The Kydd Inheritance (Newmarket Regency Book 1) Read online

  THE KYDD INHERITANCE

  by

  Jan Jones

  Secrets and skulduggery in Regency England

  ~ A Newmarket Regency prequel ~

  The Kydd Inheritance was shortlisted for the RoNA Rose in 2012

  The Kydd Inheritance copyright © 2011, 2016 by Jan Jones

  Kindle Edition

  Jan Jones has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the copyright holder, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email the author at the address below.

  This is a work of fiction. All names and characters spring entirely from the author’s own imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Cover design and formatting www.jdsmith design.com

  All enquiries to [email protected]

  The Kydd Inheritance was first published by Robert Hale Ltd in 2011

  THE KYDD INHERITANCE

  is dedicated to my lovely Lizzie, who read the first three scribbled pages many years ago and wanted to know what happened next

  PROLOGUE

  India: 1815

  The heat was unremitting. Eight months in India had not been sufficient to accustom Kit to the enervating onslaught on his senses. In the hopes that a gallop would raise enough of a wind to cool him down, he strode across the yard and took the reins from the waiting syce. The man’s face was unfamiliar, but that was a commonplace occurrence in this country. He would be a relative of one of the household staff, here for a few days or weeks, then moving on somewhere else.

  Kit nodded pleasantly to the man. He set his foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle - only for the horse to scream and Kit himself to be hurled into the thick, pungent air and slammed down hard upon the ground with barely enough time to prepare for the impact. Instinct hurtled through his shock, rolling him away from the murderous hooves, keeping him tightly-balled with his arms protecting his head.

  He lay winded as the reverberations diminished through the hard-baked ground. Servants helped him up, exclaiming and brushing dust from his clothes. Others ran with soft, urgent footfalls to capture the maddened beast.

  Kit’s heart rate slowly returned to normal. It would be a mischance, surely. The horse had been spooked. And yet.... and yet.... there had been that runaway cart last week. The falling bale of silk in the warehouse the week before which had only just missed him. He had never been accident-prone before coming out to India.

  The grooms had pulled the saddle off the horse, were soothing him and examining the blanket. “A thorn,” shouted one in relief. “No need to destroy the animal. It was only a thorn. Do you still wish to ride?”

  A house servant hurried up with mail. Kit recognised his sister Nell’s writing and waved the grooms away. "Later," he said. "Later."

  A clutch of letters from home was better than a gallop any day. His heart lifted at the thought of Kydd Court, just emerging from its winter hibernation. His business here was all but finished. In a few months he would be back in England’s cool green lanes, teasing Mama, sparring with Nell, sipping Madeira with his father after a day’s sport, throwing himself into all the doings of the estate. He couldn’t imagine now why he had ever fancied himself bored with his daily round.

  He began to read Nell’s letter avidly - right there in the heat and the dust - and felt his blood turn to ice as one shocking sentence after another assaulted his senses.

  “No,” he whispered. “No.”

  He strode out of the yard, his fist crushing the page, his mind numb. Minor accidents were forgotten. Business was forgotten. Even the heat was forgotten. He was intent only on booking a passage home without loss of time.

  His sister’s appalling news consumed him. His father was dead and his mother ill. There was no question of his next action. He had to get back to Kydd Court. Nell was the best of sisters - brave, intelligent and determined - but she was still a minor for all that. Her letter had already been four months on the journey. God alone knew what straits she might find herself in before he arrived back.

  Behind him, the new syce slipped from shadow to shadow.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Kydd Court, Northamptonshire. September 1815

  Nell stared at her uncle in shock. “I do not believe I understand you, sir.”

  Jasper Kydd continued to sort through his mail. “I fail to see how it could be plainer. Philip Belmont called whilst you were in town to ask if he might pay his addresses. My felicitations.”

  “But I do not wish to marry Philip.”

  “That is immaterial. Belmont is a young man whose land marches with that of Kydd and he has known you long enough that your hoydenish disposition fails to excite in him any alarms. It seems an excellent arrangement.”

  Nell reminded herself that she had sworn not to lose her temper with her uncle today. “Have you forgotten Mama and I are to go to London in the spring? Papa was adamant I should not marry until I had had at least one London season.”

  “London? I think not, niece. If my brother’s purse had matched his ideas you might have a hundred such seasons. As it is, his uncurbed expenditure means Kydd Court will be hard pressed to remain solvent even this winter, much less next spring.”

  Her attempt to remain submissive exploded. Ever since her father’s death in a riding accident last year, Uncle Jasper had been abusing his memory. Papa might have been more given to penning philosophical essays than reckoning household accounts, but he had not been profligate. If anyone was to blame for the estate’s present financial difficulties, it was Jasper Kydd himself with his appalling notions of land management.

  “Papa laid by a considerable sum for my season. I remember him discussing it with Kit. It is only because he broke his leg shortly after Kit went out to India that I was not presented eighteen months ago.” Her voice shook as she mentioned her brother. Kit had to be alive, he just had to.

  Her uncle glanced at her coldly. “You are arguing again, Helena. You know my views on ladies who argue.”

