Prologue
March 1812
Lord Aaran Grahamchuckled at his brothers’ antics. Even though they were all in their twenties, when they were together they reverted to being the same competitive youths they had been since they were untested boys under the care of Lord Macdonald Duncan. Each of them had come to live with Duncan when they were still wet-eared youths—when they were young boys in danger of losing their lives and the right to their earldoms. They had all been fortunate, with him being the most grateful of them all.
For his “brothers,” there was never a doubt of Orson’s, Thompson’s, Beaufort’s, or Marksman’s rights to their respective earldoms. However, Aaran’s rights were “created” by Lord Duncan, and Aaran had paid every day for his audacity in claiming such a rich and prominent earldom, which in Scotland also meant he was the head of one of the septs of the Graham clan, just as was Duncan of his clan, though neither of them spoke much of their status within their communities, at least, not while in England and serving in the United Kingdom’s Parliament.
Aaran’s history with Duncan was assuredly a checkered one. Aaran’s actual mother had come from a family of gentlemen farmers, what was called the “gentry” in England, not of the nature of a tenant farmer eking out a living on a path of land actually owned by a lord or master. Miss Bellton’s family had at one time found its roots in Leicestershire in places like Belton, the name coming from the Old English meaning “bel” for “beautiful” and “tun” for “enclosure of land.” Duncan often said the “bel” referred to dry ground or marsh. The Belltons were definitely not of the status of the Grahams, whose name was engraved in Scottish history.
Aaran’s mother, Magdeline Bellton, or “Maude Belle,” as she was commonly known, had at one time been in negotiations for a betrothal to Macdonald Duncan’s older brother, Angus, who was a baron in those days, but Aaran’s mother had known no satisfaction in the idea, for Lord Angus Duncan was nearly twelve years her senior, and Miss Bellton had set her sights on Lord Aaran Graham, the 10th Earl Graham, and being a stubborn Scot, none other would satisfy her.
Realizing his brothers and Duncan intended to stand, for it was time to call an end to their celebration, Aaran took another sip of his drink before shaking off the memories of his mother’s betrayal. It seemed to him that he would never be free of her abandonment. It never seemed to leave him, even when he should be sharing memories with those who did wish for him in their lives. With a quick shrug of his shoulders, he declared, “We will know a depth of emptiness, Hartley, but I imagine Duncan will miss you most. It will take another decade before Duncan can say, ‘Where is…’ and your replacement will not only anticipate Duncan’s needs but know where the paper can be found.”
“Hear, hear,” the others at the table said together as they raised their glasses in a final salute to Justin Hartley’s service.
Hartley declared good-naturedly, “It is part of my master plan to rule the United Kingdom someday, for no one else will know in which file I hid the country’s secrets.”
“Do not say so with such conviction,” Richard Orson, the eldest of Duncan’s sons said with a laugh, “or you might be visiting the Tower of London with a permanent room just for you.”
Duncan warned in his customary seriousness, “You still have three weeks before your departure and much to accomplish before then.”
“Yes, sir,” Hartley responded as he sat straighter. Aaran smiled widely, as did his brothers. They all recognized that gesture, for when Duncan used a particular tone, even the Prime Minister sat straighter.
The camaraderie continued and the teasing increased while they all stood to depart. Graham quickly reached to sign the accounting over the protests of his brothers. “We may settle on Sunday at our weekly supper,” he told them.
Orson argued, “I thought you were on assignment on Sunday.”
“I know where each of you live,” Graham retorted good-naturedly. He was a wealthy man. Only God knew why He had blessed Aaran with what many called the Midas touch, but Aaran was known to invest widely and reap the profits. Theoretically, he could probably name the woman he wished to marry, but he did not want the current London beauty, but rather a woman who would love him for more than his wealth. He wanted a woman who would not be ashamed of a man whose steps were hampered by a twisted leg or who brandished a scar upon his cheek. She should love him, even if he was not perfect. Love him for his heart, not his wealth.
As a group, they crossed the Lyon’s Den’s dining room, making their way past the gentlemen’s smoking room towardsthe exit, only to be brought up short by the appearance of the Widow of Whitehall herself.
“Good evening, my lords. I hope each of you enjoyed your evening,” she said politely as they bowed. Aaran was never one to gamble or to seek out an encounter with a woman for the evening. He had also never kept a mistress. He had wanted what Duncan and Lady Elsbeth modeled for their family—not necessarily a perfect family, but one whose hearts were open to love and forgiveness.
Duncan declared, “Our Mr. Hartley has earned an important posting in the British Embassy in India. Though we will be sore to lose him.”
Mrs. Dove-Love asked boldly, “Did you each permit Mr. Hartley to win a few rounds so he mightenjoythe pleasures of India?”
Benjamin Thompson was the first to respond, purposely denying the fact they had all agreed beforehand to permit Hartley to win enough so he could afford more comfortable quarters when Duncan’s aide reached India. “Hartley must have the ability to read through the back of each card, for he won more than he should.”
“Very good, Mr. Hartley,” the woman said with what sounded of a smile, as she nodded to each of them from behind the veil she wore in respect for her late husband. She turned to Duncan. “If you have a moment, Lord Duncan, could we speak briefly?”
Benjamin jovially said, “Perhaps a lady of thetonwishes a proposal from your lips.”
Duncan responded before any of them could add their own quips, “Not likely,” His Lordship declared, emphasizing both words. “I have known my one great love.” He presented each of them a warning nod not to keep teasing him. “Claim your coaches. I will be close behind.”
Orson and Marksman walked off together, chatting about the weather in the northern shires where they both resided. Benjamin suggested to Duncan, “As my coach is smaller than Graham’s, I will leave it for you.” To him, Thompson asked, “Do you mind seeing me to Cheapside, Graham?”
“Not at all,” Aaran assured. He enjoyed Benjamin’s company. Thompson always had a different perspective on a variety of subjects.
As they left the gaming hell, they were still talking over each other. “Good evening, Titan,” Thompson said as he and Aaran walked out together.
“Good evening, my lords,” Titan responded with a smile. Aaran did not know the Lyon’s Den’s manager well, but he had always respected the man who had made a bold choice when he returned to England by making his own way in the world. There were rumors the man known as Titan held his own aristocratic title, but no one knew the fact of the matter with any confidence.
Thompson explained to the man, “I am leaving my carriage for Lord Duncan, who is speaking with your mistress. It is further along Cleveland Row. Might you have someone see His Lordship safely to the coach?”
“Absolutely, my lord. We often provide such services,” Titan assured.
Aaran warned, “Duncan will not approve of your caution.”
