Fate Plays Dangerous Games: A Mornington Park Novel, #1

By K. E. Chaloner

                     Fate Plays Dangerous Games

                          England 1815.

     After escaping the days of terror in France, Cherie Beaumont has spent eight years hiding in China before she arrives in England, looking for a peaceful and quiet life. She does not need a man in her life that can turn her head, as she can fight as well as any man with a rapier. But when she finds herself the house guest of the Duke of Mornington and the strong emotional attraction hard to dismiss, she does not see the danger creeping towards her.  

     Jack Blackenhawke, the Duke of Mornington life is well structured and very organised, spending all his time in parliament believing it is his duty to help the people of England obtain better lives. He does not need a wife or heir as he has seven brothers and he most certainly does not need a woman who tempts his mind to be diverted, so he cannot think straight. Especially when she holds dangerous secrets that could not only place his family in danger, but could get them all killed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K. E. Chaloner
• Release date: Sep 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9780648081401

Book preview

1793

Outside London during the Reign of Terror in France

---

Along came the Highwayman,

a Highwayman was he,

like the gust of Wind,

the Wind that roared the sea.

---

The gunshot scorched the midnight air.

Another shot cracked the stillness bringing the carriage to an abrupt stop, flinging Alexander Blackenhawke and his seven-year-old son Jack, onto the floor. On hearing a loud voice yelling at his driver to stop, Alexander’s senses were now awake and alert, attuned to everything surrounding him.

Hide under the blanket! he whispered, placing his index finger to his son’s lips.

Jack was frightened, but before he pulled the blanket over his head, he watched his father swiftly extract a pistol from the pocket of his long black coat.

He knew his father was ill, but he knew his father was fearless no matter the circumstances.

He also knew the location of a hidden pistol in the carriage and that helped to stem his fear.

Alexander patted his son hoping to give him reassurance.

He had spent five miserable days in London, hatching a plan that would kill his most trusted friends if they were caught and his instincts warned him they would be. The fact that it could change the course of England and France’s history, if successful, was no consolation.

So to be stopped at gunpoint by a highwayman, with his small son hidden under a blanket now made his days of trouble complete.

He had been denied a fight in London, so to leap into one now was not daunting him in anyway. This is just what he needed to get rid of all the tension building up inside him.

He would like to put his fist into someone’s face.

And hard.

Standing up he flung the carriage door open and jumped out as if Hell was following him, which he thought was possibly true after what he had asked his friends to do.

What the Bloody Hell! he bellowed, landing on the ground with a thud, his gun drawn in his outstretched hand.

Stop where you are, it is just a little highway robbery, nothing to shout about, drawled the highwayman, in a deep even tone.

He steadied the stallion with his knees while calmly holding a gun in each hand. One was pointed at the single driver, the other pointed at the man standing frozen beside his carriage. His eyes above his mask stared into the frozen man’s face, when he heard a movement of leather on leather.

You driver, believe me when I tell you I can see out the side of my head and my gun is aimed at your temple. Do not even think about touching anything under your seat or I will blast you from here to kingdom come along with your employer. Do you understand me? he threatened.

The driver peered over his shoulder as he slowly raised his hands above his head.

Your Grace?

Do as he tells you Anderson, Alexander’s firm voice thundered, while holding his gun steady, returning the highwayman’s stare, aware of the two spent guns in the man’s belt.

Ahh! So what do we have here? A Duke. How interesting, the highwayman courteously voiced, but patronizingly. It is a little dark so I cannot see your ducal crest very well. Maybe you would enlighten me by introducing yourself.

The highwayman was too polite and Alexander knew instantly who he was.

"My name is Alexander Blackenhawke, the Duke of Mornington. I believe you are known as ‘Wind’. I have heard of your legend. What you do with a sabre is unmentionable, with a gun, deadly. Your only saving grace is they say you rob the rich and give to the poor."

Wind chuckled with amusement.

Yes, I am your modern-day Robin Hood as you so eloquently pointed out Your Grace. My lucky day, he nodded, but not in acknowledgement of the man’s rank. I have also heard of you Your Grace. The most powerful man in England along with your wealth. A good, honourable and proud man whose ethics and integrity are above reproach I hear. One who cares for and looks after his servants and tenants. Now that is something to be proud of. But is it true?

