Chapter One
London,1812
How was your trip to the solicitor, my lady?" Carlyle
asked as he helped his mistress, the Marchioness of
Bradstone, down from her carriage.
"Wretched!" she complained. "The incompetent man says
there is nothing we can do. Nothing in the least. He is
certain that next month the House of Lords will pronounce
Robert dead and allow the title to revert to the Crown."
Carlyle shook his head. "I feared as much, madame."
Her ladyship fluttered her handkerchief. "A month,
Carlyle! A month!" she wailed. "Where will I live? Where
will I go? Everything that matters is entailed with the
estate."
Where will we all go? Carlyle would have liked to add to
her lament. The Bradstone staff had just as much at stake
as their mistress in the Parnell family keeping the title -
- their livelihoods depended upon it as well.
Lady Bradstone drew her handkerchief to her nose and
sniffed. "If only my dearest boy would come home and
prevent all this. Surely he must know the fits and
tremblings his continued absence causes me, let alone this
newest injustice."
"If his lordship were aware, my lady, I am sure he would
hasten home without further delay," Carlyle said very
diplomatically. He had tried on any number of occasions to
explain to her that it was highly unlikely her son would
ever come home.
For seven long years she'd denied that her son had fled
the scandalous scene and sought passage on the doomed Bon
Venture. Seven years of refusing to believe her son had
been on that ship,when it was attacked and sunk by the
French off the coast of Portugal. The papers had been
filled with the sad tale of how all hands and passengers
had been lost.
Including the Marquis of Bradstone.
In the ensuing years, the marquis's estate had been cast
in turmoil -- first from a lack of heirs and now because
of the Prince Regent's maneuvering to see the title revert
back to the Crown.
Apparently Prinny wanted to reward one of his favorites
with the prestigious title and the accompanying rich
estates.
But the greatest impediment to disposing of the Bradstone
legacy turned out to be the marquis's mother. Lady
Bradstone refused to believe her son had perished. Not
even the eyewitness account provided by the captain of a
nearby packet ship swayed her from her unshakeable belief
that her son had escaped death's watery trap.
A mother would know, she often told her pragmatic butler.
If Robert were dead, I would know.
"This is all that Sutton creature's fault," her ladyship
was saying, causing any number of her staff to look away,
some of the cheekier footmen to roll their gaze heavenward.
Carlyle sent one and all his most severe stare. If their
mistress wanted to blame the infamous debutante for the
marquis's hasty and fatal departure from London, who were
they to question her?
"If that horrible jade hadn't led my poor, sensitive boy
astray, he wouldn't have had to flee town in such a
confused state." The marchioness paused for a moment, her
lips pursed, her jaw set with long held rage. "I shudder
to think of him all those years ago, lost and undone over
that wretched affair, prey to who knows what sort of
fiends and villainy. I told Mr. Hawthorne-Waite this very
morning that I am convinced Robert was most likely
kidnapped and taken aboard some other villainous ship
against his will. For he would never have gone off
voluntarily on that awful Bon Venture." She paused again.
Carlyle waited for her final refrain. It hadn't changed a
word in seven years.
And after the requisite pause, she finished her vehement
rail. "Lisbon, indeed! My Robert would never have gone to
such a heathen place by choice."
"Yes, indeed, ma'am," Carlyle replied.
Her ladyship sighed. "And so I told Mr. Hawthorne-Waite.
Though I am starting to doubt that man's qualifications as
a solicitor." She turned her watery blue eyes on the
butler. "He is of the opinion that kidnapping is not
reason enough to keep one's son from being declared dead."
"A terrible injustice, ma'am."
She smiled bravely and began to take the steps again up to
the front door. "And he also refused to find and bring
that jade to justice. She murdered that poor Spaniard.
Who's to say she didn't harm my Robert as well? And can
you imagine my shock, Carlyle, when that odious little
solicitor had the audacity to intimate that she more than
likely died with my Robert! Can you fathom such a thing?
My Robert taking a murderess with him to Lisbon? I think
not."
"Yes, my lady," Carlyle said, while silently agreeing with
the solicitor's tactless assessment of the situation. Why
shouldn't he?
Witnesses had seen Miss Sutton crouched over the body of
the dead Spanish agent, a smoking pistol in her hand. Lord
Bradstone had told several of the gathered crowd that Miss
Sutton had committed the crime. Then in the hubbub and
panic, Lord Bradstone had disappeared. Slipped away and
fled London in the dark of night aboard the Bon Venture.
And to make the entire scandal even more lurid, the next
morning Miss Sutton was also gone.
After a brief investigation, letters found in Miss
Sutton's room linked her and the. marquis romantically.
Several of them had been reprinted in the press, telling
the sordid tale of their secret affair.
Yet through it all, Lady Bradstone refused to believe
anything that tainted her son's reputation. With each
year, her remembrances of the man had grown and risen to
such proportions it was hard to believe that such a
paragon had ever existed.