A Promising Kiss (Captivating Kisses #8)

Prologue

No one was coming for him . . .

Matthew sat by the window, which looked out on the front of Harrow School.

He had not left this spot all day, hoping that someone would show up for him.

Some boys had fathers who arrived to bring them home for the summer.

They emerged from the school with their arms wrapped around their sons’ shoulders or patting their sons affectionately on the head.

A few boys had both parents come, while a handful had a servant show up to claim them.

This was the third time he had been forgotten about.

It was also the last time he would be leaving Harrow School. Next year, he was slated to attend Eton, where his own father had gone. Though he dreaded what came next, he supposed he would need to go and speak to the headmaster now and find a way home.

He glanced about the room a final time, neither happy nor unhappy that he would never see it again.

Matthew was a quiet boy, more like his mother than father in nature.

The Duke of Reddington was loud and boisterous, always smelling of spirits no matter what time of day.

His father neglected his ducal responsibilities, continuing to run with a fast crowd, despite having a wife and child.

Matthew exited the room, closing the door behind him. He made his way downstairs to Mr. Morgan’s office. Pausing outside the door a moment, he collected his thoughts and then raised his fist, rapping on the door with a confidence he did not feel but would nevertheless project.

“Come.”

Entering the headmaster’s office, he waited while Mr. Morgan finished writing something. Then the older man glanced up.

“Mr. Keaton. You are still with us, I see.”

No courtesy titles were used at Harrow School. Only one boy, who was an earl, was called by the title he held.

“I will need to find transportation home to Redfield, Mr. Morgan.”

The older man frowned. “This is the third time this has happened. Is that correct, Mr. Keaton?”

He hated the tone the man took with him. It was not his fault that no one had thought to come for him. But it was easier to blame a twelve-year-old boy than it was to place blame at the feet of a duke of the realm.

Matthew simply looked blandly at Mr. Morgan, waiting to see what the headmaster would say.

He tried to project modesty, a trait the school valued in all its students.

Harrow School tried not only to teach boys academic subjects, but its tutors also tried to mold their character. Above all, humility was expected.

And it was beaten into you if you didn’t properly show it.

Finally, the headmaster said, “I suppose we can find a way to get you home. This will be the last time we speak, Mr. Keaton. I hope you have enjoyed your time with us.”

For a moment, the older man looked at Matthew with sympathetic eyes. He swallowed, not wanting to break in front of him.

“Yes, sir. I am set to attend Eton next year. I know I will be prepared because of my time spent here.” He paused. “I have the funds needed to purchase a ticket on the next mail coach.”

“That is good to hear, Mr. Keaton. You have excelled in your studies. Wait here.”

The headmaster left the room, not offering for Matthew to take a seat. Because of that, he remained standing.

He wondered where his father was and what he might be doing.

The London Season was in full swing now, and Matthew assumed the duke was in town, which is why he had been forgotten about.

If it were left to his mother, Matthew never would have been stranded at school, but the duchess had no power in her own household.

For ten years, he had seen her move through the house as a ghost. Then two years ago, once he returned home from school, Mama had simply disappeared.

When he questioned the servants, they looked at him with pity and said they did not know where the duchess might be.

When he confronted his father, Matthew was told that his mother had gone away for a rest.

For all he knew, she was dead.

He had seen the bruises on her. Heard the one-sided fights, his father berating his wife for her imaginary sins.

There had been times Mama had been beaten so badly that she could not leave her bed for weeks.

A doctor was never called, however. Mama’s lady’s maid always nursed her back to health until the next incident occurred.

The duke had broken his duchess. Matthew determined the same would never happen to him.

For the most part, the duke ignored Matthew when he was at home.

Oftentimes, Reddington was in town during Matthew’s school holidays.

Even when he was in residence at Redfield, son rarely saw the father.

Matthew took all his meals alone in the schoolroom and roamed the estate, growing to know and love every inch of Redfield.

He saw how neglectful his father was regarding the property.

Fortunately, they had a decent steward in Mr. Crandall, and so the land and tenants were cared for to a certain extent.

