reality. I expect you know that better than most.” My throat tightened, the memory of Prussian eyes and long, elegant fingers seeming so far away now.

“Right, well, you’re young. You should have many years before the entail becomes a concern for your family.”

I bit out a laugh, more a scoff, if I was being honest. Gabriel had years to live as well, and a wife too. “I was never intended to inherit. If I do not wed and have children, the dukedom will go to some second cousin. Is the income from the un-entailed estates sufficient to support Mother and Davina? I do not want to rely on a second cousin’s goodwill.”

He hesitated, catching his lower lip between his teeth. It was unbearably attractive. “Any other mother and sister I would say yes, more than. Yours…”

After a sigh, I replied, “That is what I feared. Is there any way to take income from the entailed estates and set up accounts for them now that cannot be accessed unless something were to happen to me?”

“Well, the dowries should be untouchable.”

“Who, exactly, do you think will be willing to marry Davina?” I asked with a laugh.

His grin was a sheepish acknowledgment. “I’ll need to review and determine exactly which properties are entailed to see what will need to be done.”

“Very good. Can you look into dowering Celine as well? Obviously we could not guarantee it if the title changes hands. Still, while I’m able, I would like to offer her that option. She has her own funds, but I do not want her limited in her choices. Also, can you determine what authority she could be granted to manage things?”

He glanced away, his gaze flicking out the window to where Cee once hid. How much did he know, anyway?

“The dowry should not be an issue. Authority may be. I also hate to be the person to bring this up, but… Davina? I cannot imagine she will stop her adventures when you are away.”

“Mr. Summers will be given carte blanche to use whatever funds necessary to get her out of whatever scrape she has gotten herself into. As he has done today. Though that is one of the things I am hopeful Celine may be able to manage in my absence. And, if my sister is still getting into mischief after my untimely demise, she will have to find her own way out of it.”

“Well, you’ve given me a great deal to consider. To be quite honest, I thought the trip was a ploy to get into the office, so I haven’t been as thorough as I ought.” His boyish expression should have been ridiculous on a man of his age, who wore his years of struggle in the lines of his face—it wasn’t.

Nor was it his fault. I wouldn’t have taken my request seriously either. “Ah yes, I owe you an apology for that.”

“Unnecessary. It was certainly amusing.”

“Well, apology issued, nonetheless. My departure does not need to be immediate, but I should like to be settled in Scotland before the weather starts to turn.”

“I will have answers to your questions by next week and contracts drawn up just as soon as we discuss my findings. Would that suffice?”

“Perfect. Thank you, Will. I could not trust just anyone with this. I appreciate that I can trust you. Now, do you suppose I should head down to the docks and retrieve my recalcitrant sister?”

“I’m certain Kit will need an extra set of hands. Good luck!” he offered as I stood to leave.

The irritated crunch of every pebble in the roadway echoed in the furious silence of the carriage.

Poor Mr. Summers seemed to very much regret accepting the ride from the docks. He ran a hand through increasingly disheveled hair as he stared out the open window with panted breaths. The desperation in his expression was reminiscent of a jailed man watching the freedom of the horizon.

Davina, on the other hand, sat across from me, lips curled into a pout and arms crossed over her chest. Every half minute or so, she would let out an annoyed huff and give me a glare. A glare that I matched at every turn.

One shoulder spilled out of her navy coat and she crossed her ankles primly in her boots and breeches. Her dark curls had been tied back, but they had escaped the ribbon’s confines and now spilled across the velvet. Still, her absurd tri-corner hat tipped jauntily to one side, swaying with every rut in the road. Who on God’s earth could have mistaken her for a man?

No sooner had we jolted to a stop outside the offices than Mr. Summers tumbled out of the carriage, tossing his thanks behind him as he lurched toward the door.

I snapped the window shut as we set off before rounding on my sister. “What in the hell were you thinking?”

“I explained that quite well in my note, thank you very much,” she replied with a note of false piety.

“Mother is beside herself. Did you even consider that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Mother is always beside herself.”

“Because you’re always running off on whatever dangerous whim has caught your eye in the moment.”

“Mother has been beside herself for longer than I’ve been alive. If it wasn’t this, it would be something else.”

