Chapter One
Hugo walked through the rooms which had been rented for him by Mr. Becker, a clerk to his father’s solicitor.
He had arrived in London with instructions to see the family solicitor before making his way to Cambridge, only learning once he arrived that the man was too busy to see him.
The solicitor had assigned one of his clerks to look after Hugo, and it had been Mr. Becker who had traveled with him to Cambridge, helping him to rent these rooms he would live in during his time at university.
Turning to face the clerk, he now put into practice things he had been working on his entire life. He took a breath and thought of what he wished to say, hearing the words in his mind.
“Thank you for helping me become settled, Mr. B-B-Becker.”
Hard constants at the beginning of words still gave him trouble, but after years of practice, he could speak more clearly and with less stammering than he had as a child.
“I was more than happy to accompany you to Cambridge, my lord,” Becker replied. “And if you have need of anything, please write to me. I know that I will be able to handle whatever matter you need addressed on your behalf.”
While at the solicitor’s office, Hugo had learned that he would receive a quarterly allowance, which would help pay for these rooms and his meals, as well as other incidentals.
He had no intention of going back to Merrifield at the end of each term, as other university students would do.
He intended to remain in Cambridge year-round until he took his degree.
It had been hard to say his goodbyes to Mama and Dilly, but he knew it was best to stay away from Merrifield and his father.
The earl had not physically assaulted him in several years, not since Hugo had sprung to his full height, three inches over six feet.
On the rare occasions he was called in to meet with his father, he hovered above the older man, knowing his size intimated the earl.
Once more, very methodically, he asked, “Do you have any p-plans to be a solicitor yourself?”
Becker smiled broadly. “I do indeed, my lord. I am most eager to become a solicitor myself, but I come from a most humble background. I learn daily, however, and hope to one day be able to practice on my own. Even if it is out of a very small office.”
Boldly, Hugo said, “When that d-day comes and I am the Earl of Merriman, I . . .” He paused, slowing down. “I will hire you myself.”
“You would?” Becker asked, incredulous. “I might serve as your solicitor?”
He nodded, collecting his thoughts. “When I b-b-become . . . when I take the title, I will make changes. M-m-many changes.”
In awe, the clerk said, “You have given me a worthy goal to strive for, my lord. Thank you ever so much.”
He smiled. “You have shown me kindness, Mr. B-Becker. You have l-l-looked me in the eye. Made me feel . . . comfortable.” Hugo was especially proud that he got out the word comfortable since it was so long. “Keep this b-between us.”
“Of course. I cannot thank you enough. Well, I should be off now so that you might settle in. I need to book a room for this evening and arrange to take the mail coach back to London tomorrow morning.”
Hugo thought on whether or not he should ask Becker to stay with him, and then decided it might be too much. “Have a safe j-journey.”
“Enjoy your studies, my lord. I hope you will have a wonderful time in Cambridge. Goodbye.”
After the clerk left, he spent time unpacking his trunk.
It would be wonderful to be living on his own, without anyone underfoot.
He hoped he would learn to relax more, and he certainly would practice speaking.
That had been difficult to do while he was at school and others were constantly around him.
Once his task was completed, he decided to go to the inn over the road for his evening meal.
If he liked the food served there, he would frequent the place since it was so close.
He used the key Becker had given him and locked the door behind him, crossing the street and entering The King’s Arms. It was still a bit early for dinner, and the inn’s public room was only about a third full.
Much more to his liking. Too many people and loud conversations disrupted his train of thought, and he found it difficult to communicate in those circumstances.
He dreaded the day he would have to attend the Season and be thrust into a ballroom full of strangers, having to try to make conversation and dance, much less look for a bride. Thankfully, that was far down the road.
He sat at an empty table and ordered an ale from the barmaid who had appeared, and then he asked, “What is g-good here? To eat?”
She smiled. “Just about everything, my lord. We get many compliments on our beef and mutton dishes. The stews and soups also are reliable dishes to choose from. Are you a student new to Cambridge?”
He merely nodded.
“Well, you’ve come to the right place. Many of your fellow students dine here. What shall I bring you besides ale?”
