Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

28 December

L ucius woke early. The previous night, during his private archery session with Christiana, he had gained him another point. Two-one in his favor. While he wanted to win the daily challenge for Charles Wilkens and his uncle, to thank them for this opportunity with Christiana, the midnight contests were the most important. If he won, it gave him more time to woo the woman, to convince her that destiny had brought them back together.

He wrapped his greatcoat around him, the wind whipping up tiny snow swirls that wrapped around his boots as they crunched through the thin layer of snow. A storm was brewing; he could feel it in his bones . The devil if I don’t sound like my father.

The dim light coming from the stable window didn’t surprise him. The youngest stable boy had picked up on Lucius’s habit and met him now with his horse, Boots, ready for a morning ride. Of course, the lad received a coin for his trouble. But Lucius appreciated the boy’s ambition.

This morning, he was met with a saddled horse and a tear-streaked face. “What is the matter? Are you hurt?”

“One o’ the guests said to saddle Vengeance, said he had to try the horse out ‘fore he bought it,” sniffed the redheaded boy, his freckles shiny on his wet cheeks. “I tol’ ‘im no one could ride Vengeance without milady’s permission. If he would jus’ wait until the sun come up, the stable master would speak wi’ her.”

“You did the right thing,” soothed Lucius. “Did he hurt you?”

The lad shook his head. “He ordered me to fetch the saddle and bridle for when the stable master came. And when it was found I ‘ad denied a lord, he said I’d be beaten. So I did as I was tol’ and then he sent me back into the tack room. That’s when he locked me in.”

“He what?”

The boy nodded. “He locked me in, saddled Vengeance, and took ‘im.”

Lucius swore under his breath, not wanting to alarm the lad. “How did you get out?”

“I climbed out the window, but he was gone. So, I readied yer mount, knowin’ ye’d be here shortly.”

Lucius tousled the stable boy’s hair. “You did exactly as I would have done. What direction did he take and how much of a lead does he have?”

“South toward London and the village, about fifteen minutes ago, milord,” answered the boy, relief on his freckled face.

“Good. Lord Frederick isn’t a man used to riding in foul weather. Fortunately, I am and so is my horse.” He buttoned the top of his greatcoat, pulled up the collar, and wrapped his scarf tightly around his neck and mouth, yanking his leather gloves under his wool sleeves. “Go up to the great house and tell Cook what has happened, so she can tell Mr. Jensen, the butler. He’ll know what to do.”

Lucius swung onto the saddle and pulled back on the rein as his black gelding danced and pawed, feeling his owner’s urgency. “With luck, I’ll be back soon, leading Vengeance.”

A slight kick to the flanks, and they were off. Five minutes later, the snow was coming down in heavy gusts. It whipped about his hat, filling the brim, crept down his neck, and stung his eyes. He could barely see past the puff of steam rising from Boots’s nose as he pushed against the howling wind. Lucius took comfort that if his pace had slowed, so had Lord Frederick’s.

It was a half hour into the village by carriage. It would take double the time in this storm. He bloody wouldn’t let that cur get away with stealing a horse. Christiana’s horse. The snow clung to his eyelashes, and he blinked to clear his vision. His fingers were going numb by the time he reached the village. He let out a sigh when he saw the lights of the small inn and tavern. If his hunch was correct, the namby-pamby had stopped here to warm up. Lucius suspected he didn’t have the stamina to go far.

He dismounted in the small courtyard and walked to the stable. “Two men fool enough to be out in this weather,” said a stableman, taking the reins. “Will ye be stayin’?”

Lucius shook his head. “Just until the weather clears. Where’s the mount that recently came in?”

He followed the man to the back of the stable. The white stallion was quietly munching on oats. “He’s a beauty, he is,” said the man. “A bit small for my taste, but a high-stepper to be sure.”