Mr. Morgan returned. “There is a mail coach coming through the village in an hour. I have instructed Barrow to place you on it. He is collecting your trunk now. You may meet him outside.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said, leaving the headmaster’s office, wondering how many more times in his life he would have to hide his embarrassment.

The foyer to the school was devoid of all the trunks which had been brought down early this morning. Matthew stepped through the doors a final time, seeing Barrow outside. The servant sat in a wagon which held Matthew’s trunk.

He climbed up beside the servant. “I appreciate you taking time to help me, Barrow.”

“Happy to do so, my lord. I’ll wait with you until the mail coach arrives.”

His throat grew thick with unshed tears. “Thank you,” he managed to get out.

They rode in silence the entire way to the nearby village. Matthew liked Barrow, who had taught him and several of the other lads how to play chess. It was one of many things Matthew excelled at.

The wagon came to a halt, and he withdrew all the money he had, giving it over to the servant in order to purchase his ticket.

Barrow said, “Be right back, my lord,” climbing from the vehicle. He disappeared inside the inn and returned a few minutes later, bearing a ticket.

“Here you go, my lord. Don’t lose that. It will get you to where you are headed.” The servant also handed him a few coins, the leftover change from the purchase.

Actually, it wouldn’t. The mail coach would only drop him at Redgrove, which was three miles from Redfield.

Somehow, he would have to find his way home.

With the coins left over, hopefully a local from the village would take him and his trunk to Redfield.

If not, Matthew could always leave his trunk at the inn and walk home, sending a servant to fetch it later.

“It shouldn’t be long now.”

“You do not have to stay, Barrow. I know you always have work to do.”

Stubbornness filled the man’s eyes. “I’ll do as I please, thank you very much.”

He knew Barrow had a soft spot for him, perhaps because Matthew had picked up the game of chess so quickly, regularly beating all his opponents, including Barrow himself.

“Are you happy at Harrow School?” he asked.

Barrow shrugged. “Happy as I suppose any servant can be with his lot in life.”

“When I am the Duke of Reddington, I want you to come and work for me.”

The man’s jaw dropped a moment before he quickly closed it. “That’s all well and good, my lord, but you may not be a duke for many years to come.”

“Nevertheless, I shall come for you, Barrow. If you are not at Harrow School, leave word where you will be. I will find you.”

Barrow’s smile was genuine. “That’s right kind of you, my lord. It’s a great honor, working in a duke’s household. I could do anything you’d like me to do. Work in the stables. Be a footman.”

“Thank you,” he said solemnly.

“For what, my lord?”

“For treating me decently. For teaching me how to play chess. For listening to me when I needed a friendly ear to bend.”

Barrow’s eyes misted with tears. “You’re welcome.”

When the mail coach pulled up in front of the inn, Barrow took Matthew’s trunk and loaded it atop the vehicle. Matthew presented his ticket to the driver.

“We’re all full inside. You’ll have to ride with me or wait for the next mail coach.”

He climbed up next to the driver and gave a wave to Barrow.

Then the carriage set out once more. It stopped in five different villages along the way before it reached Redgrove.

The coachman was kind enough to remove Matthew’s trunk and place it on the ground, something he could not have done for himself.

He thanked the man and gave him a coin, which the driver quickly pocketed.

Glancing around, he saw little activity on the streets and judged the time to be between seven and eight o’clock. He entered the inn, finding a few patrons in its dining room. He moved to the desk, where the innkeeper stood.

“My lord, what are you doing here?”

“The mail coach just dropped me off, Mr. Davies. Is there someone available who might take me and my trunk to Redfield?” He removed the last two coins from his pocket and placed them on the counter.

“I will take you myself,” the innkeeper declared, slipping the coins into his pocket. “Wait here. I’ll need to saddle my horse to the wagon.”

“I will be outside with my trunk,” he told the older man.

Within a few minutes, they were headed to Redfield. The innkeeper was a jovial sort and told him all that had been happening in the neighborhood since he had last been home from school. Matthew had a good memory for names and faces, and he recalled many of the people Mr. Davies gossiped about.

They arrived at Redfield, and a footman rushed out to greet them.

“I’ll take your trunk to your room, my lord,” the footman said.

“Thank you for bringing me home, Mr. Davies. I will not forget your kindness to me.”