Responsibility worried Nigel and he began to drink heavily. A week before Daniel left for Europe he had found Charlotte Hughes déshabillée in the attic of the stables entwined in the arms of his brother, an identical look of shame and shock on both their faces.
His former lover was no loss whatsoever, but Nigel’s betrayal was. Daniel had not sought him out when he left England with his regiment, an action he regretted when a bullet went through his leg in Penasquedo as he tried to shelter Moore from the battle, and regretted again when the fever took him into the realm of pain, heat and hopelessness on the transports home.
Charlotte had long gone north with her rich Scottish beau by the time he returned and his brother had been drawn into the company of a group of men who had forgotten what was good and true and sound about life.
Sometimes Daniel thought he had forgotten, too, but he was fighting to cling on and Amethyst Cameron was a part of that, despite the lies about her dead husband.
After he had begun to recover from the wound to his thigh from La Corunna he had gone to recuperate at the London town house. His mother and sisters had left to stay with an aunt in Coventry, the sudden shock of the death of Nigel affecting his mother in a way that had made her even more unstable. Hence, when Daniel arrived home from the hospital and in no fit state to travel, his grandfather was the only person left in residence in town.
Harold Heatley-Ward had been a man of few words all of his life, but in the time they were thrown unexpectedly together, he had begun to talk more and Daniel would hobble each night to his grandfather’s sitting room.
‘Your mother was never an easy woman, Daniel. I blame my wife for spoiling her and allowing her every wish. Sometimes disappointment and frustration can help to build a character’s resilience. Janet never had a chance to nurture hers and as an only child was wont to get whatever she favoured.’
He’d produced a large bottle of whisky after the confession, taking the top off it with a sort of quiet excitement.
‘The stuff of legend,’ he had said. ‘Brandy hasn’t a heart compared to the best of what Scotland can offer and whilst we are alone with no one to sanction our taste we should enjoy it.’
And they had until well into the following morning.
‘Your brother left you a letter, by the way,’ his grandfather had confessed at around three o’clock, words slurred. His movements were clumsy, too, as he went to retrieve the missive from a drawer next to his bed. From the drink or from the creeping arthritis, there was no true way to tell.
‘Nigel made me swear that I would not give this to you until we were alone. Unseen if you like. From such instructions I have taken it that he did not wish for your mother to read the thing.’
‘Have you? Read it, I mean?’
‘No. It is sealed.’ He handed over the note. ‘From Nigel’s state of mind when he gave it to me I think I have a fair idea about what it might contain.’
Daniel hadn’t known whether to open it up then and there or leave it until later. But, cognisant of his grandfather’s worry, he broke the wax.
Daniel,
You always knew what to say and do. You should have been the Earl because I have made an awful hash of it and I don’t know which way to turn any more. Now that you are home in England again the Montcliffe estate may have found its saviour.
Seeing you yesterday in London has confirmed my belief that if I wasn’t in the world things would be easier for everyone. However, I am sorry for ending it the way that I hope to. A shot to the temple is quick, but unlike you I have always been a coward. I also sincerely hope that any debt I have incurred will die with me. I pray and hope history will record my demise as an accident.
Grandfather has promised to deliver this letter to you when a moment arises where he has you alone. I think he understands me better than anyone. Tomorrow I leave for Montcliffe Manor and I don’t mean to come back.
The letter was signed with an N., embellished with two long flicks and underlined.
Closing his eyes against the tilting world, Daniel screwed the paper up in a tight ball and tried to hold in the utter sadness.
‘His servant was adamant that the gun went off by mistake as he jumped a fence?’ The question in his grandfather’s tone was brittle and Daniel passed the missive over and waited until Harold had read it.
‘It is not a surprise,’ the old man finally said, tears welling in his eyes. ‘Nigel took the world too seriously until he started to gamble, then he forgot to think about anything else at all. Your father was afflicted with the same sort of sickness.’
Anger claimed reason at the ease of such an excuse as Daniel stood, trying to control his fury. ‘When I was in Spain I saw men fight for their country and die for liberty and loyalty. This sort of death is...wasteful.’
But his grandfather shook his head. ‘Be pleased that the same melancholy that took over your brother’s mind was not inherent in your own.’
‘A coward simply lets go. A braver man might fight.’
‘You were the only one of the Wyldes who ever knew how to do that. You escaped, can’t you see, with your friends and your school and your unwillingness to belong here in a household that did not understand the importance of family or loyalty or lineage.’
He had never belonged. The thought came quick and true. But neither had Nigel, in the cutthroat tug of war between his parents and the quieter but equally brutal boarding school that they were both finally sent to.
There Daniel had met Lucien and Francis, but Nigel had drifted on the edges of friendships, never quite establishing himself in any particular group.
‘Janet would most likely be even more heartbroken if she knew the truth. If we could keep this from her...?’
Harold left the option as a question, and Daniel found himself nodding as he took the confession over to the hearth, struck a tinder and watched the flame catch. Indeed, an accident whilst out hunting was a lot more palatable to explain.
The smoke rose in small curls from the missive, there was a slight flare of flame and then it was gone. Scuffing the ashes with his boot to make sure the damning truth was lost, he turned to his grandfather.
‘I am glad Nigel felt he could at least trust you in the end.’
The old man merely nodded his head and bent to watch the last puffs of grey smoke, tears still rolling down both his cheeks.
* * *
Montcliffe was a beautiful property, Amethyst thought, the house sitting on a lake and surrounded by sloping meadows and falling to a river that wound through a valley. Everything was green.
‘My father and Nigel never really understood the history here at Montcliffe or the beauty of it.’
On top of the same large black stallion he had ridden in London her husband looked...unmatched. Amethyst smiled at the word and his eyebrows rose.
‘But you love this place.’
He nodded. ‘It’s the peace of the country, I suppose, and the silence, though I have not spent as much time here as I would have liked to.’
Each word made her pleased. He was not a man who over-enjoyed the party life, then. Like Gerald.
‘And your family?’
‘This was my father’s heritage. My mother seldom ventures far from the social scene in Brighton in summer or London over the winter. I doubt she enjoyed it here right from the time she and my father married and my sisters have not either.’
‘You are lucky to have so many close relatives.’
When