Cavendish Brothers 01 - An Unintended Journey (3 page)

Thomas leaned back in his chair and drew a hand through his wavy, brown hair. He expelled a pent-up breath slowly. “How long must we be gone? I don’t think I can be away from the stables too long right now. We’re already a man down…”

Abby couldn’t be concerned about how long they would be away. She was more caught up with the fact that they’d be leaving at all. Dumbfounded by it, truth be told.

“
I don’t know how long it will take, Thomas,” Father said gravely. “Lord Pritchett has assured me that we might take all the time we need, however. You see, as Grandmama was dying, she revealed something to me. Something she’s kept secret since before I was even born.”

Mother gasped and leaned closer, a tear shimmering unshed in her eye. “She finally told you who your father is?”

He nodded, but stayed silent for a few moments. “Aye,” he said at last. “My father is the Duke of Danby.”

Silver clattered against china. Thomas dropped his glass. It shattered against the table, and a river of port spread over the mahogany wood. Mother whipped off her apron and mopped up the mess, but still Abby couldn’t move a muscle.

A duke? Yet Grandmama had worked herself to the bone her entire life as a maid of all work for Sir Andrew Penthurst, right up until the day she died. And Father had been forced to work his way up through Lord Pritchett’s household until, at length, he reached a respectable position, while Abby and her brothers could only look forward to the same, if they were lucky.

Abby’s heart raced a frantic pace through her veins, pulsing something fierce against her temples. Why had Grandmama kept it a secret all these years? And why would she reveal the details now?

When Mother settled in her chair once again, she stared down at Father. “And the purpose of our trip to Yorkshire, Hugh?”

He took a long sip from his glass and then locked his gaze onto Abby’s. “He cannot make a difference in the direction of my life, Mary. Nor do I expect him to particularly do anything for Robert and Thomas, though I would hope he might offer something—a recommendation for a better position, something of that nature. But there is one way in which he most assuredly can help our family.” Father took a bite of his bread and chewed it pensively before he went on. “He can give our Abby a respectable dowry.”

*

Just after sunset, Wesley rode his horse to the stables at Blacknall unhindered. Not that he’d expected to be stopped at gunpoint or anything of the sort. Perhaps if his father was still the master of the manor, but he hoped things would not be so dire now that Tristan was Fordingham.

A groom Wesley remembered from his childhood bowed to him in greeting. “Mr. Cavendish. We weren’t expecting you, sir.”

No, of course they weren’t expecting him. Why would they, after their former master had banished him from the estate, sending him away with a gash across his face and telling him never to step foot on Fordingham property again if he valued his life?

Wesley didn’t bother to answer. He grunted in response, tossed the reins into the groom’s hands, and took off towards the manor without a backwards glance.

The butler who met him at the door was clearly new to the post. Not surprising. Most of the staff had turned over numerous times during the past years. Why should that have changed in the three years he was away?

The butler looked down his long, bespectacled nose at Wesley and raised an overgrown grey eyebrow. “Yes?”

Wesley strode past him into the grand foyer. He handed the butler his beaver hat and gloves. “Inform Lord Fordingham that his brother—the prodigal son, if you will—has returned home. I’ll await him in the gold parlor.” Somehow, he kept himself from laughing at his own poor joke. Mayhap he could maintain his droll humor while at Blacknall, for once. It would be a first.

The butler pressed his hat and gloves back into his hands. “His Lordship shall not be receiving guests at this late hour, sir. Kindly return tomorrow.”

Such a friendly, welcoming greeting. Had Tristan upheld Father’s edict, even after all this time? Surely not. Wesley placed his hat and gloves on the occasional table just inside the door and faced the butler. “Is he in his study? Or has he already retired for the evening?”

The old codger stood there with his mouth agape, not saying anything.

“
Never mind, then.” Pushing the door back, he marched out into the corridor. “I’ll find him myself, since you refuse to oblige me.”

