Chapter One #2
But that life had been built on lies, he reminded himself harshly. Ava’s lies. Ava had stolen his true identity, and he was here to claim it back.
The once-grand library of Lord Danvers bore silent witness to the family’s declining fortunes.
Tall Georgian windows, their paint peeling and wood frames warped, still managed to cast long rectangles of summer light across what remained of the Turkish carpet.
The room stretched two stories high, its upper gallery accessed by a curved mahogany staircase.
Empty spaces between books told their own story—precious volumes likely sold off, one by one, to keep the family afloat.
The remaining collection stood in uneven rows, their leather bindings dry and cracked, some sprouting tufts of green mold along their spines.
A musty sweetness pervaded the air, mingled with the sharp tang of wood rot from the sagging shelves.
The ceiling’s ornate plasterwork, once cream and gold, had yellowed to the color of old teeth.
Water stains mapped continents across its surface where the roof leaked, though strategically placed copper pails caught the worst of the drips.
Their dull surfaces matched the tarnished oil lamps that hadn’t been polished in some time.
“Please excuse the…” Lauren stuttered to a halt.
Lucien was beginning to see the extent of the fiasco he’d come home to. He suddenly understood why, on the journey home from Ireland, Rockwell had urged him to make marriage for a large dowry a priority.
He walked further into the room, his dismay barely able to be hidden.
A massive marble fireplace dominated one wall; its mantel cluttered with miniature portraits in gilt frames too precious to sell.
The armchairs grouped nearby—once plush crimson velvet—all faded to a tired rose, their stuffing visible through worn patches and frayed seams. Yet he sensed there was still a certain dignity to them.
Near the window stood Lord Danvers’ desk, its leather top cracked and dry as autumn leaves. Stacks of unpaid bills and increasing other correspondence weighed down one corner, while a half-empty decanter suggested how his lordship often chose to face them.
A single footman entered to tend the meager fire, carefully rationing the coal and wood. Through the windows, the untended wilderness of what was once a formal garden spoke volumes about the current state of the Danvers town house.
Lucien couldn’t bring himself to wonder about the state of their country estate—or was it estates? He didn’t even remember. He sank into another chair, staring at the man who was his father. He ignored his sister and his friends.
“The debts,” the earl said suddenly, his voice thick with shame. “I thought you dead, boy. Dead like your mother. The cards…the dice…they helped me forget, just for a while.”
Lucien’s jaw tightened. “How bad?”
“Bad enough to lose it all, if something isn’t done soon,” Wolf said bluntly, ignoring Rockwell’s warning look. “He should know the truth of what he’s coming home to.”
“We need a moment with Lady Lauren,” Rockwell said quietly. “If you’ll excuse us?”
They withdrew to the corridor, leaving Lucien alone with his father. The silence stretched between them, heavy with five years of absence.
“Ten thousand pounds,” the earl said finally, staring into his empty glass.
“At least. The money lenders are circling like vultures. I’ve mortgaged what I could, but I can’t touch the entailed estates.
Still, they too are almost ruined…” He looked up, his bloodshot eyes desperate.
“I never thought to saddle you with this burden. When you disappeared after the rebellion…when months passed with no word…I lost myself in grief and guilt. If I hadn’t picked that stupid argument with you about taking that trip with Rockwell—”
“I don’t remember any of it,” Lucien cut in, his voice harsher than he’d intended.
“Not the rebellion, not my reasons for being there, none of it.” He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that felt familiar though he couldn’t say why.
“My life began five years ago in a village near Dublin, with a head wound and no memory of who I was.”
The earl flinched. “The physicians Lord Rockwell consulted… Do they think your memory might return?”
“I didn’t consult with anyone. I don’t need to.
” Lucien moved to stare out the window at the gardens below.
This was all so different from his humble vegetable patch in Ireland, where Ava-Marie had toddled after him, helping to plant carrots with her tiny hands.
“The man you knew, your son…he is gone forever.”
“You’re here now,” the earl said softly. “That’s what matters.”
Lucien’s laugh held no humor. “Yes, just in time to save the family from ruin, it seems. For you had no concern that your daughters could be thrown on the streets.” The bitterness in his voice surprised even him.
He turned back to face his father as Lauren and the men returned.
He didn’t know what they told her, but Lauren’s eyes were red-rimmed, even though she managed a tremulous smile.
“Madeline will be home soon. Shall I have Phillips prepare your old rooms?”
The thought of sleeping in a stranger’s chambers—even if that stranger was his former self—made his skin crawl. “Thank you. I’ll need other rooms prepared too.” At Lauren’s confused expression, he added, “My daughter and my wife’s cousin are to join me.”
“Your daughter?” The earl sat up straighter, suddenly more alert than he’d appeared all morning. “You’re married?”
“No. My—wife—died two years ago of the lung disease.” His father’s relief was obvious and at that moment, he hated the man. He was counting on his son marrying well.
Lucien kept his voice carefully neutral.
“Lucien’s daughter, Ava-Marie, is four.” And illegitimate, his mind supplied treacherously.
But they would never know that. As far as England was concerned, he’d married Ava in a small village church, and their daughter was as legitimate as any peer’s child.
The lie sat bitter on his tongue, but he would tell it a thousand times to protect his little girl.
“My son returns, and I have a grandchild,” the earl breathed, wonder replacing some of the worry in his face. “I never thought… That is, when we believed you dead…”
“She’s all I have of her mother,” Lucien said quietly, the half-truth easier to speak than the full lie.
In truth, Ava-Marie was all he had of his life in Ireland, the only pure thing to come from Ava’s deception.
“I would appreciate it if we could delay any…formal announcements of my return until she’s settled. ”
“Of course,” Lauren said quickly. “Whatever you need.” She hesitated, then asked, “Will you at least stay for tea? There’s so much to tell you, about the family, about…” She trailed off, biting her lip.
About his life before, he knew she meant.
About the man he’d been, the brother she’d lost. About the fiancée no one had mentioned yet, though he knew from Rockwell that she existed.
Lady Courtney Montague, the woman he’d supposedly loved enough to pledge his life to, yet couldn’t summon even a shadow of memory for.
“Tea would be pleasant,” he said finally, because he couldn’t bear to disappoint them further. Not when they looked at him with such desperate hope, searching his face for glimpses of a man who might as well be dead.
As Phillips wheeled in the tea cart, Lucien caught his reflection in a gilt-framed mirror.
A stranger stared back at him, wrapped in fine wool and starched linen, playing at being a viscount.
Somewhere in Ireland, a humble farmer called John Collins had died, leaving only this hollow shell of a lord in his place.
He accepted a cup of tea from Lauren, noting how her hands trembled slightly as she passed it to him. His sister. The word still felt foreign, though something in her grey eyes tugged at him, like a half-remembered dream. Perhaps that was a start.
He leaned forward and spoke about the elephant in the room. “I had a fiancée, I believe. She is still unmarried?” When Lauren looked swiftly between Rockwell and Wolf, he added, “Tell me about her.”
Lauren’s smile was like the sun breaking through clouds.
As she began to speak, Lucien settled back in his chair, letting her words wash over him.
He couldn’t be the brother she remembered, but perhaps he could become someone new, someone worthy of the hope in her eyes.
Someone who could protect his daughter’s future and save his family from ruin, even if he never remembered being part of it.
But that may rely on another woman he could not remember—Lady Courtney. He dreaded meeting her. He’d have to see if Lauren had any etchings of her.
But it was a beginning, of sorts. Easing back into society would have to be enough for now.