Chapter One
Lord Aaran Graham was glad to leave the soot and heat of London behind.
Though he had stayed in London a month longer than he should have, for there was much to do at both his southernmost estate, as well as his main estate near Glasgow.
Yet, he had no regrets, at least not where his family was concerned.
Duncan had survived the shooting in early March, though they still had not caught the culprit, and Benjamin Thompson had noted the link between a series of encounters over the last five months and managed to refocus each of Duncan’s “sons.” Odd as it may seem to say so, Aaran had long been gathering a variety of information spoken of on the streets of London and in the City’s prisons.
Tidbits here and there, and he, too, had begun to notice a pattern in the constant uproar surrounding Lord Macdonald Duncan and those His Lordship loved.
Aaran thought perhaps if they had all made the necessary connections, they would be more cognizant of the continued threat directly and indirectly to their family.
Assuredly, he was more on alert than ever before.
He smiled as Lady Annalise Dutton slid down the seat to lay out along the coach’s bench. He expected his brother Beaufort’s coach would soon catch up with them.
“I am the last of the family to know true love,” he murmured softly as a sigh escaped. First, Orson claimed Lady Emma Donoghue, though it was I who the lady briefly chose for company, he thought. Yet, I could not compete with Orson’s fine physique and handsome face.
Aaran adjusted his position so he could prop his injured leg on the seat so he might stretch it out for a few minutes and returned to his thoughts.
I proposed to Theodora at Orson’s wedding, but she never took me seriously, though I suppose I never took my words seriously either.
I did not love her, and I do wish finally to know love.
He closed his eyes and considered the happiness found on Benjamin Thompson’s face, of late. “Should have known,” he murmured under his breath, “Thompson would find a woman perfect for him.”
Benjamin had asked Aaran to stand up with him when Thompson finally married Miss Victoria Whitchurch in early February of next year. Aaran had been correct about the lady wishing to wait the necessary six months to grieve the passing of her sister Cassandra.
Now, he was assisting his brother Navan Beaufort, a man so charismatic a snap of Navan’s finger could have earned him any woman in England or Ireland, and likely in Scotland, too.
Instead, Beaufort had fallen hard for an innocent, but powerful, woman.
In Aaran’s opinion, Beaufort had won the marriage lottery, for, if they finally stopped being their own worst enemies, Beaufort and Lady Annalise would have a stellar marriage.
“If only,” he whispered as Lady Annalise stirred to life once again. She stretched her arms out to the side, adjusted the cut of her dress, and smiled at him.
“How long did I sleep?” she asked.
“About two hours,” he told her.
She glanced through the small window at the back of the coach. “Shall Beaufort catch us soon?” she asked with a blush.
“I told Mr. Jamison not to press the horses today,” he told her with a grin, as he started to readjust his position on the seat, but she motioned for him to stay where he was.
“How came you by the injury?” she asked and immediately covered her mouth with her hand. “You do not need to respond,” she said between her fingers. “I never should have been so curious.”
“Nonsense,” Aaran said with as much casualness as he could infuse in his tone. “If you are to marry Beaufort, you should be made aware of the family’s secrets.”
“Not if the confessions make you uncomfortable,” she protested. “You have been so very kind to me.”
Aaran could understand Beaufort’s possessiveness regarding the woman: She made a man wish to protect her.
“My mother, you see,” he began, “had me without the banns of marriage tying things together, though, much later, when I was a young boy, Duncan proved my parents had had a very public joining. In Scotland, you will discover, there is the Church of England and the church of any public place where a group of people may witness a man and woman exchanging vows as simple as ‘I want to be your husband.’ Unfortunately, by that time, my mother had taken herself off to America to start over, and my father had passed.”
“She went to America without you?” the lady asked in shock.
“The ship was leaving, or so I have been told repeatedly. The noise of all the shouting and the number of people streaming by us supposedly frightened me, and I was squirming in her arms. She accidentally dropped me…” Aaran no longer saw Lady Annalise, only the scene in his head.
Everyone said he had been too young for a true memory of the incident, but one particular nightmare had haunted him all these years.
“Surely it was an accident,” Lady Annalise said softly before reaching across the coach to claim his hand.