“
Now, stop right there, Cavendish.” The old butler proved himself much more spry than his looks attested, as he darted past Wesley and put a staying hand against his chest. “You’ve not been granted leave to step one foot inside any part of this house. Fordingham will not suffer such disrespect, sir.”

Disrespect
. The word left a sour taste in Wesley’s mouth, like rotting cod in too much lemon juice. He removed the butler’s hand from his chest, put three paces between them, leveled the older man with his frostiest glare, and continued on his way.

“
Stop him!” the butler called out behind him, and two footmen in gleaming livery rushed into the walkway to block Wesley’s path. One of them reached out, nearly getting his hand on Wesley’s arm, when a cold cough sounded from the stairs.

“
Leave him. What brings you to Blacknall, brother?”

Turning, his gaze landed on Tristan. His brother strolled leisurely down alongside the iron baluster, his hands trailing delicately over the austere railings in an almost loving manner.

“
I had thought to return home, now that—”

“
You’d thought things would be different for you now that Father is no longer master here?” Tristan interrupted with an icy glint in his near-black eyes. “You’re still a damned Whig revolutionary, are you not? We support the crown in this home, sir.”

Wesley let out a ragged breath and dragged a hand through his hair. “Why must political inclinations divide us? We’re family, for God’s sake.”

Tristan narrowed his eyes, not moving any further down the stairs—a means to maintain the power position in their discussion, of course. “So you do not deny it.”

“
Deny what? That I wish to serve in the Commons? What would be the point in denial, when you’ve plainly already decided what is truth and what is fiction?”

“
You’ve not changed at all these three years…so why do you expect that anything else would have changed?” Tristan untied and retied the belt around his silken dressing gown, adjusting it just so like the dandy he’d always been. “If you leave right now, peacefully, I’ll be certain my men do not harm your person. I won’t leave this offer very long, however, so I would advise you to take me at my word and make your exit post haste.”

A fury like he’d thought long abandoned roiled within Wesley’s stomach, clenching his abdomen and blurring his vision. “So you intend to be as much a bastard as Father ever was, do you?”

“
The only bastard I see in this manor is you,” Tristan said with a mirthless chuckle. His tone was unfeeling and his eyes were bereft of anything save hauteur. “Or have you forgotten that Father disowned you? Disavowed himself of anything to do with you?”

“
On the contrary,” Wesley said. He forced his muscles to cease quivering. “He cannot change the factors of my birth, much as he would have liked to do. Nor can you.”

“
True.” Tristan took three more steps down the stairs, until they were almost on a level. “But he blackened your name within society more thoroughly than I would have given him credit for. And I’ve made certain you’ll not receive even a ha’penny of Fordingham monies, so long as I shall live. I cannot imagine what you might want from me, considering all of that.”

“
I want the truth to be known.” Wesley glared at his brother, and a flash of fear pulsed across Tristan’s countenance. “Father is in the ground, and his lies will die with him.”

Tristan’s features returned at length to their normal, placid state. “Is that a threat?” He cocked an eyebrow and gestured with a single finger to the footmen still standing behind Wesley. “I should very much like to discover what you think you can do against me should I fail to do as you wish.”

The urge to strangle his brother was strong. Too strong. This wasn’t why he’d come. He didn’t want to reawaken old animosities…he just wanted to begin his life anew. Even if Tristan wouldn’t restore his place within the family, wouldn’t grant him a living or anything of that nature, he could at least repair his standing within society.

“
I just…” Wesley blew out a pent-up breath and shrugged, searching the heavens for an answer to his problems. “I want the truth to be known. That’s all, Tris. Is that too much to ask?”

“
It’s Fordingham, in case you’ve forgotten. I can see how such a mistake might be made, since you’ve been from England so long.”

Ha! As if such a thing were possible. Father and Tristan had each made it a personal priority to remind Wesley as frequently as possible that he was something less than they were.