“He’s part Arabian. You can tell by the size and this dip in his forehead,” Lucius told him, pointing to the horse’s forelock. “I’ll be taking him back with me as soon as the snow quits. Find a lead rope for him and give my mount some grain while I tend to the thief. He was stolen from her estate this morning. Lady Winfield’s stable master will fetch his saddle and bridle after the storm.”

“Ye don’t say.” The man whistled. “And the fella looked to be such a gent, too. Probably stole the fine clothes besides.”

Lucius pulled his hat low as he made his way to the inn. His fury was at a pitch when he slammed the door open. An older man, an apron tied around his thick body, looked up with wide eyes, then smiled. “Good morn’ to ye, sir. I’ll be right with ye,” he said, nodding to the bowl and tankard in his hand.

Lucius scanned the public room. There were a half dozen scarred wood tables with chairs, charred ceiling beams, and a fine polished bar two locals were leaning against. Then he saw Lord Frederick, his greatcoat still covered with snow. Their gazes locked, then Lord Frederick scrambled from his chair, tripped on another, and landed face down on the worn wooden planks.

When Lucius grabbed the back of his collar and yanked the man up, he started to laugh. “Is that your nose bleeding? Did you break it yourself this time?”

Lord Frederick covered his face with his arms. “Don’t touch me. I-I’ll have you arrested. I’ll?—”

“You’ll have me arrested? You stole a horse,” yelled Lucius, his patience snapping. “You may be the son of a duke, but this fist belongs to the son of an earl.” And he slammed it into Lord Frederick’s face.

The duke’s son crumpled.

The earl’s son grinned.

The innkeeper moaned.

“Not to worry, he’ll be gone as soon as the weather clears. Could you order a coach to take him to London? The Duke of Scuttleton will be grateful to have his boy home.” Lucius tucked a boot under the unconscious man’s arm and tugged up. He’d be out for a while.

“Aye, my lord. A mail coach will come through later today. I’ll be sure he’s on it.”

The innkeeper helped Lucius pick up Lord Frederick and put him in a chair. Using the man’s own scarf, he tied his hands behind the chair. “Now if he wakes, he can’t cause any trouble until the coach arrives.”

“Are ye hungry, my lord? Can I get ye something to eat?” asked the innkeeper, rubbing his bald head. His eyes dashed nervously back and forth between the lord before him and the one tied to the chair.

“I’d be grateful for some hot coffee or tea,” Lucius replied as he removed his scarf, then his greatcoat, and shook off the snow near the large hearth. The dancing flames hissed at the wet intrusions but soon sent a tingling through his hands as feeling returned. “Be at ease, my good man, for I won’t leave you alone with him.”

“Thank ye, milord,” said the innkeeper as he backed away.

After a hot cup of tea and some warm bread with jam, Lucius was feeling much more human. Lord Frederick was stirring, and only realized he was tied up when he tried to rub his jaw… or nose or aching head. Lucius wasn’t quite sure what would hurt the most.

“You blaggard, untie me!” demanded Lord Frederick.

“Not until the mail coach has arrived, and I see you on it.” He finished the last sip of tea and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “What were you thinking? A duke’s son turned horse thief?”

“Is my nose broken again? Why does the back of my head hurt?” Lord Frederick mumbled. “I’ll press charges against you as soon as I’m loose.”

“And when I’m asked why I planted you a facer, I shall tell them you a stole horse. I can’t imagine how the duke will react to that. You fell and hit your nose. It’s no longer bleeding, and it doesn’t look broken. I did send a deuced good right to your jaw, and when you fell backwards, you hit your head.” Lucius leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “But why did you do it?”

“I couldn’t go home without the beast. She left me no choice!” screamed Lord Frederick. Then he hung his head and began to moan. “You don’t understand. He’s a monster.”

“Who?”

“My father. He hates me, wishes I died instead of my brother. I thought this was my chance to prove…” Another moan. “He’ll cut me off now, disinherit me. It’s true. I can do nothing right.”

