Chapter 1
Three months later
Benedict listened to the soundof flowing water, willing his thoughts to still, but his mind would not empty. As it had been since he’d returned to England a month and a half earlier, inner peace was out of his grasp. He shifted on the bamboo mat and drew in a breath, letting it out slowly and trying to concentrate on the flow of energy through his body, but the effort was useless. He simply could not put aside his worries. In truth, he’d not been able to since the letter had arrived at his communalsihéyuànhouse on Mount Heng twelve weeks earlier, informing him of his brother’s death. In that one instant, he’d gone from being Lord Benedict, feckless younger son of the Duke of Ellingham, to Lord Covington, fourteenth Marquess of Dunworth and heir apparent to one of the oldest and most prosperous duchies in the British Empire.
And he could not be more miserable.
The clatter of carriage wheels on paving stones reached his ears, another harsh reminder that he was in London, not the tranquil mountains of the Hunan province. Benedict’s attempt to make a restful sanctuary in the loud, smoky city was nearly laughable. He glanced at his companion, Zhang Wei, noting that the man sat perfectly still on his mat, his face soft, his expression serene. Benedict felt a surge of envy at his friend’s ability to push away all his thoughts and let his consciousness float.
Benedict switched the position of his hands in his lap, letting his fingers curl together and tried to imitate Zhang Wei’s calm, but his concerns didn’t ease. He was expected to assume his duties as the heir apparent immediately. He had lost his only brother—a person with whom he’d hoped to repair a strained relationship—and along with mourning and guilt, he had inherited a tremendous amount of responsibility. His father, the duke, had arranged a meeting with his solicitors, his man of business, and the estate stewards later in the week. Benedict would take on the role as future head of the family and learn what was expected of him. The enormity of the undertaking felt like it would crush him. The business and management of the dukedom were things he’d never given serious thought to, leaving the worries of running the estate to his father and elder brother.
But his apprehensions about estate inspections, finance meetings, and charity balls were not the entire reason for Benedict’s worries. Three years earlier, as a selfish young aristocrat concerned only with his own pleasure, he’d gone to China in search of adventure and diversion. But what he’d found had transformed him in a way he’d not intended. He’d become a different man in the shadow of the Grand Temple, discovering a peace that came from moderation, humility, and compassion. He had learned to live in harmony with nature and spent hours each day meditating and practicing martial arts to improve the health of his mind and body. He was proud of the change, and returning to London to live as an aristocrat felt like a betrayal of all he’d learned. All he’d become.
Benedict was torn between the man he wished to be and the man he was expected to be. It felt impossible for the two opposites to live within one person. And knowing that if he were true to himself, he’d disappoint his family... that felt like a weight he hadn’t the strength to hold.
He straightened his legs from their folded position, stretching them before him and resting back on his palms. He looked up at the sky above his garden, noticing a wisp of gray smoke, and wondered vaguely if it had blown all the way to Marylebone from a factory somewhere or if it was a result of a gas lamp being extinguished. He sighed, missing the fresh mountain air.
Closing his eyes, he let the sun warm his face as he tried to imagine how he could possibly live as the master of a stately castle, surrounded with luxury and opulence, when it was simplicity that had brought his soul such peace. He could think of no way to balance the two. And the thought of reverting to his former self in order to assimilate back into high Society made his heart sick.
Another sound broke into his thoughts, and he listened closer, trying to decipher exactly what he was hearing. The noise was a rattling followed by a hiss that almost sounded like a train’s engine. But, of course, there was no train nearby.
Benedict glanced toward the stone wall. A puff of dark smoke rose from beyond it, and the hissing continued, joined by a creaking noise.
He tried for a moment to remember whose residence was on the other side of the wall. He’d rarely come to this property of his father’s when he’d been in London years ago, preferring instead to live in the duke’s grand residence in Mayfair, near his friends. But now he was grateful for the solitude of a house with a large garden. And he was even more grateful for the distance from his parents when they were in London, small though this residence was in comparison.
The creaking sound got louder, the smoke coming in a steady stream now. And it was moving toward the rear of the property.
Benedict watched, thinking he would catch a glimpse of the noisemaker when it passed the wrought-iron gate.
A moment later, the source of the noise did indeed come into view, but instead of continuing past, the gate burst open with a bang followed by a loud creak, and a small vehicle with an even smaller occupant shot through.
The conveyance was a velocipede of some kind, a bicycle modified with an engine spouting black smoke that was attached by a crank to the front wheel. On the seat, hands on the steering bars and legs extended, a young boy grinned as he rode along the garden path.
“Chester! Come back at once!” a woman’s voice shouted from the other side of the wall.
The boy looked back in the direction of the voice, and his grin grew. He turned forward again, laughing, and steered along the path that went around the fish pond. But when the lad’s gaze landed on Benedict and Zhang Wei, his laughter froze, and his eyes went wide. He pulled the bars, twisting to the side. But the vehicle was traveling too fast, and instead of turning smoothly, it wobbled, the rear wheel spinning out in the opposite direction. The boy tried to regain control but overcorrected, sending himself and the entire bicycle crashing into the pond.
Benedict jumped to his feet and ran toward the water. The slap of Zhang Wei’s slippers on the path behind him indicated the man wasn’t completely immune to distraction after all. When they reached the pond, Benedict waded in and pulled the wet child out by the arm. The water wasn’t deep, but he still worried the impact could have caused an injury.
Steam rose from the partially submerged engine. The pond’s fountain had taken a hit, dislodging a pile of rocks to reveal a broken pipe that now sprayed water in the wrong direction.
Benedict set the boy on the ground, kneeling down to look him over. “All right, then, lad?” he asked.
The boy nodded, appearing slightly dazed. He looked between the men, blinking.
Zhang Wei stood silently, though Benedict knew his friend was studying the boy carefully for any sign of damage.
A woman ran through the gate. The boy’s mother, probably. Seeing her wet charge, she rushed forward. “Chester! Are you hurt?” She crouched down, grabbing the boy by the shoulders.
Chester shook his head. “I’m not hurt.”
“You know better than to try to operate a machine like that. The Personal Propulsion Vehicle is dangerous. You could have been—” She glanced at the two men as if just noticing them, and then looked to where the twisted bicycle lay in the pond, beneath the sideways spray of the water fountain. She rubbed her eyes. “Oh, Chester. What have you done?”
“I’m sorry, Vivian,” the boy said. “I just wanted a quick ride around the pond. But nobody was supposed to be here. They startled me.” He turned back to Benedict with a scowl. “Who are you, anyway?”
Benedict blinked, taken aback by the accusation in the boy’s tone. “Well, I’m—”
The woman glanced at him, then looked closer. “Oh.” She rose quickly to her feet, apparently just now recognizing him. “I beg your pardon, Lord Covington.” She curtsied, pulling the boy back a step and pressing a hand on his back, encouraging a bow.