Alexander raised his eyebrows taking stock of the highwayman sitting proudly on his horse; letting the silence drift by as they stood in checkmate with their pistols drawn.

I am an honest man. Yet in saying that I get the impression you are more impressed with how I look after my servants than by the power I yield. That is what I call interesting. For I wonder why? he asked, intrigued.

Wind’s laughter echoed through the trees, but he did not remove his eyes from the duke, for that would have been suicidal as he surveyed the duke’s gun pointed at his heart.

What he knew about the aristocracy, he did not think was worth the energy spitting on. He had also heard stories over the past year of this duke, which did not fit with anything he knew about the nobility. All the duke’s servants and tenants fiercely loved this duke and were extremely loyal. Even the towns people who lived surrounding the fifty thousand acres known as Mornington Park, were an army in themselves to be reckoned with.

He recalled reading somewhere William the Conqueror had started building Mornington Castle, but when Beaudouin Blackenhawke saved his life during a morning sunrise, William gave the half built castle to Beaudouin, making him the first Duke of Mornington. He was not sure what number this duke was, but he knew the castle had been in the family for well over seven hundred years.

I have an offer for you, Your Grace.

Alexander thought he had heard it all, but this comment did make him blink.

I have a gun pointed at your heart and you have an offer for ME?

I have a gun pointed at your head and one at your driver, I think I have the upper hand, Wind chuckled, raising his eyebrows. What do you say? Hear my offer or I shoot your driver.

This time it was Alexander’s chance to chuckle.

You have never killed anyone you have robbed. If I did not know better I would say you are a man who has been to war and seen too much killing, he stated, watching Wind’s eyes glaze over for a fleeting second. He had been a good judge of character all his life and hoped tonight was no different. I have no jewels with me, only a little money which you are most welcome too. He clenched his jaw, waiting for an answer.

I do not want your money, Wind replied, not at all perturbed by the danger in the duke’s lips held tightly together like a vice. It was the curiosity in the duke’s eyes he was evaluating, to see if he was the man people said he was. I have a friend in need of help. She was working in a tavern cooking and it is no place for a woman, especially a lady like her. I would like you to employ her at Mornington Castle, he requested, with dignity.

Alexander roared with laughter and nearly dropped his gun.

You stop my carriage and hold a gun to my driver’s head, not to mention my own and then you ask if I could find employment for one of your doxies, are you insane man? he huskily quizzed, his laughter turning to coughing. You should be pleading with me you can spend your time in Bedlam and not in the executioner’s noose.

Wind’s instincts were right as he watched the duke.

Instincts that had possibly saved him on the battlefield. If a man could smile, let alone laugh under pressure and stress, then the man would possibly be able to keep calm when all Hell was breaking loose around him. He sat still waiting for the duke to stop laughing or coughing, whichever came first.

She is not one of my doxies. She is a good woman who has fallen on hard times and I believe she would be safer in your castle, he reasoned, in the same well-controlled tone he had used all night.

I do not hire strangers! Alexander’s reply came with the full force of his title behind his voice, relaying there was not an option he would change his mind.

She will not be a stranger once you get to know her. She is a very hard worker who will never let you down. I will stake my life on her. She just needs a chance in life. Wind paused for a second. If arresting me would guarantee her employment on your staff, I will put down my guns.

Alexander’s face sobered as he saw the integrity in Wind’s eyes. Suddenly the fight went out of him. There were very few people he had met in life willing to give their life to save another.

And mean it.

Wind turned his head ever so slightly as his ears picked up the sound of horse’s hooves, racing somewhere far off in the distance.

On second thoughts, as you have not had time to consider my offer and I think we may have friends arriving, yours not mine, I believe I must leave until another day as I am not dressed for the occasion, he admitted, placing his little fingers under the reins while holding his guns steady.

Alexander moved his head, for he could hear the pounding of horse’s hooves as well.

In that second an idea assaulted his brain and he saw a plan he could put into motion that might save his family from Satan’s talons, especially after what he had done in London.

Meet me on the west terrace of Mornington Castle in two hours. The doors will be open and I actually have an offer for you and it is not the hangman’s noose, he instructed, turning his head only to see a vacant spot where the highwayman had been. He returned the gun to his pocket; sure the highwayman had heard him before riding off into the darkness. Wind may have killed, but Alexander believed it was only on the battlefield so far.

