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Chapter One

Devonshire County, England

April 1814

Two riders moved up the road through a light rain. It was not wet enough to force them to seek shelter, especially considering that the red Royal Engineers’ uniform of the slighter man had already faded much from the weather, and the worn batman’s uniform of the larger man covered a frame so substantial it would have taken much to melt him. The young captain rode stiffly, as though it hurt him to move, his servant with a relaxed slouch, partly owing to having to lead two horses loaded with baggage.

They came not to a ruined Spanish village nor to some godforsaken Portuguese valley, but to an ordinary English country house. “It looks different than I remember it, Bose,” Captain Mountjoy observed.

“We haven’t seen it for ten years, Evan lad. Recollect you were little more than a boy when we left.”

“I was fifteen. I think I would have remembered something of Meremont.”

“As I said. Let’s see if this grandmother of yours is still alive.” The older man urged his hard-muscled horse to a shamble and rode not to the main house, but to a smaller house set off to one side. He dismounted, and his mount gave a sigh of relief, waiting patiently as its rider rapped at the door, then tried to peer in a dusty window.

“It’s shut up,” Evan said sadly. “Gram must be dead. I surmised that when her letters stopped. We may as well go.”

“Go? You mean leave again without even inquiring? Are you forgetting I might want to find out if Joan has been true to me after all these years?”

“Sorry, Bose. I am a selfish lout I was forgetting you have a reason to come back here.”

“You have, too. You are the eldest son. There is something owing to you.”

Evan winced. “No. I don’t mean to go up to the house. You go round to the kitchen and ask after Joan.”

“While you wait here in the rain? We’ll ride down to the stables, at least pull the horses in out of this weather for a bit. If you’ve turned chickenhearted on me you can cower there.”

An unexpected smile stole over Evan’s tired face as he turned his mare and trotted it toward the stable block. They dismounted, and Evan took the bridles as Bose sprinted for the house. The stable boys gaped at Evan, then turned out to attend to a carriage and pair that arrived unfashionably at the back door. The lady who descended from this equipage cast a dark look at him and, rather than entering the house, strode across the courtyard, muddying her hem on the cobbles.

“Who might you be?” she demanded.

“Captain Mountjoy, ma’am.”

“And I am Lady Mountjoy, now,” she claimed, with a challenging tilt to her chin. “I married your widowed father in good faith and with certain expectations. I tell you plainly, sir, you are not wanted here.”

“I know that,” Evan said with a certain glint in his brown eyes. “I only came to inquire if Gram—my grandmother— is still living.”

“She died in January. She left you something, I believe. You may consult with her lawyers in Bristol.”

“No, don’t unsaddle them,” Evan said gently to the wide-eyed stable boy, passing the lad a coin.

Lady Mountjoy did not like being ignored. “There is nothing for you here,” she insisted.

“I know. I’m only waiting for Bose to come back from the house. Is everyone else…well?”

“We go on perfectly fine without you. There is no entail, you know. Nothing need be left to you. Nothing has been left to you.”

Evan’s heart thudded to a stop. “Father—he’s dead then?” His voice was high, like a boy’s. He staggered a little, but the mare propped him up.

Evan took the woman’s silence for assent. Why would this come as such a shock, since his father had never once written? And why would it hurt so much? He scarcely even remembered him.

“She’s here!” Bose crowed, “and as happy to see me as the day I—pardon, ma’am.”

“Who’s here?” Lady Mountjoy demanded.

“An acquaintance of mine—Joan.”

“And she is also, as I recall, a servant of mine. Keep your distance from her,” the woman warned, her blue eyes flashing.

“Bose, this is the new Lady Mountjoy.”

“And the new mistress of Meremont. Now be off with you, both of you.”

Bose opened his mouth to protest, but Evan said, “It’s all right, Bose. I had not meant to stay.” The young captain remounted wearily, and his mare stared round at him, realizing the oats and hay she had been contemplating were not to be hers. He rode out, leaving Bose to follow, but stopped and turned at the road to take a last look at his home as he waited for his batman to catch up with him.

“I think I used to call it Merry Mount when I was little. I cannot remember why. I was never merry here.”

“You can’t just leave. You have certain rights!”

“Apparently not. I knew he had remarried from Gram’s letter. She said the new Lady Mountjoy was very protective of ‘her’ children’s rights. I can scarcely blame her. We’ll put up in the village till you see your Joan again and settle if she is to come with us or no.”

“To where?”

