Page 1 of A Bonny Pretender
Prologue
Dancing with the Devil
Late summer 1806
Castle Raygin, Northern England
Frank’s head snappedback, absorbing the impact from the blacksmith’s blow. A fast right, and he rebounded with a punch to the older man’s gut. A quietoomphfrom the giant made Frank grin with satisfaction.
“Ye’re doin’ well, Master Francis,” rumbled Smythe as their weekly bout ended. “A strappin’ young lad of thirteen with fists of steel. Another year or two, and I’d bet on ye myself.”
“I won’t be in a ring fighting for brass.” Frank held out his arms while Smythe’s young son removed the gloves. “But I do intend to be ready for the day I confront my father.”
“Careful there, lad. His Lordship has a temper and a mean streak ye don’t want to be courtin’. Ye might make matters worse for Lady Raines.” Smythe handed him a towel to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Boxing is a good skill for any man traveling the roads to London these days. Those highway culls are gettin’ bolder every year, and the city streets ain’t no better.”
Frank took his time on the way home, allowing his linen shirt to dry while he walked. He entered the woods that separated the estate from the village and stopped a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dimness. The scent of pine and decaying leaves tickled his nostrils, while the dappled shade cooled his skin. He peered up at a red squirrel perched on a spindly evergreen limb, the tufts on its ears trembling as it chattered nervously at him. It dashed off when a redstart landed on a nearby branch; the bird’s red-orange tail feathers quivered as its shiny black eyes focused on the human intruder.
“Not to worry, little ones. I’m not here to harm you.”
This was his sanctuary The smells, the sounds, the peace of his little forest had been a refuge for him since the age of five. He hovered at the other side, hesitant to emerge onto the vast lawn of the mansion. It was still early morning, and his father would be in his study or eating breakfast.
Several men worked with long, curved scythes, clipping the grass. They worked quickly, only stopping to mop their foreheads or rake the cuttings into piles. A smaller boy held an iron peg with a handle and followed behind. He jabbed it into the ground with one hand and yanked out a rogue daisy. The viscount would refuse to pay their wage if even one daisy or weed was missed. The old nobleman would walk the lawn, looking for any imperfection, and harangue the steward if he found one. Lord Raines was a perfectionist and controlled his realm with a heavy hand.Meticulouswas the word his mother used. Frank preferredmaliciousandunyielding.
Either way, Lord Raines expected a flawless performance—on any given task—from everyone and everything around him. His standards were so high, Frank doubted His Majesty could meet such requirements. He dragged his feet across the yard and snuck in through the kitchen. Cook smiled at him and tossed him a biscuit, along with a wink. He dipped it into a bowl of butter on the table, bit into the still-warm treat, and took the back stairs two at a time. It would only irk the viscount if Frank wasn’t dressed properly for breakfast.
“I don’t know why you need to go to London. Have a modiste come here for fittings,” complained Lord Raines as Frank entered the morning room. “It’s not as if you have a dozen pressing invitations and need a wardrobe right away.”
“I only thought—”
“Therein lies the problem, woman.” The viscount squinted at his wife, his advanced age showing in the deep creases around his pale green eyes and mouth. “How many times have I told you that I will do the thinking? Do you know better than your husband, your lord and master?”
Lady Raines swallowed and shook her head, embarrassment creeping up her neck. She lowered her soft brown eyes to her lap, nervously picking at a thread on her daffodil muslin gown. A slender finger tucked a long, stray curl behind her ear, adding to the thick waves of golden blonde spread across her shoulders. Another source of humiliation the viscount insisted on. He wanted her tresses loose and free, if no guests were expected, and all visits were approved by him first.
“I didn’t think so. You’ll remain here, and I’ll have a dressmaker summoned.” Raines nodded at his son. “I’m glad you finally roused yourself to join us. ‘A lazy man is a poor man,’ so my grandfather always said.”
Frank clenched his fists at his sides and arranged his face into an expression of indifference. He filled his lungs and let the breath out slowly to ease his irritation. Any reaction would delight the viscount and aim his vehemence at the next victim. No use baiting the bear. Not that Lord Raines ever laid a hand on either of them. His mouth was a lethal weapon, sharpened to a knife’s edge and polished over the years. He could slice a man open with look or gut him with a few words.
And never blink.
“Good morning, sir.” His father wasn’t privy to the early morning sessions in the village, so Frank ignored the jab. Stopping next to his mother’s chair, he bent to kiss her cheek and give her shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “My apologies if I’m late.”
His appetite gone, Frank settled for another biscuit and marmalade and chewed in silence. He concentrated on the dough between his teeth, squeezing out a drop of anger each time his teeth pressed together. Smythe was right. Losing his temper wouldn’t help his mother.
“I spoke with your tutor yesterday. He was quite impressed with your debate skills and, when given a chance to prepare, your arguments were well presented and intelligent.” Raines smirked. “Of course,myson would need time to prepare. No one will ever accuse you of a quick wit.”
Frank’s chest constricted as the knot in his belly tightened. He pulled on his cravat, biting back the words that lay on the tip of his tongue.
Don’t be goaded. Think of Mama.
“Yet, the man was impressed with Francis’ skill,” Lady Raines pointed out softly, smiling at her son. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Well, I’m not!” The viscount aimed an accusing finger at his heir. “You were convincing in your arguments, he said. Defended the rabble of this country and rejected our justice system. You impudent, little waif.”
“Father, a man shouldn’t be hung because he picked someone’s pockets, or a child die because he stole a loaf of bread.” Frank closed his eyes and took another deep breath, realizing his mistake. When he opened them, the fury of his father’s sea-green glare hit him like a physical slap.
Blast! Why had he taken the bait?
“Are you arguing with me?” Raines stood and threw down his napkin. “Stand, boy!” He walked to Frank’s chair.
