Chapter One
London, England
A sharp rapping from the brass knocker on the front door two floors below interrupted Viscount Lucas Worthing from his malaise as he studied the stretched canvas sitting on an easel staring back at him.
Sadly, it was as blank and ominous as it had been an hour ago when he began his attempt at painting once more.
It had been almost three years since he had painted anything.
Based on how this attempt was progressing, it appeared it might be three more.
Curses.
The familiar footfalls of his butler, Yates, grew louder as the man ascended the stairs to the top floor of the Worthing townhouse in Mayfair.
Stirrings of irritation threatened. Lucas expected no one this morn, and he was less than keen on strangers.
He preferred his life to be a quiet and predictable one without interruptions from unexpected visitors.
‘My lord,’ Yates began outside the studio door, ‘you have guests. I have settled them in the parlour. Shall I let them know you will join them?’
Lucas frowned and reluctantly set his palette of colours and brush on the table that held his other paints and oils. He rested his hands on his hips. ‘What sort of guests?’ he asked. It was unlike Yates to be so vague.
There was a beat of silence before his butler answered. ‘Mrs Sinclair is here with her son, my lord.’
Lucas froze. ‘What day is it?’ he asked. Surely, he hadn’t forgotten a planned visit. He was many things but forgetful was not one of them.
‘Tuesday, seventh of September, my lord.’
Odd. He wasn’t expecting a visit from them until next week.
His heart picked up speed. A thread of worry budded in him.
Was something amiss? He rushed to the door and opened it.
Yates stood in his usual uniform of black tailcoat and trousers, a crisp white shirt and waistcoat and signature dour expression. ‘Do they appear well?’ Lucas asked.
Yates gave an answer as bland as his expression. ‘They do.’
Lucas released a sigh, nodded and replied, ‘Very well then. Tell them I will be down momentarily. Ask Mrs Whitmore to prepare tea and refreshments.’ He untied the smock he wore over his clothes to protect them.
He wasn’t sure why he had bothered as he hadn’t set a drop of oil on the canvas.
He hung the smock on a hook on the wall, covered what paints he’d opened and left the rest to be dealt with later.
He exited the room, pulled the door to his studio shut behind him and headed to his chambers.
A clean shirt, cravat and jacket would be in order.
It wasn’t often he had unexpected visitors, especially ones he liked.
After dressing quickly and running a hand through his dark hair to tame what he could, he descended the stairs and walked toward the open parlour door.
Mrs Diana Sinclair’s voice sounded softly in the air, and she ran her hand over her young son’s brown hair that matched her own.
While he couldn’t hear the words, the gentle tilt of her head and lowered tones as she spoke to him made Lucas smile.
The tea service and silver-tiered tower of biscuits and small sandwiches sat on the table before them thanks to his dear cook, and poor Nicholas was sitting on his hands on the sofa staring upon the offerings with impatience.
‘Is your dear mother torturing you by making you wait for my arrival before you can partake of any refreshment, Nicholas?’ Lucas asked as he crossed the threshold and entered the room.
‘Uncle Lucas!’ the boy called out and rushed to him.
Lucas stooped so he could give the boy a proper hug.
Even though he was not his nephew, Lucas adored him all the same and relished the feel of his small arms wrapped around his neck.
For all intents and purposes, Nicholas and Diana were Lucas’s family, even if not by blood.
And since he had no true family left to speak of, except for the odd second and third cousins and relatives removed and scattered all over England, these two were even more precious to him.
‘I swear you are taller every time I see you,’ Lucas teased as he stood ruffling the boy’s hair. ‘Soon you shall be taller than me.’
The nine-year-old boy beamed at Lucas. Diana rose and walked over to greet him.
Outfitted in a smart navy gown and matching bonnet, she looked as if she were dressed for a mission.
He stood, gave her a brief hug, and pulled back.
There was something in her gaze that was off. A flutter of nerves pitted his stomach.
‘Did I forget you were coming today?’ he asked, tucking his hands in his trouser pockets.
‘No,’ she said shaking her head. ‘I apologise for the unexpected visit. Our travel plans have been moved up. We wished to see you before we left tomorrow for Douglas’s estate in Essex to prepare for the wedding there in a few weeks.
