Surrendering the Past (The Granville Legacy Series Book 1) Read online

  “Calm yourself, and send a footman to my cousin’s house to fetch my brother this instant. Where is my father’s body?”

  “Still in the garden, sir. The men knew not what to do with him.”

  Wesley nodded and headed to the back of the house and through the garden doors. The butler and several footmen stood there, looking down on the lifeless figure. Wesley said nothing, just crouched down to see if Litchfield was actually dead.

  “The poor man, you can still smell the brandy on him. He must have been distressed over that trollop, drowned his sorrows in drink, and slipped on the slick ground out here. She should be out here, not him.”

  Wesley rose and turned to the butler. He never understood why the older staff was loyal to Litchfield. It was likely done through years of conditioning. “Unless you would like to join my father in this frozen state, you will take care how you speak of my new sister. You are no longer in my employ. Leave.”

  He then leveled a challenging eye on those remaining. Each man lowered his head in submission. “Return to your duties. I will call when I need you.”

  Not long after the men left, Richard arrived, out of breath from running the distance from Julian’s.

  “What the hell happened?”

  Wesley looked at his brother and then once again crouched over the body. “You need not have worried that I would kill him. It seems someone saved me the trouble.”

  Richard joined his brother. “The footman said Litchfield fell and hit his head.”

  “Perhaps, but look how little blood there is spilled. Did Jane say what side he landed on when he fell from his horse?”

  “No.”

  “Look.” Wesley pointed to the side of Litchfield’s face that was exposed. “He is quite blue from the cold, but there is no additional bruising, so he must have fallen on the other side. Help me turn him.”

  They did so, and Richard was surprised to see the state of the other side. “He is not very stiff. I would say he is no more than a few hours gone. But look at his shoulder. It is dislocated.”

  “From his fall, I would wager.”

  “I agree. So he was alive when he left Cumberland, made the journey to London, and then—”

  Wesley stood and shook his head. “I know not. I do know that he was not drunk as the butler insisted. He never drank to excess. Someone has taken pains to make it seem so.”

  They were both silent for a long while, each contemplating the situation and neither reaching any satisfying conclusions.

  Richard stood and grasped Wesley’s shoulder. Hating his father had become a ritual and now that he had died so unceremoniously, Richard knew not what to feel or say. “What do we do now?”

  “Bury him, rejoice in his passing, and hope none of his evil comes back to haunt us.”

  * * *

  The Carrington carriage had barely stopped when the door flew open and Amy descended without waiting for assistance. She was up the steps and into her sister’s waiting arms in seconds.

  “Oh, Jane! What has happened? Your note told us nothing except to come here right away.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Carrington were not far behind, and Julian welcomed everyone to his home and showed them to the drawing room. Jane kept Amy’s hand in hers as they walked and sat close to her once in the drawing room.

  “So much has happened, but right now, we are waiting for news from Litchfield House. Apparently, the earl is dead.”

  A moment passed before anyone spoke as each person hoped what he or she just heard was, in fact, true.

  “Well that is the best piece of new I have had in a while.”

  “I can only agree with you, Aunt. He came after us in Cumberland. He tried to take me away, but I was able to escape.”

  “My God! That is why you came back to London?” Mr. Carrington had been sitting with his wife, but rose and walked to Jane, taking her hands and looking for any signs of injury.

  “I am well, Uncle. I am almost over the fright of it.”

  “Oh, Sister, I am so angry with our father for bringing this upon you.”

  “We cannot blame him, Amy. He could not have known what the earl was. As it is, I doubt he and Mama will ever speak to me again.”

  Mr. Carrington released Jane and returned to his seat before she saw him roll his eyes.

  “Jane, Father is here in London. He came a few days after the news broke. You are not the only one Mama refuses to see. She sent a thick letter blaming me, as well as our aunt and uncle, for your elopement. I have never been so happy to take the blame for something in all my life.”

  “Amy.”

  “Do not be distressed, Jane. I regret nothing, except, perhaps, that Father says he will not return to Surry until he has spoken to you.”

  “Oh.” Jane looked down. She contemplated seeing her father when a much more agreeable thought occurred to her. “Amy, now you can come live with me.”

  Amy returned her sister’s smile and then blushed and looked down at her hands. “I believe I would like to stay in London for the time being. But I promise to come and visit just as soon as you are settled.”

  Jane wondered at her sister’s refusal until she caught sight of Julian’s soft smile.

  “All right, but we must not forget about Meg. We cannot leave her alone in Surry.”

  “Do not worry, Jane. I will not let your father leave town without securing his promise to send her to us.”

  “Thank you, Uncle.”

  Jane felt as happy as she could under the circumstances. She now only wanted her husband’s return, which she was soon granted. Without ceremony, or much politeness, Richard entered and sat heavily next to Jane and took her hand.

  “Well, the old man is most certainly dead.” He kissed her hand and softened his voice. “It is all over, love. Wesley is making preparations to take his body to Kent for burial. We have nothing to be afraid of now.”

