Bless Us With Content Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Author’s Notes

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Published by

  Dreamspinner Press

  4760 Preston Road

  Suite 244-149

  Frisco, TX 75034

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Bless Us With Content

  Copyright © 2011 by Tinnean

  Cover Art by Paul Richmond http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 4760 Preston Road, Suite 244-149, Frisco, TX 75034

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

  ISBN: 978-1-61581-739-9

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition

  February, 2011

  eBook edition available

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-61581-740-5

  Dedication

  This is for the usual suspects, who helped me make Bless Us With Content the best it could be: Trish, Tim Mead, Tracy Nagurski, Drew Hunt, Jim, Gail Morse, and Tony. Thanks very much, my friends.

  Most especially, this is for Bob, who emptied the dishwasher and folded the laundry so I could have time to write.

  Author’s Notes

  Bless Us With Content takes its name from the Robert Burns poem, “A Grace Before Dinner.” Needless to say, the George Stephensons in this work have nothing to do with the George Stephenson who was the first to use a steam engine to pull a passenger train in 1825.

  Otter moths and corn borers are insects that feed on hops, and crown gall and downy mildew are bacterial and fungal diseases respectively. A Benjamin is a man’s traveling coat. Ague is another name for malaria.

  Using http://www.measuringworth.com/index.html, £10,000 in 1834 would be worth between $672,000 and $1,336,000 today. £2 at that time would be approximately $225 today. A “pony” is £25. A “monkey” is worth £500. Cent per center is a loan shark.

  Osburt Laytham was a favorite of James I. Under His Majesty’s charter, Osburt sailed to the Indies, and on his return with untold wealth, as well as a valued treaty, he was rewarded with first a knighthood and then a baronetcy and the estate he renamed Fayerweather.

  Sir Osburt had brought with him an exotic bride, a black-haired, sloe-eyed beauty who was dowered with a fortune in jewels. Among those jewels was a ruby the size of her fist. This ruby had been given the name Flame of Diabul, because when held up to the light, there appeared to be a flame burning within its depths.

  Over the span of generations, the fortune of the Laythams gradually shrank, until all that was left was Fayerweather and the Flame, and the legend that if ever the ruby passed out of Laytham hands, a dire fate would befall the man who allowed it.

  Chapter 1

  I was a child of seven the first time I saw Laytham Hall, too young to realize the country was in mourning for the passing of our monarch, King George III. I thought everyone was grieving with me for the loss of my parents.

  Laytham Hall was a large and sprawling pile of grey stone, with a small portico shielding the double doors that opened into the Great Hall. Nestled at the heart of Fayerweather, its somber façade was covered with ivy, and wintry sunlight sparkled on the frost that etched the numerous paned windows, but lovely as it was, at that time it was not my home, and I did not want to be there.

  The Laytham line had dwindled along with the family fortune until there were just three sons. Eustace, the eldest, would one day inherit the baronetcy. He had an unpredictable temper as well as a tendency to bully those who dared not fight back, and was not much liked by anyone, even his own parents.

  Osburt was the youngest. In the normal course of events, he would have been destined for the church, but he was reputed to be wild to a fault and had been cast out of the family by the old baronet. After the passing of many years with no word from him, it was considered that in all likelihood his rakehell ways had led to his death.

  Archibald, the middle son, was my Papa. Grandpapa would have bought him his colors, but the military held no appeal to him, and instead, because his godfather had left him a tidy sum, he moved to London and chose to spend his time trying to set the newest fashion in neckcloths and waistcoats, and in racketing about Town. There was still a goodly amount left of his inheritance when he met Mama whilst visiting with friends in the Cotswolds.

  Mama was a vicar’s daughter, sweet-tempered and sweet-faced with the most lovely brown eyes, sadly hidden behind the frames of her thick spectacles, the last woman on earth one would think to attract my father. He persuaded her to elope with him to Gretna Green, and while his elder brother Eustace, who by that time had become sixth baronet and the only surviving family member, shrugged indifferently, Mama’s father was livid—her destiny was to care for him, the vicarage, and his congregation, not marry some rakehell, and so he predicted gloom, doom, and penurious misery for her and her offspring, and disowned her.

  He was quite surprised when I did not arrive until two years later and grudgingly tried to make amends, but by that time the rift between him and Mama was too deep. She rebuffed his half-hearted attempts, and so I grew up with no contact with him. That was why, when my parents were drowned in a boating accident while crossing the Channel when I was seven, I was sent to Laytham Hall.