  Not for the first time, Nell wished she and her mother had not been so numb with grief at Papa’s death that they failed to notice Jasper taking over the ordering of Kydd Court. With no opposition, he had smoothly convinced the solicitor that in the temporary absence of the heir, he himself should act as his nephew’s agent. Now it seemed to Nell that he was as often here as he was at his own estate of Windown Park, countermanding her running of the house and Home Farm, and imposing his joyless regime over all.

  Jasper selected a cream-coloured packet from amongst the correspondence and broke the wafer. His complexion darkened as he read the enclosure. “The Half Moon Street house is still not let. Last time it was haunted attics, now the agent reports the kitchen as being damp. Another bad investment by your father. Would that I could sell the place and be rid of it.”

  Nell burned with anger. Her uncle had said I. The Kydd estate was not his. Not yet. And if she could only trace Kit it never would be.

  Her indrawn breath drew Jasper’s attention. He looked up, his lips thinning as he observed her clenched fists. “Enough of this folly. The subject is closed. A season in London without a sizeable dowry is an absurdity. Accept Belmont and be thankful. We dine there tonight. Be sure to wear something suitable.”

  Nell dropped a seething curtsey. “As you wish.”

  The conversation pounded in Nell’s head as her maid dressed her in a particularly ugly mulberry satin evening gown. If by ‘wear something suitable’ her uncle meant ‘attractive enough for a man to propose marriage’, then he should have left the commissioning of her wardrobe to her. No one knew better than Nell that the fussy greys and mauves he had ordered so high-handedly from his wife’s dressmaker did not become her, but put off Papa’s mourning a day earlier than the full twelve months she would not, especially for such a reason as this.

  Marry Philip Belmont indeed, when he himself cheerfully admitted that he’d never been much of one for brains. Nell would be biting her tongue half the day for fear of making him unhappy. She couldn’t imagine what had induced Philip to offer for her. It certainly wasn’t love, only last week he had been asking whether she didn’t think Charlotte Grainger’s hair the exact colour of ripening corn? How Kit would roast her when he heard.

  Oh, Kit. Nell wished with all her heart that her brother was here right now. Six years her elder, taller by a head, as well-formed as he was carelessly intelligent, Kit would rout their uncle from Kydd Court without breaking stride. His continuing failure to take his rightful place here and do that very thing, however, was an acute source of worry. He had vanished eight months ago - on the very eve of his journey home from Bombay - and no explanation had been forthcoming.

  Not that they had known he was missing at the time. With the sea crossing taking several months, Nell had simply been counting the days and doing her best to hold Kydd together against his return. Protecting her mother, whose reason had deteriorated with the shock of Papa’s death. Bolstering the servants. Fighting her uncle’s ill-judged schemes for Kydd Court.

&
nbsp; “How much do you suppose a season costs, Annie?” she speculated now.

  Her maid’s adroit fingers coaxed the ostentatious lace trim around the neckline to fall evenly. “We can figure it easy, miss. We know how much fabric a gown takes, and we know what cambric and silk and muslin are the yard.”

  “So we do,” said Nell, turning an idea over in her mind. “And I’m sure if Mama has itemised the wardrobe she assembled for her first season once, she has done it a thousand times. But even if we sewed everything ourselves and came only to a tenth the sum other households expend, Uncle Jasper will still say the estate cannot bear it. He positively delights in our misfortune.”

  All her life, Nell had been accustomed to debating issues with her father and his friends. It would never have occurred to her to treat conversations with her maid any differently. Annie, a brisk no-nonsense woman approaching her middle years, had been her confidante on many occasions. Every time her uncle accused Papa of having run up debts or ruined the estate, Nell came to Annie to vent her anger in safety. Indeed, with Kit overseas and Mama withdrawn into her own private world, had Nell not had the servants to talk to, she would likely have run mad.

  Now Annie took up a silver-backed brush and attacked Nell’s cloud of dark hair until it stood out like an aureole from her face. “He’s like to know about the accounts,” she said, pinning up the back à la Grecque, “being as how he took over all the books when the master died.”

  Nell’s hazel eyes, more green than brown, met those of her maid in the mirror. “No. I cannot believe the money is all gone. I know Papa was more careful than that and I know he arranged my fund with our solicitor. I must see Mr Tweedie without my uncle’s knowledge and find what is being done to locate Kit. Could I go to London in the spring with one of our friends, perhaps? But that would mean leaving Mama alone here. I would not wish that.”

  She clasped a simple gold chain round her neck and surveyed her reflection. “Goodness, what a fright I look. The only consolation is that Philip cannot possibly be tempted into the folly of offering for me tonight. I will be amazed if I get so much as a partner for dinner.”

  When Nell, her mama and her uncle were shown into the saloon at Belmont House, they found the usual neighbourhood families assembled. Mrs Kydd, still in the unrelieved black of deep mourning, was steered solicitously to the fireside.

  About to follow, Nell was accosted by her host. Philip was thankfully not looking in the least lovelorn. He was with a tall, dark-haired stranger and from his cheerful demeanour as he hailed her, she rather thought it had slipped his mind entirely that he had asked permission to address her only that morning.

