Twenty-three

De la Chance’s breakfast room

London, England

27 October 1828—before dawn

I miss you, Lilly, my love . My heart.

Slouched in a chair, wearing only black pantaloons and an untucked lawn shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, Layton propped his stocking feet on the gold brocade upholstered chair beside him. He scraped a hand through his mussy hair, then took a large swig of strong, black coffee.

Staring out the breakfast room window into London’s dark early morn, he angled his head, listening as the town came fully awake.

The city’s constant noise filtered inside his brother Fletcher’s prestigious club’s private quarters; an unwelcome and stark contrast to Kelston Hall’s serenity. Until now, Layton had not realized how much he disliked London’s bustle and hubbub or how much he craved the countryside’s peace and solitude.

He had been a soldier for decades and duty took him wherever His Majesty dictated. His preference for locations was irrelevant when carrying out his orders. But now that he was a civilian once more, he could choose where he wanted to be.

And he would pick bucolic locations every time.

Oddly, the city’s never-ending commotion reminded him of Virginia, his dead wife. She was never happy or content, but always flighty, agitated, and disgruntled. Considered a diamond of the first water when Layton had married her, her outward beauty and blueblood could not compensate for her greedy, adulterous heart.

Strange how, at six and twenty, he had been positive his love would be enough to ensure their happy union, despite his parents’ considerable reservations about the match.

Time had proven him wrong.

So bloody wrong.

Not only had Virginia proven a promiscuous tart, but she conspired to kill him, so she could claim his inheritance from his biological father. Though blinded in one eye, Layton had survived the explosion, and Virginia and her current lover, another army officer, had fled.

Layton had not shed a single tear when they died in a coach accident during their flight. Instead, he had closed his heart to love, vowing to never trust another woman.

Crossing his ankles, he grazed his fingertips across the stubble covering his lower face.

If it had not been for his abduction and amnesia, he would not have allowed himself to fall in love with Lilly.

In that respect, Highbury’s hired thugs had done him a colossal favor.

Just thinking of her brought him joy and happiness that he had never anticipated feeling again.

How was she?

Worried?

Angry?

Disillusioned?

Afraid?

Layton’s heart twinged with renewed remorse for the hasty manner in which he had departed Prudhoe ten days ago, but he had been given no choice.

He closed his eyes, picturing her standing in Kelston Hall’s drawing room, uncertain and vulnerable, yet her brown eyes filled with trust as he had escorted Viscount Merrivale from the room.

A wry half-smile tugged his mouth upward on one side as he opened his eye. Truth be told, he was quite proud of himself for not pummeling the viscount for disparaging Lilly.

Regardless, Layton would bet his remaining good eye that trust no longer glimmered in her doe-eyed gaze. In all likelihood, Lilly believed he had abandoned her, when that was the farthest thing from the truth.

His abrupt leave-taking had been to protect her and the children.

Ten days ago, he did not know Highbury and his thugs had already been detained, thanks to his brothers’ diligence. That the villains posed no further risk to him, Lilly, or anyone else at Kelston Hall brought him a tremendous sense of relief.

However, until Merrivale had been dealt with once and for all, he thought it wisest to remain near the viscount.

Layton hadn’t written her yet to explain his actions, mainly because he preferred to inform Lilly in person, when he could also tell her he was not married. And, as important, how much he adored her.

Nevertheless, that had not stopped him from hiring four men, highly recommended by his step-cousin, Torrian Westbrook, a successful detective, to guard Kelston Hall discreetly during Layton’s absence.

He strongly suspected his highhanded actions would miff Lilly, but what she did not know could not upset her. And when they next met—and they would, by thunder, if it was the last thing he ever did—he would explain everything to her and beg her to forgive him.

And ask her to marry him.

He who had sworn off marriage.

The irony did not escape him.

Although, knowing his intrepid, independent Lilly as he did, she would initially refuse his proposal, citing the need to care for the children. Nevertheless, he had a masterful plan to counter her argument.

One, he hoped, she could not say no to.

Time would not pass swiftly enough until he saw her precious face again. He even missed the children, Charles, and Mrs. B.

They had become a second family to him.

