Chapter One
Lord Navan Beaufort looked about the room and sighed.
He had served with these men for more years than he cared to name, but, of late, it seemed there was no end to the unrest in England, and he was quite frankly tired of placing his Irish arse in the mix of the chaos when few Englishmen would do the same for his countrymen.
True, Navan held an English barony, but his heart and soul was in Ireland.
The prime example was his hopes to improve the conditions in which many of the Irish lived in rag-tag dwellings, while attempting to eke out a living for their families.
“What do we know of what occurred at Parliament today?” Duncan asked, though, in truth, Duncan was still recovering from being shot outside of the London gaming hell, known as the Lyon’s Den, a night Navan could not forget, despite Duncan’s steady recovery, for they still had no more clues to lead them to the perpetrator than they had the night the incident occurred.
Duncan had a slew of enemies, as do all powerful men, but only a few would dare to attempt to kill Lord Macdonald Duncan.
The only true clue they had known since the shooting itself had been when the one called Titan at the Lyon’s Den brought the coat worn by the shooter to Duncan Place. Other than a few muddy smudges and two hairs, they had found no evidence regarding who had worn it.
Thankfully Lord Aaran Graham, a Scot, who customarily spent much of his time investigating groups, such as the Luddites, one of Perceval’s frequent targets, said, “Perceval was despised by the average working man. As Prime Minister, Perceval did all he could to destroy the Luddite unrest. He dispensed troops over and over again and declared martial law in parts of Lancashire and Yorkshire.”
Navan thought of his own estate in England. It sat upon the Derbyshire and Staffordshire border, and he should learn more of what this development meant to his people there. He held a responsibility to those tenants, equally as well as he did to those on his estate in Ireland.
In fact, three of the five boys Lord Macdonald Duncan had rescued held English estates near to Duncan’s own. Marksman’s estate marched along with Duncan’s in Derbyshire, while Navan’s set some thirty miles removed, and Orson was on the Derbyshire side of Lincolnshire.
Navan’s mind returned to the conversation when Aaran Graham shared information of a mysterious French count who once held connections to Edward Despard’s attempt at an overthrow of the government, as well as the machine-wrecking activities of “General Ludd.”
“The man is expected to arrive soon,” Graham explained.
“Anything else you know of the fellow, Aaran?” Duncan asked.
“No, sir, not even a name,” Lord Graham confirmed, and Navan instantly sat straighter, for his mind announced that Graham had hit on the key to all the recent madness.
“Which is odd,” Graham continued. “The fact that no one is talking says this change is a major one. All these separate and unequal events cannot be happening at the same time without some coordination. Perhaps this man is to pull all the strings together. To be the puppet master.”
Navan instantly knew, though he could not explain the reason, this moment would change his life, whether for the better or worse, he could not say, but change was coming to his door.
He glanced at Lord Richard Orson, who despite participating heavily in the discussion of Perceval’s assassination, had not lost the satisfied smile of happiness that Navan’s brother had found with Lady Emma Donoghue.
Navan knew he, too, was ready to settle down with a wife and hope of children; for two years previously, he had thought of claiming Miss Briana Stelter to wife.
Like Richard with Lady Emma, Navan had settled on the idea of soon starting his own family.
Yet, his worry on how Miss Stelter would adjust to his life with governmental ties had slowed his decision.
He had waited too long to present himself to her father as a possible suitor and to ask permission to court the girl.
Instead, she had chosen a young baron. When their engagement was announced, Navan had wished the lady happiness and had walked away without even a look back to know whether her smile had dropped with his official withdrawal.
“We are traveling to England tomorrow?” Audrey had asked, not confident her uncle meant to include her in this journey.
Such was one of her greatest fears for him to leave her behind.
Unlike her cousin, Audrey was never permitted any money and, therefore, was always dependent on her uncle’s whims. Often, she was denied a meal if she did not respond quickly enough to whatever ploy her Uncle Jacobi had concocted.
