The Solicitor's Son

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  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

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Other Books

  ABOUT RACHAEL ANDERSON

  © 2020 Rachael Anderson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever, whether by graphic, visual, electronic, film, microfilm, tape recording, or any other means, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real. The opinions and views expressed herein belong solely to the author and do not necessarily represent the opinions or views of HEA Publishing, LLC. Permission for the use of sources, graphics, and photos is also solely the responsibility of the author.

  Cover image credit: Ilina Simeonova/Trevillion images

  ISBN: 978-1-941363-27-0

  Published by HEA Publishing

  for my awesome readers

  thank you

  HUGH QUINTON SCOWLED at the numbers scribbled on the ledger before him. Another two hundred pounds to the tailor? Good gads. How many clothes did Lord Lister own? Perhaps he was in the habit of wearing a shirt once and tossing it out. If so, the man was a fool, and Hugh didn’t do business with fools.

  He snapped the ledger closed and sat back on the chair in his study. One frivolous purchase after another. A Grecian urn for the remains of Lady Lister’s deceased cat. Trained parrots for their daughter’s comeout ball, imported lace for draperies, and Hugh could scarcely believe the sum that had been paid to a traveling gypsy for an elixir that purportedly healed any ailment—with the exception of stupidity, apparently.

  Hugh had been assured that Lord Lister’s estate was in dire need of help, but in truth, the only help the man needed was for someone to take away his pocketbook and his ability to purchase on credit.

  The door opened a crack, and the one servant Hugh employed popped his head through the opening. Tall and gangly, with cropped red hair, overly long arms, and freckles, Park had the appearance of an underfed monkey. How he could be underfed, Hugh had no idea. The man ate enough for three grown men.

  “The Viscount Knave’s ’ere to see you.” Park twirled what Hugh assumed was a calling card through his fingers the way a magician might. Only instead of making it disappear, he flicked it in the air and deftly caught it with his opposite hand. The man was an expert at card tricks and couldn’t hand over a calling card without a performance.

  Hugh’s brow puckered. “Do I know the Viscount Knave?” The name didn’t sound familiar.

  “’Ow should I know? I don’t keep a log of every toff you meet.” Two years ago, Edwin Parker appeared on Hugh’s doorstep to answer his ad for a manservant. The gangly fellow had been as cheeky then as he was now, insisting to be called only Park. Apparently, Edwin made him sound like a stiff, and a stiff he was not.

  “Park’ll do me just fine,” he’d told Hugh, his gaze direct and unwavering.

  Hugh, an admirer of spunk, hired him on the spot. It had been the right decision. Although Park could be a bit too bold at times, he was shrewd, clever, loyal, and someone Hugh had grown to respect. He was also a decent cook when he set his mind to it. He’d even taught Hugh how to make beefsteak.

  Hugh slid the ledger to Park. “You may show Lord Knave in and return this to Lord Lister. Tell him that the only recommendation I have is to cut his spending by at least fifty percent. His land steward has his estate well in hand already. There is nothing more I can do.”

  Park grinned as he swapped the calling card for the ledger. “Always ’appy to tell a bloke what’s what.” He loved imparting news of this nature—the kind that put “toffs” in their place, as Park referred to them. He wasn’t one to soften words, preferring to deliver them with his signature audacity. In this instance, Hugh would let him.

  As soon as Park had gone, Hugh picked up the calling card and studied the name. Lord Knave, Lord Knave, Lord Knave. He couldn’t remember meeting anyone by that name. Perhaps he was a friend of a former client who had heard Hugh’s name bandied about in conversation. As word of Hugh’s abilities continued to spread, it was not uncommon for a stranger to contact him.

  “Last door on the left, milord,” came Park’s voice from down the hall. “No, not that ’un. The last door.”

  Hugh rolled his eyes. He’d told Park time and time again that he should show their guests all the way to the study, but the man could rarely be bothered. One of these days, Hugh should threaten to sack him if he didn’t comply, not that it would do much good. Park knew he never would.

  A tall, dark-haired man stepped into the room and gave Hugh a quick appraisal. Hugh did the same. Dressed well but not extravagantly so, Lord Knave had an intelligent look about him. He carried himself with confidence—not pride or condescension, as many men of his station did—just… confidence. Hugh respected that.

  He stood and extended a hand. “Lord Knave, I presume? I’m Hugh Quinton.”

  “I assumed as much,” he said.

  They shook hands, and Hugh gestured to the chair on the other side of his large desk. “Please, have a seat.”

  Lord Knave settled down and glanced around the room, no doubt noticing the shabby furnishings. Hugh didn’t mind. The desk, armchairs, and bookcases were well worn, but they were sturdy and had served him well over the past few years. Unlike Lord Lister, Hugh didn’t spend money that didn’t need to be spent.

  “You have an interesting butler, Mr. Quinton,” said Lord Knave.

  Hugh leaned his elbows on the desk and interlocked his fingers. “I wouldn’t call Park a butler.”