The rumours circulating London were saying ‘Wind’ robbed the nobility then killed them, making the most harden criminal’s spines shiver when they heard the name ‘Wind’ mentioned. Alexander knew there was no evidence or proof of any missing nobility, but if the hardened criminals kept their distance believing it to be true, he was not about to enlighten them. He needed Wind’s unflagging steel for something else. He walked to the front of his carriage looking up at his most trusted driver.

Anderson!

Yes, Your Grace?

Not much fazed Anderson, but for a minute he had been terrified he or the duke could have been killed. It was not everyday a highwayman held up the duke’s carriage. Especially a man who was becoming a legend in his own lifetime.

How fast can you drive in this moonlight? Alexander asked, not interested in meeting anymore highwaymen.

As fast as you wish, Anderson proudly confirmed.

Then go to it without turning the carriage over and Anderson!

Yes, Your Grace?

Shoot anyone who tries to stop us, he demanded, returning to the carriage and closing the door behind him.

Jack sprung into his father’s arms as he sat down, only for the two of them to be thrown off the seat when the carriage lurched forward. This was the second time tonight they had both landed on the floor.

Alexander had come a long way falling from grace, but maybe this was a reminder that no matter what he did, he was still going to Hell.

D o you always leave the doors open with your back turned while pouring a drink, Your Grace? Wind asked, casually leaning against the door jamb with his arms folded, his face bare without his mask.

No. If you were going to shoot me, you would have shot me when I alighted my carriage, Alexander commented, not bothering to turn around. Would you like one?

I do not partake of the spirits, Wind admitted. It clouds the brain if one is wanting to be alert.

This is my second drink and I am fully aware you have been leaning against my door frame for a full three minutes, Alexander candidly replied, only now turning around.

Well done Your Grace, Wind admired, bowing his head just enough to acknowledge he was impressed.

Alexander waved a hand towards the chairs by the fireplace.

Would you care to come in and take a seat?

Wind shook his head.

I think not. I prefer the fresh air.

Alexander glanced into a darkened corner of the room shielded by a small table, before turning his attention back to Wind.

Quite right, he nodded, afraid Jack maybe lurking in the dark.

When they arrived home he had forgotten to check if Jack had the spare gun from the carriage, but he trusted his son would not shoot unless they were in danger.

Wind stepped back, letting the duke walk past him onto the terrace and stand by the balustrade. It was only when the duke placed his drink on top and peered into the darkness that he strolled over to join him.

He was now on full alert, ready to dive over the balustrade if need be, knowing his horse waited below.

I gather you have had time to think over my offer.

Alexander eyed the man standing near him. They were both tall men, but where he was fading into skin and bone, Wind’s body was lean and taut, fit for any fight that may come his way.

I have, along with an offer of my own, but before I tell you what is on my mind, tell me why this woman is so important to you and why you would risk your life for her. Only the truth, for I will know if you are lying.

Wind studied the duke. He had not realised how skinny the man was dressed only in his hessian boots, breeches and white shirt. The duke had discarded his cravat, which now made his neck look like the skin of a plucked chicken. This duke now standing in front of him looked half the size of the man he had seen hidden under the heavy black coat hours ago. Yet the duke’s eyes were still alert. A proud man with the full force of his title behind him. If the duke so desired, he could rain down a wrath so great Genghis Khan would fall to his knees.

He looked up into the night sky.

He could not remember the last time he told the truth, so it took him a minute to rearrange his thoughts.

Her name is Beth, she is twenty and my sister. She lost her baby a week ago when our father viciously beat her into unconsciousness, for coming home pregnant without a husband. He did not even have the decency to take her inside, for I found her beautiful body slumped on the ground swimming in a pool of blood. Even the neighbours did not came to her aid. I picked her up and took her away so I could nurse her. She still has two broken arms, legs and I suspect a few broken ribs. The bruises on her face and body are now turning purple. She should be on her feet in a month or two. Wind turned away so the duke could not look into his soul.

You have been a highwayman for six months. Alexander lifted his glass to his dry lips, letting the brandy slide down his throat. So you had already embarked on a life of crime.

