Heart's Debt (Lost Lords Book 5)

  PROLOGUE

  What is the meaning of this?”

  Edward Marshall glared at the group of rough, burly men who’d blustered into his library at Kirkwood Manor. The butler had tried to deny them entrance, but despite being refused an audience, they’d pushed their way in.

  He’d been having a brandy, listening as his estate agent, elderly Walter Drummond, droned on about the accounting ledgers. Edward loved being a wealthy landowner, but he hated the fiscal duties that ownership entailed.

  Walter was accursedly competent and eager to discuss every tiny detail, always hoping he could interest Edward in his responsibilities. But Edward would much rather shuck them off and have Walter perform all the work.

  What was the point of having servants if they didn’t serve?

  When the interlopers had interrupted, he’d been daydreaming, pondering London and an opera dancer he’d met and would like to set up as his mistress. He was a tad discombobulated by their arrival, but at least they’d gotten Walter to shut up. It was more than Edward could do.

  One of the men stepped forward, his demeanor uncivil and intimidating. “I am Sergeant O’Hara,” the oaf declared, “in service to Lord Trent. His coach was just robbed on the main road outside your gates.”

  “My goodness, how awful.” Edward feigned alarm, though he wasn’t really surprised.

  Recently there had been a string of robberies in their normally peaceful neighborhood, but Edward didn’t have to brood too keenly to realize that the mischief had started after his son, Miles, had been sent down from his latest boarding school.

  Miles was a miscreant and wastrel who was bored and loafing and desperate for amusement. If Edward learned he was pestering travelers, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d misbehaved, and Edward had never known how to discipline him.

  “We’d heard of the trouble in this area,” O’Hara said, “so we were prepared for it.”

  “What has that to do with me?”

  “We chased the criminal onto your property.”

  “And…?”

  “His horse is in your barn.”

  Edward glowered maliciously. “You have an enormous amount of gall to poke your nose into my barn without permission.”

  “Lord Trent is my master, and I hardly need your permission to provide service to him. If one of your retainers has dared to accost him, there will have to be consequences.”

  “Many horses look alike so you have to be mistaken. It couldn’t possibly have been the same animal.”

  O’Hara laughed condescendingly. “Is that your story? That I can’t tell one horse from another?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was a cavalry officer for twenty years. Don’t claim that I’m confused about my horseflesh.” He glanced into the hall. “Bring in the boy. We’ll get to the bottom of this in short order.”

  Walter’s grandson, Damian, was dragged in and tossed at Edward, but Edward wasn’t about to catch him. He collapsed in a heap, but though he was only ten, he had an imperious dignity, and he stood and faced them all without giving any indication of being cowed or afraid.

  Walter rushed over to Damian, running his hands over Damian’s arms and shoulders as if checking for injuries.

  “Are you all right?” Walter asked.

  “Yes, Grandfather. I’m fine.”

  Walter frowned at O’Hara. “He’s just a child. There’s no need for violence.”

  O’Hara ignored Walter and produced a cloth bag. He turned it upside down and dumped the contents on the floor. Out tumbled a fancy pocket watch, a diamond ring, and a pair of gold cufflinks with large green stones that were likely emeralds.

  “These were taken from Lord Trent at gunpoint,” O’Hara said.

  Edward gaped at the items, and he was unnerved by the pile. These were expensive, priceless treasures, perhaps from the Trent family vault. There could be no pretending a severe offense hadn’t been committed. This was no lark, no bored reprobate’s jest, and it couldn’t be swept under the rug as a prank.

  Miles slipped in the rear of the room and was standing behind the men. He was smugly grinning, observing the confrontation as if it were an amusing theatrical play.

  “Explain yourself,” O’Hara said to Damian. “Where did you find these things?”

  Damian didn’t reply, and Walter demanded of O’Hara, “Surely you’re not accusing him of the theft. He’s no highwayman, and he hasn’t been out on the road. He’s been in our cottage finishing his school lessons.”