  “What would you call him?”

  “A stray—or rather, a scalawag I’ve hired to help with various duties, answering doors the least among them.”

  Lord Knave nodded in understanding. “I have a friend who likes to harbor strays as well. Only in her case, they’re animals.”

  “Animals probably make less noise and are better behaved than Park,” said Hugh wryly. “What can I do for you, my lord?”

  He leaned back in his chair and pressed his lips together a moment before speaking. “I’ve come to invite you to a summer house party at my family’s estate in Oxfordshire the beginning of August.” He spoke as though it were an everyday occurrence to invite a tradesman to an upper class party, and a stranger at that.

  Hugh furrowed his brow. “A summer house party, you say?”

  “Yes.”

  “Forgive me, my lord, but you don’t know me, and we certainly don’t run in the same circles. What possible reason could you have to issue such an invitation?”

  “I have a task for you.”

  Ah, there’s the rub. “What sort of task?”

  “You have earned a reputation as a polished and shrewd businessman. I would like you to come to the party as my guest, and while there, evaluate the dealings of the neighboring estate—discreetl
y, of course. It is owned by my father-in-law who isn’t, let us say, as shrewd. Despite his best efforts, he is running his property into the ground, and I can no longer stand by and watch him bring ruin upon himself and his family. I am hopeful that you will be of some help in that quarter.”

  Hugh could already think of several problems with this plan, including the fact that he never committed himself to anything without prior knowledge of the owner or estate. His reputation stemmed from his many successes, and he wasn’t about to jeopardize that by agreeing to help a man who, like Lord Lister, wasn’t in a place to be helped.

  “To do a full analysis, I would need access to his ledgers and all business dealings over the past several years. I would need to speak with his steward, housekeeper, butler, and even his tenants. I don’t see how any of that would be possible if I stay as a guest in another man’s house.”

  “My wife and I shall see that you have access to anything you need,” said Lord Knave.

  Hugh wasn’t even close to being convinced. “I make a habit of looking at the ledgers before I decide if my services will be of value.”

  Lord Knave didn’t respond right away. He brushed something—a bit of lint, perhaps?—from his pantaloons before looking up. “I can’t provide you with the ledgers at this time, but I’d be happy to answer any questions you have about the estate. I’ve become very familiar with it over the past few years.”

  Hugh leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “I assume you have your own property well in hand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is there a reason you haven’t come to his aid?”

  “I have already done what I can. When Lady Knave and I married, my family agreed to pay off her father’s debts in exchange for some unused land he owned. I’d hoped that would be enough to set him on a more lucrative course, but in recent years, he’s agreed to sell off parcels of farmland to some of his tenants. Although the funds padded his purse for a time, his rents are now down, and he has been forced to use those funds to keep himself afloat. If things continue as they are, he’ll be back in debt in another year.”

  Hugh was even less convinced than before, if possible. Although Lord Knave obviously had his father-in-law’s best interests at heart, compassion could only go so far in matters of business. Good sense was far more important, and it didn’t sound as though the gentleman in question possessed much of that.

  “What would you like me to do, exactly?” Hugh had aided the proprietors of many estates, but he was no miracle worker. He couldn’t summon money from nothing. “If his rents no longer cover his expenditures, I don’t see how I can possibly be of service, other than to suggest that he economize as much as possible.”

  Lord Knave nodded slowly, but the determination in his expression told Hugh he wasn’t ready to capitulate. “Whether or not you can help remains to be seen. I would like you to accompany me to Lynfield and observe the state of things for yourself. You will be more than compensated for your troubles. Come, Mr. Quinton, say you will join our little house party and give me your opinion on Talford Hall.”

  At his words, Hugh’s entire body tensed. Lynfield. Talford Hall. Now those were names he knew all too well. Charming countryside. Gray stone walls covered in ivy, large windows overlooking lush grounds, and four tall chimney stacks that towered above the roofline, looking like watch towers—at least that’s what he’d imagined them to be as a lad.

  “Who is your father-in-law?” Hugh kept his tone neutral, but the moment Lord Knave said, “Mr. John Gifford,” Hugh’s jaw clenched and his fingers tightened around the arms of his chair. Another name Hugh knew well. He could still imagine the cold, hard gleam in the man’s eyes.

  As a boy of not yet fourteen, Hugh had once accompanied his newly-widowed father almost daily to Talford Hall. While his father worked to organize Mr. Gifford’s affairs and strategize possible investment opportunities, Hugh was left to twiddle his thumbs in the kitchen or gardens.

  It would have been miserable in the extreme had he not encountered the eldest Gifford daughter that first afternoon. Only a few years his junior, Sophie’s quick wit and kind spirit endeared her to him instantly. They’d become fast friends, and on the afternoons Hugh came to visit, she grew adept at evading her governess.

  As the weeks passed, they enjoyed many adventures, and Hugh always made a point of returning to the kitchen before his father’s expected departure. Even at their tender ages, he and Sophie had both known it wasn’t seemly for a gentleman’s daughter and a solicitor’s son to form any sort of attachment, even friendship.