No! The word came out harsh even to Wind’s ears. He gripped the balustrade until his knuckles turned white. I came back from war eight months ago. They say I am lucky because I have all my limbs, but I came home without my friends, leaving them on the battlefield. It did not matter how hard I tried, I could not save one man to bring home alive. War is not a pretty place Your Grace. Believe me, when you go to war, you go to Hell!

He started to walk away.

This is ridiculous. I did not come here to talk to you about Hell!

Ahh, but I did. I am already in Hell, came Alexander’s slow precise voice, his words clipped with anger at the futility of evil men being allowed to live. Especially men who beat women.

It was the anger in the duke’s voice that made Wind return to the balustrade. He knew the anger was not directed at him.

You are a Duke, how could you know anything about Hell?

Oh, I know. If I live long enough I will tell you. Tell me why you became a highwayman, if you please? Alexander coaxed, believing men who saved women from persecution were the real heroes in life.

Wind’s eyes penetrated the duke and saw a hint of compassion fleetingly skate across his eyes, before hidden from view. He turned his eyes to the garden looking for its bright colours, but they were now silver in the moonlight.

Like many men coming home from war I buried my soul. I could not love enough women and there was not enough whisky I could drink to make the horror disappear. That was the sum of my days, he exclaimed, taking a deep breath. He let his hands fall over the balustrade, clasping them together, but not in prayer, for he had given up being a praying man long ago. I came across Beth working in a tavern by chance. I was in a drunken stupor. I persuaded her to go home to father. I forgot his drinking and his beatings. I was so numb from war I forgot everything. It was my fault. She was always there for me through the beatings with a kind word, tending my broken bruised body. She took a few hits trying to protect me. I am older and should have been there to protect her. I let her down. I love my sister, Your Grace. I would die for her.

He watched the duke nod his head not wanting to interrupt.

When I was old enough I ran away to join the army, thinking it a noble cause. On returning to London there was nothing for soldiers after fighting for their country. I learnt very quickly our country did not thank us. Especially when I saw the same nobility who had run from a fight on the battlefield, ignore sick and starving returned soldiers on the street. I saw first-hand what your class does and there is nothing about the nobility I can say I admire. So I decided to do what you saw tonight. Help returned soldiers and their families whose sons never came home. I never robbed any ladies, only gentlemen, if that is what you call them.

He looked past the garden to a beautiful oak tree bathing in the moonlight, representing all that could be good in the world. He snorted, thinking how the tree gave more shelter than any man he had met off the battlefield.

Alexander cringed on hearing the disgust in Wind’s voice. He could only agree with the man.

Why did you not find Beth when you returned?

Everyone I saw on the streets were disgusted in seeing returned soldiers without limbs and men who were mumbling, unable to communicate properly for the horrors they had seen. I did not want Beth to be ashamed or disappointed in me, especially when I experienced nightmares. All that time I thought she would be fine and better off without me. She is beautiful, her soul is beautiful, but our father made her think she is ugly and unworthy of living. The biggest mistake of my life.

What did you do to your father? asked Alexander, knowing full well what he would like to do to the man, for he did not believe in hitting women or children and did not tolerate it under any circumstances. It was the one thing that made his blood boil, outside of parliament.

Nothing, for Hell will be far worse than anything I do.

Alexander nodded, tipping his glass as a salute.

You would go to Bedlam for Beth, so I would employ her?

Believe me, the insanity of Bedlam could not be any worse than the battleground. Wind stood to his full height. They would have to catch me first, he grinned, with a cheeky wink.

Alexander hid his smile at the arrogance of the young man.

No one knows who you are or what you do?

Wind closed his eyes for a brief second.

No one.

How do you send money to the families who lost sons?

I mail them money notes anonymously.

"Your sister would not be connected to ‘Wind the highwayman’?"

No! Not in anyway. If sending me to Bedlam or the Old Bailey is the condition of Beth’s employment, I will go. She is never to know where I went, just tell her I went back to war and was killed.

It bothered Wind he could not trust anyone after returning from war. Yet the duke had such a look of resigned despair all night, that when he saw a fleeting smile of concern flash through the duke’s eyes, he wanted to trust the man.

