Bless Us With Content

Chapter 1

Chapter 1Osburt Laytham was a favourite 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 fire burning within its depths.

Over the span of centuries, 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 to happen.

But it was simply a legend, and why would any rationally-thinking man believe that nonsense?

Why indeed?

* * * *

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

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 in Surrey, its sombre 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. As the heir, however, he knew what was due the estate and married as soon as he met someone he felt was suitable for the position of his lady.

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 rake-hell ways had led to his death.

Archibald, the middle son, was my Papa. Grandpapa would have bought him his colours, but the military held no appeal to him, and instead, because his Godfather 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 loveliest brown eyes, sadly hidden behind the lenses 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 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 didn’t arrive until two years later, as blond and blue-eyed as Papa, and Grandpapa grudgingly tried to make amends, but by that time the rift between him and Mama was too deep. She rebuffed his sanctimonious attempts, and so I grew up with no contact with him.

That was why, when my parents were drowned in a boating accident whilst 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 realised 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, perhaps 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, just below my elbow, it was the shape and colour of the Flame, with deep red almost flickering through it. 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 Maria played my brother false.” Now he glowed at Aunt Cecily. “If we must have a brat about the house that isn’t mine, you will at least keep him out of my sight.”

I was to learn Uncle took pleasure in blaming Aunt Cecily for the fact that even 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 to her in that tone of voice.

Mama…Papa…I missed them so much and wanted them back.

Aunt Cecily tugged the bell-pull, 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?”

“It has, m’lady.”

“Excellent. 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 didn’t care for me. However, he nodded. “If you’ll come with me, Master Ashton?”

“Please,” I turned to my uncle and aunt, “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 of this matter.”

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

“I won’t 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! Oh, please!”

“Brat!” Uncle Eustace yanked me free of his wife, hurting me in the process. “Must I do everything myself?” This time he closed his fingers about my wrist, so painfully tears welled in my eyes, 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 wouldn’t release me, I 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’ll give you a hiding you’ll never forget!”

Terrified, I let him grasp my arm and pull me along to the grand staircase. We seemed to climb and climb. Finally he opened a door and flung me inside, causing me to land on my knees and scrape them raw. I scrambled to my feet, desperately trying to conceal all my hurt.

“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’d 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.”

“Well, if no one will bring him his meals, he’ll 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. Tears slid down my cheeks, and when Jane entered, I made sure they were unseen by her.

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

Ashamed and mortified at having been struck, horrified at feeling blood dribble down my legs from my broken knees, I refused to acknowledge her presence, even as she tried to make me feel welcome to some degree and chattered as she laid a fire in the corner fireplace.

“There’s a jug of warm water on the washstand for you to wash.” She fell silent at my unresponsiveness and set about unpacking my meagre belongings. Finally, she said, “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.

Alone once more, I crossed to the washstand, wet a cloth, and dabbed at my knees as gently as I could, while I wept silent tears.