A Rake's Redemption Read online

  The man had as much commanding presence as a turtle, she thought. Her lips pressed together in disappointment. The one thing she could not abide was incompetence.

  She glanced at her three charges across the grave as they watched their father’s casket being slowly lowered into the ground.

  Each wearing black. No tears. Just the thousand yard stares of confused children in shock. Unable to process the pain.

  Two days earlier, their father had been hearty and hale. Before a fall from his horse had ended his life. Ripping any, and all security from them.

  Everyone was surprised and shocked. To say the least. The Duke of Hampton was an excellent rider. Tall, athletic. In the prime of his life.

  There was talk of murder amongst the servants. Talk of the Hampton curse. Miss Jones scoffed internally. She refused to listen to idle gossip. She had put a quick stop to such stories. All that concerned her were the girls. Their well-being, their happiness. It was imperative that they not be forced to listen to such drivel.

  Gritting her teeth, she pushed aside thoughts of the past and focused on her pupils. She scanned the young girls for any faltering. Any want of assistance. If needed, she was ready.

  Her heart broke with the thought of their pain.

  These three young girls would be the closest thing she ever knew to a family. At the rather advanced age of twenty-four. Plain and without a fortune - two attributes men found rather unappealing. Marriage was not an option. To make matters worse, she knew perfectly well that she was rather opinionated and firm in her beliefs.

  “About as malleable as a brick,” her father used to say.

  Men seem to find her off-putting. They were hesitant, almost fearful around her. As if they feared she would rap their knuckles with a ruler for saying the wrong thing.

  One thing she had learned was that men did not fall in love with women they feared.

  It was a fact she had accepted long ago. She would never marry. Instead, she would spend her time on this earth raising other women’s children.

  The sadness that pulled at her heart was quickly pushed aside as she glanced once more at the girls.

  They were as steady as rocks. They had too much experience with death to falter now. Not here, not in public. Later she knew. Tears would be for later. Alone, in private. But for now, they held firm. Calm, poised, everything expected of a young English Lady.

  She was so proud of them. Her heart swelled. She had been their teacher for only six months, but she had come to love them each deeply.

  Now, as she watched, her love and admiration grew. Lady Johanna, the oldest at twelve. Blond, blue eyes. A fair complexion. All knees and elbows. The long coltish look that would soon be replaced by true beauty.

  Even now, Johanna’s eyes shifted and searched, as she watched every detail. Cataloged every action. Nothing was missed. The girl was insatiable for information, for knowledge. It was her way of dealing with a cruel world.

  Her mother had died giving her birth. The girl had come into this life surrounded by death. For some reason, this fact drove her to want to know everything. As a result, she looked at the world and asked, “What can I do to change things?”

  Elizabeth, the middle child at ten. Her father had waited the required year of mourning, then married her mother. Almost nine months to the day, Elizabeth had been brought into this world.

  Sandy brown hair peeked out from beneath her dour gray bonnet. Rebecca wanted to laugh. The girl couldn’t control it, her mass of curls were always trying to escape. Lizzy, as they called her, had threatened more than once to cut it off.

  Her mother had died when she was only two. A fever that had raced through the area had taken her so quickly that she was gone before anyone really knew how serious it was.

  Lizzy was the quiet one. Shy, unimposing. Always sure that something would go wrong. She looked at the world and wondered “What was going to hurt her?”

  It made for an unhappy child, Rebecca thought. She had spent months trying to find the passion that would light the girl’s soul. So far she had been completely unsuccessful. The Duke’s death would only make it harder to break through that tough shell.

  And finally, Isobel. Small, fiery, rebellious Isobel. She’d been brought into this world two months early. Fighting and screaming all the way. No one had expected the small baby to survive. But somehow, the girl had been born with an indomitable spirit. A spirit that made her a very poor student, but an excellent person.

  Miss Jones had to fight back a smile. Even now, in these sad times. It was hard not to look at Isobel and not smile. The girl was so full of life.