  Richard’s words were meant to comfort her, but his features were full of doubt. Jane wanted desperately to believe him, but she had seen the malice in Litchfield’s eyes and heard the venom of his words. Evil like that would not be destroyed so easily. They could not discuss it then, so she nodded and rested her head on his shoulder for a moment before rising and taking Amy’s hand. “Julian has informed me that I am to be mistress of the house while Richard and I are here. If you will excuse me, I must go see about dinner. I expect you all to stay.”

  Without waiting for affirmation from the Carringtons, Jane left the room, pulling Amy behind her.

  “All right, dear sister, tell me everything.”

  * * *

  Jane had prepared a lovely evening, and Julian sat with his port and listened to the sisters play and sing. Amy had an air about her that was both innocent and alluring, and it was becoming increasingly hard to take his eyes off of her whenever she was in the room, and his thoughts were always of her when she was not. He liked whom he was when he was with her, and he wanted to be with her all the time. After hearing her refuse her sister’s invitation, he was now confident she felt the same.

  “When are you going to propose?”

  Julian turned to see Richard’s amused grin. “Propose what?”

  “Very well, if you do not wish to tell me you have fallen helplessly in love with my new sister, I will not goad you. You may want to school your features, however, before her uncle drags you down to the docks.”

  Julian chuckled. “You are as annoying as the flies that swarm my horse in the summer. If I make any plans, you will be the last to know.”

  “Just keep in mind that her father is here now. If you seek her hand soon, you will not have to travel to Surry and deal with the mother.”

  Julian raised his eyebrows and nodded at that very astute observation. Thankfully, before Richard could level any more wisdom upon his cousin, Alfred entered with a note for Julian.

  “A bit late for correspondence. Is it from Wesley?”

  Julian shook his head as he read over the letter. “No. It seems death has
set up camp in Mayfair. My neighbor, Mr. Wallace, has died. His wife…” He paused and swallowed. “His widow thought I should know.”

  Julian folded the note and placed it in his coat pocket. Resolutely ignoring the glare coming from Richard, he instead focused on Amy as she sat at the instrument. He watched as her elegant form swayed slightly with the music, all the while feeling the hardness that had been such a part of him only a month prior return.

  Chapter 21

  The new Earl of Litchfield looked around the room, all the disgust he had felt at its opulence clearly showing on his face. The house was now his, along with the estate, wealth, title, and legacy of violence and hatred. He wanted none of it.

  Walking to the fireplace, he removed his coat and cravat and threw them on a nearby chair. He stoked the flames and then drew back the poker, examining the tip as it glowed with the heat of the fire. His grip tightened as he drew a deep breath. With a sudden, forceful turn, he took aim at the nearest item. As the vase shattered, satisfaction mixed with his anger and the need for destruction took over. His father’s study and all its contents would feel the rage he had never been able to unleash. Piece by piece, the contents of the room fell to Wesley’s fury until he was hot with perspiration and emotion. He removed his shirt and turned to finish what he started when a voice sounded from the door.

  “Have you begun redecorating?”

  He spun around to see Rachel standing before him with her usual teasing expression. She was dressed for an evening out, and the way her skin glowed in the soft light did nothing to calm the adrenaline pumping through him.

  “You should not be here now, Rachel.”

  “True. My aunt and Mrs. Lattimore have both fallen asleep in the carriage. Hopefully, any passersby will assume they are in here with me, otherwise my reputation will be as tattered as yours.”

  Even though the rage still churned inside of him, Wesley could not keep a small smile from escaping as he watched her search for a clear space on which to sit. She sighed as she gave up the endeavor, settling on top of an overturned side table, balancing on the toppled piece with perfect poise. His smile grew, and he wondered for at least the dozenth time how life would have been different if he had noticed Rachel’s worth first, before Christopher had a chance to win her heart. She had not been the great beauty of the ton the year she was introduced, and Wesley’s head was turned by all the “superior” women while his friend saw the true beauty inside of her. All those women were now married, bored, and bordering on ugly in Wesley’s mind while Rachel grew lovelier each year.

  Wesley dropped the poker and walked to her, barely resisting the urge to take her in his arms, choosing instead to sit at her feet. He rested his head against her and was pleased to feel her gloved hand stroke his hair.

  “Are you well, my friend?”

  Wesley shook his head. “No.” He proceeded to tell her everything, from his mother’s death to Richard’s marriage and all the ugliness that was his father. All the while, he felt his anger dissipate under Rachel’s soothing touch.

  “Richard was worried that I would kill our father. God help me, Rachel, he had reason to be suspicious. I have never felt more like a Litchfield than in these last weeks when I employed every trick that he would in order to get my way. The fury that I felt when I did not get what I wanted was worthy of that title I inherited today.”

  “You are not your father, Wesley. You are a man who feels a great need to protect the people you love. There is no evil in that.”

  “Rachel.” He rose to his knees, facing her, and placed his hands firmly on her lower back. “Your father was one of Litchfield’s most loyal minions. He will know of my betrayal. He is not above using you to hurt me.”

