Page 7 of A Bonny Pretender
Chapter Two
The Trouble with the Truth
February 1820
Castle Raygin
Frank pushed openthe door of the orangery and breathed in the scents of flowers, fruits, and vegetables. Citrus mixed with the earthy scent of kale and figs. The delicate floral perfume of oleander and lily of the valley floated past him as he strolled through the place that had been his mother’s refuge. Growing things, she’d always said, gave her a sense of control she lacked in life. Her actions directly affected the outcome of each plant. No surprises, no retaliation, only growth and reward.
Shortly after her husband’s death, Lady Raines had requested an addition be built onto the house. She’d always enjoyed working in the gardens, careful never to let the viscount find out. For her birthday as a widow, Frank had surprised her with sketches of an orangery. It had been completed within the year. She’d received almost seven years of joy from this room. At the end, he’d carried her here almost every day. Sometimes he read to her, other times she wanted to be alone with her thoughts and her “friends” as she called the plants.
A gardener met him halfway across the long structure, carrying a pink camellia in a small glass box. “Here ye go, my lord,” Samuels said with a nod. “I didn’t know if ye’d go today with the weather as it is.”
“The snow is too deep to take the carriage to the cemetery,” Frank acknowledged, accepting the flower. “As long as the horse can make it, I only have to stay in the saddle.”
“You’re a good son.” The gardener bent his head as if embarrassed. “It’s been almost a year, and ye haven’t missed a week. I don’t need a calendar, for ye come every Sunday like clockwork.”
“You were close to my mother.” He smiled at the gardener and looked around the space. So much color. Green, of course, but mixed with vibrant reds, oranges, pinks, and yellows.
“She spent much of her time here. Lady Raines was a special woman, didn’t mind getting her hands dirty.” Samuels stuck his fists in his pockets and ducked his head again. “I was wondering since you’ll be leaving for London, my lord, if ye’d want me to…”
“Continue my visits to the cemetery?” The request delivered an unexpected pang to Frank’s heart. “I believe my mother would be honored. And I would be grateful.”
Samuels gave a curt nod, red creeping up his neck. “Well then, my lord. I’d be happy to do it in your stead.”
Returning to the main house, Frank shrugged into his greatcoat and pulled his hat snug on his head. When the weather was fair, he often walked. It was less than two miles along manicured lawn, through the garden wilderness, and over a stone bridge that spanned an excellent fishing stream. Castle Raygin occupied lush grounds of stunning views and plentiful hunting. He loved it here and, once married, would rarely leave. How ironic that a love of this estate was something he and the late viscount had shared.
Previous generations had been proud of its legacy, the many ancestors that had held the seat and the wealth it provided. Frank loved its beauty, its ability to be able to produce a livelihood for generations of both master and tenant. And his blessed woods, still his sanctuary when he needed to sort through a problem or calm his thoughts. There was a serenity there that soothed his soul.
His reflection in a passing window made him pause. The shy but determined thirteen-year-old had been replaced with Frank, Lord Raines. A man well-liked by his peers and respected by his tenants. A man who had come to know his place in the world—until a year ago. As an adult, he’d thrown himself into his new role of landlord. Like the viscountess, he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. His face was etched from hours in the sun and his blond hair more the color of soft lantern light than his mother’s bright golden tresses. He appeared older than his years. Perhaps he was; he certainly felt it.
He reached the parish cemetery, dismounted, and shook the snow from his greatcoat. After he’d wiped off his hat and retrieved the camellia from his saddlebag, Frank approached the grave. He set the flower in front of the carved stone.
“Mama, I’ve come here every week for almost a year. With each visit, I hoped to find forgiveness in my heart. I have not. Your deception still haunts me, and I cannot move past it… yet.”
The wind picked up. Fat flakes swirled in front of him, quickly covering the top of the glass box. His mind went back to that long ago night when he had tended his mother in her final moments.
“Let yourself go, Mama. There’ll be no more pain,” he’d said softly, holding her cold hand in his warm grip. His thumb ran back and forth over the paper-thin skin. He placed a hand on the counterpane in an effort to ease the rattle in her chest.
“I-I must…”She drew in a short breath and seized his hand, her faded eyes pleading. “I must tell you about your father…”
“Mama, we spoke of this many times. I’ve reconciled myself with—”
Her head lifted, and her nails dug into his skin. “His name is Sir Horace Franklin,” she rasped and fell back against the bolster.
Frank’s breath stopped. He’d heard wrong, or she was delirious.
“I fell in love with him, but my parents wanted me to marry one of the peerage.”
He leaned closer to hear her every word, certain there was a mistake. His chest tightened as he forced air into his lungs.
“The viscount was very charming when I met him. Very convincing.” She paused, eyes closed, and caught her breath. “I was an obedient daughter and agreed to the match made by my parents.”
“You committed adultery?” Frank pulled his hand back, shocked. This had to be a bad dream. “Did my fath—did he know?”
That would explain the constant animosity toward his only son.
“Not until his final moments. The horror in his eyes, just before he died, was so satisfying.” A tear rolled down the side of her face as she turned to cough into the pillow. Frank wiped her dry lips with a wet cloth. “You were conceived before the weddingwhen. I said goodbye to Horace. I loved him but was beguiled by London and theton.”