“Which is why you should strive to keep her calm,” I insisted.

“I should, should I? And you? Have you succeeded in keeping her calm by following every single rule—including the ones you’ve fabricated for yourself?”

A sharp jolt hit my chest at the slight. Christ, it was unfair, the way I carefully cultivated my life, the way I had to stuff myself into a mold of what society wanted—and fail at every turn. But my sister could flout every expectation with impunity and leave me to clean up her mess—untouched by the hateful words of the ton .

“Damn it all, Dav, think of the future for just once in your life! What if your plan had worked?”

“My reputation would have been ruined? I would never marry? Oh, no.” Her expression was one of careful, sarcastic vacancy.

“It would serve you right, to face ruin for once in your life.”

“That is the point!” she shouted.

It took a moment for comprehension to settle, and when it did, it knocked me back. “What?”

“I don’t want to marry! I never want to marry.”

“Well not now, but?—”

“Never. Not ever.”

“Davina, I…” Her shouted words rang through my mind, bouncing against the walls there until a brand-new picture formed. My sister, surrounded in a new light. “Is that what all of this has been about?”

She melted, anger seeping from her frame. “Not entirely—I do enjoy my adventures. But, if I were ruined and deemed unmarriageable… Would that truly be so bad, Xand? Is marriage truly all I’m good for?”

One of my earliest memories had been passing by a shop window and spotting a porcelain vase painted with cerulean entwining florals. It was exquisite—and I desperately needed my mother to have it. I remembered presenting it to her, pride filling my small frame. She cooed her gratitude and settled it in a place of honor in the entry. And I remembered my father returning home that night and asking why Mother had purchased such a hideous vase. I couldn’t recall her response, but I did know that the vase remained in the entry for years, new roses filling it every few days—long after Mother rid the house of every other blue decoration.

And I would never forget the moment when little Davina, running everywhere and nowhere in particular, refusing to sit still for a moment, jostled the table leg.

Her words today left my heart shattered in precisely the same way that the vase had.

Marriage—marriage to a person I loved—was a dream so precious and so impossible that I couldn’t allow myself to consider it. Of course Davina would casually knock it over—accidentally so I couldn’t even blame her. And she would ask about it precisely the same way she had when she’d mumbled, “ You love the vase more than me. ”

And just as I had then, I asked, “What? Of course not! How could you even think that?”

“You’re always so worried about my reputation.”

“I’m worried about your safety! You could have been hurt. You could have been killed! And yes, I do not want you to be shunned by the whole of society. Is that a bad thing?”

“No…”

The carriage shuddered as we arrived outside of Hasket House. Davina leapt at the opportunity to escape the uncomfortable confines and conversation. I caught her wrist as she brushed past.

“Dav, I promise that I will never, ever force you to marry against your wishes. I may suggest it, I may even cajole, but the choice will always be yours. And I will do everything in my power to ensure that it remains yours no matter what. You do not have to work to ensure that no one will want you.”

Her lips pursed on a swallow as her eyes welled up. That was entirely too much sentiment for either of us to manage.

“Besides, you needn’t work at it; no one would want you regardless.” I paired the insult with a teasing smirk which earned me an, “Ugh, Xander!” that had it turning into a real smile.

Davina pulled her wrist free and stepped into the house. I ought to go in with her, see to mother, but I just couldn’t bring myself to in that moment. Instead, I knocked on the ceiling and called out, “Rycliffe Place,” as I moved to the forward-facing seat.

I allowed my head to hinge back and stared at the dark silk covering the roof of the carriage. Davina wouldn’t stop her adventures—nothing could slow her down as a child, and I knew her too well to think anything would change now. Still, the understanding was a relief, even if I still wanted to throttle her.

Of course Davina would throw away something I wanted desperately. The memory of cerulean eyes surrounded by matching fabric, a teasing smirk, and long limbs flashed behind my eyes. What would it be like? To flirt with intent, to flirt with the possibility of something more, something real, with a future?

I shoved those questions to the back of my mind. Wishing for the impossible brought nothing but pain.

Better to focus on possible dreams. Scotland. Scotland was real. Scotland grew more tangible with every day. Scotland could be my future.