It was not always so. When Audrey was still quite young, the man who was identified to her as her mother’s brother, had come to the bayman’s house in the Americas to rescue Audrey’s mother, but her uncle had been too late.
Madelyn Lisey had died of a fever, which had swept across the plantation, and all that remained of her family was only herself, or so she thought.
Though disappointed, her Uncle Jacobi had claimed Audrey. She vaguely recalled once holding another name, though she had not heard it for more than a decade. Her uncle had a young daughter, who thankfully required a companion, and so Audrey had joined her mother’s family on a great adventure.
They had traveled the oceans and the seas between America and England, as well as the European continent and parts of Africa.
She had learned how to fight off an enemy with a sword or a knife or a gun.
She had stood witness as her uncle outran other ships—some, like them, made a living off the wealth of those they overtook, and, more often than she cared to name, they raced away from a British or an American or a French or…
a military ship keeping the likes of her Uncle Jacobi from robbing their citizens.
Audrey was not proud of what her uncle had executed against others nor her part in it, but as he was the only family she could claim, she had little choice but to stand beside the man.
“Yes, we will leave for England,” her uncle responded with a bit of derision in his tone.
“Caroline insists that you travel with us, though I see no reason to permit it.” Audrey did not respond.
She had learned long ago that it was best to prevent her uncle from his rant by keeping quiet.
“Yet, I love my daughter, who is excessively loyal to me.” At one time, Audrey would have protested that she, too, was devoted to him; yet, of late, she had simply accepted the fact her uncle would never love her, no matter what she did to prove herself to him.
Her mother had been the only one who had ever treated her as more than an afterthought. Her own father had sailed away, leaving her mother and Audrey alone in the world. She often wondered if she had done something to make him leave.
“Thank you, Uncle,” she said obediently. “Thank you, Caroline. I shall do my best not to disappoint you.”
“Naturally you shall not disappoint me,” her cousin had said as she wrapped her arm through Audrey’s.
Audrey had always been appreciative of Caroline’s favor, but, of late, something had changed, though Audrey could not name what had altered in reference to how she was seen by her uncle and her cousin.
She had once viewed a woman walking on a narrow beam at a street circus, who fell from the beam being supported between opposing windows on a closed off street being used for a fair.
The woman had wobbled this way and that, which Audrey and those on the ground had thought purposeful to draw the audience closer, but then the woman lost her fight with her ability to balance in mid-air: She had fallen to her death, right before the eyes of all looking on.
Such was the way Audrey felt, balancing between what she knew was acceptable and unacceptable behavior—between her uncle and her cousin and the rest of the world.
When it came time to depart France, Caroline knew her monthlies, and as the condition was customarily quite painful and heavy, Audrey’s cousin had begged her father to permit her and her maid to remain in France for a few more days.
“I promise to follow by week’s end,” Caroline had declared.
“You take the majority of my belongings with you. In that manner, I may claim a spot on a packet boat without the encumbrance of multiple bags and trunks.”
“I am not best pleased with this development, Caroline,” Audrey’s uncle stated firmly. “What if you do not arrive before Lady Godfrey’s masque? You know I intend for our entrance to the ball to open doors for us into British society. My plans hinge upon you.”
“Audrey may attend in my place,” Caroline suggested, and Audrey instinctively flinched, for she had always attempted, as much as possible, not to be under her uncle’s watchful eyes.
Since being rescued from a bayman’s plantation, Audrey had assumed a subservient role in her uncle’s household.
She was the poor relation, and she knew her place in the family.
“I cannot depend upon Audrey,” her uncle growled.
His words hurt nearly as much as if he had struck her.
What was worse was Audrey had no idea how to prove her loyalty and to secure his blessings.
Instead of responding, she accepted his criticism by swallowing her protests.
“I suppose I have few choices,” her uncle said as if he was sacrificing his plans for others.
Later, when she called upon Caroline, Audrey assured, “I shall set up your quarters just as you prefer things. I promise all will be well.”