A Most Enticing Enigma (Supposed Scandal #3)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

“Your brother is dead.”

It was a statement that ought to have sent a chill into the heart of any human being on the earth.

But not Weston Howard. Not as he sat in an exceptionally comfortable chair beside a fire to let the cold of the Scottish Highland air melt away from him. Not in these practical but spacious bachelor apartments he had spent the last six weeks in.

Not in the life he was blissfully living.

No, he merely looked up at the poor soul who’d had such a wasted errand, his cousin Frederick Gates, and gave the only answer applicable to such a statement.

“Half brother.”

Then he went back to his book, carefully turning the page and continuing to read on his current preferred topic: agriculture in the Midlands. Boring topic, really. Useful, but boring.

The bottom of his boot was kicked, drawing West’s attention back up to Fred with mild irritation. “What?”

Fred blinked at him in disbelief. “West. I am telling you that Leonard died.”

West made certain his expression did not change as he let that statement land—again—before replying, “Yes, since I only have one half brother, and his name was Leonard, it would follow that saying my brother is dead would mean that Leonard is dead. God rest his soul, unless the devil has it, which seems more likely.” He shrugged and returned his attention to the page before him.

“Did you know that crop rotation isn’t nearly as common as we think it is?

It is all entirely dependent on the soil of each field and its proximity to consistent watering. Fascinating.”

“I am trying to determine if you are heartless, brainless, or simply protective of both of those organs, however they are functioning,” Fred announced without any hint of wryness in his tone.

West simply offered a soft grunt. “Still in possession of both my heart and my brain, thank you, and not particularly protective of either, since there is nothing presently attacking either. Why should you think so?”

Fred scoffed loudly, which was no surprise, as his cousin did everything loudly, even if it was not appropriate for the setting. “Because it is a loss of a family member, for one.”

West held up a finger, both to indicate the need for a pause and to broker a point.

“Ah, no. He was a blood relative, and that is all we can say about him. You know that and I know that. Leonard despised me from the moment he was aware of my potential existence. He hated my mother and took pains to make her life miserable, not to mention the torment inflicted upon me. Our father he tolerated because he needed to keep his inheritance intact, but there was no fondness. Why should I mourn the demise of someone who would have celebrated, with great enthusiasm, my own?”

Fred opened his mouth, then closed it, making a face of reluctant acceptance. “I’ll grant you that. He was a toad.”

“He was the ugliest, most pustulant wart on an ugly, poisonous toad,” West insisted, finally dropping his finger.

“Dramatic, but fine.”

“Details are not dramatics, cousin.”

Fred huffed and shook his head. “For two,” he went on, “your brother—”

“Half,” West interjected sharply.

“Died,” Fred continued, ignoring him, “without an heir.”

West snorted loudly. “That we know of.”

Fred stared at him for a very long moment. Long enough that West grew uncomfortable. “What?” West finally barked as he shifted in his chair.

“I am waiting for your brain to function properly. Because you seem to think that Leonard somehow married and had a son without gloating about it to you.” Fred raised a brow, pursing his lips.

West frowned. “You said . . .”

“I said heir,” Fred reminded him pointedly. “As in a legitimate son to inherit the title and the estate. Not some byblow he had to pay for.”

West had no argument for that point. It was true, he had been thinking of an heir in relation to any offspring Leonard produced, mostly because he did not think his brother cared either way what the position of the child was according to the law.

But only a legitimate son would be able to inherit the barony and the estate, and Fred was absolutely right—Leonard would have broken the vow of silence he had taken up from the day of their father’s death to lord over him about his success in securing the estate.

He had loved nothing more than reminding West that he was older by seven years and would inherit everything their father had held dear.

And by that, he truly meant Fenmore.

The gorgeous family estate tucked near the western edge of Derbyshire, surrounded by fields and wildflowers, the fens that had named the place, a small lake that had been the home of swimming lessons, fishing lessons, and a desperate attempt at scrubbing out stains before West’s mother or the housekeeper could witness the mess.

The place had been his father’s pride and joy, and nothing had given a young West more pleasure than to follow him around to learn everything he could about caring for the land and its people.

He’d spent every possible moment at Fenmore doing just that, up until he was expected to attend school away from the estate. After that, he’d only been able to do so on holiday from his studies.

Then his father had passed away when he was fifteen, and Leonard had taken over.

West had never been home since. Leonard had forbidden it.

His mother had been immediately moved to the dower house, only the provisions in the late baron’s will and the remnants of her dowry saving her from complete abandonment or poverty.

West hadn’t been in any position to help her for several years, and only once he had reached adulthood had he been able to get her out from under Leonard’s thumb for the remaining years of her life.

Now Leonard was gone. And so was his legacy.

West gaped at his cousin now, his entire frame stilling and catching fire at the same time. “Holy hell,” he breathed. “He didn’t leave an heir.”

Fred shook his head very slowly, beginning to smile. “He did not.”

“Fenmore is mine?” he asked, his voice breaking, afraid to extend his belief that far, despite proof.

His cousin laughed softly. “You do realize that most men in your position would be more excited about the barony itself, right?”

“I could care less about titles and formality,” West shot back with a dismissive wave, clearing his throat. “What is any of that when Fenmore is the true reward?”