“Choose f-f-for me,” he told her, and she gave him a saucy smile. Thankfully, she did not ask him about his stutter. Too many others boldly did, and he was often left without words trying to explain something which he himself did not fully understand.
She returned with the ale moments later, and he sipped it slowly, wondering what these next years would bring.
Then he heard his name called and tried not to react. If the caller thought he had been mistaken, he might leave Hugo alone. But he heard it a second time.
“Drake? I thought that might be you.”
Glancing up, he recognized the man who had come to stand near his table. Rising, Hugo offered the Duke of Reddington his hand.
Thinking hard, he said, “It is . . . nice to see you, Your G-Grace.”
“And excellent to see you as well, Drake. Mind if I sit with you?”
This would have been the only person welcomed at Hugo’s table.
Reddington had been two years ahead of him in school, a duke since he was twelve years of age.
Reddington had come across a group of boys practicing their usual cruelties upon Hugo, and the young duke had immediately put a stop to their bullying.
He still could hear Reddington’s words ringing in his ears.
Do not touch him again—else you will have me to deal with.
Though the taunting had subtly continued, the physical abuse had stopped after the duke’s intervention.
Hugo had been four and ten at the time. By the time Reddington graduated and moved on a few years later, the other boys left Hugo alone.
Even the jeers had died down, most likely due to his new, tall frame.
No one bullied him physically or verbally.
It was as if they simply forgot all about him, and Hugo moved through his remaining years of school as a wraith, acknowledged by no one except his tutors.
“Have a seat, Your G-G-Grace.”
The duke did so and said, “Your speech is much clearer, Drake. My congratulations to you for mastering your stammer.”
He paused a long moment, trying to put the words together, and then said, “You helped me with that. Even though I still struggle. You m-m-made them leave me alone. I f-f-find when I relax and have no worries, I can speak without m-much of a stammer.”
“What will you study at Cambridge?” the duke asked. “Since I have not seen you before, I assume you have just arrived and are beginning your university days.”
“Mathematics.”
Reddington nodded. “I recall you were quite good at maths. Took several prizes, I believe, if I recall correctly. Well, good for you, Drake.”
The duke glanced up and waved. Hugo glanced over his shoulder and saw a man headed toward them.
Immediately, he tensed. It was one thing to sit and try to have a conversation with Reddington.
It was altogether something different with a stranger at the table.
He tried to think of a quick excuse to leave, but the barmaid set his meal before him at that precise moment.
“Here you go, my lord.” Her eyes flicked to the duke. “What might I bring you, Your Grace?”
By then, the other man had reached them, and the duke ordered for the both of them. Hugo knew there was no way to escape now, and so he rose, as did the duke, ready to meet someone new.
“I believe the two of you might somehow be related,” His Grace said. “Hugo Drake, this is Anthony Drake.”
He looked at the newcomer and recognized a resemblance between them. They both had dark hair and similar facial features. Offering his hand, he said, “Nice to m-meet you.”
The other man smiled widely. “It is so good to meet you, Mr. Drake. I feel that we do have some relatives in common. Please forgive me if I seem too familiar. Might you be the Earl of Merriman’s son?”
Immediately, Hugo knew Anthony Drake must be the cousin his father had mentioned all those many years ago.
But what of his stammer?
“Have a seat, Drakes,” the duke said cheerfully, and they all seated themselves at the table. “Go ahead and eat, Hugo. I am going to have to call you Hugo and this one Anthony to keep the two of you separate. That means you should call me Matthew.”
“I c-c-ca . . . I . . . no. That will not d-do.”
“It will if I say it does,” Reddington said, a twinkle in his eyes. “It is not just anyone that I give leave to call me Matthew, but my wish is that you would do so, Hugo.”
He nodded mutely, shocked by this offer of familiarity with a man of such high rank. Then his cousin claimed his attention, and so he faced him.
“I am the earl’s son,” he said slowly. “I l-learned about you . . . years ago. You do not . . . stammer.”
“I do when I am tired,” Anthony revealed. “It has taken me years to conquer my stutter. I can help you do the same if you would like me to work with you.”
“How?” he asked, feeling helpless. “I have . . . found a f-few things to d-d-do over the years. I speak slowly. I think b-before about what I w-w-want to say.”