“Most likely America, after my leave is up. Though with the war, they may not let her…Bose! How thoughtless of me. You can leave the army, marry Joan and raise fat children here.”

“Not bloody likely. I’d not have a moment’s peace, not knowing what scrape you had got into. We will put up in the village, though. Can’t push these horses much farther, anyway.”

Bose had seen a rider approaching at a trot and gaped in such a way that Evan stared at him.

“So, you’re home!” boomed the old man in the saddle.

Evan twisted involuntarily and gave a grunt as he strained his cracked ribs. “Father!”

“Did you mean to just ride by without even stopping?”

“No—yes,” Evan gasped, as the constriction in his chest relaxed and relief flooded through him like a strong draught of brandy. “I thought you were dead.” He shook his head to clear it of the giddiness. So his father was not dead, after all. Now why had Lady Mountjoy bothered to lie to him?

“All the more reason for you to stop, eh?”

“No! I—”

“Well, you are stopping now. We have things to settle. Your grandmother has left you her entire fortune. She always did favor you over the others.”

“Only because no one else cared about me.”

“Nonsense. I have always treated you fairly. Too fair to deserve being ignored for ten years.”

“But you never…” Evan faltered, for his father had ridden on toward the stable, and Bose had followed with the horses that carried all his dry clothes. He really had no choice but to stop. Oddly, he did want to stay, to speak to his father again. As he rode back to the stable he vaguely wondered if he had been forgiven after all this time. No, that was too much to hope for.

* * *

Evan rode in and dismounted with a grunt. Molly, his mare, snorted her approval of his coming to his senses and went gratefully with the groom.

“Well, come along,” his father demanded. Evan followed the older man to the back door through what was by now a downpour, then down the hall to the library.

Evan looked about him uncomfortably. “You’ve changed the room about.”

“No, we haven’t,” stated his father, looking up from the decanter and glasses. “It’s always been this way.”

“This isn’t how I remember it.”

“You were no more than a boy when you left. It’s only natural things would look different to you.”

Evan ignored his father’s invitation to sit, but stood turning himself by the fire, until the worst of the rain had dried off his clothes. The uniform did not actually dry, of course. Rather, the water seeped through to his skin, making him feel clammy. But this was such a familiar sensation by now that Evan did not regard it. Accepting a brandy from his father reminded him of his recent shock and subsequent relief. He should have known the old man would be too stubborn to die. This last thought brought a puzzled frown to his face. Why had Lady Mountjoy lied to him? Had the desolation he must have shown pleased her? He didn’t care. He could not say that he loved his father, but it was disquieting to think of him dead.

“As I said, your grandmother has left you pretty well off. Rather cut up poor Terry’s expectations.”

“Terry?”

“Your brother, remember?”

“Yes, of course. I wasn’t thinking.”

“You are not famous for your thinking.”

Evan smiled. Nothing in all these years had changed. If his father had welcomed him with open arms he would have felt strange indeed. To be cut at, though, was such a familiar feeling he quite liked the man for it. His first impression was that his father looked unfamiliar. The hair, though full and magnificent, was white, the face lined, the body thickening perhaps a bit around the middle. Still and all, he was a fine figure of a man, but not one Evan remembered well except by his voice.

“What happened to your face?” his father asked.

“What?”

“You’ve a bloody great scar under your lip and, now that I look closer, one on your forehead.”

“I scarcely remember. They do not signify.”

Lord Mountjoy tugged at a bell, as he had already done several times.

“Bose must be turning the servants’ hall on its ear,” Evan offered.

“No doubt you are right. Stay here. There is someone I want you to meet.”

Evan had an uneasy feeling he knew whom, so he poured himself another brandy and took up a position by the fireplace so that he could gauge his effect on his new mama to the full.

She entered the room, toying nervously with a lock of her brown hair. Her cheeks flushed when she saw him, and she sent him a forbidding stare. She almost taunted Evan to say aught against her.

“May I present Lady Mountjoy? My son, Evan.”

“So pleased to meet you at last, dear ma’am.”

“Likewise.” She plopped down in a chair and continued to stare at him with a puzzled look. He had not snitched, and she could not fathom why.

“May I get you something, my dear?” Lord Mountjoy asked. “Oh, where are the girls?”

“They took the pony trap to Wendover. I expect they will stay there until the rain lets up.”

“You’ll meet Judith and Angel at dinner, I’m sure.”

Evan recalled Gram mentioning that the “new Lady Mountjoy” had some younger sisters.