Tristan took the final steps down the stairs, coming to stand directly before him. In physique, they could be identical twins. Tris had sandy hair and eyes of indeterminate color, whereas Wesley had black hair and eyes like the midnight sky, but those were their only differences. Well, their only
physical
differences. “This is about that Goddard chit, isn’t it? You’ve been mooning after her like a lovestruck calf all this time. Pathetic.” His nose crinkled, as though the foul stench of the unwashed masses had stuck to his upper lip.

Barely contained rage simmered under the surface of Wesley’s cool façade, but he couldn’t let his brother see that. Not now. “If it is?”

Tristan shook his head. “Proof enough for me. You couldn’t even bother to deny it.”

“
Will you renounce Father’s lies?” Wesley asked before he lost his patience. “Will you remember, for one brief moment, that we are brothers? Beelzebub’s breeches, it’s Christmas.”

A curious look sparked in Tristan’s eye, so briefly that Wesley wondered if perhaps it had merely been his imagination playing tricks with his mind. But then Tristan gave a curt nod. “Just this once, I’ll do what you want. I’ll inform Pritchard tomorrow that the rumors spread about you were falsehoods. Surely word will spread, though I cannot ensure the speed with which such a thing will occur. It is Christmas, after all, as you were so keen to remind me. The Quality of the world are all at their country homes, not convened together in London.”

Had the Christmas spirit invaded Tristan and taken over his senses momentarily? Praise be to Saint Nicholas, if that were the case. No matter what had caused it, Wesley knew better than to press his luck. “Thank you, brother.” He inclined his head and turned to leave.

“
Wesley?” Tristan’s voice barely carried through the hallowed corridors of Blacknall to reach his ears.

He turned, a question he dared not ask hovering on his lips. His hand still lingered just over the door handle.

“
If you pursue a woman—
any
woman—of unsuitable rank for any reason, I’ll be certain you’re never welcomed into polite society again. Not here, not on the Continent, not even in the cursed Americas. If I’m to agree to your wishes, you must agree to mine.”

Wesley waited for long moments for his brother to continue. At long last, he raised a brow. “And those would be?”

“
You’re to marry a lady from a Tory family. I’ll condescend myself to select the blessed lady for you. Perhaps one of Silverton’s brats would suffice. I’ll send him a missive in the morning and see what we can work out between us.”

“
You’re joking. Please tell me you’re joking.” How in blazes was he supposed to be accepted back into society, to attain a position within the Whig ranks, if he were so firmly attached to staunch Tory supporters on every side? And even the eldest of Silverton’s daughters couldn’t be older than thirteen or fourteen, at the most. What would he want with a child for a bride? He wanted Abby.

“
Not joking in the slightest. I trust you’ll concede to my wishes.” With a malevolent half-smile, Tristan gestured towards the waiting doors. “I expect to see you in the morning so we can discuss this further. Good evening to you.”

Wesley nearly ripped the door from its hinges in his furious haste to leave the bloody wretch’s presence. His Hessians pounded against the flagstones as he tramped across Blacknall’s damned grounds. Only after he was halfway to the mews did he remember he’d left his beaver hat and gloves on the blasted hall table. He’d be damned if he’d return for them now.

What good would having his name restored do if he couldn’t pursue his dreams? Worse yet, what good would anything do if he couldn’t have Abby?

3

As he raced around the corner of Henley Green on his way to the stables, already late for the repugnant appointment with his brother, Wesley pulled himself up short and nearly tripped over his own two feet. The Goddards stood as a huddled mass, dressed in black on this already black day, just in front of the stables. One of Pritchard’s carriages was being readied behind them, and a series of footmen transported trunks to load it with.

He did a quick count. The family was all present. All but Abby’s grandmother, that was, but she worked on the other side of town. Still, who else would they mourn?

There was nothing for it. He would have to pass them all in order to reach his mount, as distasteful as the idea of disturbing their family moment might be. Adopting a more sedate pace, Wesley headed across the lawn.