1814—London, Newgate Prison
Daniel Burton heard the cell door creak on rusty hinges but didn’t lift his gaze from the stones of the floor. Since his arrest three days earlier, he’d ignored both the gaoler, who had brought his food, and the attorney, who had visited twice. His cell was located on the master’s side of Newgate prison, thanks to the sixpence he’d given the gaoler. Daniel had paid the extra fee to avoid the commoners’ side with the majority of the prisoners. He wished to be alone. If he had his choice, he’d never speak to another person as long as he lived. Which, according to the magistrate would be a few days at most.
How had he come to this?
Wagering had ruined him. Attempting to fix the race had been the most foolish action in a long string of foolish actions. The thought of the horse dying sickened him. When did he become this man? He never intended for the situation to get so out of control.
Footsteps drew closer, and he closed his eyes, pressing his back against the rough rock of the wall. The bumps dug into his muscles, and he welcomed the discomfort. A wooden chair sat beneath the small opening that served as a window, but Daniel sat on the floor in the darkest corner, his legs pulled up against his chest and his shackled arms resting on his knees.
“They tell me you’ve not eaten nor spoken.”
Daniel recognized the voice and instead of being grateful to see his relative, the Duke of Southampton, his shame grew until he nearly choked on it. He stared at his boots. A piece of hay caught between his sole, and the soft leather served as a further reminder of his disgrace.
The wooden chair scraped over the floor, then groaned as the duke sat. “What have you done, Daniel?” The duke’s voice was soft, filled with a disappointment that was much worse than if the man had shouted.
Daniel didn’t respond. Truly, what was there to say? He’d made a hash of everything: his reputation, his financial standing, and his very life, which was now worth less than the few coins remaining in his pocket.
The chair groaned again as the duke shifted. “I have repaid Lord Hughes for the loss of his animal, as well as the other creditors that have come forward with claims. As you are undoubtedly aware, most of your liabilities were accrued through wagers. The financial damage at least has been repaired.” The duke’s voice sounded as if he were leaving more unsaid.
Daniel’s stomach burned at the unspoken implication. His actions had not only damaged his own reputation, but as the duke’s guest, a member of his household, Daniel’s misdeed had hurt the entire family—Serena, the duchess; Little James, the heir; and Daniel’s sister, Meg, and her husband, Rodrigo. He’d besmirched all of their good names. His death would be a blessing to everyone.
The duke cleared his throat. “I spoke at length to the magistrate, but as an American and with the ongoing war, you are technically an enemy to the crown. The best I could manage was to convince the high judge to remit your sentence.”
Daniel glanced up. Seeing the finely dressed man amid the squalor of the prison was such a contrast that Daniel was taken aback for a moment. The duke’s face held such an expression of concern that Daniel could not bear to look at him and was forced to turn his gaze back to the ground. The man was actually trying to help him—even after all the disgraceful things he’d done.
“You will not hang,” the duke continued. “But the court considers your crime so heinous . . .” He rubbed the side of his face. “Daniel, I cannot fix this. I have tried everything, but I cannot save you from punishment.”
“The punishment is justified.” Daniel ground out the words through clenched teeth.
The duke blew out a breath and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “You are to be transported to serve a fourteen-year sentence in the colony of New South Wales.”
A surge of fear shot through Daniel. Immediately, images of criminals—scarred, tattooed, dangerous—appeared in his mind. He could not live among these people. But just as quickly, he realized he was every bit the criminal they were, and worse. By the law, larceny of property valued at more than one shilling carried the penalty of death. Daniel’s crime had destroyed much more than that. His stomach twisted as he realized that none would have a crime as serious as his to their name. Without the duke’s interference, any regular man—like Daniel—would have been hanged. Daniel was the guiltiest of all.
“I have spoken to the captain of the convict transport ship, Captain Seymour. He will ensure you are treated well, and he carries a letter for Governor Macquarie in Sydney. I hope to convince him that you will be a benefit to the colony. Perhaps he will consider your experience of farming in America to be an asset.” The duke removed a billfold from inside his coat and held it toward Daniel. “Take this. It should be enough to start you off once your sentence is served. Buy some land, livestock, or seeds. I’ve heard—”
“Why are you doing this?” Daniel’s words came out in a choke. He stood with a clank of chains. His head was light from rising so quickly and from lack of food. He leaned a shoulder against the wall to steady himself. “Did you not say yourself that my crime was despicable? You do not know the half of it.” He breathed heavily as he thought of his dissolute existence over the past two years. Humiliation rose sour in his throat. “I deserve to hang,” he said in a low voice.
“And how would I face Meg if I did not do everything in my power to save you?” The duke’s tone remained calm.
Thinking of his sister made Daniel’s eyes burn. “Does Meg know?”
The duke shook his head. “She is in Spain with her husband, or you can be certain she would have hatched a grand escape plan by now, probably involving disguises and ambushing the guards.” The duke’s words were no doubt intended to cheer Daniel. The man smiled fondly as he described what they both knew would be a completely believable reaction from Daniel’s audacious sister.
Daniel’s chest ached. His sister’s imagination and grand schemes had been a source of amusement and sometimes frustration, but thinking of her now, of the hurt she’d feel when she discovered what he’d done, filled him with the most bitter shame.
Oh, Meg. I have let you down. He pinched the bridge of his nose, smashing his eyes shut against a wave of emotion. He’d let everyone down.
The duke rose and laid a hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “It is not for your sister alone that I would save you. You are more than this person you have become. I see a man who is creative and intelligent but has indulged too much in vices. You have been given more than most people in this world, and yet you’ve made less of yourself.” He remained silent until Daniel raised his head. “You can change.”
He set the billfold on the chair and walked toward the door. “This is the last money I will give you, Daniel. You must choose whether to gamble it away or use it to start a new life. You lost some of your freedom when you poisoned that animal, but concerning your future, you have a choice.” The duke opened the door. “There is always a choice.”
“Your grace,” Daniel called suddenly.
He turned, his brows raised in question, and Daniel was struck again by how out of place the nobleman looked in his surroundings. The duke had made a great effort on his behalf.
“I did not mean to kill the horse, only to make it sleep—I needed it to lose the race.” It seemed vital that the man understand his motive, that he knew Daniel was not fully corrupt. He’d been desperate but not malicious.
The duke dipped his head once and left, the door clanging shut behind him.
Daniel sank back to the floor and thrust his fingers through his hair. He reached for the billfold and then hung his head, surrendering to the despair that fell over him like a dark fog. He was not the man the duke believed him to be. The duke’s coming, his efforts on Daniel’s behalf had been meant to give hope, but in truth he’d only extended Daniel’s miserable life.
What hope was there for him? And how was it to be found in a penal colony in an untamed land on the other side of the world?