Page 14 of Forgotten No More

“Only for his weekly evening at White’s.” Alex grabbed a bridle from a nearby wooden box, signaling his need to return to his duties. “Please assure Vi—I mean Lady Haversham—that all is well here, and that Drake is a fair employer.”

Ruby said her goodbyes and started back toward the Haversham townhouse, stopping to thank James on her way out of the stables.

She hadn’t gained much information about the marquis from her brief conversation with Alex. Being a fair, eccentric, and reclusive man was not enough to cross him off her list. While she expected to find a cruel, uncaring rakehell, people often changed over time. No, she could not rule out the Marquis of Drake as a potential father just yet. Neither could she focus solely on him, though—there were other names on her list, and she meant to investigate each one.

Chapter 7

Harold took in his surroundings as he neared the building where he was to meet William. Situated firmly in Cheapside, not far from the docks, it was a likely place for a blacksmith’s shop. It had nagged at him over the years that he hadn’t made a point to visit his brother in London, but until recently he had not had business in the city to justify the trip. His sojourn in town the previous season had been so brief and filled with scandal, he hadn’t had a moment to think about his family situation.

Admitting his envy at both his brothers’ freedom was useless and energy misspent. He shouldn’t dwell on the adventurous life of his eldest brother, Edward, who’d been given the funds to buy a commission into the King’s navy. Or William’s departure for London at the age of sixteen to apprentice with a blacksmith, eventually taking over the shop when the man died several years ago.

They’d both left him; at the time, he’d seen it as good fortune for the pair. No longer did they have to endure their father’s wrath or swift-changing moods. At least they were far enough away to create a new life, even if that did not include him.

But his generosity of spirit evaporated around the time his father began his pedantic lectures on the life expected of a man of the cloth. It was then that Harold realized the enormity of his own circumstances. He did not blame his brothers for abandoning him to their father’s whims and wiles, yet he’d held out hope that one day they would return for him.

Years older, and hopefully wiser, it would be beneficial for both him and William to set their childhood behind them and create a bond of brotherhood, similar to the relationship Harold shared with Brock. It was easy to cast the fault of their weakened bond on the vicar, but they were both men now—grown adults—with the choice to further their connection without their father’s interference.

Increasing his pace, Harold turned a corner. The shop shouldn’t lie much further ahead. In the late morning light, a figure leaned against the front of a building. Instinctively, Harold withdrew his hands from his pockets, ready for any altercation that might arise. Brock had warned him about traveling to this part of London alone, but Harold wanted his meeting with his brother to be as informal as possible. He had no idea why his brother was attempting to contact him now, but involving Brock in a family situation was not wise.

“Brother.” William pushed away from the wall.

Harold was shocked to see his middle brother, dressed in filthy rags and his hair grown long past what their father would deem acceptable. Standing before him, the man was nearly unrecognizable. Without a thought, Harold drew him in for a hug. “William. I have missed you.”

Further adding to Harold’s dismay was the feel of bones beneath William’s oversized clothes.

When William pulled back, Harold studied his face—thin with dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept since he’d left home.

“Is all satisfactory?” Harold asked, looking over his shoulder and further down the street. “Where is your shop? I’m sure you won’t want to leave it unattended for long.”

“I fear nothing is as it should be.” William’s shoulders fell.

Nothing had ever been but perfect for his elder brothers. “I don’t understand.”

“Please, come with me and you will shortly.”

Harold followed his brother without a second thought. “Lead the way.”

“’Tis not far.”

True to his word, William stopped only three buildings down. They faced a boarded, half-burned building. Wood boards had been secured in place over open doorways and windows, preventing anyone from entering. The roof was caved in, most likely exposing what was left of the interior to the sun or rain, depending on the weather.

“Where are we?”

“This is what is left of my blacksmith shop,” William mumbled. “Someone burned it to the ground shortly after Sir Jenkins died three years ago.”

“Three years ago?” Harold was confused. “Why have I not heard of this—what have you been doing since then?”

“I did not have the heart to tell father, but when he sent word that you were traveling to London, I…” William’s head hung, “…wanted to see you. I have a way to get back on my feet. Possibly open another blacksmith shop. But…” The last words were spoken so softly Harold was hard pressed to hear. “…I could use your help, brother.”

Harold was dumbfounded. Firstly, his brother’s meek demeanor was something he’d never witnessed; secondly, he had not a clue what William thought he could help him with. But honor bound him and he would help, if it was in his power. Their years of being pitted against each other in sibling rivalries at the hands of their father were still fresh in his mind. He knew he’d have to put those years behind him and start anew with William. Neither man deserved to be burdened by their past and an upbringing neither could change.

“Where have you been living since the fire?”

“Here and there.” William studied the structure before them.

“I won’t pretend to know what that means,” Harold said. “Do you know who set the blaze?”

“Doesn’t matter if I did.”