Instead, he was transported back in time, to his years in boarding school and the largest scandal his family had ever faced.
The “American” was tall and dressed in plain clothing. His jacket was one that had been worn many times before but he filled it well. His overlong dark hair touched his collar in contrary to any style on either side of the Atlantic.
He gave the impression of being headstrong and proud, something Gavin knew to be true because he understood this man well. He even knew his name before it could be announced.
Gavin and Jack Whitridge were not identical twins, but enough alike in appearance that people would immediately recognize them as brothers—even now, over fifteen years after Jack had vanished without fanfare from his bed at school.
His disappearance had been the great mystery of that year. Their father had hired men to search for him and they’d found not a trace of his whereabouts or even a clue as to why he would go off in the middle of the night.
Bones had been found during that time in a shallow grave not far from the school. Some believed they were Jack’s. Experts their father had hired to evaluate them could not reach a consensus.
But Gavin had known. In his heart of hearts, he’d always believed his twin was alive.
No one knew Jack better than Gavin. They had shared the same womb and the same mother’s beating heart. In their childhood, there had always been just the two of them, in spite of their brother Ben’s birth eight years later.
And now here they were, face-to-face.
At last.
There were no hellos, no outstretched hands or brotherly hugs. Instead, they squared off, stoic men, men much like their sire.
In a voice as familiar to Gavin as his own, Jack proudly said what Gavin already knew, “Your Grace, let me present myself to you. I am the leader of the American delegation.”
Behind him, the dowager stepped forward. “Jack,” she whispered. “My son.” She then fainted, falling into Gavin’s arms, and the ball was at an end.
Chapter Four
Menheim, his family’s London home, had not changed, Jack reflected as he cooled his heels in the wood-paneled library that the footmen had hustled him to while his brother had seen to his guests and brought a gracious end to his ball. The Duke of Baynton must always be the consummate host, in spite of the appearance of a brother he hadn’t seen for over fifteen years.
However, Gavin was not allowing any chance for Jack to leave again. Two of the footmen stood guard outside the door. Jack had nothing to do save cool his heels. Such was the diplomat’s lot.
The library had been his father’s private domain. Apparently it served as his twin’s as well although there was little sign of Gavin’s presence here. The books appeared to be arranged in the same order on the shelves as they had been years ago, without any additions or subtractions. The chair behind the ornate desk was still well used, the leather molded to the bodies of two dukes. Even the India carpet on the floor was the same. It didn’t even look more worn.
Certainly for the number of times his father had forced Jack to stand for hours in front of his desk, there should be bare patches in the imprint of his shoes.
He took a deep breath, trying to release the tightness in his chest. Memories roiled inside him. Good ones and bad ones.
Jack had not wanted to return to England. He had not wanted to meet his brother... not this way.
Call upon your family, Governor-elect of Massachusetts Caleb Strong had begged Jack. He was dead set against all the talk coming out of Congress about war with Britain, as was Jack.
It was a heady thing for a young lawyer to have the ear of such an influential man. And Strong knew what he was doing. Jack had no desire to return to London but the governor-elect had appealed to Jack’s vanity.
You are the only one who can help us,Strong had told him.We are standing on the brink of disaster. I am convinced the British have no idea how reckless certain members of Congress are. You can help peace. Your brother has the power to change attitudes, and only you can persuade him. The future of this country is in your hands.
Only you, he’d said and Jack had been powerless to resist.
Of course, the question was persuasion,the crux of the matter, and the fact Jack had not left his family on good terms. Or spoken to them since. He hadn’t even known if they believed him alive.
He had been reluctant to tell Strong the truth. He’d some hollow idea in the back of his mind that he could be an effective diplomatwithoutGavin’s help.
However, he had been in England for two weeks now and had accomplished nothing. He had presented his letters of introduction to all the proper persons and had not managed one productive interview. No one wanted to talk to the Americans, a situation that had given Silas Lawrence great satisfaction since his purpose for being on the trip seemed to be to thwart Jack’s efforts.
And Matthew Rice? Jack had no idea why he’d come along, except to make a fool of himself.
Now, as Jack stood in this room that had served generations of dukes, he could almost hear his ancestors laughing at him, his father’s voice rang loudest of all—
The door to the library opened. Jack faced it as if he expected a hundred swordsmen to come flying at him.