The door was pushed open by a boy of six or so in ruffles and short coats. He ran to Lord and Lady Mountjoy expectantly, and Evan felt an impulse to warn him not to foist the pup he was strangling onto his father. But the boy laid the whining animal on Lord Mountjoy’s knee with impunity. Smiles softened both their faces, and Evan knew a pang of remorse. His parents had never smiled on him in such a way, not that he could remember. And this was the same man who’d had nothing but gruff admonishments for him, to stand up straight, or take the food to your mouth, not your mouth to the food.

Lord Mountjoy glanced up, and the genuine smile was replaced by a forced one as he introduced Evan to his new brother, Thomas. Thomas shook Evan’s hand in quite an adult manner. Evan knelt and smiled his own genuine smile, hoping the child would fare better in this house than he had.

There was a firm knock at the door, followed by the entrance of a prim woman in cap, apron and gray gown, whose worried face split into an indulgent smile when she saw the child. “I might have known…” she said, then started when Evan got up from his kneeling position. Her face grew wary, angry almost, and she glanced sharply at Lady Mountjoy to see if this stranger was permitted to touch her darling. Evan had thought that the wispy hair escaping her cap was gray, but he now saw it was blond, and that she was, in fact, not old.

“This is my oldest son, Evan,” Lord Mountjoy said. “This is Nurse Miranda.”

Evan had a frosty nod bestowed on him.

“Run along now, Thomas,” Lord Mountjoy said. “You can keep the pup in the stable, not in the house.”

“Yes. Nasty, dirty thing,” Nurse agreed. “You must not bring it into the nursery again.”

“I must go, too,” Lady Mountjoy said, getting up and leading Thomas to his nurse. “I suppose we should kill the fatted calf if there is time.”

“I’m sure you shall contrive something equally fitting, my dear.”

Evan watched them depart and wondered what the nurse would say to the boy about him, perhaps that he, too, was a nasty, dirty thing that should be kept in the stable. He felt a moment of dizziness overtake him as he put down his glass, and he rested his hand on the table until it had passed. It was caused not only by the brandy, but by riding so many miles in an unfit condition, plus two more or less sleepless nights and a weariness he could no longer shake.

“I hear Bose in the hall. You may have your old room. Terry has Gregory’s and I see no point in displacing him.”

Evan flinched a little at his dead brother’s name and left the library without a word. He climbed the stairs on knees that ached for days at a time now. Twenty-five years old and he was falling apart. He stopped uncertainly on the landing. Then he seemed to hear Gram’s voice reciting, “Your room is at the top of the stairs on the left.”

“Will I ever live there again?” an uncertain voice—his own, he supposed—asked.

“I don’t know, child.”

He went toward that door, not so much because of the voices in his head but because of the thump of baggage coming from within. He entered and sat on the bed, to marvel numbly at Bose’s eternal energy. It was a small room with a fireplace across one corner. The furniture consisted of no more than a bed, a small desk and a hard, wooden chair. Evan’s baggage was piled under the window. It was not as he had remembered it and yet he could not say what was wrong.

“You look all in, lad. Give me those wet clothes and roll up for a nap until dinnertime.”

“Perhaps you should be the captain,” Evan joked as he rose to strip off his wet uniform. He crawled between the covers, naked except for bandages, and let the sheets dry and warm him.

Evan awoke with a certain stiffness hanging about his limbs. He stretched and relaxed, then took a deep breath and grunted at the stab of pain. It was such a familiar pain by now that he ventured to think the ribs felt a shade better. The knees still ached. “Bose?” he asked experimentally.

“He’s asleep, but I can wake him if you really need him,” the woman said as she set her sewing aside and got up from the small chair by the window.

The voice was firm, but gentle, and Evan regarded her in puzzlement. It was not that it was odd for him to wake with a woman in his room, but he usually remembered who she was. And of this beauty he had no memory at all. That fine tawny hair, those kind blue eyes and that kissable mouth— those he would have remembered.

“May I get you anything?” she asked, coming to stand over him.

“Just your name. I seem to have mislaid it.”

“Judith. I’m your aunt, now that I think of it,” she said with a chuckle.

“Uh, I don’t have an aunt.” And if I did, he thought, she wouldn’t stir me like this.

“You do now. Two of them, though I dare say we are both younger than you. Angel and I are Helen’s sisters. But I should not be teasing you when you are not even awake.”

“Nor should you be here,” Evan said, remembering his naked state.