  One rainy afternoon, late that summer, Sophie lost her boot in the muddy banks of a stream. They searched for a long while, and when it couldn’t be found, Hugh gallantly offered to carry her from the woods. It was at that inopportune time they were discovered by Hugh’s father and Mr. Gifford.

  Both children were coated in mud, soaked to the bone, and laughing hysterically. Mr. Gifford had taken one look at his daughter’s exposed foot before he snatched Sophie from Hugh’s hold. Without asking for an explanation, he dismissed Hugh’s father on the spot and sent them both away.

  Not only had he refused to pay Hugh’s father for the services rendered, but shortly thereafter, word spread that Mr. Jacob Quinton, solicitor and advisor to several in the area, could no longer be trusted. By the culmination of that year, Hugh’s father was forced to seek a living elsewhere.

  Those had been dark and difficult times—times Hugh would likely never forget or forgive.

  He pushed his chair back and stood. “I’m sorry you have come for naught, my lord, but I cannot help you. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to the door.”

  Lord Knave looked momentarily surprised, then slowly nodded as if he understood. “No need. I can show myself out.”

  Lord Knave’s steps were slow as he moved towards the door. With one hand on the knob, he paused to look back at Hugh. “I should tell you that my father-in-law isn’t the only one who will suffer should the estate fall to ruin. My sister-in-law, Miss Sophia Gifford, stands to inherit.”

  Hugh looked sharply at Lord Knave. There was a knowing look in his expression, as though he was aware of the history between the Quintons and Giffords. Had Sophie told him? Was she the reason Lord Knave stood before Hugh now?

  The thought had a softening effect on his anger. He could never be angry with Sophie.

  Hugh had begun that summer in a dark and lonely place, having just lost his mother. He hadn’t wanted to go with his father to Talford Hall. He hadn’t wanted to go anywhere. But the moment he’d met Sophie, everything changed. Her smile made him smile, her quick wit reminded him how to laugh, and her love of animals had touched his heart. She’d brightened his world, showed him there was still much joy to be found, and became his dearest friend. He could never turn his back on her.

  Her father, on the other hand, deserved nothing but contempt.

  A pain pierced his forehead, and Hugh pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Could he bring himself to help her father?

  You wouldn’t be helping him. You’d be helping her.

  Hugh dropped his hand to his side and exhaled a frustrated sigh. He half glared at the man who’d just made it impossible to say no.

  Lord Knave pulled a folded missive from inside his coat pocket and tossed it on his desk. “An invitation to the house party should you change your mind. Good day to you.”

  Hugh watched him leave before he dropped to his chair and rested his forehead against the palms of his hand. He stared at his name written across the invitation in an elegant, feminine script. Had Sophie written that? Did she know her brother-in-law had come seeking Hugh’s help? Did she even remember her childhood friend?

  With a sigh, he pulled open the bottom desk drawer and fingered past several files until he came to one marked Personal. Although he’d never call himself sentimental, there were a handful of letters he’d never been able to part with. A note written by his mother before her death, a letter
his father had sent him after he’d gone away to school for the first time, and… Sophie’s.

  He lifted the tattered, faded page and read the words he hadn’t read in years. This letter had once carried him through the time when he and his father had been forced to leave the house they’d always called home and begin anew.

  Dearest Hugh,

  I had to sneak into my father’s study last night to learn your direction. I can only hope you are still in residence. In truth, I’m unsure how I will post this letter, but I will find a way.

  I am so angry with Papa for what he has done. He has taken my friend from me in the most abominable manner, and I cannot forgive him or the cruel way he dismissed your father. I tried to explain, but he wouldn’t listen. I feel as though it’s my fault for getting stuck in that horrid mud and losing my boot. I’m so dreadfully sorry.

  I know we cannot exchange letters because it will only anger Papa more, but I had to let you know that I will always think of you as my dearest friend. You have taught me how to fish and swim. You have helped me ride with more confidence and climb trees. Because of you, I’m no longer afraid to catch grasshoppers and frogs, but I will continue to draw the line at snakes—they will always be vile, untrustworthy creatures.

  You, on the other hand, are not the least bit vile or untrustworthy. You are the best kind of person. Don’t ever change, and don’t stop thinking of me as your friend. I know I won’t.

  Someday, if we are both very good, perhaps we shall meet again. I will hope for it with all my heart.

  Sophie

  Hugh dropped the letter on his desk and swiveled the top half of his wooden chair around to face the lone window in his study. His small London townhome was situated on the outskirts of Lambeth, not far from Vauxhall Gardens. The surrounding streets housed a great many artisans, clerks, and other tradesmen. Even with the interminable fog hovering about, Hugh felt comfortable here. This was where he belonged, not on the other side of the Thames near Mayfair or St. James’s or even Upper Seymour Street, and certainly not at a summer house party at the home of Lord and Lady Knave.