  “Oh, you poor child!” Aunt Cecily, Uncle Eustace’s wife, did not have children of her own. She enveloped me in a fragrant embrace, but it was not my Mama’s scent, and instead of returning her embrace, I held myself stiffly. Her enthusiasm dampened, she released me, and I could only be relieved.

  “Well, you would insist upon taking him in,” Uncle growled at her. “Rude brat. Not much to look at either, is he?” A frown furrowed his brow, and he flicked a fingertip against the spectacles I perforce had worn from the time I was a tot and Papa realized it was not clumsiness that caused me to fall down stairs or walk into walls but my poor eyesight that was at the bottom of it.

  Aunt Cecily sighed.

  No, I was not a handsome child, but I had been loved. Would I ever be loved again?

  Uncle snorted. “If it were not for the Laytham mark….” On my forearm, it was the shape and size of a penny and the deep red color of the Flame. He’d roughly shoved up the sleeve of my shirt, and then had thrown my arm away from him in disgust, although I didn’t know why. “I would have wagered that Maria played my brother false. If we must have a brat about the house that is not mine, you will at least keep him out of my sight.”

  Uncle took pleasure in blaming Aunt Cecily for the fact that after ten years of marriage, they were still childless.

  Her mouth tightened, but she said nothing. Mama, as sweet-tempered as she was, would have taken Papa severely to task for speaking like that to her. Mama… Papa… I missed them s
o much and wanted them back.

  Aunt Cecily tugged the bellpull, and within moments Colling, the butler who had come to Laytham Hall with her upon her marriage to Uncle Eustace, entered the room.

  “M’lady rang?”

  “Yes, Colling. Master Ashton will be residing with us. The nursery has been prepared. See to it that one of the maids has a care to him until we can find a nurse or a governess.”

  I was too unhappy to protest that I was too old for a nurse and that I would much prefer a tutor to a governess.

  Colling peered down at me from his great height, and I could tell he did not care for me. However, he nodded. “If you’ll come with me, Master Ashton?”

  “Please.” I turned to my uncle and aunt, struggling to keep my upper lip firm. “Please, I want to go home.”

  “Do not snivel, boy! This is your home now,” Uncle Eustace growled. He was altogether too fond of growling, and I cringed away. “I do not wish to see him when I am at home; is that plain, Colling? You will inform the rest of the staff in this matter.”

  “Yes, Sir Eustace. Master Ashton?” He took my hand and tried to lead me from the room.

  “I will not go with you!” I shouted. “I want to go home!” I jerked free and ran back to Aunt Cecily, throwing myself at her and clinging to her skirts. “Please, Aunt!”

  “Brat!” Uncle Eustace yanked me free of his wife, hurting me in the process. “Must I do everything myself?” His fingers closed about my wrist painfully, and in spite of the way I dug in my heels, he dragged me along after him.

  “No!” I tugged on my wrist and, when he would not release me, sank my teeth into his hand.

  “Enough of this!” He gritted his teeth and struck me hard enough to knock my spectacles askew, and I stared up at him in utter shock. I had never been struck before in my life. “Now behave, or I shall give you a hiding you will never forget!”

  Terrified, I let him grasp my arm and pull me along. We seemed to climb and climb. Finally he opened a door and flung me inside.

  “You are to stay here until you can find some manners; is that understood, you miserable whelp?” He glared down at his hand, which was bleeding sluggishly, then took out a handkerchief and wrapped the wound. “Colling, see to him.”

  “Yes, Sir Eustace.” The butler must have followed us up with the small portmanteau that held all the belongings I had been permitted to pack. “I will see that one of the maids brings him his meals. However, if he is a biter, I cannot guarantee….”

  “No, no. I would not expect you to, Colling. Deuce take it, he could cost me the servants, and God knows Lady Laytham complains enough about how difficult it is to keep them.”

  Colling’s face looked as if it were carved from wood. “As you say, Sir Eustace.”

  “If no one will bring him his meals, he will just have to go hungry.” There was satisfaction in his words, and with that, Uncle turned on his heel and left me there.

  Colling gazed down at me, regarding with dispassion the bruise I could feel blooming on my cheek. “I will send Jane with a supper tray. You would do well to heed Sir Eustace’s words and not attempt to bite her.” He left also, closing the door behind him, and I heard the key turn in the lock.

  I stood at the window and kept my back to the door when Jane entered.

  “I’ve your tea, Master Ashton. I’ll just leave it here on this little table, then.”

  Ashamed and mortified at having been struck, I refused to acknowledge her presence, and while she tried to make me feel welcome to some degree and chattered as she laid a fire in the corner fireplace and set about unpacking my meager belongings, she finally fell silent at my unresponsiveness.