He watched how her fingers laced with his.
“Naturally, one would think she loved me, but…” He swallowed hard.
“Despite my cries, she reportedly never looked back, just hurried away to join the others in the small boat rowing out to the larger ship. The family to whom my mother had sold me had paid for a child who could assist them on their tenant farm, not one who could barely walk. We both were denied fairness on that day.”
Before she could respond with more words of pity Aaran had heard a thousand times or more, Mr. Jamison opened the trap. “Lord Beaufort behind us, my lord,” the driver called. “We’ll stop at the inn a mile ahead.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jamison,” Aaran called back as he lowered his injured leg to the floor, while resisting the urge to rub it. “I told you Beaufort would catch us soon enough.”
The lady turned to watch Beaufort’s coach as it fell in behind Aaran’s. “It is foolish of me to say so, but I always feel safer when Beaufort is near.” Realizing what she had confessed, she turned quickly, a blush marking her cheeks. “I did not mean I do not feel safe with you, my lord.”
“I understand. Your sentiments are as they should be. Navan will be your husband—your partner in life.”
As the daylight began to fade, two coaches rolled into the prescribed inn yard.
Aaran had sent word ahead to secure one large room for Navan and him to share, with an adjoining room for Lady Annalise.
He knew Beaufort would not approve, but Aaran was intent on keeping Lady Annalise pure until her wedding night.
Though it was truly none of his concern, Aaran meant for there to be no question of Beaufort and Lady Annalise anticipating their vows.
Aaran knew firsthand that particular stigma.
It was also the reason he had approached Duncan regarding creating a story for what would be Benjamin Thompson and Miss Whitchurch’s adopted son. Duncan had used all his Home Office power to permit Benjamin a future without the dark cloud of an illegitimate child belonging to his betrothed.
Aaran had been rewarded for his efforts, for he was to stand up with Benjamin at the wedding, and, ironically, Miss Whitchurch had asked Lady Annalise to stand with her.
Aaran had thought Miss Whitchurch was thankful for Lady Emma Orson’s assistance, but Thompson’s soon-to-be bride was a bit intimidated by Lady Emma’s worldliness.
In truth, Aaran expected Miss Whitchurch and Lady Annalise to become steady friends.
They were, as many would say, cut from the same cloth.
I will be the last of Duncan’s sons to marry, he thought as he watched Lady Annalise squirm with anticipation of Beaufort opening Aaran’s carriage door.
Perhaps I might marry when I reach Scotland and make Benjamin the last of us to wed.
Such would be appropriate, for Thompson had been Duncan’s last son, but with that logic I should have been married after Orson.
Aaran stifled another sigh. There was no more time for his musings, as Beaufort opened the door and Lady Annalise scrambled to reach him.
Beaufort lifted her to the ground, permitting his betrothed to slide down his body.
Not wishing to look upon their happiness, Aaran reached for his cane before leaning forward to drop the steps.
What I would not give, he thought, to one day be able to lift my future wife in the air as has Navan. Swallowing his envy, Aaran made his way down the coach’s steps. “Let us go inside,” he instructed. “I am starving.”
“As am I,” Lady Annalise assured as she slipped her hand around Aaran’s elbow and walked by his side into the inn, while Beaufort gave orders to the inn’s help regarding which trunks would be required for the night. “Day one,” Lady Annalise announced with a sigh of satisfaction.
Aaran was happy for Beaufort and the lady, but he wondered if he would be the only one of Lord Duncan’s sons who would be required to settle for a woman willing to forgive his well-known illegitimacy so she might be kept in luxury for the remainder of her days.
The idea made him sad, for he, like his brothers, had always wanted the kind of marriage they had viewed between Duncan and Lady Elsbeth.
The Duncans’ love was on full display in all they did.
Much later, as Aaran rolled to his side and listened to Beaufort’s sigh of satisfaction as his brother also crawled under the bedding, it was all Aaran could do not to shed tears or to curse Heaven; yet, such was not his role in Duncan’s family.
Aaran was the one who found a solution to each problem they encountered.
Except my own, his mind announced. Except my own.
8 September 1811