  “No, we’re not accusing him,” O’Hara responded. “The felon we were chasing is a full-grown adult. This boy”—he gestured to Damian—“was holding the bag when we entered the barn. Obviously the culprit gave it to him.” He scowled at Damian. “Identify the criminal, and we’ll be on our way.”

  All eyes whipped to Damian, and Edward could barely keep from racing over and clapping a palm over Damian’s mouth. Damian was dutiful and honest, possessed of all of Walter’s best traits and more. He couldn’t lie if his life depended on it.

  Miles was sixteen and spoiled and angry that Edward wouldn’t let him move to London. During Miles’s formative years, Edward had rarely been home and his wife, Augusta, had been overly indulgent, had doted on Miles so Miles had never had to obey or show them any respect.

  The current spate of larceny had begun after he and Miles had initially quarreled about Miles going to town, and Edward was no dunce. Miles was the perpetrator, but his name couldn’t be attached to the foolishness. A malefactor could be hanged for such a serious transgression, and though Edward would love for Miles to be put in his place, an arrest and prosecution wouldn’t be beneficial to anyone.

  “Well? Who was it?” O’Hara snapped at Damian, but when Damian was stoically silent, O’Hara grabbed him and shook him.

  Walter yanked Damian away. “We’ll have none of that, sir. You may be allowed to abuse children in the city, but we don’t allow it here in the country.”

  “He’ll confess what he knows, or we’ll take him with us when we leave. A few days in a London jail will loosen his tongue.”

  At the threat, Damian didn’t flinch, but Walter was incensed. “Be quiet! Or I shall march outside and speak to your Lord Trent. I’m positive he’d like to hear how you’ve acted on his behalf.” Walter knelt down so he and Damian were eye to eye. “Who was it, Damian? Who gave you the jewels?”

  “Don’t make me say, Grandfather,” Damian begged.

  “You have to, Damian.”

  “Please?”

  Walter staggered to his feet, his fifty-five years definitely evident. “If you refuse, Damian, these men will think you’re of low character. I raised you better than that.” He spun Damian toward O’Hara. “Tell him the truth.”

  Damian’s parents were deceased, and he had been reared by Walter. He was such a handsome lad, black-haired as his Irish mother had been. But he had his English father’s spirit and tenacity. Clearly he was considering defying his grandfather for the first time ever, but in the end, he couldn’t.

  “It was Miles,” Damian mumbled, and he stared at the floor.

  “That’s a damned lie!” Miles fumed. “That’s a bald-faced, scurrilous lie!”

  O’Hara whirled around and asked Miles, “Who are you?”

  “I am Edward Marshall’s son and heir,” Miles furiously retorted, “and this boy is a servant and a nuisance.”

  “Nevertheless, we’ll need to question him,” O’Hara said.

  “You will not,” Edward hastily intervened. “I’m not about to have a gang of London thugs terrorizing a child who’s living under my protection.”

  “Besides which,” Miles interjected, “Damian is a deceitful pest.” He advance
d on Damian, wagging a scolding finger at him. “You little whelp! After these fellows depart, I’ll escort you to the woodshed.”

  Miles appeared incredibly incensed, but innocent too. He was such a good actor he could probably have had a career on the stage.

  “Why would he lie about you?” O’Hara inquired.

  “He’s a truant and a malingerer,” Miles huffed. “Ask anyone. He’s always spreading wild stories, but this is certainly the limit, isn’t it, Father?”

  Miles coolly gazed at Edward, daring him to deny Miles, to side with Damian, but of course Edward never would. Family came first, even when that family amounted to kin as lazy and unlikeable as Miles.

  Edward peeked over at Walter, wondering if he might leap to defend Damian. But Walter had been Edward’s estate agent for thirty years. His father and grandfather had held the position before him. Walter would never contradict Edward in front of others, even if it meant hanging his poor grandson out to dry.

