brother in the city he hadn’t seen in two decades. They hadn’t written first to apprise him of their arrival, and Damian could only speculate as to why. Would they have been denied shelter if they’d requested it in advance? Was it better to appear unannounced? He didn’t think so, but he was in no position to offer an opinion on any topic.
“When I’m older,” he vowed, “I’ll return to Kirkwood and kill Miles. I’ll kill Mr. Marshall too.”
“You will not.”
“I will,” Damian insisted.
Walter patted him on the shoulder. “You did the right thing by telling the truth. Don’t ever forget that.”
“I told the truth because you made me, but there was no benefit to us. I should have kept my mouth shut.”
“No, you shouldn’t have. In the future, I want you to recollect that you were honest when others weren’t. It’s important to be moral and decent.”
“I disagree. I was moral and decent, and look where it landed us.”
Walter’s smile was weary and sad. “If the end result of all this is that you don’t comprehend how noble you were, I’ll always have regrets. You were very brave that day, and I was so proud of you.”
“I was very stupid,” Damian muttered.
He wished there was a way to travel back in time to that moment in Mr. Marshall’s library. If he could repeat the encounter, he’d never confess. He’d let himself be tortured on the rack before he would.
“It’s so hot this afternoon,” Walter said. His sweating had increased, and he pulled a kerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his cheeks.
Damian frowned. It wasn’t hot. It was mid-October, the sky cloudy with a cold drizzle wetting their coats. They were next to a butcher’s shop, and there was a chair by the front door. Damian urged his grandfather toward it.
“Let’s sit you down for a bit, Grandfather. You’re simply tired from the long journey.”
“I am tired,” Walter admitted.
“You can rest, then we’ll continue on to your brother’s.”
“That’s what I need, to rest. The air seems so heavy, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does,” Damian concurred, not having noticed the air at all.
He forced a calm expression onto his face, but Walter wasn’t looking at him. He was gazing off in the distance.
“Tommy, is that you?” Walter mumbled. “What are you doing here?”
Damian stared into the crowd, but didn’t see anyone he knew. The only male of his acquaintance named Tommy had been his father, Thomas Drummond. The hairs stood up on Damian’s neck. Was his grandfather talking to a ghost?
Walter reached out to the invisible person, scowled, then clutched at his chest. He dropped like a stone onto the dirty cobbles, the throng surging around him, nary a passerby stopping to help.
“Grandfather!” Damian wailed as he fell to his knees. “Grandfather! What’s wrong? What is it?”
But Walter had breathed his last breath, and there was no answer to be had.
CHAPTER ONE
Kirkwood estate, rural England, July, 1815…
G eorgina Fogarty strolled down the lane that led to Kirkwood Manor. It was a beautiful summer afternoon, and for once she felt lazy, unencumbered, and under no obligation but to plod along and enjoy the weather.
Normally after she visited acquaintances in the village, she’d regret the minutes she’d taken for herself. She’d hurry home so she could resume her duties and continue her fruitless quest to prove herself worthy to her aunt and cousins.
She’d been trying for almost twenty years, and she couldn’t figure out why she bothered. Her kin were spoiled and self-centered, the three of them too vain to notice whether she worked hard or not, whether she made their lives easier or not. No, they only noticed when she didn’t finish a task, when she didn’t complete a chore that desperately needed completing.
Then she was berated as if she was their personal slave, and in light of how she was constantly maligned and criticized, she might have been Cinderella. If
“When I’m older,” he vowed, “I’ll return to Kirkwood and kill Miles. I’ll kill Mr. Marshall too.”
“You will not.”
“I will,” Damian insisted.
Walter patted him on the shoulder. “You did the right thing by telling the truth. Don’t ever forget that.”
“I told the truth because you made me, but there was no benefit to us. I should have kept my mouth shut.”
“No, you shouldn’t have. In the future, I want you to recollect that you were honest when others weren’t. It’s important to be moral and decent.”
“I disagree. I was moral and decent, and look where it landed us.”
Walter’s smile was weary and sad. “If the end result of all this is that you don’t comprehend how noble you were, I’ll always have regrets. You were very brave that day, and I was so proud of you.”
“I was very stupid,” Damian muttered.
He wished there was a way to travel back in time to that moment in Mr. Marshall’s library. If he could repeat the encounter, he’d never confess. He’d let himself be tortured on the rack before he would.
“It’s so hot this afternoon,” Walter said. His sweating had increased, and he pulled a kerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his cheeks.
Damian frowned. It wasn’t hot. It was mid-October, the sky cloudy with a cold drizzle wetting their coats. They were next to a butcher’s shop, and there was a chair by the front door. Damian urged his grandfather toward it.
“Let’s sit you down for a bit, Grandfather. You’re simply tired from the long journey.”
“I am tired,” Walter admitted.
“You can rest, then we’ll continue on to your brother’s.”
“That’s what I need, to rest. The air seems so heavy, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does,” Damian concurred, not having noticed the air at all.
He forced a calm expression onto his face, but Walter wasn’t looking at him. He was gazing off in the distance.
“Tommy, is that you?” Walter mumbled. “What are you doing here?”
Damian stared into the crowd, but didn’t see anyone he knew. The only male of his acquaintance named Tommy had been his father, Thomas Drummond. The hairs stood up on Damian’s neck. Was his grandfather talking to a ghost?
Walter reached out to the invisible person, scowled, then clutched at his chest. He dropped like a stone onto the dirty cobbles, the throng surging around him, nary a passerby stopping to help.
“Grandfather!” Damian wailed as he fell to his knees. “Grandfather! What’s wrong? What is it?”
But Walter had breathed his last breath, and there was no answer to be had.
CHAPTER ONE
Kirkwood estate, rural England, July, 1815…
G eorgina Fogarty strolled down the lane that led to Kirkwood Manor. It was a beautiful summer afternoon, and for once she felt lazy, unencumbered, and under no obligation but to plod along and enjoy the weather.
Normally after she visited acquaintances in the village, she’d regret the minutes she’d taken for herself. She’d hurry home so she could resume her duties and continue her fruitless quest to prove herself worthy to her aunt and cousins.
She’d been trying for almost twenty years, and she couldn’t figure out why she bothered. Her kin were spoiled and self-centered, the three of them too vain to notice whether she worked hard or not, whether she made their lives easier or not. No, they only noticed when she didn’t finish a task, when she didn’t complete a chore that desperately needed completing.
Then she was berated as if she was their personal slave, and in light of how she was constantly maligned and criticized, she might have been Cinderella. If
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