Especially as the warning voices at the back of his mind that normally told him to run, were now very quiet.

Alexander half smiled.

I do not lie, but the way I see what happened tonight, is we both held a gun in our hands on seeing a stranger in the dark. Come inside, I need another drink, he sighed. I will employ your sister. You are to bring her here immediately so she can get the care she needs, however, only on one condition. He turned around and saw no emotion on the young man’s face.

What condition would that be? Wind could see the duke was tired. God, he was tired. Whoever said being a highwayman was easy, was out of their skull. The crazy concentration on who to rob and who not to was enough these days to send him to Bedlam of his own accord.

I will pay enough money for your regimental families to survive comfortably and bring any families here to Mornington Park where we have employment. My condition is, you be valet to my son, Jack. My heir, Alexander requested.

A valet! Wind nearly choked on the fresh air entering his lungs. What in Hell would make you ask me that for God’s sake?

Alexander’s eyebrows rose with amusement.

I have a cousin who will kill anyone to become the Duke of Mornington. He is already killing me. When I am dead, he will come after Jack.

You are jesting, surely? Wind stammered, shaking his head in disbelief. How do you know your cousin will try to kill your son?

I believe he killed his own father when he was eighteen. I suspect he had a hand in killing my grandfather as well. My cousin has been trying to kill me since the day I was born. I have been stabbed and shot and they were the minor things he did to me. Now, somehow, he has poisoned me and I am dying. When I am gone he will be here to kill all my sons. Alexander poured the drink down his throat.

You have more than one son? Wind asked.

Six actually. My wife is with child again. This time I would not be surprised if she has twins, he proudly announced.

Wind could not stop the look of astonishment washing over his face. He was proud to say he had never killed a child or a woman during war or at any other time.

That is a lot of killing.

Alexander nodded.

Yes, it is. What makes it easy for him, is my eldest is only a few months from his eighth birthday. I will not insult your intelligence on how old his younger brothers are.

Wind gasped.

You have been busy, Your Grace.

Do not mistake me, I love my wife very much, Alexander declared, watching the man. My cousin is an evil man. I have built Mornington Park so the staff here can have a future. He will squander it all within a year, killing everyone who gets in his way.

You have the most loyal staff of any duke or nobleman I have ever heard of. The King’s soldiers are not as loyal as the people who rely on you. Wind walked out onto the terrace before returning to stare at the duke with new eyes. If he killed his father and grandfather, how come he is not swinging and surely your father saw what was happening?

My father knew and was extremely careful. He was harder to kill so it took my cousin longer, which gave me a chance to have my sons. Alexander watched the angry expression cross the man’s face from astonishment to horror, and could not blame him.

I have heard about family killing family to get power and you wonder why my opinion is so low of the nobility. Except present company, of course, Wind smiled, waving his hand with no disrespect, only surprised to see the duke bow his head ever so slightly. I gather you did not have enough evidence to prove your cousin responsible?

You are a very astute man.

Wind walked over to the duke until the toes in their boots were nearly touching and glared at him.

Why me?

Because I see an honest man with integrity. You also fear no one, not even me. You look me in the eye. I know servants are not supposed to look a duke in the eye. Mine do. I expect it and demand it. The simple reason being I find I can read peoples intentions better. I know what they are thinking and how they feel. They have never let me down, Alexander asserted, turning to sink exhausted into a chair by the fireplace. I will have a cottage built on the park for you and your sister. You can both grow old here unless either of you wishes to leave.

I will not be a valet! Wind declared with determination, looking down on the duke. What else could I do so my sister can work here?

Alexander had never looked up at anyone in his life. It made him smile as he saw the steel of a warrior in Wind’s eyes. Wind certainly showed what he was made of in helping the families of his dead brothers in arms, hoping to ease their pain. If he was as committed to them, as he was to his sister, then he would be a strong power in keeping his sons alive to adulthood.

Save all my sons. Teach them to ride hard, play hard, drink so they are never drunk and fight hard with their fists, swords, guns and above all, SURVIVE!…Survive until they are men who can look after themselves.

Be a guardian angel?

I believe you already are in highwayman’s clothes.

Wind very much doubted that.

I will think about it, he professed, turning to leave only stopping when the duke called him.

What is your name?