“Well, if this is how you solve a problem, I’d have to agree.” The actual fear on the man’s face surprised Lucius. He knew the older brother had always been favored, but he hadn’t known the younger one was so disliked. “And he can’t disinherit you, nodcock. He can only cut you off financially. You will gain the title.”

Lord Frederick snorted. “Little good it will do me with no blunt.”

“Don’t you have any of your own? No investments? No smaller estates?” He couldn’t imagine still being reliant on his father for coin. “What do you do all day?”

“I’m terrible with business ventures, or so he tells me. I’ve always managed on my allowance, but if he quits…” Shoulders drooping, Lord Frederick breathed a loud sigh. “If I knew why he hated me so, I might be able to change his mind about me.”

“Do you have any friends who could help with your investments? Put your father off, say she’s decided to keep the horse until spring. It would give you some time.” Lucius frowned. Why was he helping this whiny, spiteful man? Or was it just a mask he wore to hide his pain?

Lucius had grown up in a loving household. He knew many who had not, though it didn’t give them the excuse to be cruel to others. This man—and Edward—had been raised with an unloving and strict father. Both had lost their mothers, and Lucius was beginning to realize how fortunate he was. He remembered his mother, her kindness and affection. What might he have been like without that maternal love? Without a father who loved him unconditionally?

Lucius shook his head, wondering how to help the duke’s son without helping him. He couldn’t be disloyal to his sister, who this man had ruined. He couldn’t betray Christiana by not returning with Vengeance.

“I think the time has come for you to become a man and stand on your own,” Lucius finally said, running a hand through his hair. “Have you ever asked your father why he treats you as he does? Perhaps it is your insecurities he hates so much. Have you ever asked your father for help in business matters?”

Lord Frederick stared at him as if he had two heads.

“Well?”

“No. I-I didn’t think he would give me an answer. Or I wouldn’t like what I heard.”

“So, a moment of truth is worse than this?” Lucius flung out his arm, indicating the man tied to a chair and the stable beyond. “Can you imagine what the broadsheets would do with an incident like this?”

“Crucify me as they did your sister.” Lord Frederick threw his head back and closed his eyes. “My life is a catastrophe.”

“Then fix it. Use your allowance for investments. Start slow, see what works, invest more. Hire a man to help you if you have no friends.” Lucius slapped his forehead with his palm. “You’re a duke’s son! Use your connections, use the title that will be yours someday, and be your own man. Before you become the Duke of Scuttleton.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“Ha! Nothing worthwhile is easy. Those who make it look effortless are working hard behind closed doors.” Lucius untied the man’s hands, confident Lord Frederick wouldn’t be able to do any more harm. Today, anyway. “Grow up. People don’t like Frederick the boy. But they may like Frederick the man. Find out who he is and take control of your own life.”

Lord Frederick rubbed his wrists and gave Lucius a side-glance. “I want to do better.”

“Then do it.”

“I suppose you’ll tell everyone what happened here?” Lord Frederick’s pale-blue eyes pleaded. “I’ll never have the opportunity to right the wrongs I’ve done if they get wind of this in Town.”

Lucius shook his head. Against his better judgment, he would show mercy. It was what his sister would want him to do. Maybe. Probably. “I’ll have to tell Lady Winfield, but she’s no gossip. We can keep it between us. If anyone asks, we’ll call it a misunderstanding.”

“Thank you, Lord Page.” Lord Frederick stood and offered his hand. “You are kinder than I deserve.”

“Don’t make me regret it.” The snow had stopped. Lucius tossed some coins on the rough wooden table and put on his greatcoat. “What will you do?”

“Take your advice. Father isn’t expecting me until after Twelfth Night, so I may call upon some friends as you mentioned. Perhaps have a plan before I go home.” His eyes held regret. “I didn’t mean for that fiasco to happen with your sister. She didn’t deserve the notoriety I forced upon her.”

“You’re apologizing to the wrong person,” Lucius said, tugging on his hat. “Though if you do make amends with my sister, I suggest keeping your distance. Her right punch has only gotten stronger.”