“Having never been, I cannot honestly say.” Fred waved the letter in his hand eagerly. “But the solicitor says you can take up residence at your leisure, now that Leonard is dead and gone. Unless you wish to refuse, of course, and then title and estate pass on to a poor relative. Probably me.”’

West snorted. “No. It’s mine.”

“Damn. I was so hopeful.”

They shared a bemused smile, knowing Fred did not need nor desire anything of the sort. He was a restless soul who would probably never settle down and did not need to for any titles or inheritance.

West indicated the letter vaguely. “Does it say how Leonard died? Not that it matters, I simply always thought his ego would expand so much that some sort of organic detonation would take place within him.”

Fred appeared to take slightly ill at the idea. “It was a pernicious fever . . . And you have a very disturbed imagination, West.”

“Only with my enemies, I can assure you.” West grinned and crossed his ankles, his mind already whirling with the memories of Fenmore and the possibilities available to him. “Who contacted you anyway?”

“No one. The letter is to you.”

West glared and snapped his fingers before gesturing for the papers. “You opened my correspondence?”

Fred was not at all concerned by the accusation, handing the letter over easily. “I’ve been reading your correspondence ever since we left London, West. You said you did not wish to be bothered with it, so I’ve taken it upon myself to do so.”

“What if there were information in a letter that had private matters I ought to see to?” West demanded, not nearly as outraged as he probably should have been.

His cousin was quite correct; West despised needless correspondence and had often wished for some sort of secretary to tend to those matters on his behalf.

He was not a man of great position, but he had inherited a sizable sum from his father upon his death, giving him the freedom to seek his own future and potential occupation, if he wished.

And word of such inheritances tended to get out into the world, giving many the excuse to contact him for potential investment in their schemes.

Or marriage to their daughters.

But West had no desire for marriage or schemes. He much preferred a secure income and an independent life. If he invested in anything, it had to be something that had proven results and did not pose a risk to any but those investing. No innocents.

He’d figured word had gotten around that he did not have interest in speculation investments and the like. He’d had no idea that Fred had been filtering the letters on his behalf.

“I’ve given you all letters involving private matters,” Fred told him with an imperious brow raise. “And since you don’t have relationships outside of two friends and me, you don’t have secrets I would be embarrassed to read.”

True. Harsh, but true.

“So,” West said slowly as he ran the letter through his fingers, “do I need to thank you for what you’ve been doing?”

The question made Fred scoff loudly and a touch obnoxiously. “No. It would be nice, but no. I’ve grown perfectly accustomed to acting in your interest without a whiff of appreciation, and altering the situation now would only confuse me.”

It was undoubtedly in West’s best interest to ignore this sort of behavior from his cousin, and Fred did not seem truly irritated by the way of things, so they might as well go on as they had been.

West rubbed at his jaw in thought. “Does the letter from this solicitor tell me when I need to take up residence?”

“No,” Fred replied, shrugging easily. “I already told you, at your leisure. Try listening. He’ll be waiting for your response upon your arrival. Apparently, you don’t even have to go see him in London.”

“Don’t I have a local solicitor?” West asked him in bemusement.

Fred examined the letter again, his brow creasing just a touch. “Erm . . . yes. A counterpart in Buxton. The details are here, so I will not bore you with them now.”

“Excellent.” West clapped his hands together, rubbing them eagerly. “Then I suggest we finish our current tasks and make to Fenmore with all possible haste!”

“We?” Fred queried in bemusement. “I am not required. I have inherited nothing.”

West gave his cousin a long, blank look. “You aren’t required. You are requested.”

“Am I?” he countered. “I don’t recollect any request being made.”

“You are such a woman,” West grumbled as he scratched awkwardly at his upper arm.

Fred only waited, his gray eyes steady and filled with mischief.

Knowing his cousin to be the most stubborn and determined of all men, no matter how playful his antics, West heaved a sigh. “Frederick, my favorite cousin of them all . . .”

“Only cousin, but go on.”

“Will you come with me to Fenmore and remain as long as it takes me to settle in my new home and position?” West finished without any sort of dramatics and all the formality that he could muster. He then tried for an innocent, pleading look and folded his hands beneath his chin.

Dramatics all around.

Fred fought it, he truly did, but a laugh burst forth from him and West grinned at the victory. “Fine, fine, I shall accompany you to the estate of your dreams and help you ascend from adventurous gentleman to country baron. And possibly establish a questionable reputation for you to the locals.”

“I’ll take it,” West said at once. “I don’t plan on being particularly social, and my sole focus will be getting Fenmore back to the haven it once was. There’s no telling what sort of damage Leonard has done to it during his tenure.”

“And you love a project,” Fred replied as he finally dropped himself into the other chair near the fire.

“Hell, we’ve been here six weeks for your livestock project.

I am bored out of my mind, but you are acting like this is your favorite birthday.

Truth be told, I have begun to run out of ways to entertain you.

A change of scenery and tasks will be most welcome. ”

West raised a superior brow at the man. “Why don’t you have a life of your own?”

Fred smirked. “I am a gentleman of moderate means whose parents sold the estate before I had a say in the matter. I have no home but plenty of money. I am seeking my life, and very much enjoying the search.”

“Lovely. Perhaps it’s in Derbyshire like mine.”

“Heaven forbid. What would we do in Derbyshire?”