  “My son couldn’t have made it any plainer gentlemen.” Edward hustled around the desk and pointed at Damian. “He is the very last person you can trust, and I’ve had enough of your posturing. Get out of my house or I’ll summon the footmen and have you thrown out.”

  Edward bent down, scooped the jewels into the bag, and offered it to O’Hara. He jerked it out of Edward’s hand, then had the audacity to propose, “I demand to interrogate your staff.”

  “You will not,” Edward said. “Now get out. All of you get out!”

  There was a tense standoff where it seemed O’Hara wouldn’t leave, but he backed down. He glowered at Edward though. “We’ll confer with Lord Trent as to how he’d like us to deal with the situation.”

  “As you have recovered his belongings, I have no idea why there would need to be any further contact between us.”

  O’Hara glared, bristled, then stomped out. His minions followed. Edward and Walter were frozen in place, listening as their footsteps faded, as they exited the manor.

  It was then that Edward noted several servants, including the housekeeper and butler, loitering in the hall. They had to have heard the accusation Damian leveled, and it couldn’t be permitted to fester.

  Edward nodded to the butler. “Close the door.”

  The butler complied, and Edward turned to Walter. Walter was very bright and he plainly understood the ramifications of what had occurred. Damian had told the truth, but some truths should never be uttered aloud.

  Edward went to his desk and eased down in his chair. He stared at Walter and Walter stared back. Walter’s path was already so clear that Edward could practically see it leading him away from the manor.

  “We have a problem, Walter,” he said.

  Over in the corner, Miles smirked, but Edward ignored him.

  “What would you like us to do, Edward?” Walter asked. “Just tell me and we’ll do it.”

  “There’s nothing for you to do, really. The damage is done. How can I keep you on when Damian has raised such a hideous charge against Miles?”

  “I’m not wrong,” Damian brazenly asserted. “I had finished my lessons, and I walked out to the barn. Miles raced in, and he shoved the bag at me. He threatened to kill me if I admitted where I got it.”

  “You idiot!” Miles hissed. “Every time you open your mouth, false words spew out. I suggest you bite your tongue before you dig a deeper hole for yourself.”

  “He wasn’t lying, Edward,” Walter insisted.

  “And I say he was,” Edward countered, “and my opinion is the only one that matters.”

  Edward sighed, feeling sick at heart and wishing there was some other way to resolve the debacle, but firm action had to be taken. Edward had to show he wouldn’t tolerate disloyalty, not even from a family who’d worked for the Marshalls for generations.

  He’d like to march over to Damian, to shake him and ask, Why couldn’t you be silent? Why butt in and cause all this trouble?

  Yet it was pointless to chastise the child, and it was much, much too late.

  He’d known Walter all his life, had played with him as a boy and sought his advice as an adult. But Walter was a servant and servants were a penny a dozen.

  “Pack your belongings, Walter,” he said, but he couldn’t look the man in the eye.

  “You don’t mean that, Edward.”

  “I do mean it, Walter. I want you and your grandson off the property by sundown.”

  Walter was stunned. “Where will we go?”

  “That’s none of my concern.” Edward waved them out. “Be off at once. I’m weary of this entire affair.”

  “Edward, please!” Walter said.

  “Go, Walter, and take your duplicitous grandson with you.”

  “Grandfather,” Damian interrupted, “what’s happening?”

  Miles sniped at Walter, “Hey, old man, didn’t you hear my father? Get out of our house. Now!”

  Walter hesitated, appearing as if he might argue or plead his case, but unfortunately entreaties were futile. Miles and Damian had seen to that.

  “Go!” Miles shouted.

  Walter grabbed Damian by the arm, and as they trudged out, Miles was puffed up like a dandy, proud of himself and humored by the catastrophe he’d engineered.

  Edward thought about calling out a goodbye, perhaps to mention how he’d always cherished Walter’s friendship, but Miles reached over and closed the door with a determined click.

  “I’m sorry, Grandfather.”

  “Ah, Damian, haven’t I told you a hundred times that there’s no need to be?”

