Chapter One
London
Ten years later
The coach lumbered so slowly that pedestrians were traveling faster than Jonathan’s carriage. Once again, he pulled his timepiece from his waistcoat. Time was of the essence, and he was wasting it. Hell, at this speed, even he could outrun his coach.
After a few minutes, they started to move faster through the streets.
“My lord?” Thomas Winstead, his persistent estate manager, demanded his attention again.
Without warning, the carriage tilted, knocking Jonathan against the side panel. A ragged pain tore through his leg at the sudden jarring from hitting a rut. He sucked in a breath desperate to keep from crying out. “Damnation,” he muttered.
“Lord Sykeston?” With his brow creasing into neat lines, Thaddeus North, his butler, leaned forward.
“I’m fine.” Jonathan let out the breath he’d been holding.
“Your mind is elsewhere.” North’s lips turned downward. “It’s perfectly understandable.”
“The sooner we arrive, the sooner it’ll be over,” Jonathan grunted in response. He didn’t acknowledge or deny the butler’s comments.
“As I was saying, I’ve climbed every tenant’s roof,” Thomas continued. “Two hundred and thirteen pounds for roofing supplies and labor should cover it.”
Jonathan stared at his estate manager. Only a couple of years older than Jonathan, Thomas was the perfect specimen of a man at his best. Jonathan subdued the urge to curl his lip at the thought. There was a time he had relished climbing the ladders with Thomas by his side and inspecting his tenants’ roofs.
Now he couldn’t look at a ladder without grimacing.
Jonathan couldn’t deny that Thomas was a godsend. He completed the tasks that Jonathan could no longer perform. Strong and swift, Thomas had earned the promotion to estate manager.
“Fine,” he answered. “I’ll prepare the funds when I return to Portsmouth. Start work when it’s convenient for the tenants and you.”
“Perhaps you’d like to visit when Thomas starts the repairs?” North prodded gently.
It was the same litany Jonathan had heard repeatedly since he’d returned home. North goading him to see his tenants. Encouraging him to call on his neighbors. It was a waste of time.
“I’m certain they’d welcome your interest.” North’s tone sounded similar to a nursemaid coaxing her charge to take his medicine.
Jonathan carefully swung his gaze to his butler. “I show my interest by paying for whatever repairs are needed. I offer fair rents and don’t gouge them at the end of the harvest season. My share of the bounty is quite minimal compared with others. That’s how I show my interest.”
Thomas’s Adam’s apple wobbled at his curt tone.
Years ago, Jonathan had found immense pleasure working on the betterment of his estates. Now he was thankful Thomas relished the estate work. It gave Jonathan more time for designing the perfect pistol cartridge and his plan for a training school for army marksmen. Too many of them didn’t have the proper training when they were dropped into battle. Even his former commanding officer, the Marquess of Faladen, thought it an excellent idea when Jonathan had presented it to him last month.
The carriage pulled to a stop in front of a modest townhouse in Mayfair.
“We’re here,” North announced with a hint of excitement in his voice.
“Finally,” Jonathan mumbled. “Let’s hope I’m not too late.”
A footman opened the door, and Jonathan carefully made his way down the steps while holding to the handle inside the carriage. Once on the ground, he took his cane from North, then patted the pocket inside his blue broadcloth morning coat, the crinkle of paper reassuring. A special license was a rare and expensive investment, but this moment called for the extraordinary.
Sometimes for the greater good, a man had to venture into the world and claim his wife. Jonathan doubted if today’s events could be considered good for anybody, especially him. Being saddled with a wife would upset his routine, but a promise was a promise. Though he’d left his full-time position in the army years ago, he was still a man of habit. And his habit didn’t include entertaining a wife.
A sensible, more balanced man might have turned on his heel and never looked back. Since Jonathan’s right leg had been completely mangled by two snipers’ bullets, he’d been anything but balanced.
In more ways than one.
Jonathan adjusted his beaver hat with a tug.
“Good luck, my lord,” North called from the coach.
Without acknowledging the kind words of his butler, he made his way to the town house door. What was he even doing here?
He smoothed a hand down his waistcoat. Honestly, he wanted to see her. But if she gave him one pitiful look, he would turn on his one good foot and leave—marriage or no marriage. It made little difference that she had asked for his hand in marriage. With his fist, he knocked on the door. When no one answered, Jonathan repeated his movement, but this time a little more forcefully.
“Come in,” a woman called out, her voice muffled behind the wooden panel.
He entered the modest but elegantly decorated town house not far from the Duke of Randford’s Mayfair home. Christian Vareck, the Duke of Randford, was a friend, one might even say his best friend. Which meant Jonathan should have made the effort to call on him, but that would have required even more pretending on his part to be amenable to social calls and gatherings. A visit to Doctors’ Commons was enough for one day.
Jonathan’s throat narrowed to the size of a small twig, and his grip tightened on his walking stick. It was only natural to be a little queasy. It wasn’t every day that a man married, particularly, when his bride-to-be was carrying a baby.
To be precise, she was carrying another man’s baby.
Copyright © 2022 by Janna MacGregor.