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Prologue

"I am not fond of the idea of my shrubberies being always approachable."

Jane Austen

* * *

LATE JULY 1820, LONDON

Barclay descended the stairs, sliding his hand over the banister, the muscles in his back protesting the movement. It had been a long journey from one of their minor Yorkshire building sites, and even a night stretched out in his own bed had not eased the stiffness brought on by too many hours in the carriage over the past days.

As his foot hit the bottom stair, he looked up to find an unknown gentleman staring at him from the doorway of his grandfather’s study. His grandfather, Tsar, stood behind the man’s shoulder.

Noticing his descent, Tsar called out, “Barclay, there you are! I just sent Robins to find you. Join us for coffee?”

Barclay frowned. Was the gentleman a prospective client? He certainly looked moneyed in his black Hessians, expensive buckskins, snowy cravat, and immaculate wool coat. His sable curls were artfully cut and his face clean-shaven.

But they rarely met clients in the family home. And something about how the visitor’s emerald green eyes followed him was unnerving. Barclay sensed this was not a typical client meeting.

He entered the study in their wake and took a seat in a leather armchair beside the unknown guest, who fidgeted nervously with his cravat. Barclay’s unease mounted.

“Allow me to make introductions. This is Lord Richard Balfour, the Earl of Saunton.”

Barclay was startled. He made to rise to his feet to bow. “My lord⁠—”

“Please, it is unnecessary, Mr. Thompson. I am quite embarrassed about this situation, so we shall not observe formalities.”

Barclay raised a hand to run it through his hair, puzzled about what was happening. He shot a glance at his grandfather, who looked away. Barclay’s own tension increased.

Thomas Thompson, better known as Tsar, was a renowned architect now in his mid-seventies. He had apprenticed and worked with Robert Adams himself in his youth, before being discharged along with three thousand other workers because of the failing Adelphi project in 1772. With a young Italian wife, whom he had met on his Grand Tour, and a two-year-old daughter to provide for, Tsar had risked everything to begin his own firm. He had quickly built his name and reputation with grand Palladian designs, crafting country homes for the wealthy over the subsequent decades.

Known as Tsar because of his commitment to purchasing quality timber and supplies from the Baltics and St. Petersburg, he was famous for his relationships with merchants from that region. Timber had become highly priced over the past decade or two because of heavy taxation during the troubles with France, but everyone knew that timber from Northern America was inferior due to the extended sea journey, often arriving with dry rot set in. Tsar was unwilling to compromise.

If one wished to conduct business in St. Petersburg, one called upon Tsar, well known to be a determined man of ideals and fierce loyalties. A man of integrity. He had taken part in thousands of negotiations with clients and suppliers over the decades, and he never looked nervous.

Of course, today proved that the observation was inaccurate. Tsar was distinctly nervous as he fiddled with papers on his desk. Eventually, the gentleman to Barclay’s left broke the awkward silence by clearing his throat.

“If I may explain?”

His grandfather grunted a bashful consent, his cheeks growing suspiciously red.

What on earth is going on?

“This is a rather indelicate subject to discuss, so I shall be blunt.” Despite the announcement, Lord Saunton hesitated. He stared down at his hands folded on his lap.

Barclay did not like to express emotion in public. He was a man of restraint, except with his close family, whom he adored, but even he could not maintain his patience any longer. He frowned, then demanded, “What is this?”

His lordship took a deep breath. “I have recently discovered through extensive investigation that you and I are brothers … well … half-brothers. A fact that your grandfather has just confirmed this morning.”

Barclay’s jaw dropped. After several heart-pounding moments, he turned to Tsar. “The late Earl of Saunton was my father?”

Tsar kept his eyes lowered, dropping his head in a curt nod.

“You and Mother informed me my father was an officer in the Royal Navy, lost at sea before they wed!”

“It was … easier. It was what your mother desired,” he mumbled.

Aurora Thompson! He was going to have words with his mother when he saw her next. She and Tsar had lied to him. He was a man in his early thirties, discovering his parentage for the first time. He felt like a callow youth discussing this subject in front of a stranger, with his shock and outrage on display.