  Damian gazed up at his grandfather, wondering—as he constantly had since the debacle began—how he could fix what he’d done. With each passing day, the situation was worse.

  After Walter had been fired, they’d headed to the village. For several weeks, they’d stayed in the rectory with the vicar. He and others made daily treks to Kirkwood to speak to Edward on Walter’s behalf, but Edward couldn’t be dissuaded. To each intermediary, he stated that he wouldn’t employ a man whose grandson had behaved so badly toward Miles.

  The louder Edward claimed Damian had lied, the more people accepted Edward’s version of events. He was rich and powerful, and with so many depending on him for their livelihoods, they wouldn’t cross him.

  Damian and Walter had been scorned, ignored, and mocked. Each snub was like the prick of a knife to Walter’s pride. He was crushed by the disregard, and Damian was furious that they would be so cruel to him.

  Damian’s mother and father had died when he was a baby so Walter was the sole parent he’d ever known. He yearned to be an adult, to be big and strong so he could pummel Miles into the ground. Everyone was aware of what Miles was like, but they didn’t dare say so. Only Damian had dared, and he’d wrecked everything.

  They’d remained with the vicar until his wife had started to grouse about their presence. Never to their face. They’d heard her one evening after they were in bed and her voice had carried down the hall.

  How long will this last? she’d complained to her husband.

  I can’t guess, but I don’t see it ending well. Edward won’t have him back, and he’s applied for work everywhere, but with Edward so adamant, no one will hire him.

  He’ll never find a job in the area, will he?

  No, I don’t believe he will.

  Who will tell him? If you won’t, will I be required to feed them forever?

  They’d departed the next morning, and now they were in London on a busy corner, having just stepped off the mail coach that had brought them to town. People were rushing by in such a wave that Damian firmly clutched Walter’s coat so they wouldn’t be separated.

  Walter was gaping about, seeming confused and disoriented. Since the disaster, he’d aged significantly.

  “Which way, Grandfather?” Damian inquired.

  “What…?” Walter stammered.

  “Which direction are we to go?”

  Walter’s bewilderment was more apparent by the minute. He was sw
eating, wheezing, and Damian worried he might be ill. What if he was? What would become of them?

  “It’s all so different from what I remember,” Walter said. “I don’t recall the name of the street. I thought I did, but I’m not sure.”

  “Could we ask someone?”

  “Yes,” Walter replied, but he didn’t move.

  Walter had a brother in the city he hadn’t seen in two decades. They hadn’t written first to apprise him of their arrival, and Damian could only speculate as to why. Would they have been denied shelter if they’d requested it in advance? Was it better to appear unannounced? He didn’t think so, but he was in no position to offer an opinion on any topic.

  “When I’m older,” he vowed, “I’ll return to Kirkwood and kill Miles. I’ll kill Mr. Marshall too.”

  “You will not.”

  “I will,” Damian insisted.

  Walter patted him on the shoulder. “You did the right thing by telling the truth. Don’t ever forget that.”

  “I told the truth because you made me, but there was no benefit to us. I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have. In the future, I want you to recollect that you were honest when others weren’t. It’s important to be moral and decent.”

  “I disagree. I was moral and decent, and look where it landed us.”

  Walter’s smile was weary and sad. “If the end result of all this is that you don’t comprehend how noble you were, I’ll always have regrets. You were very brave that day, and I was so proud of you.”

  “I was very stupid,” Damian muttered.

  He wished there was a way to travel back in time to that moment in Mr. Marshall’s library. If he could repeat the encounter, he’d never confess. He’d let himself be tortured on the rack before he would.

  “It’s so hot this afternoon,” Walter said. His sweating had increased, and he pulled a kerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his cheeks.

  Damian frowned. It wasn’t hot. It was mid-October, the sky cloudy with a cold drizzle wetting their coats. They were next to a butcher’s shop, and there was a chair by the front door. Damian urged his grandfather toward it.

  “Let’s sit you down for a bit, Grandfather. You’re simply tired from the long journey.”