  She lived up to the expectations for a redhead. Strong willed, opinionated, and tough. Constantly in competition with her older sisters. She demanded to be treated as an equal. She could climb a tree like a monkey. Ride her pony with abandon, or sing like an angel.

  Isobel looked at the world and said, “Mine.”

  Even now, the young girl’s foot tapped the ground as if she too wanted the vicar to finish. Miss Jones brought a hand up to her mouth to hide a smile.

  Isobel’s mother had been buried in this very graveyard only the year before. She too had died giving birth. A stillborn son. The heir and future Duke.

  Rebecca’s heart cramped with sadness. So much pain. So much sorrow. It was amazing that the three girls had maintained such fine dispositions.

  So many losses had pulled the girls into a tight team. A team that had forged an unbreakable bond. They could fight and bicker amongst themselves. But, Hades itself would fall on anyone that hurt another sister.

  It had taken her months to open cracks in that bond. To establish individual relations with each girl so that she could mold them. Help them become respectable young ladies. Daughters their father would be proud of.

  Now, he would never know them, she thought with sadness. Never walk them down the aisle. Never bounce his grandchild on his knee.

  Sighing to herself, she glanced up at the sky. The vicar needed to hurry before the gray clouds opened and drenched everyone.

  What of the future? she wondered, as a thousand worries tried to worm their way into her heart. What would happen to the girls?

  The new Duke might not like children. What if he was married, and the wife felt threatened as the girls grew into adulthood?

  Her heart leaped to her throat. What if the new Duke sent the girls off to boarding school? In a hurry to rid himself of the burden. How would she deal with being separated from the girls? Especially now when they needed her so much. She would have to find new employment. The thought of such a catastrophe was enough to make her mind reel.

  Frowning, she let her mind search for strategies and plans that could thwart such a plan.

  The girls must be kept together. Together, here at Pine Crest, their home. Nothing must be allowed to hurt them again. They had already faced too much loss.

  At that moment, Miss Rebecca Jones swore to herself. She would do anything to make sure the girls were happy.

  They would grow up to be strong women, married to good men, with full families. They would find the happiness they deserved.

  At least someone should.

  Chapter Three

  Devlin continued to pace as he rubbed the bruise on his left cheek. It had been almost a week since sparring with Gentleman Jim. The man could certainly throw a punch, he thought with an internal smile.

  His mind jumped to the attack after leaving Madam DePaul’s. It could have gone so much worse.

  Once again, his friends were meeting in his home. Once again, he was pacing his own small parlor as they waited for Tony. The man would be late to his own funeral.

  “Really Dev,” Benny said, “sit down, he will be here in a moment.” “

  Devlin nodded his head and prepared to sit when a knock at the front door drew his attention. Since when did Tony knock?

  He opened the door to find a small, nondescript man, looking up at him expectantly. The man was dressed in conservative
black with white stockings and buckled shoes. A hundred years earlier he could have passed for a puritan.

  “Yes?” Devlin asked.

  The man cleared his throat and gripped a leather pouch. “Excuse me for interrupting. Are you Devlin Beaumont? The son of Icarus Beaumont.”

  Devlin frowned. What was this all about? He was fastidious about paying his debts. Surely this could not be related to some forgotten bill.

  His mind raced. No, he was sure that he was not in arrears. Unlike his friends of the peerage. As a commoner, he could be pulled into court. The thought of debtor’s prison was enough to make any man stay current with the good merchants of London.

  “Yes, and you are?”

  “Excuse me. I am Jacob White of Parker, Chancellor, and White.” He squared his shoulders as if he had just announced his recent knighthood. The name meant nothing to Devlin. His brow narrowed into a deeper frown.

  “May I come in?” the man asked, as he shot a glance into the room. “It is rather important.”

  Shrugging his shoulders, Devlin stepped aside and let the man through the door. Better to get this over with so that they could start the evening.

