Chapter Two
All the Gents, aside from Stanley, were gathered at the Benick family’s primary estate to be with Aldric through the funeral and burial of his father.
Stanley would have been there if they’d not lost him eight years earlier.
He’d taken up the foolish notion of fighting in the war with the former colonies, despite not being a soldier in any way.
Aldric’s efforts to prevent him from following through with the unwise idea—his role among the Gents had always been to stop them from undertaking foolish notions—hadn’t changed Stanley’s mind.
Aldric had failed, and Stanley was gone.
Father’s passing had been wholly unexpected, but Aldric didn’t think anyone viewed it as truly tragic. The duke, as Aldric had taken to calling his late father in recent years, hadn’t precisely endeared himself to anyone. Aldric doubted he’d had any real friends.
Crofton hadn’t seemed overly sad during their father’s funeral services. He’d seemed absolutely gleeful during the reading of the will. For his part, Aldric wouldn’t miss being insulted and belittled by his father.
“I appreciate all of you being here,” he said to his friends as they sat in the drawing room the night after the funeral.
They weren’t likely to be there much longer, having homes and families of their own to return to.
“Where else would we be?” Kes asked in his familiar tones of mock-grumpiness. “Funerals and weddings seem to be our most frequent reasons for gathering now.”
That was truer than Aldric wished it were.
Though they did have a Gents’ gathering each autumn, outside of that, the most recent reason for being together had been the funeral of Lucas’s father nearly eighteen months earlier.
That had been a truly heartbreaking occasion.
The late Earl of Lampton had been a remarkably good and caring man, and Lucas loved him deeply.
Not since Stanley’s death had Lucas been so entirely devastated.
Julia, his wife, had been tremendously worried for him, and with good reason.
Six months after that solemn occasion, when together for another Gents’ gathering, Lucas had still not returned to his usual self.
He’d been heavy and quiet. Only now had he regained some of his equilibrium.
“Do you remember the few weeks we spent here at the end of our first year at Cambridge?” Lucas shot Kes a quick look. “The end of the first year for most of us, that is.”
Niles, another of their band of brothers, smiled at the memory. “I thought the late duke was going to string us all up by our thumbs.”
“We were being rather ridiculous,” Henri acknowledged. “But the more annoyed the duke grew, the more Stanley enjoyed it.”
“I don’t think it was a matter of enjoying it,” Kes said. “He realized within minutes of our arrival that His Grace was less critical of Aldric when he was focused on being vexed with the rest of us.”
Stanley had understood people and had cared deeply for the happiness of the Gents. And he had done so much for all of them. He’d been the heart of their brotherhood in every imaginable way. Theirs was a family that couldn’t be ruined, he had said. But losing him had shattered them all.
Aldric pushed down the surge of guilt he felt at the reminder. What a foolhardy thing for Stanley to do, going to war. The day he’d told them all that he was joining up and going to fight, Aldric had pulled him aside. He’d wanted to talk to him privately.
“You must know, Stanley, that you are no soldier. That isn’t to say that you aren’t brave, because you are.
Or that you aren’t daring, because you most certainly are.
Or that you are lacking in ingenuity or fortitude or any of the other things that make for a good soldier.
But you must know that this isn’t a battle you are meant to fight. ”
“Lucas’s brother James is going. I can’t let him rush off to danger without someone to look after him.” While Stanley’s reasoning was sincere, Aldric knew him well enough to see that it wasn’t the entirety of it.
“If you go, I very much fear you will not come back,” Aldric said. “I cannot shake the strength of that suspicion.”
A long moment stretched out between them. And in that heavy silence Aldric sensed that Stanley felt the same foreboding that he did.
“Look after the Gents while I’m gone,” Stanley eventually said. “They deserve to be happy, every last one of them. But they’ll likely need help claiming that happiness. Who better than the General to see to it that they set their feet firmly on that path?”
“Who better?” Aldric scoffed. “The Highwayman, that’s who. Stay here with us, Stanley, and help them yourself.”