Wind thought about giving a false name, but the duke had been honest, and he could do no less in return.

Garland Burke, Your Grace.

Mr Burke, Symons my butler will expect you at the front door with your sister tomorrow night at nine sharp.

Wind laughed out loud.

At your front door? he questioned, as if that was ever going to happen in a duke’s more than large grand castle.

Absolutely. I am trusting you and your sister with my son’s lives, so no door in my castle will ever be closed to either of you.

Wind nodded before making his way to the open French doors, when he barely heard what the duke was saying.

I also love my sister. She has saved my life on more than one occasion mending my wounds. I would go to Hell for her as well, Alexander confessed, looking into the fire, feeling its heat.

When Jack heard the French doors close he came out of hiding and placed the gun in his hand on top of the side table, before running into his father’s arms.

Father, are you all right?

Yes Jack. I believe Garland to be a good man so you must promise never to tell anyone, not even your brothers about how we met him, Alexander confided. He had never made a mistake in trusting a stranger whose honour and integrity were the very essence of their soul, and prayed he was correct again, as he kissed the top of Jack’s head hugging him close.

I promise father, Jack assured, snuggling into him.

Chapter One

23 YEARS LATER - LONDON - - - WEDNESDAY 1 AUGUST 1815

Every event in Life is Determined by Fate,

Fate is a Necessity,

Necessity is Uncontrolled Destiny,

Destiny is a Necessity for Fate to become Life.

---

Jack Blackenhawke, the 13th Duke of Mornington, sat on his black Friesian horse named Neptune, watching the ships move one by one closer to the dock, fully aware Garland was not far away. He carefully moved the stallion to a stop behind the drab noisy crowd standing on the wharf.

Even though he was dressed in a long black coat and top hat, it was not keeping him warm as he eyed the bleak overcast day surrounding him.

He was not surprised the day matched his dark angry mood. He took in deep breaths hoping to cool his anger, but it was to no avail.

He was late and he was never late no matter the circumstances.

The anger he felt now was not the same anger he felt an hour ago in a secret meeting with some members of parliament, for those men knew and understood his straightforward way of talking, that left no one in doubt of his ideas.

And his speech on honour and integrity certainly left a few scrambling to their feet to get out of his way, knowing he was a duke to be reckoned with for his toughness.

The anger he felt now cascading through his veins was directed at himself. It was his fault and his fault alone, his younger brother Beauregard was returning home after being a dedicated spy for England, and dying for his trouble.

The only reason Beauregard was coming home alive at all, was because three of his brothers had gone to rescue him and nearly lost their own lives in the process.

Jack closed his eyes, hoping to block out what was to come, for he knew in his heart it was only going to get bleaker and darker.

He very rarely smiled outside family. Family always came first, so how the Bloody Hell had it come to Beauregard dying he thought, feeling the icy wind enter his bones. He remembered that fateful day when he let his sombre facial features do the talking for him, when he and Beauregard had their final argument.

Beauregard had simply stated;

"I read a line in a book that said ‘The beauty of life is in living it’ and that is precisely what I intend to do. Live life and you cannot stop me."

Jack opened his eyes and snorted. He was bloody damn sure the person who wrote those words, would be hard pressed to find anything that was beautiful in London today.

Standing up in the stirrups he pressed his body higher, so he could search over the crowd for his three other brothers, when he suddenly felt a splash of water on his nose and glanced up.

Even the rain starting to fall looked like black slate making the day more depressing.

He felt Neptune move and do a sidestep away from the crowd. He immediately pulled the horse up until he stood perfectly still.

It is alright old boy, there is no way I will ride you into that throng he reassured, patting Neptune’s mane, noticing more raindrops fall, when he suddenly saw a bright silver slither of rain fall before his eyes, trying to force and push its small tiny light into his gloom.

He curiously looked around, searching for more light in the even flow of drizzling water, recalling as a child how London’s docks seemed to be a paintbox of mosaic colours, glistening in the sun’s light. Yet as he surveyed the anxious crowd seeping like grey sludge towards the ships, he wondered when he had stopped taking notice of colours and his life had become so black and white.

Now was not the time to reflect, but he found it hard not to as the discontentment crawled along his spine. Unable to see his brothers, he wiped the raindrops from his face.