  Closing the door, he turned to Benny. “Lord Claremont, may I present Mr. Jacob White. Mr. White, the Earl of Claremont.”

  He watched closely, but was surprised when the man didn’t react. Most people became nervous around Lords and Ladies. This man simply nodded and said “My Lord,” then turned to focus on Devlin.

  The Earl of Claremont chuckled under his breath, and turned to pour himself another drink, then raised the decanter to ask the man if he would like a drink.

  Mr. White shook his head no and started to remove papers and parchments from his leather satchel.

  “Mr. Beaumont. If you will answer a few quick questions. This will go so much faster. I assure you, I have no nefarious reasons. All will become clear soon.”

  Before Devlin could give permission, the man started in on his question.

  “You are Devlin Beaumont? Your grandfather was Tristan Beaumont, the third son of the Fourth Duke of Hampton?

  Devlin froze for a moment as his stomach clenched into a fist. This could not be good. Nothing from that side of the family was ever good.

  “Yes, that is correct,” he replied hesitantly.

  “Beaumont,” the Earl exclaimed, “you have been holding out on us. I never knew you had noble blood.”

  “I have as much noble blood as the baker on the corner,” Devlin said to his friend as he continued to concentrate on the strange man before him.

  “I am sorry,” Mr. White said. “I have to inform you that your second cousin, the Sixth Duke of Hampton passed away several weeks ago.”

  “Really, I didn’t know the man,” Devlin said as his brow creased in confusion. What was this all about?

  “I did,” the Earl of Claremont said as he pushed himself away from the mantle. His face had grown suddenly very serious. Devlin knew that look. Nothing good ever happened when Benny got that look.

  “I met him at one of Prinny’s get-togethers, and saw him a few times in the House of Lords. From what I remember, he was a good man. A shame, He wasn’t that much older than ourselves. Makes a man think, doesn’t it?”

  His Nanny’s words danced through Devlin’s head. “Winds in the east, mist coming in, something is about to begin,” he muttered under his breath.

  Had the Duke left him something in his will? Some long forgotten family heirloom? Would it be valuable?

  Devlin had grown up with stories about how his grandfather had a falling out with the old Duke. The estrangement between the two sides of the family had never really been repaired. Was this some way for the Duke to make amends?

  He took a deep breath and addressed Mr. White. “Thank you for informing me, Mr. White. I am sorry to hear your news. But, as I said, I didn’t know the man.”

  Mr. White nodded as he removed an old looking piece of parchment from his satchel.

  “Yes, well, we would have informed you earlier, but there have been so many changes recently. In all honesty, you were far down on our list.”

  “Well, thank you for coming and letting me know.”

  “I don’t think you understand,” Mr. White said. “You are the last remaining Beaumont. You, sir, are now the Seventh Duke of Hampton.”

  Devlin’s stomach fell two feet to lay at his feet. He studied the man before him. Was this some kind of joke? Had Benny and Tony set this up? No, this could not be happening. His life was set. His life was good. He didn’t want a title. He didn’t want the responsibility. No.

  “HA!” the Earl of Claremont said with a huge grin.

  “Shut up Benny,” Devlin said as he ran his hand through his hair.

  “Lords don’t talk to each other that way, Your Grace,” Benny said. “Really, sets a bad example, don’t you know.” The man’s gleeful giggle sounded like a little girls’.

  Ignoring his friend, Devlin turned back to the lawyer. “Are you sure, Mr. White? I was positive there were several cousins before me. I can’t be a Duke.”

  “I assure you, Your Grace,” Mr. White said. “You are the legal heir.”

  Devlin stared for a moment as his world twirled about him. The man was serious. People didn’t play practical jokes about this kind of thing. The government took it too seriously.

  “We have researched it very thoroughly and worked with the Crown to ensure they concur.” Mr. White continued, “A spate of barren marriages and deaths by old age, that side of the family has died out. You, sir, are the Duke of Hampton.”

