The Eagle’s Wing: Eagles Series Book Three

By Wayne M. Hoy

Lady Heather Drake is turning 18 and her long-awaited season is finally upon her. For as long as she can remember she has looked forward to her coming out where she can dance and flirt and smile her nights away. But a chance encounter with a handsome stranger on the streets of London scatters her thoughts to the wind along with her sheets of music and her life is turned upside-down when she realizes he may be no stranger to her after all.
Philip Montcrieff, the new Earl of Theocsbury, spent the last nine years on a British frigate protecting his country while serving in His Majesty’s Navy. After a freak accident took the life of his brother and heir to the earldom, Philip had no choice but to sell his commission and return to England to assume a roll he neither wanted nor had any knowledge of. When Philip arrives at Theocsbury Hall he finds that nothing is as it seems due to years of mismanagement and embezzlement on the part of his brother and steward and he must quickly learn the duties of an Earl in order to rescue his failing estate and all those dependent on him.
Struggling to distance himself from memories of his father’s drunken cruelty and striving to prove that he is nothing like his late father, Philip turns to his neighbor the Earl of Chedworth for advice and is thrilled to discover the Earl’s daughter is the stunning beauty he encountered in London.
When Philip rescues Lady Heather from danger once again he knows only he can ensure her safety and to do this they must wed. But how can she ever forgive him for depriving her of her season, much less learn to love him as well....unless of course he pays the ultimate price of his life, for hers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781728361055

Wayne M. Hoy

Wayne M. Hoy presently resides in Southern Indiana with his wife of 62 years. A retired Police Lieutenant and father of nine, Wayne has taught a wide range of courses in criminal justice during his law enforcement career. His diverse education has supplied him with an expertise in many areas and he is an educator in the field of Theology as well. In his spare time, he indulges his passion for writing and researching settings for his historical romances, which include, The Wolf and the Stag, The Miniature, Appeal to Honor, Banners of Canvas, Fire in the Sky, Lone Star Justice, Ambush at Piñon Canyon, Day of the Outlaw, The Long Way Home, Where Eagles Dare, The Lady and ‘The Eagle’, The Eagle’s Wing, Casey Sue Thornton, A Chance Encounter and his latest, An Occasion of Valor.

Book preview

49309.png Chapter One 49339.png

London, England

July, Year of Our Lord, 1835

I t was a rather cool day for July. Philip Montcrieff, Earl of Theocsbury stepped easily from the coach before the footman could reach and open the door. Philip wasn’t accustomed to all the bother. After spending nine years on a British frigate, first as an older than normal nineteen year old midshipman and then three years later, First Lieutenant, he was used to fending pretty much for himself and his taste in dress was so simple that it could be called somber. He had ventured where few of his countrymen had, and with open eyes and hungry mind, had found the world a much different place than that of his childhood innocence.

He would have still been wearing the blue flock coat with its gold epaulettes on each shoulder had it not been for the strangest of circumstance. His older brother John, the heir to the Earldom, drowned in a boating accident off the Isle of Wight, but four months previous. It was, he conceded, his naval discipline that had allowed him to assume, though shakily, the duties of earl suddenly thrust upon him.

The day had all the appearance of being a rather pleasant one when Philip started out. But now heavy clouds had gathered and the smell of rain was in the air and a strapping wind tugged at his top hat and whipped his coattails. He should have remembered how fickle English weather was, he mused hand securing his hat. Instructing the coach driver to return to his townhouse he started walking.

Suddenly a very feminine cry startled him and he whirled about just as a sheet of paper caught by the wind skidded along the pavement directly toward him. Instinctively he reached out and caught the paper before it could blow past him, however in the process his top hat was whisked from his head by the wind. He mouthed a curse as he saw it bounce out into the street right in the path of an approaching carriage. The horses, startled at the small object skidding into their path, succeeded in evading the tumbling hat. However, with a look of dismay Philip watched as one of the coach’s iron-rimed wheels rolled over the hat flattening it. He shook his head in disgust.

