Chapter 1

Chapter One

KETTERING, ENGLAND, DECEMBER 1815

C arswell Bingham dipped his quill in the inkwell, then, ever so slowly wrote the new figures down in his ledger. Writing with his left hand still drove him nearly to bedlam. Gone were the days of neatly penned letters and evenly scrawled numbers, but at least he still had his right hand—for all the good it did him.

A knock sounded on the study door. “Enter.”

His butler, Wentworth, a tall, dignified man, quietly opened the oak door. “A Mr. Kaye to see you, my lord.”

Carswell paused, the new title still so foreign to his ears. Gone were his days of being a captain in the Royal Army. And unfortunately, thanks to his brother’s penchant for drink, horse racing, and impetuous bets that had got him killed, he was now stuck with the title of baron.

Setting the quill back in its holder, he shut his ledger and placed it in the drawer. “Who did you say has come?”

“Mr. Kaye, my lord.”

Carswell let out a sigh. “Show him in.”

So much for a day of peaceful, silent work. If only some other man had come out of the line to save him and then stubbornly fight for the surgeons to keep trying when the fever almost took him. But of course it had been Daniel Kaye. The perpetually happy, always in motion, bringer of chaos who would never allow him to forget the debt of gratitude he owed him.

“Good morning, Captain. Is not the sun glorious today?”

Carswell stared at the dim light coming in through the large windows. “Seems a bit overcast to me.”

“Only because all you can see is the clouds. Behind them is a cheery sun that is begging for you to leave this stuffy office and enjoy the out of doors.”

“In this frigid weather? I think we have vastly different ideas of enjoyment.”

“That is what hats and coats are for. Besides, a little air will do you good. Have you even been outside your house at all this week?”

Carswell noticed a paper out of place. Moving the edge so it lay a quarter inch from his inkwell, he thought over the last several days. When was the last time he’d gone out?

He turned his quill so the edges of the feather were facing exactly east and west. The vicar had come by, as well as his sister and her small army of children. He’d made sure Cook had prepared charity baskets for a few of his poorer tenants, but he had not delivered them, sending the housekeeper instead.

He could not remember when he’d actually left the house. A hair floated down onto the surface of his desk and he deftly plucked it off, glaring at the offending head that it had come from.

“Do sit down, Kaye. I have no intention of leaving at present.”

“Why not?”

“I need to organize my desk.”

“You mean this spotless wooden slab with each item placed exactly one quarter inch apart from one another?” He pointed to a paper as the waft of air from his movement displaced it.

Carswell carefully aligned the paper again, making sure to space it the correct distance from the edge.

“See. You are too particular. You need to let go and live a little, Captain.”

“I do live, quite comfortably too.”

“Yes, that is the problem. You live too comfortably. So comfortably that you are miserable.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are.”

Carswell frowned. “All right, if I am so miserable, what would you have me do about it?” Setting his right hand on the arm of his chair, he tapped his pointer finger—the only finger that seemed to obey his will.

“Go on a trip up north with me.”

“Why?”

“Because you can.”

Carswell raised an eyebrow. “Because I can, or because you need my carriage?”

Kaye shrugged. “What is the difference?”

A half laugh escaped before he could rein it in. “There is a great deal of difference to me. What would we do up north? You have no family up that way, and I certainly have no one of interest to visit.”

“Yes, but imagine how beautiful it must be this time of year with all the pristine snow.”

“And cold. Have I told you how much I detest being cold?”

Kaye leaned forward in his seat. “Too many times for me to count, especially on the battlefield .”

The finger he’d been tapping stilled. His conscience pricked. Not this again. “So you see my point. Would it not be better to stay in our own well-heated homes?”

His former lieutenant let out a little puff of air with his mirthless laugh that caused one of the papers to flutter out of place on his desk. Carswell lifted his left hand to fix it.

“Leave it, Captain.”

“Leave what?”

“Do not play ignorant with me. You know it is not normal for someone to be so obsessed with order.”

“I am not obsessed.”

Kaye folded his arms and the corner of his mouth quirked. “I bet you cannot leave that paper out of place for ten minutes.”

“A wager? And what do I get if I win?”

“You do not have to travel to Kendal with me.”

“And why would I ever want to travel to the brink of Scotland in the dead of winter?”

Kaye reached into his pocket and extracted an invitation. With a flick of his fingers, he spun it across the unoccupied part of the desk. Carswell reacted quickly, catching the flying piece of paper before it landed in his lap. Unfortunately the swift movement dislodged another paper, his elbow tapping his quill so it no longer lined up.

Setting the paper down, he reached for the quill, but Kaye’s lifted brow stopped him. It was not the piece of paper they had agreed on, but if he straightened one, he knew he’d not be able to resist fixing the others.

Carswell curled the fingers on his outstretched hand, fighting the urge to straighten things. Slowly he retracted his arm and placed it on the chair. He could do this.

Picking up the invitation, he read. With each sentence his eyebrows rose higher. “How did you, of all people, secure an invitation to spend Christmastide with General Waverly?”

