Aaran used his cane to support his weight so he, too, might kneel beside Duncan’s body. Claiming Duncan’s hand, he said, “If you do not mind, I wish to offer a quick prayer.”
“Assuredly,” Benjamin said as they all paused.
“Heavenly Father, we lift up Macdonald Duncan for your notice, as we ask for your healing touch. Please restore His Lordship’s health, ease his pain, and grant him both the strength to undergo what is necessary, as well as comfort during his recovery. We trust in your loving care and the steady hands of his son, Benjamin. Amen.”
“Thank you, Aaran,” Benjamin said in apparent gratitude. “Now, let us move Duncan inside. I would be proud to have you assist me, if Rheem cannot be found. It would do Duncan well to know you are near. You have been in his life longer than any of us.”
Chapter One
4 September 1812
Lord Aaran Grahamwas 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 streamingby 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.”