“I caught Bose preparing to curl up for a sleep outside your door, so I sent him to his own room.” She had trouble keeping her eyes from straying to Evan’s chest and shoulders.

“We have been away from civilization too long.”

“Is he always like that—a faithful hound?”

“More like a bossy nanny most of the time. Now that I come to think of it, I’m surprised he let you send him off.”

Judith shrugged and smiled. “Do you need him?”

“No, let him sleep. Believe it or not, he was the one who wanted to get here in such a hurry.”

“Ah, yes, our Joan. She has spoken of nothing else since you arrived. She said you rode a hundred and fifty miles in less than three days, and in this weather.”

“It’s what we’re used to.”

“Yes, I know,” she said sadly.

“You—you have been following the war, then?”

“I have read the accounts in the Times,” she said warily, unwilling to let him know she had read his letters to his grandmother.

“I should have liked to read those papers myself, to see if the reports bear any resemblance to what really went on.”

“Gram saved them. I will find them for you—later. Perhaps you should not come down to dinner tonight. You have a bit of a fever.” She almost touched his forehead, as she had while he slept, but stopped herself in time.

“Oh, I shall do,” he said cheerfully, sitting up and revealing the bandages around his chest.

“Yes, I’m sure you will,” she said, whisking out of the room and closing the door behind her before he could see her blushing.

Judith closeted herself in the room she shared with Angel, and leaned against the door until her heart settled down to a more normal rhythm. She had helped nurse Terry when he was wounded, but had never felt like this. Perhaps it was because Evan was exactly as she expected—handsome, fine and hard muscled, with that understated masculinity. His straight brown hair fell across his brow most charmingly, and the scar under his lip crinkled when he smiled. His eyes were brown and brooding, as though he was always thinking of something else.

She must get a grip on herself. Between the two of them there could never be anything. He was Lord Mountjoy’s heir and must marry someone of his own station. And that was the least of the reasons.

Why had she so fastened on his character to the point where she fantasized about him? She realized it was because she envied him. He might have been spurned by his father, but he had not whimpered and cowered in some corner. Instead, he had done something with himself. She wished she could have led such a life, hard though it might have been. She had got from his letters a sense of his belonging where he was, of making a place for himself, just as she tried to do.

She had heard all about him from Gram, but without his letters, she would have known only what he’d been like as a boy. Reducing war news to mere asides, his missives were filled with rollicking tales of camp life, foreign foods and customs. One would have thought he was a young man on a grand tour, with safe conduct through all those foreign parts, rather than a soldier in the thick of battle.

Without knowing it, Evan had made her laugh. Unconscious of her existence, he had made her care about him. And he had been a comfort to his dying grandmother without knowing she was dying. Judith had wondered if any man could ever read as well in person as Evan had on paper. Now she knew.

Owing to his falling asleep again, and Bose’s not coming to his room until close on five o’clock, Evan was the last to enter the library, where the family gathered before dinner. It was evident to him, as he scanned their faces, that he had been the subject of their conversation. Lady Mountjoy had high color again, his father was stern, Judith sympathetic. The younger girl—Angel, as she was introduced—looked on him with particular interest. He caught his breath, for she seemed too young, too beautiful to be real. But then she blushed and dropped her eyes and became all too human. Had she faced him down he might have liked her better. A figure moved toward him, one who reminded him vaguely of himself. “Terry?” he asked uncertainly.

“Hallo, Evan. We thought you was dead.” Terry shook his hand and left a mist of brandy fumes in the air.

Evan was still struggling for a reply when Lord Mountjoy helped his wife to her feet. Evan would have been inclined to fall in beside Judith, but Angel pushed past her and appropriated his arm. Judith rolled her eyes heavenward in such an automatic response that Evan grinned in spite of himself.

“You don’t look that old,” Angel confided, staring at the lines around his eyes. “I was thinking twenty-five was very old, but you don’t look much older than Terry.”

Evan smiled and nodded, wondering how he was going to make it through the evening. He sat up straight at dinner. He hadn’t much choice, the way Bose had strapped up his cracked ribs. And he remembered to take his soup to his mouth and not crouch over his food like a hungry animal, as Terry was doing at this moment. Evan could remember many occasions recently when he had hunched ravenously over a crust of bread or a piece of half-cooked meat. But there was a time and place for everything. In his father’s house he could not help but sit at attention as he ate.

