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PROLOGUE
Late October 1818
Between London and Dover, on the Dover Road
Pleased with their visit to Tattersalls, Graham Mason, the Marquess of Hertford, rode in companionable silence with his father. His father had remembered to stop by the modiste’s on their way out of London, completing the promised errand for the duchess. Colorful boxes of gowns and fripperies competed for space on the door side of the coach, leaving the two men to sit on the opposite side. His father always remembered the little things his mother asked and never minded. Graham thought about his betrothal. It held none of the promises of love his parents had—although the relationship had not surprised him. He had not sought a love match but had hoped for amicability and friendship with his wife. Graham had honored his parents’ wishes and gone through with the betrothal, even though she was not who he would have chosen for himself. He found her hard to like—and there was something more that he could not yet find out.
His contemplations shifted to his future. Having planned to resign his position with the Crown, he wavered, alert to an inner voice that suggested all was not as it seemed, and to be careful. Graham had just completed an assignment, and it was in recognition of the long absence from home that he had consented to accompany his father to London.
They had at least a full day of travel before they reached Dover, both hoping to make up for the delays the heavy rain of the morning had caused. He glanced at his father, who looked about to nod off on the bench opposite him. The trip to Tattersalls had been enjoyable, and he was glad for the duke’s insistence that he join him so they could spend more time together. His work assignments kept him away for long periods, something the duke disagreed with and made no bones about in complaints about his eldest son’s duties.You will be a duke one day. Your attention should be here, with me, not saving England from unseen enemies,his father had said, repeating it often.You need to allow someone else to assume that responsibility and embrace the ones here.At one time, his father had supported his work with the Crown, but no more.
An unusual bump in the road caused the vehicle to lurch. Graham thought he heard the wood crack, but the coach continued to move as if no problem existed. The jolt woke his father, his eyes wide with alarm.
“’Tis nothing, Father. It seems the heavy rains of this morning have rutted the road and created havoc,” Graham said, leaning his head out of the window to see ahead. However, he was certain he had heard wood crack. “I should like to stretch my legs soon. Perhaps, I will ride after we stop for lunch. The tavern should not be but a few miles.”
His father laughed. “You always have had difficulty sitting for long periods.” The Duke of Newcastle stretched his arms behind his head. “I might join you, though. I have not ridden these roads in an age. I would enjoy accompanying you.”
Graham chuckled. “The boxes from Mother’s modiste will have the entire coach. She would find that funny.” The boxes of dresses, matching fripperies, and necessities from Madame Trousseau’s covered parts of both benches and nearly reached the ceiling of the coach.
“Yes, I believe your mother would find it humorous since she is always saying she needs a coach dedicated to carrying her dresses and other purchases when she leaves London,” the duke guffawed.
Graham regarded the road behind them as they rounded a curve and glimpsed the new horses and the outriders with their entourage. “The mare and the stallion are significant additions to the stables. Tabetha will be especially pleased with the mare,” he said.
“Yes, I agree. Your sister will love her. She had asked for a dappled grey horse if I ever saw one I liked. They are both excellent blood horses. You have an expert eye for horseflesh. The Arabian will make an excellent stud,” the duke said, smiling and leaning his head back.
The speed of the carriage picked up considerably, causing Graham to look out the window again. They were approaching a hairpin curve and a lake. He glanced at his father, whose eyes had opened in panic. “It looked like a curve coming up when I looked earlier. They need to slow down.” He tapped the ceiling of the carriage.Nothing happened.
The speed kept building, and he heard shouts coming from the top, where the driver and groom were sitting. “Goins, slow this down,” Graham demanded. Angrily, he tapped the ceiling with the head of his cane. He heard excited voices but could make out no words. As they rounded the curve, a loud shot rang out, provoking agitated screams from the horses. The carriage wheels veered to the left, toward the road’s edge, and the carriage lifted onto one side, still traveling at a fast speed.
At once, the carriage toppled onto its side. Graham saw his father’s head hit the wall, which was now the floor of the coach. Before he could react, his own body slammed on top of the duke’s as the carriage slid through mud and brush on its side. The sound of wood breaking, and the screaming of horses filled his head. The open window he had looked out of only moments before, filled with sludge and gravel. Something large and sharp hit his head, and immediately Graham felt nauseous. He struggled to maintain consciousness as fear engulfed him.Who did this? It had been his father’s trip. No one knew he would be going.He could feel his father’s body beneath him but could not move.
“Father, can you hear me?” A muffled sound was all he heard . . . and then, nothing.
Graham tried to see, but the pinhole of light that was his vision had grown much smaller. His head throbbed as he struggled to move, but the bench his father had been sitting on had come loose from the wall of the coach and was on top of him. The door to the carriage was above him, but too far to reach.
He heard men’s voices above him. It was Goins with several men. They were pulling on one side of the coach, trying to get to them, but it was making the carriage rock, almost as if it were hanging on something. He no longer saw the window, as his father’s body covered it completely.Was the coach hanging off the edge of the road? If that was true, there was a straight fall to a lake below.
“It hurt Father,” he yelled.
The door to the carriage opened and he saw the face of the driver. He had, at least, survived. “We are trying to get to you, my lord,” Goins’s voice shouted.
Graham heard climbing and orders being shouted as the carriage kept moving.
“My lord, the carriage has become wedged onto a small outgrowth of thick roots and rock above the lake. I don’t understand how they stopped the carriage and I don’t know how long we can keep it tethered. So, we need to be quick.”
A sick feeling hit his gut. “I cannot see,” Graham yelled back. “Please secure my father, first.”
“Free the horses,” someone shouted. Graham knew they were talking about the horses attached to the carriage and not the new ones.
“Find out where that shot came from,” the guard in charge of the outriders yelled.
Graham’s body felt as if he was floating. A loud noise had built in his ears and his vision had become a pinhole of light, continuing to close. Someone pulled on his body. He could feel himself being lifted and handed to others that gripped his limbs.
“The duke is dead,” someone called out.
At once, the loud noise in his ears overpowered his hearing, and his world went dark as Graham succumbed to oblivion.