Glancing down at the paper in his hand he saw that it was a single sheet of violin music, a little wrinkled where he had clasped it, but none the worse for the wear. He wasn’t sure it had been a fair trade, his hat for a sheet of music. As he was pondering this he looked up to see a young lady hurrying toward him.

He clamped his jaw tight as he stared. She wore an ivory shawl over a pale blue gown. As she drew closer he saw the gown was a rich silk imprinted with bouquets of flowers with a light mixture of gold in the pattern. Her straw poke bonnet matched her gown and its wide open brim cosseted much of her features, unless one faced her straight on. Which he now did, and what he saw stole his breath. Her dark brown hair fell in short ringlets on either side of her oval face from which a pair of soft brown eyes with a tinge of gold peered with undisguised delight into his. There was sharp intelligence in those velvet depths, and the stubborn set to her softly rounded chin spoke of a female who knew her own mind.

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. And strange, there was something hauntingly familiar about those eyes. She halted only feet away her sparkling hazel eyes moving from the sheet of music he held in his hand to his hatless head and her brow puckered in an expression of distress.

Oh, sir, I thank you for rescuing my music sheet, but I’m afraid you’ve lost your hat in the process, she said unhappily.

He smiled. It is of no concern. It was an old hat, he lied.

She looked unconvinced. Glancing back over her shoulder, she said, We just left Phillips. I didn’t realize how robust the wind was and, oh dear, it whipped the sheet music right out of my hand.

He peered up at the sign above the adjacent shop, Phillips. Another smaller sign below it indicated the shop specialized in stringed instruments and sheet music. His heart had given a pleasant flutter at the sound of his Christian name on her lips. Only she didn’t know it was his name. She cleared her throat delicately as she glanced down at the sheet he still held in his hand. His eyes followed hers.

Oh, I beg your pardon, he quickly said and with a bow offered her the music sheet.

She accepted it with another dazzling smile.

You play the violin? he asked recognizing the notes.

The brightness of her smile nearly took his breath away.

I do, she said, lively. You know music!

He nodded. The piano, he admitted. But I’m rather rusty.

Movement behind her caught his attention. A well dressed man, probably in his early thirties, stepped up beside her. His eyes were not friendly. Philip recalled her words we and his heart sank. Was this her husband or her betrothed? She glanced up at the man.

Sudeley, she said, holding up the sheet of music, This…gentleman was so kind to rescue my music before it was whisked away by the wind, but I’m afraid he’s lost his hat in the process.

The gentleman stuck out his hand. Brendan Hansford, Marquess of Sudeley, he said.

Philip Montcrieff, Earl of Theocsbury, Philip replied, the title odd upon his lips as he took the proffered hand in a firm grip.

Theocsbury? Didn’t you recently come into your title? Brendan queried.

Yes. It was unexpected, Philip said making no effort to elaborate.

The girl was staring at him. She cleared her throat as though she was going to say something. Hansford looked at her, but she was gazing intently at the sheet of music, too intently Philip thought.

Lord Theocsbury, may I introduce to you my sister-in-law, Lady Heather Drake, Hansford said.

Philip bowed. Lady Heather, it is my pleasure, he said and truly meant it as he took the tiny hand that she presented encased in a soft kid glove. She smiled up at him. It was as though her mind, moments ago, had been miles away, which didn’t do much for his self-esteem.

My lord, I do feel awful that you’ve lost your hat. She gave her brother-in-law a pointed look.

Lord Theocsbury, if you would name your hatter, I shall—

You are kind, my lord, Philip interrupted holding up a hand, but there is no need. Truly it was an old hat.

Well, if you are certain, then we shall say good day, my lord, Brendan said offering Heather his arm.

Good day, my lord, Heather said curtsying her eyes meeting his for an instant longer than might have been proper.