Evan glanced at Lord Mountjoy, who was staring at Terry. But his father merely shuddered and looked away. Was it possible the old tartar had mellowed? Evan did not care to find out. He remembered his dizziness from before and took only enough wine to dull the ache in his knees. Riding did not bother him in the ordinary way, not even riding for long stretches at a time, but he had been badly trampled at Bordeaux the previous month, and now a dull ache would creep down to his right knee in particular, nagging at him for days on end. In spite of Angel’s opinion, he felt worn-out, used-up and numb to anything else that might happen to him.

“I think the courtesy of an answer is due your brother,” Lord Mountjoy demanded.

“Sorry, I was not attending.”

“I only asked if you had seen many battles,” Terry repeated.

“Yes.”

“There’s your answer, Terry—yes, he has seen many battles,” Lord Mountjoy quipped.

Evan smiled. “Such conversation is not particularly good table fare, not for children, anyway.”

Angel raised a belligerent chin, as did Terry.

“In that case we shall leave you to your port and your talk of war,” Lady Mountjoy declared as she rose with dignity. Judith left them with a sad smile, Angel with a definite flounce.

Evan realized the meal was over, though he had scarcely touched the food on his plate.

“You always were able to clear a room,” his father said with satisfaction.

“I don’t remember that,” Evan answered.

“You also have a very convenient memory.”

“I am not a child,” Terry interjected, a little the worse for wine.

“I never said you were,” his brother answered.

“Who were you referring to then?”

“Judith and Angel.”

“But Judith has got to be all of twenty-four.”

“Really? Why isn’t she married then?” Evan asked, wondering how such a treasure could have been passed over.

“No fortune,” Terry said.

“I shall provide for the girl,” Lord Mountjoy stated. “A very proper young lady she is, and the greatest help to me.”

Evan stared at his father, for now that he thought of it, one of their long-ago mealtime arguments had been over his father’s philandering. He couldn’t recall the memory so much as he could recite the conversation—his own condemnation and his father’s gruff and unconvincing defense.

“How is she a help to you?” Evan asked pointedly.

“Keeps my library in order, helps me write—damn you, boy, you have a nasty mind,” his father said as he caught Evan’s meaning. “How did you think she helped me?”

“I didn’t know. That’s why I asked.”

“I feel as though she is my daughter. She is too good, almost, for this household.”

“That I can belie—Pardon me,” Evan said, breaking off abruptly. “I was determined to be polite to you, since you invited me in. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t strain yourself. I am not used to any consideration from you.”

Evan fell silent again. Terry, who had been glancing from one to the other, took his turn at conversation. “So you were in a great many battles?”

“It has all blurred together for me, I’m afraid. I was always knee-deep in mud, working on siege parallels, or up to my waist in freezing water trying to shore up a bridge.”

“Didn’t you see any real action?”

“Enough to suit me.”

“Terry, he doesn’t want to talk about it,” their father said.

“Oh, you only had to say so.” Terry drained his glass.

“You are going to have a head tomorrow,” Evan observed.

“Sorry, it isn’t everyday one is displaced. I think I shall go straight to bed.” Terry rose valiantly, but wove his way out of the room.

“Whatever did he mean, and does he make a habit of that?”

“He is not such an aesthete as you promised to be, but no, he does not in general drink his meals.”

“I was wanting to ask about Gram. How did she die, I mean?”

“Who is to say what gives out? The heart, I expect, is what—”

“I know she was old. You don’t have to remind me of that. Was she…alone—lonely?”

“God’s death! Do you think I have no proper feelings, even for a mother-in-law? Of course she wasn’t alone. I was there, and Judith. If you want to know what she said, speak to Judith. She stayed with her more than anyone.”

“Thank you. I didn’t mean to accuse you of neglecting—”

“You have no right to accuse me of anything!”

A slight flush rose to Evan’s face, but he looked his father squarely in the eye—and read resentment and anger there. No surprise; it was what he expected. Evan saw disappointment, too. That also was no surprise. He had always disappointed his father, he thought. He simply could not remember all the details.

Lord Mountjoy got to his feet and walked steadily toward the door, leaving Evan brooding at the table. “Are you coming or not?”

Evan twitched at the summons and stood stiffly, to follow his father back to the library, where candles had been set out on the broad table to light the ladies’ embroidery and hemming. Their pale dresses and colorful shawls looked oddly out of place against the dark leather furniture. Evan could remember when the library had been a man’s haven and wondered that his father permitted this invasion of his sanctuary. He sat where he could watch Judith, and she gave him a sympathetic smile. He desperately wanted to ask after Gram, but only in private. He would wait.