  After unleashing so much pent up emotion, he had not the strength to disguise years of longing. As his thumbs caressed the small of her back, he felt her shiver, and he pulled her closer to the edge of the table. They were nearly eye to eye, and in hers, Wesley saw both doubt and desire. His hands wrapped around her waist and hers landed on his bare shoulders. He could not maintain the façade of only being her friend, and her next words weakened him further.

  “I would not allow him to hurt you.”

  His hands moved from her back to her neck, and his thumbs traced the lines of her face as he lowered his head to hers.

  “Rachel, please, have a care. Do not say such things or look at me that way unless you wish to end up in my bed tonight.”

  He thought to taste her just once, but as his mouth drew near to hers, she turned away.

  “Wesley.” Her voice shook, and he could feel moisture on her cheeks.

  “Shhh.” The only thing he could bear less than her rejection was the sight of her tears. He pulled her close, and she rested her head on his shoulder. “Forgive me, Rachel. I am not myself tonight.”

  She nodded and, after a while, lifted her head. “I brought you something. You will be angry with me, for I have likely provoked my father by doing so.”

  She picked up her reticule and removed two thin books and handed them to Wesley.

  “These are marked with my father’s crest. Blanchard had these?”

  “Yes, I found them in his study this morning. I had not yet heard of your father’s death, but something told me I should take them.”

  “Are you going to tell me why you were in your father’s study?”

  She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. Wesley would have found it amusing if he was not so worried about what would next come from her mouth.

  “He has refused to release my dowry to me and, instead, continues to pay me an allowance. I find that odd since I no longer live with him, and I wanted to find some evidence that my dowry does still exist. It is not unheard of for a man to squander away his daughter’s livelihood.”

  “No, it is not. But if he had found you snooping through his belongings, he might have cut you off with nothing, or worse. Stop taking foolish risks.”

  As he suspected she would, Rachel quickly changed the subject. “I could not tell what any of the names and numbers mean, but perhaps you can. It seems quite mysterious.”

  Wesley agreed and studied the contents of the ledgers. “Thank you for bringing these to me.”

  “Will you tell me when you solve the mystery?”

  “No.”

  “Wesley!”

  “You are too curious for your own good, Rachel. Go home before the gossips surround your carriage.”

  She huffed but kissed him on the cheek and took her leave. He watched her go with a great deal of regret but enjoyed the view as she walked away. Returning his attention to the ledgers, he wondered at the names written there and noticed they were in alphabetical order, the first being Dawson and the last Wallace.

  * * *

  Blanchard detested this part of London and resented having to do business there, but the man he needed to see refused to come into Mayfair. Litchfield had never allowed him to come near his home or be involved in his more reputable business dealings. Blanchard did not know whether he stayed away now out of loyalty or habit, but this would be his last outing to the underbelly. If the young man wanted to continue their association, then he would have to learn how to move in better society.

  Exiting the carriage, Blanchard immediately pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and placed it over his nose. One could not ignore the smells in this part of town. They were likely no worse than the smells in the better parts, but here, they were too closely linked to the streets’ inhabitants, and the less time he spent around the lower classes, the better.

  The building he entered was in no way wretched, nor was it elegant. It simply was—much like its owner. The short, stout man who answered the door looked him over and then showed him to the back of the house. The air inside was different now than when he delivered the letters several days ago. Blanchard became uneasy, feeling as if the earth had shifted. He glanced behind him to see a man almost identical to the one in front of him. Now that he could not f
lee, all he felt was a frantic need to run.

  “You were instructed to come here yesterday.” The man stood tall in the center of the room Blanchard had just entered. The brute who led him there stood on one side of him while the one who followed stood on the other. He would have to put on his best act of force to survive this situation.

  “I have only ever been instructed by one man, and he was found dead two days ago.”

  “Do not feign strength, Blanchard. You would not be able to keep up the pretense, and attempting it is a waste of my time.”

  Blanchard lifted his chin, but one movement from the man beside him sent it down again. “What did you need from me?”

  The man nodded in approval of Blanchard’s change of demeanor. “Information. I want to know everything about these people who made a fool of Lord Litchfield—Carrington, Dawson, and most especially, the bloody heir who made it all happen.”

  “For what purpose, if I may ask?”

  “To see them all pay for what they have done, of course. Litchfield’s last letters clearly stated what I must do. The ones who carry his name do not deserve it. I am far more patient than the late earl. His eagerness to take revenge worked against him. I will not make the same mistake. I need the ledgers you were keeping safe.”

  Blanchard swallowed and trembled slightly. “I do not have them. They disappeared from my house the day Litchfield died.”

  Cold, unflinching eyes that Blanchard knew well stared through him, causing his trembling to increase.

  “You do not want to outlive your usefulness, Blanchard. Find them and whoever took them. The line Litchfield envisioned did not come to pass, but I will make sure his legacy lives.”

  Thank you for reading this first book in The Granville Legacy Series. I hope you will consider leaving a review at your preferred online retailer or at Goodreads. Our characters’ adventures continue in Redeeming the Past which will be out early in 2018. For more information on the series and my other work, please visit the websites and social media sites listed below. Happy reading!