  Him a Duke. Nobility. No, he couldn’t.

  “What if I decline?” Devlin asked with a touch of hope.

  “You can’t,” the Earl of Claremont said. “Our entire way of life would come to a crumbling pile if people turned down titles. Besides, the Dukedom of Hampton is rather wealthy. You, sir, are richer than … I don’t know. You are richer than me. Plus, you don’t have a mother to hound you all day. Once again, your luck has held.”

  “Benny, if you don’t shut up I will toss you through the window. Let Mr. White respond. Sir?” Devlin asked as he held his breath.

  “You could decline of course,” Mr. White said with a frown. “Because there are no other male heirs, the title, and the entailed lands would return to the King.”

  “That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?” Devlin asked as he began to pace. “Why would any man want a title? It would be like painting a target on my back. People would expect me to live a certain way. They might even expect me to marry.” The thought sent a cold chill down his back.

  “Mr. White,” the Earl of Claremont, said, “maybe you should inform His Grace what he would be giving up if he declined the title.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Devlin said. “I like my life as it is.”

  The Earl didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at Mr. White with a raised eyebrow.

  “Well, you would, of course, have to forfeit Pine Crest, the family seat.”

  “A very nice house. Not far from Oxford. Probably over a hundred rooms. Not as big as Blenheim of course. Very respectable though.” the Earl said.

  “Plus the house here in London,” Mr. White said as he read from a paper he had removed from his bottomless satchel.

  “Just down the road from me,” the Earl said with a laugh. “We are to be neighbors.”

  The Earl was starting to get on his nerves. The thought of his friend being tossed through the window was becoming rather appealing.

  “There are the six estates, and their rents of course. Plus, the other lands. The hunting lodges in Scotland and another on the continent. Saxony, I believe.”

  “Yes, Yes,” the Earl said. “What of the rents. What is the Duke of Hampton’s income from his lands?”

  Mr. White ran his finger down the list until he found the fact he was looking for.

  “It fluctuates of course. Last year, the lands, mills, and several factories, plus the coal mines, of course, contribute
d to an income of almost a half a million.”

  “Pounds?” Devlin exclaimed in disbelief.

  A poor family survived on ten pounds a year. A well to do lawyer like Mr. White would be pleased with a thousand a year. Devlin’s inheritance paid him about the same. Now, he would have five hundred times that.

  The thought was mind altering. His heart raced. What was he to do? A man couldn’t pass up half a million pounds per year. Not and sleep at night. He would second guess himself for the rest of his life.

  The Earl of Claremont laughed. “You just became one of the largest landlords in all of Britain, Devlin, the least you could do is smile.”

  Devlin didn’t feel like smiling. He had seen what happened to Lords. Pulled in a hundred different directions. Benny was the perfect example. His Mother pushing him to marry to ensure that the family fortune was protected with an heir. His agents and secretaries constantly badgering him for decisions. His tenants complaining about their rents. No! He didn’t need the responsibilities.

  The Earl continued, obviously enjoying his friend’s future pain. “You are richer than … I don’t know. Richer than me.” His smug smile made Devlin want to wipe it from his face.

  “The mothers of the ton will swarm over you like bees on the first flower of spring.” the Earl said. “Their daughters will be fighting in the gutters to get to you. Of course. You won’t be able to treat them like you do the widows and married women. These girls have fathers and brothers. They will insist on marriage.”

  Benny was taking too much pleasure in this news, Devlin thought. His friend had always delighted in the discomfort of others. He had found it amusing to think that people were as unhappy as he was.

  Taking a deep breath, Devlin returned his attention to Mr. White.

  “What now?” he asked.

  “I have several papers, Your Grace. Lists and documents for you to sign. We should probably set up an appointment to discuss things in further detail. Introduce you to your staff here in London. If you wish, I could accompany you tomorrow.”

  The term ‘Your Grace,’ made him wince inside. It would most definitely take some getting used to.