His mother had named him Seth, meaning ‘Chosen One’, but he was pleased his father had insisted on calling him Jack, for he certainly did not feel like the ‘Chosen One’ today.

It was a terrible thought, but he was thankful his parents were not alive to witness this day and his mistake.

He dismounted and handed Neptune’s reins to his groom, who had just arrived with his carriage.

I should not be long, he gritted out, feeling as if he was unable to unlock his clenched jaw. He swiftly turned on his heels, striding through the crowd, commanding an air of authority while his coat billowed behind him. The multitude of people surrounding him immediately sensed he was someone of importance, and automatically separated, giving him a clear path, allowing his eyes to scan the masses like a hawk searching for prey.

But he was having trouble finding his brothers as he weaved through the crowd. He certainly should see them as they were all well over six feet tall. Yet it was Gabriel the tallest, bringing the brothers home he should see first by a ship’s railing.

Gabriel had always been built like an oak tree growing up. When he announced in his teens he would grow to six feet four, Jack, Nicholas and Palladine disputed the fact. It had led to many bruises and black eyes with no one conceding defeat, until their aunt called a halt to the insanity of it all.

As duke, Jack still liked to think he was the tallest, only finally conceding a year ago Gabe stood above him.

He once again turned around until he finally saw Palladine thirty feet to his right looking up at the last ship searching for Gabriel. Seeing no sign of Gabe, he turned to the left hoping to see his other brothers Nicholas and Zachariah.

Taking a sidestep he disregarded the passengers disembarking near him and unintentionally bumped into a person, knocking them off the end of the gangplank.

He quickly reached out, pulling the stranger towards him in the hope of saving the person from hitting their head on the railing.

To his surprise, as the body aligned with his, he realised it was a woman, for her breasts were pressed against his chest.

A very curvy woman who sent lightning bolts through his body.

Lightning bolts that caught fire in his brain melting any sound waves that intended to leave his mouth.

Chapter Two

THE THAMES RIVER - LONDON - 10:00 AM

Cherie Beaumont had always been restrained, dignified and statuesque, so today was no different as she stood by the railing on the moving ship. She hugged her cloak around her, hoping to block out the cold sweeping up from the river, but it was in vain as she gripped the railing with gloved hands; feeling the chilly air seep into her bones as they sailed up the Thames.

The power of countries had changed back and forth over the years and today as they entered this great city, she knew England was once again in control. And finally a control for peace she prayed, ending her family’s run.

It had been such a long time sailing from China via India and if she had to do it over, she was not sure she could, for she had come to hate the vacant sky as much as the vast empty seas without interruption of land.

And Land. What a beautiful sight she thought looking at the sprawling city surrounding her. She so much wanted to feel terra firma beneath her feet where she could dig her toes into the earth, sand or even mud, she was not particular. As long as there was plenty of solid ground extending to the core of the earth, that she would never have to leave again; and where the beautiful soil nursed the roots of trees.

Trees. She wanted to see all types of trees. Small trees and big oak trees covering the horizon. Closing her eyes, she could smell them already along with the grass.

And grass. Lots and lots of grass that you could lie on during the summer while reading a book and smell that sweet aroma as you broke its spiked blades. She revelled in the image and prayed she would find a small cottage somewhere in the middle of England, made from solid brick and mortar, so it would never rock in a storm. Far away from the sea where she would never see another ship for as long as she lived. That was all she asked, watching London loom closer and the Tower of London come into view.

They had left India in 1814 when the monsoons finished and were only now arriving in London on a cold summer’s day of 1815, after being delayed at the Cape due to weather. They even encountered pirates near the Ivory Coast only to find a ship on fire off Spain, rescuing men out of the water.

Four of the survivors were brothers and one extremely ill with whiplashes across his back. It looked as if he had been skinned alive as the flesh fell in strips off his bones. His legs and arms were covered in so many boil infected shrapnel wounds they looked as if molten rocks had erupted from a volcano and sprayed into his skin.

Dead men looked better than he did.

The Captain informed her the young man was a soldier who had been a prisoner of war. She did not want to imagine what horrors his body had experienced let alone his mind. She never thought he would survive this far and now so close to home, she prayed he would make it off the ship alive to see his family.

