Page 2 of Lessons for Marquesses
No. Of course they would not release him. But his father would never allow a hanging, even if the marquess was an unreliable sot. His mother would never, even if she spent more time with her lovers.
“I’ve negotiated an agreement,” Oliver said, traversing the room and halting at the window. “The agreement is amenable to your father, my uncle William, and the law. You’re going to the colonies, Nick. New York to start where Pelham’s agreed to allow you in a regiment. It satisfies the law. And Pelham assures me he’ll find you a nice, comfortable post where you can serve a colonel.”
Oliver’s words faded into the grey morning. He was going to war? What did he know about war? Less than a month ago, he trained his prize racehorse for the October Newmarket meeting.
Oliver pulled down his waistcoat over his growing middle and drew out a roll of parchment. “This satisfies William.”
Nicholas unrolled the documents offered.
I, Henry Percival Howard Fordyce Clayton, do freely grant and convey unto William St. Clair—the unentailed parcel detailed herein—the lands and real property of Farendon Estate…
Nicholas ceased reading. He threw the parchment to the counterpane and forced back expletives which would serve no one. “I will not surrender Farendon to William St. Clair. It is all I have.” Along with his dreams. And the horses he had nurtured, trained, and raced.
“It is not yours to give up,” Oliver said. “You’re not in majority.”
“I must speak to the marquess.”
“It is already done.”
“I will fight it.”
Oliver fixed him with a squint. “You can stand trial and hang, or it can be a damnable mishap between brothers. You looked like hell when they found you. Think, Nick. Just like a man who had beaten his brother to death.”
“I didnotkill my brother.”
Oliver drew back. “Go to the stand looking like that, and they’ll hang you right there.”
Nicholas sucked in a breath.
“That doesn’t help either. The servants claim you were arguing with Edmund.”
Nicholas closed his eyes, tried to find calm when he had never, never had to find what was, before now, the basis of his very existence. “Because he was drunk.” And cheating, yes. Edmund had been cheating. “I wished him to leave.”
Oliver grabbed Nicholas by the arms. “Listen to me. Iknow, your familyknows,you did not kill Edmund. I promise on mydaughter’s life, I will do everything possible to get it back for you.”
“And what of Caroline?” Nicholas had made love to Caroline the afternoon Edmund had been murdered. Before Nicholas had found him. He had proposed to Caroline. She had accepted. The girl he had loved since fourteen. “How am I to support your sister, without Farendon, on regimental pay?”
Oliver winced.
Of course. Oliver didn’t have to tell him. Caroline had not answered his letters. Her parents would never allow her to marry a presumed murderer. Dropping to the bed, heat stung his eyes. He stared at his hands, his throat too tight to speak. Where was God in all this?
“Nick,” his friend said with a gentle grip on his shoulder. “The war will be over soon and I will get your home back. And your horses.”
“How?”
Oliver shot up a brow. “I am the executor of my uncle’s will.”
“Your uncle is not dead.”
Oliver waved him off. “A formality.”
“Is he dying soon?”
“He can’t live forever.”
Nicholas couldn’t either and, with a war in the colonies, likely wouldn’t outlive William St. Clair.
Minutes crawled by in silence as numbness settled over him. Somewhere in the north pastures, horses whinnied and hooves thundered over the turf. He was the arrow and an arrow went where it was aimed. To the colonies. To war. Without Farendon. Without Caroline.