And perhaps—’ she paused ‘—try to implore you to attend our nuptials once more despite the travel required,’ she said sliding her gaze to his with a smirk.
‘Douglas and I would love for you to join us for the celebration.’
‘So would I!’ Nicholas added. ‘In just a few weeks, I shall have a father again.’
The boy’s words sent a quake of loss through Lucas and for a moment he was thrust back on the battlefield watching his friend be cut down by a sword, life draining from his face.
It was the moment the boy had lost his father in the pre-war skirmishes in the Americas.
All because of Lucas. If he hadn’t taken his men over the hill that day all their lives would have been different.
He cleared his throat of the raw emotion there and replied, ‘And a fine father he will be.’ And he meant it.
Douglas was a kind, decent man and a widower himself.
He and Diana were a match in all accounts.
‘I am beyond happy for both of you.’ Lucas smiled, but he knew the smile had not reached his eyes by the way Diana inclined her head and looked at him shrewdly.
‘Go ahead and enjoy a few treats,’ she said to her son.
‘I will try once more to talk your uncle into joining us for the wedding.’ The little boy’s eyes lit up and he walked quickly to the tower of treats.
He circled it before he made his first selection.
Lucas smiled at the nine-year-old boy’s innocence and joy.
In truth, he longed to remember such simple pleasures.
‘Whatever you continue to blame yourself for must cease, Lucas.’ Diana’s voice was firm and matronly, her arms crossed against her chest as her gaze held his. ‘You have done more for us, for all of us, than you ever had to. It is past time you stop punishing yourself and begin living again.’
Her words hit him hard and left a prickly sting. ‘Diana, I…’ he began but she interrupted him.
‘Do not Diana me,’ she replied. ‘It has been over three years and still you hide away here alone in this huge townhouse as if you were in a mausoleum. There is so much life out there to live, and you have the means and opportunity to do whatever you wish.’ Her wide green eyes bore into him.
When he didn’t counter her, she continued.
‘You are a good man, yet you let these horrid gossip sheets fill Society’s heads with lies of you being a vile, cruel recluse. ’
He shook his head and scoffed. ‘You exaggerate. It is not so bad.’
She pulled a few folded gossip sheets from her reticule and handed them to him. ‘Look for yourself, if you do not believe me.’
He scanned them and lifted an eyebrow at her. ‘The Beast of Barnett House, eh? That is a new one. I almost like it.’
She snatched the gossip sheets from his hand and playfully swatted him with them.
‘We both know you are nothing of the sort. All these lies…’ She huffed in frustration.
‘All you need do is step back out into Society, so they can see who you really are, and you can put them to rest, and get back to actually living your life.’
‘They are not wholly inaccurate,’ he remarked. ‘I am a recluse.’
‘Well, perhaps you are a hermit,’ she allowed, ‘but you do not have to be, and you are certainly not cruel or beastly. You are quite the opposite. Why not leave here more than once a week, take some air and show Society they are all wrong about you? Our wedding would be the perfect opportunity to meet some young ladies. Women from London as well as the country shall be there. Maybe one of them could be to your liking.’ Her lips twisted in mischief.
‘I do not venture out more because I am a bit dreadful to look at. Have you seen this lately or perhaps you have forgotten?’ he asked, pointing to the long raised pink scar that ran from his left ear down the side of his face and neck.
It continued along his torso where it stopped just above his navel.
He was lucky to have survived such a wound.
In his darkest hours, he wondered why he had.
Why had he been spared that day on the battlefield when other men had perished?
Good and decent men, like Nicholas’s father, had died, and Lucas, who had no one depending on him, had been spared.
It never made any sense to him. And despite how the scar had improved since he’d first sustained it in battle, it was still unsightly.
And that was only the wound people could see.
‘And the cruelty?’ she challenged.
He shrugged. ‘I can be.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Now you are being trying for no reason. You are nothing of the sort and you know it. How you ever earned such a reputation I will never know.’
He started to reply.
