1
Rain streakeddown the carriage windows while Caleb Maxwell Crawford traveled from the London docks to his family home on Grosvenor Square. Dusk had turned to night since he'd stepped off the ship on which he'd sailed from Calais yesterday afternoon. Jaw set, he tightened his grip on the leather satchel beside him on the bench. It held all the evidence he needed to prove how wrong his father had been when they'd parted ways ten years earlier. Filled with letters of praise and articles heralding Caleb's architectural abilities, it would show the old bastard he'd made a success of himself. It would prove that refusing to join the clergy and being cut off financially had not led to his downfall, as his father had claimed it would when he'd railed about Caleb's ungratefulness.
Peering out past the heavy rivulets of cascading water, Caleb narrowed his gaze on the murky darkness. He couldn't wait to gloat and see the astonished look on his father's face when he showed him the lithographs printed in the Paris Gazette. They illustrated in fine detail the mansion he'd designed for the Duke of Orléons. Building had commenced six years earlier and had just been completed last month. Inhaling deeply, Caleb tightened his hold on his satchel. The carriage drew to a jarring halt moments later, throwing him slightly off balance. Muttering a curse, he opened the door and climbed out into the unpleasant downpour, satchel in hand. The driver helped him retrieve his valise from the boot.
“Here you go sir,” the man said while water streamed over the brim of his hat.
“Thank you.” Caleb paid him and walked toward the imposing Mayfair mansion that loomed before him. The heavy front door with its massive brass knocker was less than inviting.
Rain gushed down the curved slope of the roof and pelted against the ground. Pulling his hat down over his forehead, Caleb drew the collar of his greatcoat up to protect the back of his neck and climbed the slick stone steps.
He still owned a key and withdrew it now from his pocket to unlock the door. It swung open and gave way to a dim interior. Entering the foyer, Caleb paused to listen. All was silent. Not even the longcase clock ticked away the progression of time.
Shivering, Caleb nudged the door shut behind him. It closed with a resounding thud. Where the devil was everyone?
He sighed and muttered another oath. He didn't like the idea of having to hunt down his family at one of the country estates. But even if they'd left town, there ought to be servants about. His parents had never left a house completely empty.
A soft snick caught his ears, and then the sharp click of approaching footsteps filled the air. The sound accompanied a man whom Caleb instantly recognized, even though his features were far more drawn now than when he'd last seen him.
“Murdoch,” he said, addressing the butler. “It has been a while.”
The old man drew a sharp breath. The candelabra he carried displaced the darkness. “I thought I heard something, so I came to investigate.” Moving closer, he peered up at Caleb. Light from four guttering candles flickered across his face, accentuating the creases there. “Is it really you, my lord?”
Caleb drew his hat from his head and swiped back the wet strands of hair that clung to his forehead. “Yes. I have returned.” He set his valise and satchel on the floor and proceeded to take off his gloves. “Where are my parents?”
Murdoch stared at him as if he could still not believe he was actually there. “Your mother is upstairs in her rooms.” Breaking eye contact, he proceeded to help Caleb off with his coat.
“And my father, the duke?” When Murdoch failed to reply, Caleb knit his brow. “Is he not at home?”
“No, he is not.” The butler busied himself with hanging the coat and setting Caleb’s hat and gloves aside. “But your mother will be pleased to see you, I’m sure. Please, follow me.” He led the way up the stairs while Caleb followed behind, his curiosity piqued by the servant’s unwillingness to supply him with details. Perhaps his parents had quarreled during his absence and were now living apart?
They reached the top of the landing and turned left toward the duchess’s apartment. Caleb knew the way well enough, but was glad the butler would be there to announce his arrival. After all, he doubted his mother would be as pleased to see him as Murdoch believed, considering he’d left without saying farewell. But he’d been too angry to do so at the time, and his decision to leave had been made in haste without consideration for anything besides getting away.
Arriving in front of the door leading into his mother’s sitting room, Murdoch paused to knock. A maid answered seconds later, her eyes widening when she noticed Caleb.
“Please inform Her Grace that her son, Lord Caleb, is here to see her,” Murdoch said.
The maid nodded and the door closed, only to be opened again moments later by the duchess herself. “Thank God you are here!” She stared up at him with shimmering eyes, and then, in the next second, her arms were around him, and she was holding him to her as if he offered necessary support.
Unaccustomed to such a display of affection from his mother, Caleb hesitated briefly before wrapping his arms around her as well. He hadn’t expected such a warm welcome and was slightly thrown by the effect it was having on the resentment he’d harbored for the past ten years.
Placing a kiss on his mother’s cheek, he listened to her uneasy breaths until she was ready for him to release her.
“Shall I have some tea sent up?” Murdoch asked, reminding Caleb of his presence.
“Please do,” his mother said. She opened the door to her sitting room wider and invited Caleb in. Unlike his mother, whose youth had departed during his absence, the space looked unchanged. “Come sit with me, Caleb. There is much for us to discuss.”
He wasn’t even sure where to begin. This reunion wasn’t going at all the way he’d imagined it would. Since leaving Paris five days earlier, he’d pictured himself storming into his father’s study and shoving the evidence of his success under the man’s haughty nose. Now, inhaling deeply, he approached the sofa and lowered himself to the vacant spot beside his mother. There was so much to say. Too much, in a way.
Perhaps the best place to start was with an apology. “I am sorry,” he told her and reached for her hand. “I should have written to you, but the more time passed, the more difficult it became.”
“I know.”
He looked at her and was swiftly accosted by guilt at the sight of her watery eyes. Christ, he’d been awful to her. She hadn’t deserved it, but his pride had been wounded, and he’d only been able to think of himself and of getting away from the life he’d come to despise.
“At least I am not your only son,” he murmured. She had three besides his older brother, George, the heir who’d received all their father’s affection.
“You haven’t been in touch with Griffin or Devlin?” she asked in reference to the brothers who’d been born only minutes after himself. He shook his head. “They left shortly after you, for similar reasons, I suspect. Now, after everything that has happened, I am hoping they will return as well. I’ve sent out letters, but it will take time for them to reach your brothers.” She met his gaze. Her brow puckered ever so slightly. “I’m surprised you are already here since I had no idea of your actual location. I suppose the agent I hired to find you was good at doing his job.”