  “Well, I’m done. Ring if you need anything, Master Ashton. But it won’t be me as is coming up here again,” she muttered as she closed the door behind her, and again the key was turned in the lock.

  Unseen by anyone, the tears slid down my cheeks.

  First impressions. Can one ever overcome them?

  By the time I began to recover from my parents’ loss, the damage had been done, and I’d gained a reputation as a sulky, disobedient, ungrateful child.

  Uncle Eustace was rarely at home, for which I was not the only one who was grateful.

  Aunt Cecily was confined to her bed for some reason that was unspoken in my presence, and when she finally emerged, she was pale and wan, and there was a quiet grief about her. She spent what little time she could with me, but before we could develop any kind of warmth toward each other, she received a message in the post, and the household was thrown into turmoil once again.

  “Oh, dear God!” Aunt Cecily murmured brokenly.

  “What is wrong, Aunt?”

  She looked up at me blindly, tears trickling down her cheeks, and her lips quivered. “Marian Hood has died!”

  “Beg pardon, I’m sure, but who is Marian Hood?”

  “She is… was a dear friend of mine. We married around the same time, although hers was a love match. They followed the drum. The loss of her Robert came as a great blow to her. He was a brigade major in the _nth Foot, and he fell at Waterloo, leaving her a widow with three sons and no means to raise them. She remarried—a Frederick Pettigrew—shortly thereafter.” Aunt Cecily frowned. “I did not have much opportunity to see her, although we had a prolific correspondence. Mr. Pettigrew wanted a son of his own, and finally succeeded, only to lose the child and the mother in childbirth.”

  I realized how distressed she must be to say something like that in my presence. “I am very sorry, Aunt,” I said politely, but she did not appear to hear me.

  “My poor, dear Marian. And those poor, poor boys! They have lost their mother and a baby brother, as well as their beloved father. As for their stepfather….” She sniffed. “Mr. Pettigrew is drinking himself into an early grave and neglects the boys shamefully. Her sister Vivien writes to me, begging for my assistance. She has six children of her own, and cannot take in young Robert, John, and William. Oh, of course they may come to live with me! I must write Vivien at once!”

  “Three sons?” That sparked my interest. There were no boys of quality in the neighborhood of Fayerweather—Lord Hasbrouck’s sons were grown and away, and Squire Newbury only had girls—and while I had no objection to befriending the lads in the stable, both Aunt Cecily and Uncle Eustace did.

  “Colling, inform Thomas Coachman that I wish him to take the landau to Panton Square,” she instructed the butler. “They will need a woman’s tender presence,” she murmured to herself. “I shall send Flowers to fetch them home!” She bustled away to speak with her maid.

  And so, overriding Uncle Eustace’s objections for once, Aunt Cecily had the Hood brothers come to live at Laytham Hall.

  Almost shivering with anticipation, I lingered in the suite of rooms the brothers would be given as the maids prepared them. Of course I was sorry for their loss, but here was an opportunity for me to make friends with boys of my own class!

  The sounds of a carriage pulling up in the courtyard had me pelting down the stairs, but I drew up at the bottom and walked decorously to the entryway, waiting until they entered the Hall.

  The two older Hoods were almost the same height, a few inches taller than me, in spite of the fact that we were of an age, while the youngest was a few inches shorter. Their hair varied from shades of light brown to raven’s-wing-black, but their eyes were the same bright, startling blue.

  “How do you do?” I shyly offered my hand to the brothers. “I am Ashton Laytham.”

  Neither of the two older boys made an effort to shake my hand, and when the youngest attempted to, Robert stopped him.

  “You’re Awful Ashton. We’ve heard of you.”

  I felt myself turn pale and dropped my hand. I had never heard that appellation before. “What? How…?”

  “We overheard the woman Aunt Cecy sent talking with Aunt Vivien’s housekeeper as they packed for us.” The two exchanged glances and sniggered, and then the third joined them, although it was appare
nt he did not understand their amusement. “They didn’t even realize we could hear them. Grown-ups don’t tend to pay children much mind, or haven’t you learned that yet, Awful?”

  I ignored that. Was that how they thought of me below stairs? My eyes burned, but I’d learned shortly after I’d arrived at Fayerweather that tears neither helped nor solved anything.

  Aunt Cecily arrived upon the scene just then and swept all three of them into an encompassing embrace. “My poor, poor boys! You will do well here, for I shall look after you! Ah. Ashton. You have met Robert, John, and William. How fortuitous. You may show them their rooms and help carry their portmanteaux.”

  “I do not think so, Aunt. I have lessons.” I turned and left them. Obviously they had no need of friends, for they had each other.