The Puzzle of a Bastard Read online

  The Puzzle of a Bastard

  Linda Rae Sande

  This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

  The Puzzle of a Bastard

  All Rights Reserved.

  Copyright © 2020 Linda Rae Sande.

  V1

  ISBN: 978-1-946271-30-3

  Cover photograph © PeriodImages.com and 123rf.com.

  All rights reserved - used with permission.

  Edited by Katrina Teele-Fair.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please go to an online bookseller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Contents

  Also by Linda Rae Sande

  1. Alone But Not Lonely

  2. A Rhyton in Ruins

  3. Aphrodite Arrives

  4. The Ride Home

  5. Reconstructing a Rhyton

  6. A Stepmother’s Appeal

  7. An Invitation Arrives

  8. Cousins Unite at White’s

  9. A Homecoming of Sorts

  10. Appraising Aphrodite

  11. Breakfast for Two

  12. A Bold Move

  13. Dinner for Two

  14. Puzzles of a Different Sort

  15. A Walk in the Garden

  16. A Perplexing Pot

  17. Of Mistresses and More

  18. Dinner with a Reluctant Guest

  19. Reading and Ruminating

  20. Dinner Interrupted

  21. About a Ring

  22. A Move is Made

  23. In the Dark of the Garden

  24. Secrets Revealed in the Dark of Night

  25. The Shape of a Bum Revealed

  26. The Reality of Mornings

  27. The Wonders of a Morning

  28. A Truth is Revealed

  29. Breakfast for Two

  30. Breakfast for Three

  31. A Woman Says Yes

  32. A Perplexing Plot over a Pot

  33. A Conclave of Cousins at White’s

  34. A Quiet Night Before Bed

  35. Monday Morning Murmurs

  36. An Unwelcome Visitor

  37. A Necessary Confrontation

  38. Reasons to Marry

  39. A Wedding Gift of Monumental Proportions

  40. A Wedding Gift of Modest Means

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Also by Linda Rae Sande

  About the Author

  Also by Linda Rae Sande

  The Daughters of the Aristocracy

  The Kiss of a Viscount

  The Grace of a Duke

  The Seduction of an Earl

  The Sons of the Aristocracy

  Tuesday Nights

  The Widowed Countess

  My Fair Groom

  The Sisters of the Aristocracy

  The Story of a Baron

  The Passion of a Marquess

  The Desire of a Lady

  The Brothers of the Aristocracy

  The Love of a Rake

  The Caress of a Commander

  The Epiphany of an Explorer

  The Widows of the Aristocracy

  The Gossip of an Earl

  The Enigma of a Widow

  The Secrets of a Viscount

  The Widowers of the Aristocracy

  The Dream of a Duchess

  The Vision of a Viscountess

  The Conundrum of a Clerk

  The Charity of a Viscount

  The Cousins of the Aristocracy

  The Promise of a Gentleman

  The Pride of a Gentleman

  The Holidays of the Aristocracy

  The Christmas of a Countess

  The Heirs of the Aristocracy

  The Angel of an Astronomer

  The Puzzle of a Bastard

  The Choice of a Cavalier

  Stella of Akrotiri: Origins

  Stella of Akrotiri: Deminon

  Stella of Aktrotiri: Diana

  Chapter 1

  Alone But Not Lonely

  December 1838, Woodscastle Manor, Chiswick

  The sound of horse’s hooves had Emily glancing up from her book. Ensconced in the library since breakfast, she had become so engrossed in The Story of an Earl, she had completely lost track of time.

  Not that she was expected anywhere. Or expecting anyone.

  She straightened on the long leather sofa and directed her gaze towards the leaded glass windows that faced the front of the house. Even as she stood to discover who might be outside, she heard Humphrey, the butler, open the front door.

  The horse, a beautiful bay with a white blaze and black stockings, stood alone in the crescent-shaped drive. Footprints in the snow showed its rider had already made his way to the front door, but he couldn’t be seen from her vantage.

  A stable boy hurried to take the reins and to lead the horse to the stables, but he was apparently ordered to remain in place for the time being. The boy offered the beast a carrot as a few snowflakes fell from the sky.

  Perhaps it was just a delivery then. A courier or a footman sent with a note, probably for her brother, Thomas.

  Curiosity had Emily setting aside the book on the library table beneath the windows. She made her way out to the hall and the entry beyond to see a rather tall gentleman standing just inside the front door. He was dressed in riding clothes, and Humphrey was speaking to him in his usual quiet but impressive baritone.

  Pasting a pleasant expression on her face—her mother had taught her and her four sisters the importance of a welcoming expression—Emily said, “Good morning,” as she made her way past the round ebony table that marked the center of the large entry to Woodscastle. Her slippers barely made any sound on the black and white patterned marble floor.