Good day, Philip said bowing. He watched as they entered the waiting carriage parked before the music shop.

49872.png

As the carriage lurched into motion, Heather leaned forward and peered out the coach window at the young man standing where they had left him staring at the carriage as it moved out into traffic. He hadn’t recognized her. She had thought perhaps the name might have jogged his memory, but she had only been a shy nine-year-old, all angles and elbows, with not even a hint of feminine appeal, and he sixteen when he had gone away to school. And they had really only met that one time. Why would he remember her?

She put fingers to her lips to suppress the nervous giggle that was about to burst forth. She had nearly laughed out loud at the comical expression on Lord Theocsbury’s face as he watched the carriage wheel roll over his hat. Thankfully she hadn’t—giggled aloud that was. But it had been so funny, and she felt terrible that she had thought it so. Of course that wasn’t like her at all, and would have not gone over well in the least.

Especially having decided Philip Montcrieff was the most handsome man she had ever seen. And in the short time she had been in London, she had seen her fair share of handsome men. Lord Theocsbury had a lean but powerful build. His cheekbones were high and rather prominent…and sun-bronzed, which suggested that he’d spent many hours out of doors. And there was his wide-footed stance. She could plainly visualize him standing on a ship’s deck. She hadn’t heard much about him after he left for Oxford. There had been talk when he returned from school that shortly afterward he joined the Navy. Brendan had remarked that he had newly inherited his title. She remembered hearing that his older brother had died in a boating accident a few months ago. So, it apparently had been the title that brought him back to England.

He had completely changed, from a skinny youth to a very handsome and well-formed man, but there was no mistaking those eyes, as blue as the heavens…They hadn’t changed. But at seventeen she wasn’t quite of a mind to pursue a husband she told herself…not yet. When she did she would have a marriage like her sister and Brendan’s union. The love they had for one another was so easy to see. They listened to each other’s opinion on everything from agriculture, estate management, and believe it or not, politics. She glanced up sensing Brendan watching her. He wore an amused expression. She looked back out the window choosing to ignore him. But his next words garnered her full attention.

I’d heard of the earl, but had never met him, Brendan said. He returned to England to accept the title following his older brother’s death.

Was he living on the continent? she asked.

He was an officer in the British Royal Navy, a lieutenant I understand. I believe he sold out his commission since he’s the earl now.

Heather turned to peer out the window hiding her smile behind the brim of her bonnet. Her instinct had been correct.

But forget it; he’s not for you, Brendan remarked firmly.

She held her tongue. She would probably never see Lord Theocsbury again anyway, so it didn’t matter.

49872.png

Philip stood like a simpleton watching the shiny black lacquered coach with Lady Heather Drake inside disappear among the other conveyances navigating the busy street. Realizing he was acting the fool, Philip turned away and walked down the street, now with a new destination in sight—his hatter.

A half hour later Philip left the hatter’s with his new tall silk hat, which had cost him 40 shillings that he hadn’t wanted to spend, secured firmly on his head. He continued up Bond Street to Vigo Lane where his solicitor maintained his office. Philip had yet to visit his country estate at Theocsbury Hall in Gloucestershire. He hadn’t been there since he was nineteen. And those old hurtful memories were still hard to put out of his mind. After his return to England he’d stayed at his deceased brother’s three story townhouse at 79 Gloucester Place, which now belonged to him. He needed to visit his country estate, if nothing else, but to see his mother.

He really hadn’t known John, his older brother, and father’s heir, that well. John had been away at school for much of Philip’s younger years. He thought of his father, William Montcrieff, as he weaved his way along the crowded street. He had forgotten how the streets were always teeming with humanity. It didn’t seem that there was a single hour that the main streets were empty. The roar, Philip realized having returned after years away at sea to the hustle and bustle of London, was not a single sound but an assortment of clamor, from the volume of carriages, hacks and drays that actually shook the street, to the bells that rang incessantly at all hours…and the interminable crowds. At times one couldn’t hear oneself think.

