Page 1 of Masquerading with the Duke
Chapter One
Winchester: Summer 1826
‘What brings you here so unexpectedly, Clarence?’ Zachary Sheridan, Duke of Winchester, enquired of his brother-in-law.
‘Must I always have a reason?’ the Earl of Romsey asked, taking a sip of the excellent burgundy that Zach’s brother Amos had poured for them all.
‘Not in the least,’ Zach replied, matching Clarence’s indolent tone. ‘But you’ve come out of your way, and a busy man like you always has a reason.’
‘We seldom see you here at the Park without being told to expect you,’ Amos added, ‘and travelling anywhere in this wretched heat just for the hell of it…’
Clarence ran a finger around the inside of his neckcloth, looking uncharacteristically hot and rumpled, lending support to Amos’s accusation. Zach and Amos were both in shirtsleeves and had forgone their usual Hessians in favour of lightweight leather slippers.
‘Amos is right. We don’t see you unless our sister drags you down here, and since you have come alone…’ Zach allowed his words to trail off.
‘How can I make you understand that I fully intend to give up my work with the Foreign Office?’ Clarence yawned. ‘It’s becoming tedious.’
Zach and Amos shared a smile. ‘You thrive on the cut and thrust of international diplomacy and would be bored witless without it to keep your…well, your wits sharp,’ Zach said.
‘Besides,’ Amos added, ‘you have been threatening to resign for eight years, ever since you married Anna. I should have thought that our sister and your growing family would be more than enough to keep you occupied.’ He lifted one shoulder. ‘But apparently not.’
‘You two have other duties to claim your time as well as being family men.’ Clarence glanced away. ‘Sorry, Amos. That was crass of me.’
Amos waved the apology aside. His wife had died tragically in an audacious attack, struck by a bullet intended for Zach’s duchess. ‘I ran the stud for Zach when Crista was still alive, which is the point you were attempting to make, I would imagine. But there is a vast difference between that and what you do. I worked and lived here with my family. Nothing dangerous about breeding horses.’
‘Ha!’ Zach threw back his head, grinning. ‘Says the man who convinced me I’d be able to handle Thunder. Still have the bruises from my ongoing battles with the headstrong beast.’
‘I’m sure that getting tossed to the ground now and then is a good deal less dangerous than some of the diplomatic shenanigans that Clarence finds himself embroiled with in the defence of our nation’s secrets.’ Amos spoke with a suggestion of sarcasm. ‘I admire what you do, Clarence, but I’m with Anna on this one. It’s time for someone else to take up the reins. It’s a game for a younger man with no familial responsibilities.’ His expression turned sombre. ‘Children need both their parents. Take it from one who knows.’
‘Point taken.’ Clarence inclined his head, allowing a brief, awkward pause. Amos seldom referred to his loss in such direct terms. Zach wondered if that indicated a grudging acceptance of his altered circumstances and proved that he was, as Frankie insisted, very slowly returning to life. ‘But I’m not in the direct line of fire. Not anymore. And I am pulling back, despite what you think. I don’t know what’s going on myself half the time, and that situation suits me admirably.’
‘Come on, Clarence, out with it.’ Zach affected impatience. ‘What do you need me to do for an ungrateful government this time?’
‘Well, since you mention it, there is one trifling matter…’
Amos chuckled.
‘You astound me,’ Zach said, rolling his eyes.
The French doors were thrown wide to the terrace beyond them but not a breath of a breeze stirred the insufferably hot air. A heat haze hovered over the grounds, enveloping the landscape in a translucent miasma that saw tempers fray and livestock suffer. Zach had already heard of disputes and unrest in the local villages as the stifling and unrelenting heatwave caused trivial disagreements to flare up out of all proportion.
Zach prayed for a good storm to clear the air. His young dogs, Marley and Mungo, lay on the cool slate of the terrace in the shade, panting. The horses in the nearest paddocks stood listlessly beneath the trees, tails swishing in a futile effort to ward off the flies, the once lush pasture reduced to a parched and dusty desert of brown earth.
‘Ever heard of Jared Braden?’ Clarence asked.
‘The name rings a vague bell.’ Zach leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes in an effort to recollect.
‘Braden?’ Amos sat forward in his chair. ‘I remember Crista mentioning that name as someone connected to her father’s nefarious activities.’
Zach was pleased that Amos could mention his dead wife’s name without his expression closing down—a further sign that he was slowly beginning to heal. Brooke had been a master jeweller who sold his exclusive designs to the wealthy, but he had become embroiled in dishonest endeavours that cost him his life. Crista, who designed and made jewellery as well as her father, was targeted by the same ne’er-do-wells, who were keen to exploit her skills. Amos had other ideas and saved Crista from their unwanted attentions, at no small risk to both their lives.
‘This can’t be the same Braden who inveigled Brooke into indiscretion, can it?’ Zach asked.
‘Good heavens no,’ Clarence said, a little too casually. Zach sent him a suspicious glare. ‘You’re thinking of the previous generation. Crista’s father became involved in making jewellery for some rather dubious sorts and Braden’s father, who permanently had pockets to let, was up to his grubby neck in it.’
‘I hardly need reminding,’ Amos muttered. ‘Exclusive pieces sold at inflated prices on the back of Brooke’s reputation and the funds used to support Napoleon’s cause. But that’s water under the bridge now. The war’s long over, we’re bosom pals with the French again and no one cares who did what to raise funds.’
‘I suspect that Clarence’s paymasters still do,’ Zach remarked, leaning back in his chair and almost hanging his head out the doors when a slight breeze rustled the shrubs, blowing dust into the air.
