The Gamekeeper's Lady

Robert had avoided the family while he played at being Charlie for weeks before Waterloo. Had a grand old time. Until he’d felt Charlie’s physical pain in his own body. He’d known something was wrong. But when the lists came out announcing Robert Mountford’s death and the family started to grieve, they thought he’d gone mad. He’d insisted on going to the site of the battle. When he finally found Charlie, one of the many robbed of his clothes and out of his head in a fever, the truth had to come out. After that, Father had refused to have anything to do with Robert. Until today.

‘You are not my son,’ the duke said.

Charlie stared at Father. ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘You are going too far. I won’t let you do this. Robert will marry the girl. Won’t you?’

Reeling, Robert almost said yes. His spine stiffened. He would not be blackmailed, forced into a mould by his father or anyone else, especially not Miss Penelope Frisken. ‘No. I did not seduce her and I won’t accept the blame.’

‘You idiot,’ Charlie hissed.

‘I want that cur out of my house,’ the duke commanded. ‘I won’t see the name of Mountford blackened any further by this wastrel. He’ll sponge on me no longer.’

Sponge. Was that how he saw it? Without his allowance, he wouldn’t be able to pay his debts. Any of them. He had debts of honour due on quarter day, as well as several tradesmen expecting their due. He’d gone a little deeper than he should have this month, but then he’d expected to come about. And there was always his allowance.

‘You can’t do this.’

His father glared. ‘Watch me.’

A horrid suspicion crept into his mind. Was this Lulling ton’s plan all along? He was clever enough. Devious enough.

How else had the information about what had happened at White’s reached the duke so quickly? Now Father had the perfect opportunity to be rid of the cuckoo in his nest.

He’d always been inclined to laugh off matters others thought important, but when Charlie had almost died on the battlefield at Waterloo, he knew he should have thought it out a bit more carefully. He never expected this as the end result, though, and he wasn’t going to beg forgiveness for something he hadn’t done.

His stomach churned. He gulped down his bile and drew himself up straight. His face impassive, he stared at his rigid father. ‘As you wish, your Grace. You will never have to set eyes on me again, but first I would like a few minutes alone with Lord Tonbridge.’

The duke didn’t glance in Robert’s direction, addressing himself only to Charlie. ‘There’s nothing for him here. No one is giving him money. I mean that, Ton-bridge. Tell him to be out of my house in five minutes or I will have him horsewhipped.’ He wheeled around and shut the door behind him.

Charlie fixed his tortured gaze on Robert’s face. ‘I’ll talk to him. I had no idea his anger went so deep.’

Robert tried to smile. ‘If you try to defend me, it will only make things worse. He’s suspicious enough. He’ll think I have some hold on you. Don’t worry about me. I’ll manage.’

‘How?’

‘I’ll find work.’

At that Charlie cracked a painful laugh. ‘What will you do? Find a woman to employ your services in bed?’

Robert’s hand curled into a fist. He smiled, though it made his cheeks ache. ‘Well now, there is an idea. Any thoughts of who? Your betrothed, perhaps?’

Colour stained Charlie’s cheekbones. ‘Damn it, Robert, I was joking.’

‘Not funny.’ Because it came too close to the truth. He’d prided himself on those skills. Bragged of them. He stared down at the monogrammed carpet and then back up into his brother’s face. ‘You don’t think I planned to take the title?’

‘Of course not,’ Charlie said, his voice thick, ‘but damn it. I should never have gone.’

‘I’d better be off.’ Robert straightened his shoulders.

Charlie held out the bag of guineas. ‘Take this, you’ll need it.’

Pride stiffened his shoulders. ‘No. I’ll do this without any help. And when the creditors come to call, tell them they’ll have their money in due course.’

Charlie gave him a diffident smile. ‘Stay in touch. I’ll let you know when it is safe to return. I’ll pay off the girl. Find her a husband.’

Even as Charlie spoke Robert realized the truth. ‘Nothing you can do will satisfy Lullington and his cronies. I’m done for here. Father is right. My leaving is the only way to save the family honour.’ A lump formed in his throat, making his voice stupidly husky. ‘Take care of yourself, brother. And take care of Mama and the children.’

An expression of panic entered Charlie’s eyes, gone before Robert could be sure. ‘I don’t want you to go.’

Puzzled, Robert stared at him. Charlie had always been the confident one. Never wanting any help from Robert. In fact, since Waterloo, he’d grown ever more distant.

Wishful thinking. It was the sort of pro-forma thing family members said on parting. He grinned. ‘I’d better go before the grooms arrived with the whips.’ Just saying it made his skin crawl.

Charlie looked sick. ‘He wouldn’t. He’s angry, but I’m sure he will change his mind after reflection.’

They both knew their father well enough to know he was incapable of mind-changing.

Robert clapped his brother on the shoulder. The lump seemed to swell. He swallowed hard. ‘Charlie, try to have a bit more fun. You don’t want to end up like Father.’

Charlie looked at him blankly.

Robert let go a shaky breath. He’d tried. ‘When I’m settled, I’ll drop you a note,’ he said thickly, his chest full, his eyes ridiculously misted.

He strode for the door and hurtled down the stairs, before he cried like a baby.

Out on the street, he looked back at a house now closed to him for ever. Father had always acted as if he wished Robert had never been born. Now he’d found a way to make it true.

He turned away. One foot planted in front of the other on the flagstones he barely saw, heading for the Albany. Each indrawn breath burned the back of his throat. He felt like a boy again pushed aside in favour of his brother. Well, he was a boy no longer. He was his own man, with nothing but the clothes on his back. Without an income from the estate, he couldn’t even afford his lodgings.

All these years, he’d taken his position for granted, never saved, never invested. He’d simply lived life to the full. Now it seemed the piper had to be paid or the birds had come home to roost, whichever appropriate homily applied. What the hell was he to do? How would he pay his debts?

Ask Maggie for help? Charlie’s question roared in his ear. No. He would not be a kept man. The thought of servicing any woman for money made him shudder. If he did that he might just as well marry Penelope. And he might have, if she hadn’t been so horrified when she realised he wasn’t Charlie.

Father would scratch his name out of the family annals altogether if he turned into a cicisbeo. A kept man.

It would be like dying, only worse because it would be as if he never existed. The thought brought him close to shattering in a thousand pieces on the pavement. The green iron railings at his side became a lifeline in a world pitching like a dinghy in a storm. He clutched at it blindly. The metal bit cold into his palm. He stared at his bare hand. Where the hell had he left his gloves?

Gloves? Who the hell cared about gloves? He started to laugh, throwing back his head and letting tears of mirth run down his face.

An old gentleman with a cane walking towards him swerved aside and crossed the street at a run.

Hilarity subsided and despair washed over him at the speed of a tidal bore. He’d never felt so alone in his life.

God damn it. He would not lie down meekly.

He didn’t need a dukedom to make a success of his life.

Chapter Two

Kent—1819