It took the better part of two days for the combined resources of the RR Coaching Company and his own select network of spies for Monsale to finally get an answer to the pressing problem of the Prince of Wales.
Late in the afternoon a knock came at the door of his study. Adan stepped into the room. “Lord Harry Steele, Sir Stephen Moore, and the Honorable George Hawkins,” he announced.
Monsale rose from his desk as the remaining London-based members of the rogues of the road filed into the room. Adan closed the door behind him and locked it.
“Your grace. The moment I received word from my connection at Carlton House, I immediately sent for these gentlemen to attend you,” he announced.
This doesn’t look good. I might be sailing for Spain tonight.
The news must be dire for his steward to have gone ahead and arranged this meeting without his prior notice.
I could always sail on to Rome. I’ve always wanted to see the Vatican and the ancient Roman ruins. The Colosseum is meant to be quite the sight.
If he was going to have to flee England, he had better settle on an immediate destination. Once safe, he could then take his time to decide where he might like to begin a new life. He had managed to do that once before; there was no reason why he couldn’t do it again.
Yes, but you left behind little more than memories when you gave up Bermuda.
He’d had almost twenty years to put down roots in the land of his forefathers. Time in which he had restored the family fortunes and rebuilt much of Monsale Castle. Leaving his ancestral home would cause him soul deep pain.
Not to mention the woman who regularly filled his dreams.
While his friends all settled themselves on chairs and sofas, Monsale took up a spot perched on the end of his desk. He twiddled nervously with the gold signet ring on his left hand. If his friends did happen to notice his uncharacteristic discomfort, they wisely said nothing. It was a small blessing, and he was grateful for it.
Monsale leveled his steward with a sharp glare. “Don’t keep me in suspense any longer. Whatever it is, just put me out of my bloody misery. Then I can start to formulate a plan,” he snapped.
Adan shot him a disapproving look. The old man had served the previous duke for many years; William McNeal had not been one for foul oaths or wicked living. Then again, Monsale didn’t have much of an opinion of his late uncle. Considering the terrible condition of the Monsale estate when he had come into his inheritance, it was clear the late duke hadn’t been one for much of anything. He hadn’t even managed to secure the hand and dowry of a wife.
The steward cleared his throat and addressed the gathering. “Your grace, my lords, gentlemen. Let me take you on a journey into the dim and distant past. All the way back to the month of August in the year of our lord, twelve hundred and seventeen. Six hundred years ago.”
Sir Stephen groaned. “This is going to take some time, isn’t it? I knew I should have eaten more at breakfast. Bridget is always telling young Toby, that the first meal of the day is the most important. I should do as my little brother does and heed her advice.”
Monsale softly chuckled. Trust Stephen to find a way to cut through the tension in the room. “I promise to feed you all, before I make a run for the continent,” he replied.
“For those of you who don’t know your history, the deeply unpopular King John had sat on the English throne until late the previous year. During the latter part of his reign the barons and other nobles revolted,” continued Adan.
Monsale’s ears pricked up. I know this part.
“And the McNeal family sided with the barons,” said Monsale.
His father might well have neglected him, but James had gone to great pains to ensure that his son received as best an education as could be provided on the island. He was always on the lookout for good tutors; and was not above kidnapping the odd one if he felt they had the skills to teach the young Andrew something of value.
“After King John died and Henry came to the throne, the Duke of Monsale shifted the family allegiances to him.”
Adan screwed up his face. “Yes, but not until after the Battle of Sandwich in August of twelve seventeen. Before that time, your forebear was still on the side of the French who were seeking to take the English crown. After the French lost the battle, the McNeal’s changed sides. But the duke was made to swear a public oath of fealty to King Henry.”
Monsale quickly having lost interest, gave a half shrug. What did an ancient skirmish some six hundred years ago have to do with him? Or his current issues with the Prince of Wales.
Adan took a deep breath. “From what I have discovered that oath must be sworn again every hundred years. If it is not, then all the Monsale titles and lands will be declared forfeit and handed over to the crown. Before the end of August, your grace, must kneel before the prince and reaffirm your family loyalty.”
“Bloody hell,” muttered Harry.
“You had better get your oath swearing up to scratch,” said George. Stephen’s stomach rumbled its agreement.
Monsale gave a small glance at his friends, then refocused on Adan. From the dour expression on the man’s face, there was obviously more to come.
“What else?”
“You and your wife must swear the oath.”
“I don’t have a wife.”
Adan nodded. “And therein lies the problem. You have until the twenty-fourth of August to find a bride. Unless you and your wife kneel before the Prince of Wales on that day, reaffirm the McNeal family loyalty to the crown, you will lose it all.”
Monsale let out a huff as he pushed off from the desk. Little wonder the prince was being so solicitous toward him. The two-faced regent was just biding his time before he came and gleefully demanded that Monsale hand over the keys to his life.
But how is it that I had never known about this? I’ve not heard a soul mention anything about an oath.
“So, what you are telling me is that Prinny has somehow managed to discover this long-forgotten snippet of history and plans to use it to further his own interests?” replied Monsale.
He could just imagine the prince wringing his hands with unrestrained glee at the prospect of getting hold of the wealth of the Dukes of Monsale. It would certainly solve a lot of his well-known financial problems.
“Yes, apparently he has a whole team of people searching back through historical records looking for ways and means for him to seize ancient noble wealth. You are not the only one he has in his gun sights.”
Harry rose slowly from his seat on the sofa and crossed the floor. The worried look on his friend’s face did nothing to ease Monsale’s concerns. It was a rare thing to see Lord Harry Steele in anything besides a jovial mood.
He stopped a foot or so away. When George did the exact same thing and came to stand alongside Harry, Monsale held his breath.
I’m the one for staring people down. For making uncomfortable offers. Not them.
“Go on say it.”
“Monsale. You have exactly two weeks before you and your wife have to kneel before the Prince of Wales and swear your allegiance to the crown,” said George.
Harry nodded. “Or to put it more succinctly. Woo. Wife. Wedding. Wales.”
He flinched at the remark. Marriage had suddenly gone from a long way down on his list of priorities all the way to the top.
The London season had recently ended. This year’s pick of the debutantes and diamonds of the first water had already been snapped up. Eligible, obedient young women coming from the right sort of blue bloodlines would be thin on the ground.
But you don’t want a biddable wife.
He hadn’t put a lot of thought into the sort of woman who make a good life partner, but he knew what he didn’t want. Sweet society girls had never stirred his loins. Which left one clear candidate.
How do I get her to marry me without handing her my manhood on a platter?
He would gladly give Prinny his last farthing before he would beg the only woman who had ever captured his interest to marry him. There had to be another way. For her to offer herself up gladly— nay, eagerly to be his wife.
“There is of course one lady who would be perfect for the role,” said George.
Monsale held up his hand. “Please don’t offer any suggestions. Thank you, gentlemen. I can as always rely on my friends for honest advice. But I think I need to engage the services of someone with a different set of skills in order to forge a safe path through the dark wood ahead.”
Monsale turned to his steward. “Have the town carriage made ready. I need to go out.”
He was off to see the only female in all of England who could understand the bind he was in; the only woman who would make certain of his plan’s success.
Lady Kitty Steele, the Duchess of Redditch. Naomi’s mother.