Ambersley (Lords of London) (8 page)

A young clerk, lit by the sputtering remains of a single candle, stopped scratching out words with quill and ink. “How may I help you, sir?”

“
I’m here to see Mr. Nigel Minton.”

“
Mr. Minton’s away from Town,” the clerk replied.

Derek accepted this latest delay with fatalistic calm. As if to punctuate his thoughts, the lone candle died with a wisp of smoke and the strong scent of beeswax.

“
One moment.” The clerk unfolded his limbs and reached atop a high shelf for a fresh candle, which he inserted into the melted remains of its predecessor. “Perhaps I may be of assistance?” He struck a match, casting welcome light about the dark wood walls and desk.

“
Yes.” Derek held forth the note. “I’m Derek Vaughan. I received this from Mr. Minton requesting I introduce myself at the earliest opportunity as he has urgent business to discuss with me. I arrived in London yesterday, and—sir, take heed, you’ll
burn
yourself.” Derek grabbed the young man’s skinny wrist and shook the match from it. It fell to the desk where it scorched the edges of some papers before dying.

The clerk stared at Derek, mouth agape, until he finally regained his voice. “You’re Derek Vaughan? From India?” To Derek’s answering nod, the clerk flushed to the roots of his hair, swept a deep bow and murmured, “Your Grace.”

Derek stood for a moment, confused, then glanced over his shoulder to be sure no one had entered the office behind him. Turning back to the red-faced youth, he could think of nothing to say. “I beg your pardon? I think there’s been some mistake.”

“
No mistake, Your Grace,” the young man’s head bobbed in earnestness. “Father was very thorough in his search, and you’re definitely the heir.”

Derek’s stomach knotted. “The heir? To what?”

“
The Dukedom of Ambersley."

~

“
You’re
what
?” cried Harry, back at the hotel.

Still trying to accept the news himself, Derek said nothing as he crab-stepped past his cousin’s trunk and portmanteau to reach the sideboard and uncork the wine.

Harry coursed his heels. “Derek, you’re not shamming me, are you? He called you the Duke of Ambersley? It’s—it’s—extraordinary. This calls for a toast.”

Derek tossed off a meager portion of Madeira then poured a more liberal splash without offering his cousin any.

With entire good humor, Harry waited his turn at the bottle. Lifting his glass, he proclaimed, “To my cousin, the duke!”

Derek stopped his agitated strides to stare down at the drink pressed between his palms. A title, a home, an income—this was a future beyond his reach. How many in London recalled his mother’s scandalous behavior, her notorious crime? Even as a youth he’d not escaped the whispered rumors surrounding his paternity. Whether or not anyone had
proof
, he knew he carried no Vaughan blood. No, he had no right to contemplate, even for a breath, accepting the Ambersley peerage. But the dukedom could provide for the children, and that was key.

He recalled his mother. Blonde, lovely, heartless. She’d had all the golden good looks of the Coatsworth clan, but none of their warmth, certainly none of their honor.

“
What was I thinking getting saddled with a child?” she’d said to him one day. She’d studied him as though he were a hat she might buy. Or not.

He’d been no more than six at the time.

She’d never held him, never comforted him, never engaged in conversation directly with him. If not for Father taking an interest in his upbringing, Derek might have rotted away in the nursery on Harley Street.

He hadn’t shed a tear for her when his father sat him down to explain that she’d been imprisoned and charged with murder.

“
Did she truly kill a man, Father?” he’d asked. At the age of ten, he’d understood enough about death to fear it.

“
I don’t know. But Derek, you must always remember this—she’s a good woman. She sacrificed for both of us. You must always remember that and always love her.” Father had left the room, his tears barely suppressed.

Derek sat for a long time and contemplated his mother, but no matter how he tried, he couldn’t find a reason to love her.

Father remained steadfast, even when she tried to accuse him of murdering her lover. No one believed her. Her trial was the talk of London, especially when she publicly named every man she’d ever bedded in an attempt to exonerate herself. In the end, they’d hanged her.

No, he refused to pass along her blood to future generations of Vaughan peers.

“
Derek, you’re wool-gathering again.” Harry sounded amused. “I’ve proposed a toast, and you won’t even drink your own health.”

“
I was thinking of my mother.”

Harry sobered at once. “Don’t torture yourself.”

“
I grew to hate her, you know.”

“
So did my father,” said Harry. “And he was her brother. He believed a fit of madness took her.”

Derek wished he could believe that, but she’d always been too cold, too calculating. Still preoccupied, he allowed Harry to push him into a chair.

“
Tell me your tale,” Harry said. Gathering the wine bottle, he refilled their glasses, removed his coat, tossed a log on the fire and stretched himself comfortably in the chair opposite. Impatiently, he kicked Derek’s chair as a final prompt. “When did the old duke die?”

“
A fire swept through Ambersley Hall, killing the whole family, in 1801.”

Harry sputtered his wine. “1801? That was four years ago. You mean to tell me they couldn’t get you word before now?”

Derek shrugged. “No one traced the lineage to Reginald Vaughan until last year. I’m told some poor soul was dispatched to India. He may still be out there beating the bushes for me.”

Harry whistled. “Must have left soon after me. I didn’t hear a thing about your father inheriting a dukedom.” He loosened his neck cloth. “So what are the holdings? What are you worth?”