Soon .

Soon, he could return.

Once Merrivale relinquished any claim to Matilda Davenport’s estate. Layton hoped that would occur during his meeting with the viscount tomorrow afternoon.

Heaving a heavy sigh, he set the nearly empty cup aside.

“More coffee, Captain Westbrook?” De le Chance’s footman asked, looking and sounding far too chipper at this ungodly hour.

What was the cheerful fellow’s name?

Humphrey?

Yes, that was it.

“No, thank you, Humphrey.” Layton shook his head. The four cups he had already drunk sloshed about in his belly. “I would appreciate something to break my fast, though.”

“Of course.” Humphrey gave a nod as he collected the coffee cup. He slid Layton a side-eyed glance. “Do you have any requests?”

“No.” Shaking his head, Layton swallowed a yawn. “Something simple. Whatever the cook can toss together.”

“Very good, Captain.” Humphrey took his leave on silent feet.

All of Fletcher’s employees moved about the social club with deft stealthiness, appearing and disappearing almost like specters.

Yawning, Layton closed his eyes.

He was bloody exhausted.

And yet he had endured another sleepless night, rising at just after four to walk off his restlessness among London’s dank and cold lanes.

It had not worked.

As always, thoughts of Lilly inundated him.

Sweet Lilly, with her ready smile and keen wit. Her kindness and compassion. Her resilience and fortitude.

God above, how Layton missed her.

Missed the sound of her dulcet voice, her joyful laughter, her clean, refreshing scent. Every minute away from her caused the ache within him to grow.

Once more, he let his mind wander back to that afternoon when he had regained his memory.

At first, he had thought nothing of the drunken troublemakers at the Crown and Stone. Inebriated men said and did imbecilic things, and he had witnessed hundreds of sots before, making absolute fools of themselves while pished to the proverbial gills.

But it had soon appeared that the rough pair had not randomly selected the Crown and Stone to drown their sorrows. While downing tankard after tankard, through bloodshot eyes, they observed him and Merrivale far too closely for their presence to be happenstance.

Initially, because Layton did not yet know of the Earl of Highbury’s arrest, that realization had disturbed him. However, the sods showed nothing more than cursory interest in him, and he had hoped that meant Highbury had given up the chase.

However, as the evening progressed, it became apparent that the thugs were targeting Merrivale, which meant they either had decided he was a rich ponce to rob, or they were henchmen sent to teach him a lesson.

If it had not been for Layton, the scoundrels would likely have succeeded in their mission.

After regaining consciousness on the way to London, and though immensely grateful for Layton’s help, Merrivale remained mulishly silent about the matter and would neither deny nor confirm the louts’ intent.

No amount of prodding or cajoling had loosened his lordship’s lips. The viscount had clamped his mouth shut tighter than a virgin nun’s legs.

Regardless, one thing was inarguable.

Merrivale was utterly terrified.

Which probably meant he was involved in something way over his aristocratic head, or he was in trouble up to his starched neckcloth. That also explained his desperation to get his hands on Matilda Davenport’s legacy. He had wrongly assumed he could bully Lilly into acquiescence, then probably bribe a magistrate to rule in his favor.

He had not calculated on Layton’s presence or interference.

With Fletcher’s and Torrian’s help, Layton meant to find out exactly what Merrivale was mixed up in, hence his delay in leaving London. He had not even seen his parents yet, though he had sent word to the duke and duchess that he was all right and would come to visit as soon as possible.

Immeasurable relief filled Layton when he learned Cassius and Beatrice were safe. Their betrothal came as no surprise. They might not have known it themselves, but Layton had concluded while helping them escape to London that the two were head-over-heels in love.

According to Fletcher, the Westbrook family had spent the last several weeks searching for Layton, but someone had thought they spied him near Hexham, and that was where they had focused their search.

“Unable to sleep again, Layton?” Fletcher asked, the merest hint of brotherly concern tempering the question.

Of Layton’s six brothers, Fletcher was his only blood kin.

As if Layton had returned from the dead, he had welcomed him exuberantly. In a manner of speaking, Layton had, for he surely would have died had it not been for Lilly and Charles.

