Chapter One
Nottinghamshire, 1777
Lucas Jonquil felt a painful familiarity with the headstones in the parish churchyard. He knew where his grandparents were buried, a beloved uncle, his darling little sister, one of her childhood playmates . . . Now the graveyard claimed both his brothers.
“Why could James not have pursued a career in the law or the church?” Mother had bemoaned when her second son had declared himself determined to join the army.
But James had felt no pull to either endeavor. The siren call of noble and heroic adventure had proven too much for him and their nearest neighbor, Stanley Cummings. Both had rushed off, quite to their parents’ dismay, and joined. Stanley, who was Lucas’s age and three years older than James, was currently fighting in the war with the colonies. James, the last brother Lucas had had, the last sibling he’d had left, hadn’t survived a year.
As he left the churchyard behind and walked toward Lampton Park, Lucas swallowed back the thick lump that had lodged itself in his throat the moment word had come to Lampton Park of his brother’s death and hadn’t dissipated since. Of his family, only he and his parents remained.
James’s funeral, held mere days earlier, after his parents had made difficult and expensive arrangements to have James’s body returned to England, had been an understandably bleak affair. Lucas had wept from the very depths of his heart, anguished at yet another loss, grieved for a future suddenly snatched away, and worried over the very real possibility of yet another funeral, yet another life cut short.
His tears had mostly dried, and his devastation had begun to give way to determination. James’s life had been snuffed out, and Lucas was going to see to it his life burned bright enough for both of them.
It was that determination that propelled him forward, through the doors of his childhood home. The energy of that resolution surged through him as he stepped into the library to make his plans known to his parents.
“Good morning, Lucas,” Mother greeted.
Father motioned him over. “Join us, son. We’re enjoying a lively discussion of the weather.”
Usually, his father’s often-ridiculous sense of humor was one of his favorite things. He, however, had entered the room on a mission and did not respond.
“It is time I moved to Brier Hill,” he said.
His parents sat quite still and quite unshocked.
Father looked to Mother. “I wonder if the weather is mild at Brier Hill as well.”
“Perhaps the mornings are cold there just now,” Mother said.
“Warmer in the summer,” Father acknowledged.
Lucas allowed a smile at his parents’ absurdity. The Jonquil family had a well-earned reputation for humor. “I haven’t come to discuss the weather.”
Father shrugged. “A shame, that. There’s nothing so riveting as the weather.” The gentleman was a rarity of the most entertaining sort.
“We will stop torturing you,” Mother promised. “Do tell us why you wish to take up residence at Brier Hill.”
He sat on the sofa beside her. “I am of age.”
“But are not required to leave Lampton Park,” Father pointed out.
“Not required, no, but desirous to do so.”
Mother set her gentle, calming hand on his arm. “Why do you wish to leave?” Something in her tone rang a little too close to pity.
That James’s death had shaken him to his core had most certainly not escaped anyone’s notice. And anyone who knew how like a brother to him Stanley was couldn’t help but piece together his growing worry on that score. He didn’t mind that others knew of his grief and concern, but he didn’t want to be seen as running from that pain.
“Brier Hill was always meant to be mine,” he said. “‘The heir should have independence and space of his own.’” He repeated verbatim the explanation he’d heard from his parents over the years. Brier Hill was a tiny Lampton estate in the north of England and had, for generations, been designated for the use of the heir, to live in and oversee and raise his family, until Lampton Park became his. “I am ready for that space and the chance to start my own life of independence.”
“Does this mean you no longer wish for your income from the estate?” Father asked, his tone perfectly serious but his eyes dancing. “In the name of independence, of course.”
“Does this mean you no longer wish me to tell Mother you spend your evenings in the library at our club when you are actually in the billiards room?”
True to character, Mother and Father laughed. It was impossible not to see the weight in their postures and expressions, the grief that weighed on their hearts, yet they could smile and jest and still reach out for rays of joy. He admired that about them.
Mother turned her gaze to him once more, as kind and tender as always. “Do you truly wish to make Brier Hill your home now?”
His parents had lost all but one of their children. Were they ready for him to move away? He knew he needed to, knew it was time, but he didn’t want to add to their pain.
“It isn’t terribly far away,” he said. “And we will all be in London for the Season.”
Mother patted his hand. “We do not begrudge you this change, Lucas. We knew you would undertake it when you were ready. If you are feeling that pull now, I would wager it is time.”
“I had thought, with losing James, I would wish, rather, to remain here, with you both.”
Father shook his head. “Coming face-to-face with the extreme frailty of life is far more likely to convince a young gentleman such as yourself to begin truly living his own life.”
“Even if doing so means abandoning you?” He was beginning to have second thoughts.
“I would be lying if I said we will not miss you,” Mother answered. “But we want you to begin this new journey. It is best and right and good that you should. And, my dear Lucas, Brier Hill is a perfect place for a new beginning.”
He looked at Father and received a nod of agreement. “Care for the estate, make it your home, but don’t tie yourself unceasingly to it. You are building a new life; don’t forget to live it.”
That became his motto as he prepared to permanently relocate to Brier Hill. “Don’t forget to live.” It encapsulated so well what James’s death had convinced him to do. Live. And live well.
***
Julia Cummings did her utmost to avoid Robert Finley whenever possible. All her life he had taken delight in tormenting her. She might be only twelve years old, but even she knew a gentleman of eighteen ought to have better things to do. Watching him approach after services on a sunny Sunday morning, she knew nothing good was likely to come of it. There was, however, no escape.