Heath closed his eyes, still reeling from the news.
“Isn’t it amazing how your life can change in the blink of an eye?” Adwell said in a somber voice by the side of his bed.
He should know. A fair portion of Adwell’s body was covered in scars. None of them even knew what he looked like. If anyone understood about change, it was Adwell.
But it wasn’t just the sudden alteration in circumstances that worried Heath. It was fear that other secrets would come to light. And some were more damning than others. To top it off, he was a cripple with a bad leg. Christ, he couldn’t even walk without the help of his cane. Perhaps it was all a blessing in disguise. In his heart of hearts, Heath knew it would have been impossible to work the farm. Not in his condition. Now he might have money and the ability to hire extra help at home. He ran a hand over his face.
“Is something else bothering you?” Adwell inquired.
Heath glanced at his friend. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I’m very good at reading people, and the idea of inheriting a title and being elevated from a farmer would make anyone a little happy. You, my friend, are anything but happy.”
“I fear my shortcomings will come to light with this new venture.”
“Are they anything to be concerned about?”
Heath didn’t answer right away. Every person had their faults, some worse than others. He had one that most people would find appalling. For that reason he would allow no one, not even his friends, to discover his secret. Hadn’t he done a good job so far of hiding who he was? He would carry on as usual, denying himself that one thing he craved above everything . . . love.
Finally, Heath turned his attention back to Adwell and smiled. “Nothing that I can’t handle.”
CHAPTER1
Summer 1864, Dover
Three months, that’s how long—or short—of a time it had been since Heath’s life had changed. Now he was on his way to Stokesby Manor near Dover. After leaving the hospital in London, Heath had gone to the solicitor’s office to discuss his inheritance, then home. He’d told Victoria and his mother about the situation. Both had been adamant that he claim his inheritance. A small part of Heath wondered if they said it because of his injury, knowing he wouldn’t be able to work on the farm.
Whatever anyone’s reasons, Heath was now the heir to a baronet. The solicitor had explained the family connection. Heath’s paternal grandfather had cut ties with his family, even going so far as to change his name from Forster to Foster. But it had not been enough, and the solicitor’s investigators had discovered the hidden branch of the Forster family.
Unfortunately, two weeks after his return, Heath’s mother had succumbed to her illness and died. After the funeral, he and Victoria had decided that Heath would accept the title while she and her husband stayed on the family farm. Now that Heath had extra income, per his discussion with the solicitor, he could help the family by hiring extra hands to make the farm profitable. Before his departure, Heath had signed over ownership of the farm to Victoria and Jeffrey.
Now he was in a carriage, headed to his new life hundreds of miles from anything familiar. Being in the Navy, he had docked at Dover occasionally, but never long enough to get a feel for the city. At least he would be near the sea. There was something about the wide expanse of blue water that had fascinated Heath during his time in service. During the long journey back from New Zealand, when his leg had been almost unbearable from the fresh pain, the rhythmic rocking of the ship on the waves had lulled him to sleep, if only for a short time.
As the carriage drew closer to his destination, the tingling in Heath’s right leg increased from sitting in the cramped carriage for so long. At this rate he wouldn’t be able to walk when he arrived. Damned leg. He stared at the cane resting next to his seat, silently cursing the piece of wood. It did little to ease his mood.
What had he been thinking? Heath leaned his head back and signed. Accepting a title when he didn’t have any of the requirements. Heath’s education was rudimentary, he didn’t like being in crowds, and now with his injury and the need for a cane, his nerves were even worse. Everyone would look at him, pointing out the fact that he was a cripple. Heath banged his head against the cushioned seat. Dizziness threatened his consciousness. Perhaps some fresh air would help. Heath poked his head out the window, taking deep gulps of the cool salty air.
With any luck, there was already an estate manager employed to take care of the daily running of the place. From what the solicitor had told Heath, the estate was nearly eight hundred acres. Much more than the measly farm he and his family had. The thought of having to overlook such an enterprise made Heath fumble with his collar.
Eventually, the carriage pulled into a drive. Heath couldn’t see the house at first, but after a turn in the road it came into view. It was grand, by his standards. The manor was built of stone, with three stories stretching out on both sides of the structure. Rows of windows sparkled in the afternoon sun. The stony façade showed signs of age from the years of harsh English weather, but the structure appeared in good repair. The shingles on the roof were intact, and the lawn around the house was neatly trimmed.
How big is this place? Too big for one person.
Two figures stood outside by the main entrance. Heath took a fortifying breath before he exited the conveyance. His cane in one hand, Heath gingerly hoisted himself down the two steps, trying not to wince from stepping down with his bad leg. The last thing Heath wanted was for the staff to talk about him, or even worse, pity him for being a cripple. With as much dignity as he could muster, Heath smiled at the duo. The man and woman greeted him with a bow and curtesy, respectively.
“Good morning, Sir Heath. Welcome to Stokesby Manor,” said the man. “My name is Jenkins. I’m the butler and, if you so require, valet.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Jenkins.”
“This is Mrs. Baum, the housekeeper.”
The older woman spoke. “Welcome, sir. I hope your trip was pleasant.”
“Yes, it was, thank you.”
Heath was unaccustomed to being treated so formally. Now that he was a Baronet, it was customary to be addressed as Sir, which would take some getting used to.
Jenkins motioned for them to enter the manor house. Heath gawked at the grand hall which greeted him. The ceiling stretched up two stories with a staircase on either side winding up to the second floor. There were hallways on either side, lined with doors. A person could easily get lost in the place.