  “Nell, I hoped you would come soon. May I present my friend Captain Hugo Derringer? Hugo, Miss Kydd. Kit’s sister, you know. Hugo arrived today, Nell, is it not capital?”

  A new addition to their circle was always a matter of interest, but Nell was brought up short by the open-mouthed astonishment on the newcomer’s tanned face. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Captain Derringer,” she said pointedly.

  He recollected himself and bowed. “Your servant, Miss Kydd. Forgive my abstraction, I was expecting a younger lady.”

  Nell’s eyes narrowed. Although she had joked about her appearance with Annie, it was beyond the bounds of civility for a stranger to intimate that she looked haggard. “I am eighteen, sir,” she said in dulcet tones. “How much younger a bride would you expect your friend to seek?”

  She had the satisfaction of seeing Captain Derringer’s heavy eyebrows snap together. His utterance, however, was unexpected. “Bride? How is this?”

  “Forgot to say,” said Philip. “M’mother’s idea. She said I should get in quick now your mourning is nearly up.” He looked hopefully at Nell. “Does that mean you agree? I didn’t think you would.”

  Nell bit her lips at this artless speech. “No, dear Philip, I do not agree. I like you very well, but we should never suit. I would tease you dreadfully.”

  “Pity,” said Philip. “I hadn’t thought about you until m’mother suggested it, but it’s a good idea. A fellow knows where he is with you.”

  She patted his hand. “Not for long, I dare swear. But I thank you for your offer and shall always think kindly of you for making it.”

  Captain Derringer appeared to be struggling with amusement. “It didn’t appear to me that my friend had made you an offer.”

  “That is because you have not known Mr Belmont so long as I have,” said Nell repressively. “It was perfectly clear to me, I assure you.”

  Philip wrinkled his brow, looking from one to the other. “Yes he has, Nell. Known me for long, I mean. We were at Eton together.”

  Nell studied the guest with more friendliness. She allowed that an old schoolfellow might be afforded some leeway. “Indeed? Then you must know my brother Kit.”

  Confusion touched Hugo Derringer’s countenance. “I do, yes. I was sorry to hear of his disappearance. I suppose everything possible is being done to discover his whereabouts?”

  “My dear, you are remiss.” Jasper Kydd’s smooth tones issued from behind her. “You have not yet made your curtsey to Mrs Belmont.”

  Both young men stiffened and Nell felt a surge of irritation at the way her uncle never left her alone. As if Philip’s mama would mind how long she took before going over to her. “I am coming directly,” she said. Her chin lifted as she met Captain Derringer’s dark eyes. “Pray be easy. If you are acquainted with Kit at all, you will know he has been falling into scrapes since the day he was born. I am persuaded that had any harm truly come to him, I would be aware of it.”

  Approval flickered in his expression. “Your sentiments do you credit.”

  Her uncle cleared his throat. The unspoken remonstrance grated. “As my manners do not, it appears,” she said. “Allow me to present Captain Derringer, sir, a friend of Mr Belmont. Captain Derringer, my late father’s brother, Mr Jasper Kydd.”

  “Captain Derringer?” Her uncle’s cold glance swept over the serviceable black cloth coat, cream waistcoat and buff pantaloons.

  “I was invalided home some little time ago.” As Hugo Derringer turned, Nell realised that he held his left arm stiffly.

  “Indeed? And how do you find Northamptonshire, Captain Derringer?”

  “I have barely arrived, sir. Belmont tells me there is excellent shooting to be had.”

  Commonplace dialogue but Nell sensed taut undercurrents, for all the world as if the two men were rival dogs circling a juicy bone. “I should pay my respects to your mother, Philip,” she said. “I hope you enjoy your stay, Captain Derringer.” As she moved away, she could feel the stranger’s eyes following her.

  Her uncle accompanied her across the well-proportioned room, a stalking shadow at her shoulder. “Does Derringer remain with Belmont long?”

  “I do not know. We had but just been introduced.”

  “I trust he does not intend a long visit for Belmont’s sake. A half-pay officer with time on his hands will be the ruin of his coverts.”

  Implicit in his disparaging words were that a half-pay officer with time on his hands would be equally ruinous to any young lady foolish enough to encourage him. Nell almost missed a step in astonishment. The juicy bone had been her? This was a most unexpected development. Jasper had never before been solicitous about her future.

  Though they were not placed close enough to converse at dinner and were at different tables for the card play that followed, Nell found her eyes several times drawn to Hugo Derringer. He was something of an enigma. He might dress plainly, but he did not give the impression of being an impoverished soldier bent on amusement. Rather, he had an air of quiet self-reliance. On the occasions when she discovered his watchful gaze to be fixed on her, she met his regard directly. She was not in the least surprised when it was he who tendered her merino shawl as the guests waited for carriages to be brought to the door at the end of the evening.

  “Thank you,” she said. “If your sport palls, I hope you will give us the pleasure of calling at Kydd Court.”

  “The pleasure would be all mine. Are you at home to visitors tomorrow?”

  That was remarkably quick. “I believe so,” said Nell, slightly taken aback, “but do not make an engagement you might not keep. I understand Philip’s birds are rising particularly well this year.”