Philip’s early memory of his father was of a cold unfeeling man of imposing bulk. But by the time he returned from Oxford, his father’s intimidating size had diminished significantly, as did Philip’s respect for the man. His father was a drunkard, and when he was in his cups, which was often, he was cruel and mean, often taking his anger out on Philip, why he never knew. A memory of a broken drum thrown into the fire, of angry hate-filled curses sent a heaviness crowding his heart. His mother did her best to protect him when he was small, but always at the cost of her own wellbeing. Philip considered himself lucky that he escaped with only a small scar above his left eye from one of his father’s drunken rages. It still rankled Philip that he had been unable to defend his mother from his father’s fists. He had spent many of his boyhood nights fervently wishing that he was a man, so he could give his father the comeuppance he deserved.

Going off to school had been his savior. But even with an Oxford education Philip, as a second son, had no property of his own and was left to shift about as best he could upon his return from school. Something he had done most of his life in any case.

So, at age nineteen his career as son and brother ended. His father, bless his heart, did buy him a midshipman’s berth in the Royal Navy. The first and only letter he had received from his father, the man had said he was certain that he would not long survive an adventure with the Royal Navy. Four years later his father, while foxed, had fallen from his horse and broken his neck. But by then Philip had risen in the ranks to First Lieutenant and was second in command of the frigate HMS Samson on the far side of the world. It was months before word reached him in the form of a letter from his mother. The only one who really cared that he had departed was his mother and he regretted now his absence these last six years that he had been away at sea.

But now, with the death of his brother, Philip had inherited, and since, without him, there was no one left to continue the line, he resigned his commission and returned to England as the 9th Earl of Theocsbury.

Philip halted in front of the red brick building and looked up at the sign over the door; William J. Walpole, Solicitor et al. So deep in thought he had almost walked past Mr. Walpole’s office. He mounted the steps and entered. He was met by a clerk and a moment later ushered into Mr. Walpole’s private office. Mr. Walpole was in his late fifties. His thick graying hair was rather long and curled about his ears. He wore a black frock coat and trousers and a crisp silk cravat.

All seems to be in order, Lieutenant Montcrieff. Rather, Lord Theocsbury, I should say, he corrected himself.

That is it then? Philip asked. He hadn’t known what to expect, but imagined that the formalities of inheriting a title would be more involved.

Actually there are various applications to be made, documents to be signed, et cetera. But it should be straightforward. You are the rightful heir, Mr. Walpole said.

"And the estate consists of…? Philip said.

Theocsbury is made up of the main country estate of slightly more than two-thousand acres at Gloucestershire; and Brendan Priory, a smaller property near Chideock a tiny village in south west Dorset. And, of course, the townhouse at 79 Gloucester Place here in London, he said.

Sir, can you tell me anything about my brother’s death? Philip asked.

The solicitor leaned back in his chair frowning. It seems that your brother drowned in a boating accident off the Isle of Wight—

I’m aware of that, sir. Can you supply me with any details?

Mr. Walpole cleared his throat. Well, it appears your brother was with a small party of friends aboard a ketch belonging to the Earl of Canterbury—

I remember the Earl, Philip said. He owned the estate east of my father’s. The Earl had a son close to John’s age.

Yes, Charles, Lord Hubert Bingham’s only son. He and your brother were quite chummy. You remember him?

Vaguely, Philip said. We did not go on in the same circles.

The story as it has come to me is that having imbibed more than a few spirituous drinks; your brother failed to notice the swinging boom and was struck in the head and knocked overboard. I’m sorry to say his body was not recovered until two days later when it was washed ashore. I’m sorry my lord.

Philip gave a brisk nod.

Oh, I nearly forgot, the solicitor exclaimed, reaching in a desk drawer and extracting a small leather pouch which he handed to Philip.

Philip dumped the contents of the pouch, four coins and a small brass key fixed to a thin chain, into his palm. Philip swallowed and nodded his thanks.