  “Ah, I had hoped to find Thomas at home,” the visitor said as he turned his attention to her.

  Emily’s first thought was to ask if he wanted her uncle, Thomas Wellingham, or her brother, Thomas Grandby, but then she recognized the man. “James? James Burroughs?”

  His eyes widened, but he paused a moment before he said, “I know you’re not Ariel or Sarah, so you must be... Amy?”

  Grinning, Emily shook her head.

  “Christina?”

  She shook her head again. “Emily,” she offered as she dipped a curtsy, impressed that James Burroughs could remember all of her sister’s names and the order in which they had been born.

  “Well, that would have been my next guess,” he claimed as he stepped forward and took her proffered hand to his lips.

  Emily had to resist the urge to pull her hand from his gloved one, so startled was she by the courtesy. She had expected to simply shake his hand—she hadn’t had the back of her knuckles kissed in several months.

  “We haven’t seen you in an age,” Emily said as she regarded him with a brilliant smile, “although Tom mentioned you would be returning to London soon. Were you on the Continent?”

  James had the bearing of one who had served in the militia, but he had instead followed in his father’s footsteps and become a banker. Despite his occupation, he was still trim, his broad shoulders emphasized by the very latest in men�
��s fashionable top coats. The dark green riding jacket he wore was pinched in at the waist and featured a pleated skirt that nearly reached his knees. His buff-colored trousers disappeared into the tops of black Hessians. Although they had probably been shined just that morning, a sheen of melting snow covered them now.

  “Nothing that far away, I assure you. I’m just back from Bath,” he said, tucking his top hat under one arm. “Father wishes to retire, so there’s finally a position for me at the Bank of England.”

  Emily reached out and placed a hand on his arm. “Can you stay for tea? I was just about to order a tray be delivered to the library, but we can certainly take it in the parlor.” She noticed Humphrey hurrying off towards the kitchens, secretly glad the servant wouldn’t hear every word of their conversation. At twenty-four, she had decided she no longer required a servant be present when a member of the opposite sex paid a call, especially one to whom she was distantly related.

  James looked uncertain for a moment, but then allowed a grin. “Of course. I could use some refreshment,” he agreed, deciding not to admit he hadn’t yet had breakfast. “And a chance to catch up on the Grandby family antics.” He allowed her to take his riding crop and hat and watched as she carefully placed them on the half-round table next to the front door.

  Emily grinned as she led him to the parlor, a ground floor room on the opposite side of the front entry from where the library was located.

  A fire was still going in the fireplace, a clear sign one of the servants had thought she would be spending her morning in the peach and green parlor instead of the wood-paneled library.

  Ever since the rest of the Grandby family had departed for Derbyshire for the Christmas holiday, the usually bustling household was unusually quiet. The servants seemed uncertain as to which of the public rooms to keep heated for her use.

  “You must have come looking for my brother,” she said as she indicated an overstuffed chair near the fireplace and then took the one opposite. The low table between would allow her to serve the tea.

  “I take it he is in town?” James asked as Humphrey entered with the tea tray.

  Along with the pot of tea and cups and saucers was a plate of biscuits and several small cakes. Emily knew the cook, a recent hire, was using his recipes instead of those left behind by the prior cook. With most of the family gone, he was expecting her and the servants to weigh in with their reviews of his latest creations.

  “Almost always these days,” she affirmed. “Tom took a room at one of his men’s clubs—”

  “One of his men’s clubs?” James repeated, the sound of disbelief evident in his voice. “How many does he belong to?” Given the cost of annual dues, most men belonged to only one—if they could gain membership.

  “At least two?” she guessed. Emily dimpled as she placed a cake on a small plate and offered it to him. Starving, James gladly took it and then watched as she prepared the cups for tea.

  “I think just the two,” she continued. “He was concerned the one was becoming too political, and the other offered apartments and a dining hall so he would not go hungry at night.” She poured hot water into one of the cups and swirled it around to warm the porcelain. “He rarely comes to Woodscastle anymore. I think because he prefers a quieter environment.”

  James was about to argue—Woodscastle was six miles southwest of London and surrounded by trees and parkland—but then he remembered Emily had siblings. Lots of them, including some who had married and were raising their families at the large manor house.

  “So... Tom is still not married?” James guessed. He had seen the capitalist in the past year when Tom was in Bath on business, but he knew first-hand how quickly a young man’s circumstances could change.

  “He is not, and he’s been making comments that suggest he may never,” Emily said with a shrug. “I cannot tell you how many of my friends are heartbroken. They had hoped he might take notice of them. I suppose with his fortune, he would seem a desirable catch.” She said this last as if she couldn’t agree. “Do you still take milk in your tea?”