Kaye reached out and flipped the paper over revealing two names. “We, my friend. We have been invited.”

What had possessed the general to send an invitation addressed to two men who lived in different houses—and to Mr. Kaye no less? Why not to him? He outranked Kaye not only by former command, but also in title. He’d never imagined himself a lord, not when his father and brother had stood between him and his uncle’s title, so he’d not been so full of conceit to think he was far loftier than the other men he served with. Still, it was degrading to have one’s former general send a mere country gentleman an invitation meant for oneself.

“So you see,” Kaye said, “we must go, if only to support a former commander.”

“You still did not answer my question. Why did General Waverly invite us to his estate for the Christmastide season?”

Kaye shifted in his seat, his eyes darting to the window. “Kindness.”

Not likely. Kaye never had been good at telling a falsehood. Thank goodness he’d never been captured by the enemy. He would have squealed like a stuck pig.

“So you would have me believe that our war-hardened general invited us for Christmastide out of the generosity of his heart even though the man never remembered your name correctly in the four years we served with him?”

Kaye smirked. “Perhaps he thinks Key is spelled Kaye. He did at least get it correct on the invitation.”

Carswell perused the invitation again, noting the loops and swirls in the writing. “You know, Kaye, I have seen the general’s writing. This is not it. How about you tell me the real source of this invitation?”

The taller man blew out a breath and ran a hand through his dark hair. “He needs help.”

“How so?”

“His wife was a schoolfriend of my mother’s. Her last letter painted a pretty dismal picture. It seems our old general has a bad case of melancholia now that he is no longer in service. She thinks a gathering of a few old comrades will do him good.”

Carswell stared down at his arm, three of his fingers curled under his hand. He could understand feeling a bit down. After the months he’d spent recovering from his injury and the subsequent fever, he’d found himself wondering where he’d fit in Society with his bum hand.

His eyes flitted to Kaye. The man had saved his life and stayed by him for months, pulling him out of his dark thoughts with his tomfoolery. He owed Daniel Kaye so much. Was that why he put up with the chaos he brought?

He lifted his good hand and began straightening his desk as he pondered the uncomfortable past. Duty always had won out in his life, leaving little room for more tender feelings.

Kaye slapped his hands on the side of his chair and rose. “Good. We leave tomorrow.”

“Hold on, I did not agree to anything yet.”

Leaning over his hands he’d placed on the desk, Kaye grinned. “You lost the bet, my good man.”

Carswell looked down at the completely organized desk, each item precisely where he put it every day. Kaye was right. He had a problem. But he’d never tell the grinning fool.

“Fine. But if I freeze to death on this madcap journey, it will be on your head.”

“I shall have it engraved on your headstone. Here lies Carswell Bingham, retired captain of His Majesty's Royal Army, fourth baron of Kettering, faithful friend, frozen to death on an errand of love, all at the behest of his devilishly handsome and thoughtful first lieutenant. May he rest in peace.”

“If you can fit that on a headstone, I will be impressed. Might I suggest decreasing word count by taking out everything that is untrue?”

“I see no falsehoods in that epitaph.”

“Of course you do not. Best to just put Carswell Bingham, fourth baron of Kettering, pestered to death by his well-meaning friend Daniel Kaye.”

“I am honored and at the same time affronted.”

“Odd. I meant it as a pure affront.”

“Yes, but you have finally admitted we are actually friends.”

The cheeky smile on Kaye’s face pulled a begrudging smile from Carswell. “Do not tell anyone. It might ruin my reputation, and then where would I be?”

Kaye’s bark of laughter filled the room. “There is hope for you yet, Captain.”

“Can we desist with the captain bit? I have not been a captain in over six months.”

“Sorry. Old habits die hard. Would you prefer Your Lordship?”

Carswell cringed. “No. That makes me sound pretentious. Might as well call me Bingham, or in private you may call me Carswell.”

Kaye said both names several times. “It will take some time to get used to”—he glanced from side to side as if checking to see if anyone else was in the room—“Carswell. I feel like I am breaking some unspoken rule addressing you as such. Maybe I will stick with Bingham.” He rubbed a hand on his neck and chuckled. “I suppose you should call me Dan as my friends do.”

“I shall adhere to your given name if I ever have need of it. I never can understand why people shorten names. One’s parents give them names expecting they will be called such, and then they get butchered because their friends are too lazy to say the whole of it.”

“I suppose that means you do not want to be called Cars or Bing?”

Kaye might as well have scratched his nails on a slate. It would have had the same irritating effect as the sound of his name being cut up into unsatisfactory pieces. “Absolutely not.”

His words were met with a chuckle. “Bingham it is, but might I say it sounds about as pretentious as Your Lordship?”

Carswell scowled. “You may not. Now get out. It seems I need to ready myself for a trip to the frozen north.”

“Yes, Captain—I mean, Bingham.” Kaye chuckled the whole way out the door.

An indulgent smile touched Carswell's lips.