The coroner was able to recover those items from your brother’s corpse. The coins have little consequence, I suppose, but the key might be something of significance. Your brother had it around his neck under his shirt.

Philip absently fingered the key. He hadn’t recalled ever seeing his brother with such a key. But that really didn’t mean a great deal. He hadn’t spent much time in his brother’s company growing up. Standing he took up his wide-footed stance, a practice from his days at sea that he couldn’t seem to let go of.

My Lord, will you be returning soon to your estate at Gloucestershire? Mr. Walpole asked. Perhaps I don’t need to tell you that neither your late father nor your brother devoted much time to Theocsbury Hall, preferring to reside at the house in town, except for annual trips to Brendan Priory in early spring and fall.

Is my mother living at Theocsbury Hall alone?

She is, my Lord, save for the servants.

Who is managing Theocsbury Hall at the moment? Philip asked experiencing a pang of guilt. He should have gone to see his mother before now.

There is a steward, a Mr. Walter. As far as I know he is a competent fellow.

And Brendan Priory?

As far as I know the place is well attended. I believe your father’s longtime bailiff, Mr. Roger Thomkins still sees to things there.

I see, Philip said absently, remembering Mr. Thomkins. There had been a few summers spent at Brendan Priory with his mother when he was a boy. The man was tall and stern-faced man, but not unkind. Philip had felt safe there.

Oh, one more thing, Mr. Walpole said. Hubert, the butler at your townhouse at Gloucester Place, mentioned to me last week that there was a break in. It seemed the pick lock rummaged through all of Lord John’s cabinets and desk drawers in his study, but strangely walked off with nothing, which is quite odd, I admit. Hubert was very concerned over the whole thing, but I assured him that being burglarized in this day and age is really not uncommon, not in the metropolis, and he was fortunate there was no loss of property.

Philip nodded, only half listening, his mind having turned to Theocsbury Hall. Why was he so reluctant to visit the place? He didn’t really need to ask himself; he knew the answer. It was the legacy his father had left him, remembering the many times he had been on the receiving end of it. No matter how much he resisted returning, he wanted to see his mother. It had been so long. His father was no longer there, the title belonged to him now he reminded himself.

I have delayed long enough. I intend to leave for Theocsbury Hall by the end of the week, he said, having made up his mind at that moment. You may send the necessary paperwork there for my signature.

Very good, my Lord, Mr. Walpole said.

Once outside Philip slipped the leather pouch into his pocket. He took a deep breath, but wished he hadn’t. The acrid tang of coal smoke stung the back of his throat.

49872.png

As a youth, Philip had ridden often until he had gone off to school; mostly to get out of the house and out of his father’s sight, and at one time been a rather skilled equestrian. But arriving in England, after nearly six years at sea in which he seldom saw a horse, let alone mount one, he had become woefully out of practice. And so, by noon the first day his backside was on fire and the muscles inside his thighs hurt as they had not in years. Not since he was a young lad had he felt such soreness in his thighs and backside. But after daily excursions on horseback he had worked off his soreness. And it was exhilarating to be astride the big bay gelding, which reminded him of the sensation one had standing on the quarter deck of a warship, feeling the harnessed power beneath one’s feet as the wind, high in the rigging, propelled one on.

49872.png

Memories flooded him as he surveyed the rolling hills around him. He was close now to his boyhood home at Theocsbury Hall…and far from the sea. He had ridden ahead leaving his friend Richard Ennis to follow with Philip’s sea trunk and the rest of the luggage. Philip smiled when he thought of Ennis. The two had attended Oxford together, Ennis was a year older.

Ennis was a second son as had been Philip. But one night following the rounds of several seedy gambling dens with a few friends Ennis had found himself at Carpenter’s coffee house opposite Russell Street in Covent Garden Market where debauchers go in the early morning hours when all other places have thrown them out. And it