“
I have no idea.” Seeing his cousin’s raised brows, Derek continued. “The duke’s solicitor, one Mr. Nigel Minton, has gone to Ambersley. I met his son, young Percy, who acts as junior clerk for his father, but he wasn’t prepared to answer many of my questions. If I travel to Ambersley now, I should still find Mr. Minton there. Harry, I know you planned to leave for Bath tomorrow, and I’ve already delayed you—”

With a snort, Harry dismissed the concerned words. “As if I’d let you leave London alone. I’ll be happy to accompany you, Cousin. I’ll even fund the journey.”

“
I’ll repay you—”

“
Tush. Mother and I have plenty of money.”

“
You must let me do something,” Derek said in earnest.

“
You may introduce me to the first circles of polite society.” Harry grinned like a schoolboy and refilled their glasses. “Think of the horrified Mamas— ’There goes the duke’s cousin. Handsome and witty fellow, but poor soul, his mother married a tradesman, you know.’” He heaved a melodramatic sigh. “’Pity the duke allows him to come around.’”

Derek’s tensions eased beneath his cousin’s inanity. “Not only will you be allowed, you will be encouraged to bear me company.”

“
Careful. Once word gets out, every long-lost relation you’ve
never
known will appear on your doorstep.” Harry wagged his brows.

A terse expletive escaped Derek as he sat forward.

“
What’s amiss?” Harry asked.

“
Lord Montrose told me last night that my stepmother is living at Ambersley with her children and plans to lay her debts at the duke’s feet.” Derek stared into the fire. Rosalie Vaughan could reveal him as a fraud, but if she’d done so, Minton would hardly be seeking him. He would have to go to Ambersley and confront her if he wanted to set things right.

Chapter 4

Ambersley, March 1805

The trip into Gloucestershire took the better part of a day by mail coach. Arriving at a noisy inn yard in the late afternoon, Harry suggested they get a good night’s sleep before turning Ambersley on its ear with Derek’s arrival.

Long after the inn quieted, Derek lay awake anticipating the next day’s meetings. By morning, his nerves were taut with indecision—a state of mind he hated—but ’twas impossible for him to know what was best to do until he understood the situation more clearly. A dukedom should provide well for Reginald Vaughan’s children, but not if mismanaged. He could hand it all to his half-brother, but Curtis was hardly more than a boy, and if gossips were to be believed, Rosalie had buried two bankrupt husbands.

His concerns mounted as he and Harry trotted their hired hacks along the winding drive flanked by pruned trees not yet in blossom. Derek noted vast meadows stretching to forest, a small lake and rolling slopes dotted with ornamental hedgerows and pockets of trees and shrubbery. As they rounded a bend in the drive, he took in his first view of Ambersley Hall situated atop a hill as imposing as any monarch on his throne.

Derek drew rein to study the four-story façade while his pulse settled. There was no denying the magnificence of the structure, though its once golden stone exterior was blackened with soot, while its gabled roof—or what remained of it—met the clouds at a defiant, if broken, angle. Windows that once beckoned weary travelers were bricked over, turning what should have been a home into a mausoleum. Nestled amid carefully manicured lawns and gardens, the flagstones before it swept clean, the Hall reminded him of a slow-healing wound that required time and tender care to restore it to its former glory.

The cool morning breeze buffeted him as he continued to stare, the noble home’s silent plea tugging at him until a whistling falcon overhead cut into his thoughts. Brushing off the tremor that traveled down his spine, he set his heel to his mount and drew abreast Harry.

“
You’ve inherited a giant wreck,” his cousin quipped.

Derek remained silent, unwilling to give voice to his thoughts. Ambersley had rooted the Vaughan family for generations. How ironic that he’d been forced to come here and witness Reginald Vaughan’s heritage first-hand.

A blackbird’s warble welcomed them as they approached the Hall. Seeing no one but a scrawny lad as they dismounted, Derek pulled the reins over his horse’s head and tossed them to the child.

Harry did likewise. “Look alive there, boy.”

Derek raised a brow when the child missed grasping the second set. “Hold onto those horses ’til we return.”

Upon skirting the structure, Derek and Harry found Ambersley Hall as it had been left years earlier, a burned-out shell of a building abandoned by its occupants. Confused, they returned to the drive to find both horses grazing at the child’s feet.

“
Boy!” Derek’s shout flushed a rabbit into a skittery dash across the lawn. One horse threw its head up in alarm, and the lad, unprepared, was literally yanked off his feet as he tried valiantly to hold onto the reins. The other horse shied at this further commotion, backing away as the boy’s feet struck the ground again and buckled.

With an oath, Derek dove into the chaos. He grabbed the rearing horse’s reins with one hand and, with the other, lifted the child by the scruff before he got trampled. The second horse, snorting his contempt of the whole scene, jerked free from the boy’s grasp. Harry made a lunge for it, but the animal avoided him neatly and was last seen clearing a hedge.

Holding the first horse on a tight rein, Derek shook the boy’s shoulder. “Now see what you’ve done? What kind of a stable boy are you?”

The boy ducked his head as if he expected a blow. Not one to beat children, Derek loosened his grip. The child raised eyes as wide as any frightened animal. His clothes and face were dusted with dirt and grime, and this close, he smelled of manure.

“
I’m not a stable boy, and it wasn’t all my fault.”

Derek’s brows knit. “Well, of all the impertinent—” His cousin’s burst of laughter drew his fire. “What do you find so amusing?”

“
You, sir,” Harry replied, unabashed. “You can hardly call a child out because he’s honest. Besides, I don’t think the cursed beast suited you. You were too long in the leg for him.”