But he just smiled. “I’ve battles enough to fight. And when we’re all together again, I’ll have a great many adventures to tell you all about. And you can tell me of the brilliant strategies you employed to help these brothers of ours avoid disaster.”
Aldric shook his head firmly, almost frantically. “Benicks ruin families, Stanley. If you leave them in my keeping, they’ll fall apart. Everything will go wrong.”
Stanley looked deep into Aldric’s eyes, holding his gaze with a heaviness he seldom allowed himself. “I’ve not stopped believing in miracles, my friend. Don’t you stop.”
Aldric had dedicated himself the past eight years to helping his brothers-by-choice to piece themselves back together, to find their own happiness, and embark on their futures.
Only Digby’s future was still unsettled. Once that was seen to, Aldric would take the departure Stanley had offered him on the day he’d joined the Gents. He would step away from this brotherhood before his failures and his family ruined everything.
The Gents continued their reminiscing, regaling their wives with stories they had likely shared before. Their adventures had been entertaining enough that, even after hearing them recalled dozens of times, they were still deeply diverting.
While they were all enthralled with the memories, Aldric pulled from his pocket a letter he had reread many times over the past five days.
It had arrived from the solicitor who had overseen the settling of Mother’s estate upon her death.
The solicitor had explained that the letter had been left to his keeping with instruction to deliver it to Aldric upon the passing of his father.
He had immediately recognized Mother’s handwriting on the front, the way his name had been formed in the loops and twirls so specific to her.
A lump had formed in his throat at the familiar sight.
And that same achingly beloved hand had penned words of love in her native French inside.
Two paragraphs full. He cherished those declarations, grateful for every syllable.
It was not, however, all she had written. The middle of the letter had been filled with a plea and instructions to go with it.
I hope this letter doesn’t prove necessary, as I would much rather be with you.
I know enough of your father and am beginning to see far too much of him in your brother to have any confidence that they won’t have left you in very difficult circumstances.
Your ability to change those circumstances is limited, my dear Aldric.
Crofton will be the Duke of Hartley now. I am ashamed to say that my own son, the boy I attempted to raise well, will not merely carry on whatever thoughtlessness you have been subject to. He will also, I fear, add to it. I did try, Aldric. I wanted him to be a good man.
A rush of sadness washed over him once more as he reread Mother’s pained words. He hadn’t been overly amicable with his brother since they were children. Holding this letter and the proof of the anguish Crofton had caused Mother made it difficult not to despise him entirely.
You have likely been left with very little, Aldric. Only that which Crofton cannot take away from you. Younger sons are too often relegated to complete dependence on indifferent family members. I could not allow that to happen.
I have left something for you that cannot be taken away.
But the only way to safeguard it was to keep it in France.
I need you, my dearest boy, to travel to Versailles.
Among the gardeners, there is a family with the surname Chauvin.
They have been given the keeping of this, my final offering to you.
Show them the miniature you have of the two of us together and identify your reason for seeking them out, and they will give you the gift I have left for you.
I suspect my soul is not at rest, worrying over you. This will give me some peace.
I love you, my Aldric. Please have hope, and please make this journey.
Your loving mother
He had failed her in so many things; he knew he could not do so again now.
France was a little unsteady. At the beginning of the year, Paris had seen a brief riot.
Aspects of the government were shaky. But things were calmer just now than they had been of late.
Aldric could make the journey to set his mother’s soul at rest.
“We leave directly for France.” Henri’s declaration pulled Aldric from his own thoughts.
“You are going to France?” he asked.
Henri nodded. “To Paris. My brother is there just now, which means my sister is as well. We have reason to believe she is not particularly happy.” He motioned to himself and his wife, Nicolette. “We wish to see if something can be done about that.”
They were not as close to destitute as they had been nearly two years earlier, but Henri and Nicolette were not comfortably well off by any means. A journey to Paris was not an inexpensive prospect. Undertaking it would stretch their finances near to breaking.
Henri had managed to convince the late duke to grant Aldric the use of Norwood Manor, one of the Hartley holdings, giving him both a home and additional income. That put him in a position to be of help.
“I actually need to go to Paris myself,” Aldric said. “A matter of family business.”