Fletcher confessed that after weeks had passed and they had not found Layton, the entire Westbrook family had feared the worst. However, that had not stopped them from hunting down the Earl of Highbury and bringing him and his hirelings to justice.

Layton had been wise to avoid Sheriff Wrottesley.

Though not an accomplice in Layton’s abduction, the sheriff was one of Highbury’s paid lackeys. Without a qualm or hesitation, he would have reported Layton’s location to the earl.

Layton glanced over his shoulder as his brother entered the breakfast room. Stifling a yawn, he shrugged.

“Sleep has not been my friend for many years, Fletch.”

Except while Layton stayed at Kelston Hall.

The eagle owls’ nocturnal hooting and Hodgson Burn’s distant burbling acted as nature’s lullaby, easing him into a deep slumber each night. Roosters crowing, cows lowing, sheep baaing, and the ever-present call of the doves roused him from slumber every morning.

Fletcher slipped onto the chair opposite Layton, then nodded his appreciation when Humphrey approached with a cup of steaming, black coffee. “Thank you, Humphrey.”

“I have already requested breakfast for Captain Westbrook, sir.” The footman adjusted his gold-striped waistcoat. “Should I do the same for you?”

Lifting his cup, Fletcher nodded. “I shall have whatever Cook prepared for my brother. I hope there are croissants. Have a tray sent up for my wife, too, please.”

“Very good, sir.” Humphrey slipped away once more.

Layton was the last of his siblings to find true love. Soon, there would be another Westbrook bride. If he could convince Lilly to marry him.

Inhaling the steam rising from his hot coffee, Fletcher sighed.

“I can never thank you enough for introducing me to Yemen’s Mocha coffee, Layton.”

Mocha coffee was one of many exotic products Layton had brought back from his military travels.

“For a man who has been all over the world,” Fletcher teased, “I still cannot believe you became so turned around that you mistook Prudhoe for Hexham.”

Layton raised an eyebrow. “Did I fail to mention I had a concussion and was barely conscious?”

“Nay.” Remorse creased Fletcher’s face. “I was but jesting.”

“I know.” Layton did not mind his brother’s joking. While he regretted the angst his family had endured when they could not find him, he would never regret getting turned around.

By getting lost, he found himself again.

“What are your plans for today?” Fletcher asked.

“I am paying a call at Hoare’s Bank this morning.” Layton observed his brother’s reaction.

Eyebrows shooting high, Fletcher paused in raising his cup to his mouth. “Oh?”

His casualness did not fool Layton.

He was curious—immensely so—but he did not want to pry.

“I have decided to put our father’s money to good use,” Layton said.

Fletcher chuckled in approval. “Bravo. It is about time.”

After leaving the field of medicine, having found a career as a physician too emotionally taxing, Fletcher used his share of their inheritance to establish several successful businesses.

He rested his forearms on the table and leaned forward. “Would I be too presumptuous in asking what you intend to do with the funds?”

“Not at all, though you may not approve.” Layton returned his brother’s grin.

Fletcher’s keen attention never wavered. “Try me.”

“I am creating a trust fund for Kelston Hall Children’s Home to be managed by its director, Lilibet Granger.”

“A worthy cause, to be sure, and I am not entirely surprised.” Fletcher leaned back, his too-astute attention boring into Layton. “I seem to remember at one time you considered adopting. Is that still the case?”

“I grew quite fond of the children at the home while I was there.” Layton could do more than adopt a child or two or four. He could use his inheritance to help many children. “Miss Granger has expressed an interest in expanding her operation. Now she can.”

And hopefully, Layton would be by her side through it all.

“I am not stupid, Layton.” His hand encircling his coffee cup, Fletcher pointed his forefinger toward Layton. “I know Miss Granger is much more to you than just the home’s director.”

“She saved my life.” Layton dropped his focus to the table for a moment, then raised his gaze. “I love her, and I want to marry her, if she will have me.”

“I could not be happier, brother.” Fletcher beamed. “Of course, she will have you.”

Layton wished he was as confident.

Fletcher leaned forward again, elbows on the table. “Now let me tell you what I learned about Viscount Merrivale last night.”