1 Chapter 1

1

“I’m begging you.”

Charles Hawkins took a sip of his tea, and considered the man sat before him. There were very few men in the world that could coerce him into doing something that instinct rebelled so violently against, but Edward Farrah, second son of the sixth Viscount Waring, was one of them.

“What do you want me to do with him?”

Farrah closed his eyes momentarily. “Stop him from throwing his life away.”

Charles shook his head. “What on earth makes you think that I could do that? I’ve never met him. Why would he listen to me?”

“I’ve talked to my brother about you. Sebastian knows I hold you in high esteem.” Farrah took a drink. “Besides, I’ve bribed him.”

“Bribed him?”

“Yes. I’ve told him that if he spends a month in the countryside with you and doesn’t make a mull of things, I will consider persuading Father to purchase him a commission.”

Charles was beginning to feel lost. “Wouldn’t a commission be just the thing? A stint in the army would sort him out, surely? And, if he has the gumption to want to join the army, he can’t be a complete lost cause.”

Farrah pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes before replying. “He is my youngest sibling. I’ve lost two brothers already to Napoleon. I won’t lose another. He’s young, reckless, and seemingly incapable of settling to anything, but I’ll not allow him to throw his life away for something that he sees as nothing more than another jaunt. He has no idea. No idea at all of what would be expected of him.”

Charles closed his eyes and swallowed. “Did any of us?”

Edward Farrah had made the choice to take a commission and had survived all that Napoleon had thrown at him. His two brothers had not been so fortunate. Charles would not have been so fortunate had it not been for Edward’s bravery. Hence, he felt honour bound to listen and do what he could to help.

They were both quiet for a moment. Charles was the first to speak. “And what sense of purpose do you imagine I could imbue?”

Farrah shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve tried to interest him in a scholarly route, but he was thrown out of Oxford. I tried the clergy, but…” Farrah shook his head in despair. “I even tried to persuade him to business, but nothing I do or suggest seems to take hold. All he does is drink, gamble, and engage in the most ridiculous of pursuits that appear calculated to make him look a fool or get him killed. Father is beside himself and on the brink of disowning him. He has cut off his allowance.”

“How long do you want me to take him for?”

“A month.”

Charles cringed inwardly. The thought of having anyone in his home for the a few days was enough to make him flinch, but a whole month? With a bored, reckless wastrel? He felt ill.

“That’s…a long time.”

“I know. And I know what I am asking of you, my friend, but if he could come here to your home, come to Hellerton, and you could make sure that he doesn’t drink himself to death, see if you can break through whatever barriers he has erected with my father and myself and find something he could do with his life, I would be eternally grateful to you.”

Charles grit his teeth. “If he decides to leave, I cannot make him stay. I will not make a prisoner of him. He will be free to leave whenever he chooses.”

Farrah sagged with relief. “You truly are the best of men. I know how it’s been for you since we returned, truly I do. I know you need your solitude at the moment, and I know what this must be costing you, but believe me, if you can help him you will have my undying regard and I shall be forever in your debt.”

Charles waved away the sentimentality of his words.

“Promise me, Charles. Promise me you will try?”

Charles looked into the eyes of the man who had saved his life and, against his better judgement, nodded. “I promise.”2

Charles stood by the window of his study and watched the carriage that bowled up the drive to his home with deepest misgiving. Hellerton was his sanctuary. His escape. The arrival of a young, spoiled scapegrace for twenty-eight days filled him with dread. He could only hope that things were not as bad as Edward had described, and that the younger Farrah would have at least some redeeming characteristics.

He watched as the door to the carriage was opened by his groom and prepared to go and greet his guest, but as he turned he hesitated. Young Farrah poked his head out of the doorway. He wore no hat, and a shock of over long, unruly fair hair glinted in the afternoon sun as an angelic face framed by ridiculously high shirt points came into view. The groom, Blackstone, stood rigidly by the door, waiting. The lad looked around for a moment, poked a foot out, missed the step, and crumpled to the driveway in the boneless way only someone deeply in his cups can manage. He lay there and lifted a hand before letting it flop to the ground. Charles closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dear God. Dear, sweet God.