Fate really was a hard taskmaster she thought, when she was looking for a new life and he so young at life’s end.

Watching the vibrant city looming around her, she again appealed to the fates that had saved her and her family to save the kind soldier. If her acquired Chinese medicine could not heal him, she was confident this vibrant city of science would have a miracle doctor.

Yet her heart sank, crying out for the soldier as the city’s splendour moved past and she saw the docks coming closer with their dirty squalor. Now, she very much doubted there would be anyone here to help him. She let out a long drawn-out sigh before taking in a deep breath, which caused her to cough as the stench attached itself to the inside of her nostrils.

Ugh, what is that smell? she sniffed, screwing up her nose, only to hear a small authoritative voice by her waist.

You said the worst smell in the world was this ship.

That was until I smelt London. Even India does not smell this bad, she cried, eyeing one of her seven-year-old twin sons, Pierre, standing beside her.

Pierre stepped up and wrapped his arms around the railing, placing his chin on his forearm. He looked down surveying the crowds drawing nearer the wharf.

That is because India has spices, he joked, turning around and winking at her, before his attention was drawn back to the people milling below. Will we like England do you think?

I do not know Peter, she responded, leaning beside him.

I do not like the name Peter and Jacques does not like the name John. They are so common, he complained.

One thing is for sure, neither of you are common, she laughed, kissing the top of his thick black curly hair.

We have decided to use our real names in England, he disclosed, turning to face her.

Cherie sighed.

We cannot do that My Love, they will find us and they will kill us. You know that.

Pierre turned his attention back to the crowds.

But you said we would be safe here to live forever.

As long as no one knows who we are, she alleged.

Then we will fight them. Jacques and I are getting bigger and you are finding it harder to beat us with a sword, he proudly commented, standing tall as he winked at her.

Yes, you are very good when there is two of you against one, she stated, closing her eyes.

She knew without a doubt she could fight as well as any man with a rapier and take two men down at the same time. Yet the thought of her two small sons doing the same thing was not an option. It was a bullet that really worried her. With a sword they may get a second chance extending their lives. A bullet was a sure way of meeting God.

We will talk of it later, she expressed, when an identical authoritative voice came from her right.

I beg to differ. We will talk of it now. You may change our family name as much as you like if you think it will stop them finding us, but if we are never to move again as you have promised, then we will use our correct first names. I insist on it. Maybe they are no longer chasing us. Oui?

Cherie opened her eyes to find her elder twin son Jacques standing beside her. Studying his strong defiant face, she watched his jaw clench tight, hiding his emotions. He was only twenty minutes older than his brother, but he was a force to be reckoned with. His eyes bore into her soul, acknowledging he knew she had spent her life protecting them. Yet he had a mind of his own, which could not be persuaded or changed once he made a decision. He held his ground with the confidence and arrogance of a pirate who would definitely take no prisoners.

She smiled, wanting him by her side at all times.

So you have decided Jacques? she asked.

Jacques raised an eyebrow questioning her hesitation with a look of someone three times his age. He stared at her as if she were a mere mortal, who would think to question him.

Let alone defy him.

Yes Mother. That is the way they say it, is it not?

Yes Jacques, I believe they do. Yet if the mother is good and kind I believe they call her mamma, Cherie proposed, a broad smile crossing her face, knowing Jacques aristocrat roots were ingrained in his blood never to disappear, even though they had travelled half the world.

We will keep calling you mummy, we like it better, Jacques assured, winking at his brother before continuing. We are French, so we would like to keep something to remind us of our origin, like our French names.

The ship suddenly hit the dock, jolting them.

Where is your Aunt Florence? Cherie urged.

I am here. You really do need to relax Cherie, came Florence’s resigned voice. Everything is packed and ready, but I know you will need to check for yourself. I passed the earl a moment ago and he said they will meet us on shore.

Cherie peered at her seventeen-year-old sister aware she spoke the truth. There was no way she would leave until she was certain everything in their cabin was accounted for.

I do trust you, you know?

I know, it gives me great comfort, Florence smirked, with an undignified huff and roll of her eyes. Although we both know if anything is missing, you will go on about it for days. She winked at the twins before ushering them towards the gangway, noticing the Earl of Hollingsworth’s carriage marked with a dark green spiked