  James allowed a half-grin at hearing her claim. “A bit of milk, yes,” he replied, surprised she would remember his preference. It had probably been twelve or more years since he’d had tea with the Grandbys. “Aren’t you being a bit harsh when it comes to the opinion of your friends? I should think Tom a desirable catch even if he didn’t have a fortune.”

  She allowed a slight giggle of delight. “I admit I do not know him as well as when he used to spend more time here at home. Perhaps he is no longer so serious as to seem stuffy.”

  “Stuffy?” James repeated with a guffaw.

  Her smile bright, Emily nodded. “So much so, I tease him about it. He’s even on the board of the British Museum, if you can imagine.”

  His eyes widening at hearing this tidbit, James was about to admit that the museum was one of the topics he wished to raise with Tom. Instead, he ate his cake as he watched Emily pour the tea and then add the milk, his gaze on her slender fingers and the perfect oval fingernails at their tips.

  No rings graced either hand, but he noted that a gold ring was threaded on the chain she wore around her neck. There was a gemstone embedded in it, but given how it hung from the chain, he couldn’t see its color. “And you? You must have two or three of your own children by now,” he guessed.

  Emily offered him the cup of tea on a saucer. “I do not, actually. Like Tom, I am not married—”

  “Wot?” James nearly spilled his tea at hearing her comment. “But... but you’re spoken for, surely.”

  Long ago, Emily had learned how to keep the pleasant expression pasted on her face even during discussions like this one. Despite how the topic rankled her—a broken heart seemed to take forever to heal—she was usually able to claim that no one had yet captured her fancy and then would simply change the subject.

  From James’ look of shock, she almost wished she hadn’t extended the offer of tea. “I am not,” she said, just before she lifted the plate of biscuits and held it out in his direction. He took one, although he didn’t seem to pay attention to his choice.

  Emily furrowed a dark blonde brow at seeing the reddish-brown biscuit he took. “I thought you didn’t like Dutch biscuits,” she commented, just before she set down the plate, added another cake to his plate, and took a sip of her tea.

  His gaze going from her hands to his own, James regarded the ginger-flavored biscuit as if seeing it for the first time. “I do not,” he agreed. “How is it...?” He rolled his eyes. “I cannot believe you remember that I don’t like molasses and ginger.”

  Emily grinned, leaned over, plucked the Dutch biscuit from his hand, and lifted the plate of biscuits in the other. “I remember only because Father used to give you such grief over it. He couldn’t believe you would not prefer Dutch biscuits over the lemon ones.”

  “Because he knows my father loves Dutch biscuits,” James said as he helped himself to the lemon equivalent. “Apparently they used to fight over who would get the last one.”

  Emily could easily imagine what he described. Like most in the extended family that had begun with Margaret Merriweather Burroughs, Dowager Duchess of Ariley, their fathers had grown up in Merriweather Manor with dozens of cousins and aunts and uncles.

  “You mentioned he wishes to retire from the banking business,” Emily prompted, referring to Andrew Maximillian Burroughs. “He cannot be that old.”

  “Six-and-fifty,” James countered, his eyes widening with the claim. “He wants to take my stepmother and their son to the Continent while he can still walk.” He said this with a hint of humor, suggesting his father was actually in robust health. He tucked into the second cake, secretly glad she had seen to serving him more without even asking him if he wanted another.

  “Andy will love it,” Emily said, referring to the son. Her eyes rounded. “Why, he’s twenty now. The perfect age for a Grand Tour.”

  “So... you know my half-brother?”

 
Emily allowed a chuckle. “Since he was born. He has always lived down the road at Merriweather Manor.” She paused as she considered his query. “Didn’t you?” She knew James was much older than she was—mid-thirties—but he was still young enough to be in school when his father, a widower, had married Jane Vandermeer Fitzpatrick during the banker’s extensive renovation of Merriweather Manor. That had been twenty years ago.

  “Only when I was home for the holidays. I was at Eton and then at Cambridge, and then working in Brighton before Bath.”

  “But... you have a room there,” Emily hinted.

  He pretended shock. “You say that as if you have been in it,” he teased.

  Her grin faded as color suffused her porcelain complexion. “Your stepmother gave me a tour of the house several years ago, so... yes, I admit to having seen it.”

  Rolling his eyes, he said, “Lady Andrew has kept it exactly as it was when I was still in school, which is to say, more elegant than I probably deserve.”

  Thinking she shouldn’t have mentioned the bedchamber, Emily dipped her head. “I was sorry to hear about your older brother. Pneumonia, was it not?”

  She tried but failed to hide a wince. She knew very well Henry Burroughs had died of pneumonia. She had sat by his bed for an entire day and night as she had watched him succumb to the illness. Heard his feverish words of what had happened to his mother. His pleas that his real father be forgiven for what he had done to his mother. His vows to God should he be spared.