Chapter Two
December 23, 1817
Mr. William Charles Storme changed position in the traveling coach for the third time in an hour. He suddenly had no idea what to do with his limbs or how to hold himself. The journey to the Derbyshire countryside was nearly at an end, and because of that, knots in his belly pulled tight and then formed their own knots.
How long had it been since he’d set foot at Hadleigh Hall, the country seat for the Earl of Hadleigh? He worked his jaw, the muscles so taut they ached. Surely not since he was a young boy of perhaps twelve. So why the devil had he agreed to give into the summons and come now?
As the coach turned upon a lane that would eventually lead to the manor house tucked away in the trees, he ignored the curious glances from his sister and mother, who both sat on the bench opposite him. Then, he retrieved the letter he’d received earlier in the month from his pompous cousin, Andrew. After unfolding it—nevermind the creases from where he’d crushed and wadded it up several times—he began to read.
Dear William,
I realize it’s been an age since we last spoke. In fact, one could say that a veritable lifetime has passed since we’ve seen each other. The fault behind such an absence does not lie on our doorsteps, though. That was a feud and discontent between our fathers. Now that both have cast off this mortal coil, it’s time the two of us start mending fences.
All that to say, I’m throwing open Hadleigh Hall this Christmastide, and I want you as well as your mother and sisters to join me. In addition, I’ve invited my brothers with the hope that once we come together as the Storme family, we can repair the breech that has kept us separated so very long.
The house party will encompass the Christmastide season and last through Twelfth Night. If you’re amenable, we can recapture the joy and delight of the holiday we knew as children.
I understand if this letter finds you still harboring hate and loathing in your heart from a perspective not of your own making. It takes deliberate work on oneself to chisel away at the fetters forged in childhood and from long-held family secrets. However, I’m asking you to think about this invitation. It’s overdue, and I’ve grown tired of knowing the once-strong Storme family is broken.
You and I can change that, William, if we work together. In any event, if you choose to accept the invitation, please arrive at Hadleigh Hall no later than Christmas Eve. I’ve planned festivities that our fathers would find pride in, entertainments we once enjoyed together when we were children.
In respect,
Hadleigh
“God, what a prick.” William refolded the letter and tucked it back into the pocket of his greatcoat.
“Who do you mean, dear?” his mother asked. Her face was turned to the window and the snowy landscape. Too much more of the winter precipitation and the roads would prove a challenge. Perhaps it was good they’d left London when they had.
He snorted. “Cousin Andrew, of course. Who else? Apparently he thought to play upon my heartstrings with nostalgia and a sense of familial pride.” He shook his head while anxiety clawed at his insides. “Signed the damned letter as ‘Hadleigh’ instead of ‘Andrew.’”
“Ah.” His mother looked at him with a slight frown on her thin lips. Her hair, once a glorious, glossy chestnut, had faded into a muddy gray. The pallor of her face and the slightness of her frame all spoke to the disease that ravaged her. “Andrew means well, I think, and it speaks to his character that he’s willing to set the feud aside in an effort to reunite the family.”
“Bah. He merely wants to do this for the attention, and if it proves successful, to say that he singlehandedly saved the Storme family.” William crossed his arms at his chest and leaned back against the squabbed bench. His pompous cousin didn’t deserve any more of his time. Yet, he couldn’t resist one last jab. “Out of all my cousins, I can’t believe he’s the earl.” Was it only this past summer his aunt had written with a warning that if Drew couldn’t attend to his responsibilities, William would need to step in?
“Someone has to be, dear,” his mother replied in her gentle, soft voice. “And it is his birthright.”
“Don’t remind me.” His cousin was one year older than him, and though they’d grown up in each other’s pockets, none of them were ever allowed to forget Andrew would someday become the Earl of Hadleigh. Even back then he was an arrogant arse.
William’s father had been Viscount Doughton, which had been one of his father’s subsidiary titles and wasn’t passed down. This left him with the freedom to make his own way in the world, which he’d done with much enthusiasm. In fact, he currently held a position within Bow Street as a Runner, or a Principal Officer, as he’d rather prefer people to call him.
It was good work and kept his mind sharp. Enjoyment was a bonus. Plus, it gave him a sense of self-worth he’d never have found if he’d inherited a title. In a way, he pitied his cousin for the chains of responsibility, but that didn’t excuse his attitude.
“I don’t see how any of this will work.” Obviously, despite his statement to the contrary, he couldn’t leave the matter alone. “Perhaps too much time has passed. We are all different people now. Strangers, really.” Yet deep in his soul, he yearned for the connection of family. His own branch of the Storme line had been fractured from the bad blood between his father and Andrew’s. That much was true, and he agreed with Drew on that score. However, it was heavy-handed of the earl to completely bypass William’s opinion on the subject. To say nothing of what had happened with his sister Caroline, whom he only saw twice a year. Drew had mucked about in that quarter as well.
Damn his eyes. At least he’d done what I hadn’t the backbone to do.
“Has, ah, has Caroline written you, Mother? I haven’t word from her.” And neither would he, for since his father had died, she’d become his responsibility… and he’d left her in that asylum due to being racked by indecision regarding her future.
An expression of deep sadness lined his mother’s face. “I have not heard from her in several months.”
At her side, his youngest sister, Isobel, patted her gloved hand. “What happened wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known Father meant to send her away for the rest of her life.” As sisters went, she was a pretty slip of a thing, with masses of dark brown hair that collected gold highlights in the summer months. A faint splash of freckles on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose spoke of her love of the sun a little too much. To say nothing of her clear blue eyes with gold flecks. When she employed them in just the right way and paired with pouting lips, she’d easily broken several hearts throughout London.
It was good to pull her away from the temptations in Town. The last thing the family needed was another scandal on top of the gossip that would follow Caroline’s emergence.
“But I suspected. The way her mind works, her inability to form words or write correctly or even read with any success…” His mother shook her head. “I didn’t prevent him, either. He said that was the fate of people with Caroline’s affliction. All the doctors we’d seen said the same thing. Now, she hates me.”
William’s chest tightened. “No doubt she despises us all,” he said in a soft voice. “I can’t blame her for that. I’d feel positively monstrous if I’d been locked away from everything I loved since the age of nearly twelve.” Hot guilt poured over him, and once more he thought of his cousin Drew. Had Andrew suspected the depth of the betrayals against Caroline over the years? Is that why he’d taken it upon himself to look after her care? “I wonder if anything can help her now.” What would his sister even be like if she decided to attend this Christmastide house party?