Chapter One
On a road near Singlewell, England ~ December 1817 ~
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Restlessness led Leopold Tilson IV, the Duke of Claybrook, to travel later than one should, but he wished to reach his destination as soon as possible and knew that if he were to stop at an inn, he’d not sleep.
However, he was wondering what had possessed him to drive from his home, Clarington Abbey in Westmorland, all the way to Faversham in Kent in an open conveyance and in the middle of December. Actually, he knew the reason. He hadn’t wanted to be cooped up in a crowded carriage with his two younger sisters, older sister, and brother. They would have driven him to madness.
As his siblings had taken the carriage, Leopold had been left with the cabriolet. It was not the best or wisest choice for traveling across England, but at least he wasn’t being pestered by siblings, which suited his disposition.
Yes, he was brooding and unpleasant to be around and it was for their sakes that he didn’t force them to endure his dark mood.
Leopold could think of no reason to be in poor spirits, especially since he should be celebrating. His younger twin, Crispin, had written that he and his wife, Vanessa, would be delayed in their return from Greece because she was expecting. The midwife had suggested that due to the considerable size of Vanessa’s abdomen, and that Crispin was a twin, that she might deliver the same. Leopold could only hope that at least one was a son as it would free him from the need to marry and produce that blasted heir and a spare.
It wasn’t that he was against marriage, but he’d yet to find the woman that he would want as that wife.
That was a lie. He had found a woman that he wished to wed, but she would not have him. Lady Bethany Grey. Beautiful, sweet, kind, intelligent, calm, and thoughtful. Leopold had just been on the verge of approaching Lady Bethany’s father to seek permission to court her when she, for no reason that he could discern, pushed him into the Serpentine. He had come up sputtering and shocked.
“Why did you do that?” he had demanded.
She had opened her mouth and he waited for her reasoning, but then she glanced about. They had gathered quite a crowd of those interested in their conversation.
“I shall not speak of it in public,” she said. “You may call on me to discuss the matter in private, though I do not expect you to.” She then turned on her heel and marched away from him.
Leopold had not called on her because a more pressing matter had arisen and by the time he was free, the Season had ended and everyone had returned to the country, including Lady Bethany.
The following spring, Lady Bethany would not so much as look at him.
Misses and ladies had flocked to him since he had become the Duke of Claybrook at the age of eight and ten in hopes of becoming his duchess with little thought for him. He had thought Lady Bethany was different. He truly believed that she saw him, for himself, and not a duke to be trapped.
Or, maybe she did see him for himself and found him lacking, which was a most disconcerting thought.
Leopold rubbed his eyes as they began to burn. It had been foolish to travel so late, especially now that clouds covered the moon. He could barely see down the road and would need to stop at the next inn whether he was tired or not because he’d not have his horse injured.
His horse neighed the moment before men ran from the bushes and trees and for him. One tossed a rope around the neck of his horse, pulling it and the cabriolet to a halt while two other men came for him.
He hadn’t thought highwaymen haunted the roads in England any longer, though there were enough ruffians about.
“Take what you will and leave me be,” he ordered.
“Oh weez takin’ we is,” one of the men answered as he produced a pistol. “Now get out and off with yer clothes.”
Leopold exited the cabriolet, but that was all. “My clothing?” he questioned in outrage.
“Ye heard him. All of ’em, and those fine boots too,” another ordered.
“You mean to leave me here, without my clothing?”
“Ta keeps ye from following.”
“Bloody hell! I will not follow.”
“No, ye won’t ’cause we are takin’ your clothes, boots, horse, and this little carriage.”
“It is a cabriolet.”
“It will still fetch a fine coin.”