She held up a hand. ‘Do not bother to explain. I do know how they got such a notion, but why you never countered Rebecca’s horrible treatment of you years ago, especially when she ended your arrangement, I will never know.
’ The ire in her gaze flared. Her protective nature towards him was commendable, but unnecessary.
He knew why he never challenged it. At the time, he was broken, emotionally and physically, from the skirmishes in the Americas before the War of 1812 had even begun, and he despised himself and everyone else for what had happened on those fields, including Rebecca.
She hadn’t understood his traumas or how to care for him.
Every day when he did not return to being ‘the man she had known’ when they were first engaged, the angrier she had become, until finally she had claimed he was no man at all but a cruel, frightening creature.
After ending their relationship she had stormed from the manor, telling every gossip sheet that would listen all that she had ‘endured’ while she had been betrothed to him.
At the time, he felt he deserved her treatment and had embraced his quiet life of penance and solitude, knowing that he was no good to anyone as fragmented as he was.
It had taken over two years to recover enough, both emotionally and physically, to be of any use at all.
If not for his staff at the townhouse, and his newfound friendship with Diana and Nicholas, he might even have given up on living his life entirely.
But despite how dark those days, weeks, months and years had been, he couldn’t dishonour the men who had died in battle by giving up when he had the chance to do what they couldn’t: live.
Despite what Diana thought, he had made huge progress since his return to London, but he could not deny her claim. She was right; he wasn’t fully living just yet. In an odd way, he had forgotten how to. Diana was still watching him and waiting for an answer. He risked telling her the truth.
‘While I have made strides to regain a semblance of a life, what I have done to you and the other widows still haunts me. My actions…’ His voice trailed off as his gaze slid to Nicholas who was working on his third biscuit.
Every fiber in Lucas’s being strained under the weight of the truth he still felt keenly in his heart.
‘They keep me pinned in. They keep me here. I struggle to believe I deserve to live the life my comrades cannot.’
There, he’d finally said it. And although the weight of his words hung heavy in the air, to his relief his spirit felt a tad lighter as he confessed the truth to her.
‘As I have told you before,’ she began in soft, lowered tones.
‘You did not kill our husbands. The Americans did. It was war, whether they officially called it that when you and my husband were there, or not. There were losses. You helped us all survive. If not for your kindness and gifts of coin, none of us widows would have been able to provide for our families.’
‘It was supposed to be anonymous,’ he said begrudgingly, crossing his arms against his chest and glancing down briefly before meeting her gaze again.
‘Then you should have hired cleverer delivery boys,’ she teased.
‘But if I had not been so nosy and determined to discover who our mysterious benefactor was, I never would have met you and we would not have become friends.’ She gave him a wide smile, revealing two dimples in her cheeks.
‘I do not regret my tenacity, and I never will.’
He laughed. ‘Then, I suppose I am grateful for your meddling. I do value your friendship, Diana, despite how annoying your interfering can be sometimes. You are the sister I never had.’
‘So be grateful for it again now. Listen to me. I worry about you. When Nicholas and I move to Essex for good after the wedding, I…’ Her words fell away.
‘I know—we will not see each other much, if at all.’
‘Especially when you never journey from here,’ she muttered under her breath.
‘I know, I know,’ he said raising his hands in supplication.
‘It is time, Lucas. While it is honourable and generous to continue to take care of people from afar and anonymously, it is time to engage with the world once more. Venture into Society. Find a woman to love. Create your own family. Matthew would have wanted that for you,’ she said, quietly looking down as she clutched her hands together.
There was a slight tremble in her voice as she spoke her late husband’s name.
Lucas held his breath until the tightness in his chest passed. She had a point. He could still choose to have a real life with a wife, family and all the things he had always dreamed of. The men under his command, like Matthew, could not.
‘Think on it. Promise me?’ she asked quietly before meeting his gaze.
He nodded. ‘I will. But for now, we had best snatch a biscuit before all of them are gone,’ he teased, sending a glance to Nicholas who was circling the tower for yet another treat. Lucas guided her toward Nicholas and away from the thought of them leaving and him being so very, very alone.
Copyright ? 2026 by Jeanine Englert