A Gentleman for Lady Juniper (Clairvoir Castle #6)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

JANUARY 5, 1822

H alf a dozen men dressed in the finest clothing from the finest tailors in England ambled about the gardens of Castle Clairvoir, the family seat of the Duke of Montfort, on a chill winter’s afternoon. Puffs of steam left their mouths and noses as they spoke, each one of them bundled against the cold in wool coats, leather gloves, and top hats which made them easy to track even from the other side of the well-trimmed hedges.

A man dressed in the livery of a footman, John Sterling—Jack, to those who knew him best—stood guard over them. He posted himself on a slight rise on the other side of the hedge, watching as their hats bobbed and dipped like ducks on a pond. They spoke in low voices, and he listened for tone more than word as his eyes darted from them to the trails outside the garden where they’d ambled about in the cold morning air.

A few of them puffed on pipes, including the duke. He was easy to spot, given he stood a few inches taller than his guests. It was to the top of his hat that Jack looked most often. The duke was his employer, his to guard and protect, above all else— and while the duke trusted the men accompanying him, Jack still kept himself ready to pounce at the slightest signal.

The duke had called his closest political allies to visit him at Clairvoir in the weeks leading up to their removal to London for the next parliamentary session. His Grace was in the final part of planning sessions designed to help his party take immediate action when they arrived in Town. In the six years Jack had worked for the duke, he’d watched the way Montfort planned and strategized with the precision and acumen of a field marshal.

Unexpected motion at the edge of the statuary gardens immediately caught Jack’s eye. He didn’t tense up. The inexperienced tensed. He relaxed, released a slow breath, and evaluated.

Not a gardener. Not another guard. But—ah. The duke’s youngest son, creeping along the path, holding something flush against his chest.

Jack’s gaze flickered from the top hats to the boy. Little Lord James, all of eleven years old, moved in the opposite direction from his father’s meeting. Sterling took a few steps around a hedge into the boy’s path, surprising him.

Lord James yelped, and held whatever prize was in his hands tighter to his chest. His eyes grew wide as he whispered, “I wish you’d teach me how to move that quietly.”

“Practice, my lord,” Jack said coolly. “You are not supposed to be out here this afternoon, Lord James. Did you slip your guard again?”

The child grinned broadly. “Yes. Everyone thinks I’m in bed with a sick stomach.” He held his hands out. “But I went to fetch this to pack it for Eton.” He held out a jar full of multi-hued stones.

Though tempted to ask, Jack needed to get back to his post. He held his hand up above his head and signaled with two quick hand movements for another guard to join him .

“Norton will take you back to the nursery,” he told the child.

The boy’s eyes widened. “Sterling, are you going to tell my father?”

Jack sighed. “I am going to put the event in my report to Rockwell. As I am required to do, my lord—as you well know.”

The lad sulked. Truthfully, he slipped by the schoolroom guards with enough frequency to alarm everyone. The child was worryingly adept at timing his escapes from the watchful eye of his governess and the guards assigned to the duke’s three young children.

The guard acting as Jack’s support for the afternoon arrived, dressed in a footman’s livery and wearing a warm coat. He chuckled when he saw Lord James and his gaze flicked to Jack. “I’ll see him back to the nest.”

Jack gave a quick nod, bowed to Lord James, and returned to his post. Back on that slightly elevated rise, his eyes on the top-hats, he settled in for as long as necessary. All six men remained present. Hats still bobbing. Low voices still discussing the politics of the kingdom.

Watching over the ducal family, and at times their rather extended kin, hadn’t struck Jack Sterling as an especially difficult job—not when he’d first been approached by Captain Rockwell, years ago, when Jack came home from the war with France. The work had appealed to him on multiple fronts: he wouldn’t have to depend on his family for a home or income, and he wouldn’t have to tuck himself into an office somewhere doing work considered respectable for one born into a family from the north of great respectability but modest income.

Yet over the years, he’d found himself keeping the family safe from kidnappers, rioters, thieves, and once—so far—an assassin. He’d guarded the unsuspecting children from rough hands and unkind words. He’d stepped between the duchess and a runaway horse. He’d patrolled the duke’s lands and assisted in local emergencies, be it floods, fire, or snowstorms.

He’d found purpose, post-war, which had been a necessity on several fronts.

A movement from the corner of his eye brought him into a quick turn. From the approach, he knew before looking that another guard arrived. They had been trained on how to move into one another’s spheres, to avoid alarm or accidental firing of weapons. One thing the guards never did was surprise one another.

“I am to relieve you from your post,” the man in deep blue livery cut like a soldier’s uniform—if not for the cursed snowy cravats—said with a touch of surliness. Rollins didn’t particularly like the cold. He wore a dark coat over the servant’s unassuming uniform, concealing both his bulk and any weapons he held. “Rockwell wants you in his office.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, gave a brief account of what he’d observed of the duke’s guests, and left the garden for the nearest entrance to the castle. Once inside, coat slung over his arm, he slipped into one of the many hidden passages within the labyrinth of Clairvoir Castle.

A footman who was in truth only a footman passed him in the narrow corridor and took Jack’s coat from him with a friendly remark on the weather. The servants in the household knew the duke’s guards were unique. In truth, the two dozen men were the equivalent of a private militia—yet they’d often filled the dual role well enough that the true footmen, maids, butlers, and the rest, had built a camaraderie with the guards. After all, they all served the same master.

Jack and his fellow guardsmen were the human equivalent of a weapon, hidden in plain sight, ready to spring to use at a moment’s notice.

The office of the head guard had the second largest room afforded to a servant, only somewhat smaller than the steward’s quarters. The duke took exceeding care to ensure those responsible for the safety of his family and his lands had everything they needed.

As Jack walked into the room with its walls papered with maps, he never failed to admire it. Of course, it sometimes felt more like a field tent on the eve of battle, depending on the duke’s movements and plans. On days before traveling or large parties, the guards received orders about carrying weapons and defensive positioning while they polished shoes, buckles, buttons, and sometimes combed their blasted white wigs.

Today, though, Captain Rockwell stood alone behind his desk, hands clasped behind his back, his fierce stare fixed on a piece of paper on the flat surface that held almost nothing else.

He glanced up when Jack entered and gave a small nod. “You never lollygag, Sterling. Always liked that about you.”

No one beneath the captain’s command would have dared to fall short of his expectations, but Jack received the compliment with a confident, “Thank you, sir.”

The captain motioned to one of the stiff-backed chairs on the other side of his desk. “Sit, Sterling. You’ll need at least four legs under you for the news you’re about to learn.”

Somewhat alarmed, though he kept the emotion reined in, Jack obeyed the order. “Is it my family, sir?” No point in delaying any ill-tidings. If it wasn’t a family issue, everything else could be dealt with.

“Yes, this is about your family.”

Damn.

Rockwell picked up the paper on his desk and revealed a folded, sealed missive beneath it. He read the open paper aloud.

Dear Sir,

I find myself compelled to request, with immediate effect, the release of my son, John Sterling, from his current service within the esteemed household of His Grace, the Duke of Montfort. As the nuances of social standing have recently shifted greatly in our favor, I must declare that his role as a footman no longer aligns with our family’s newly elevated station. It is with great fortune and no small amount of solemnity that I have come into the inheritance of the title Earl of Benwaith. I entrust you to convey this significant change in circumstance to my son with all due haste, along with the enclosed missive bearing my new seal.

Yours, with the utmost respect,

Richard Sterling, Earl of Benwaith

Jack blinked and slowly shook his head at the awkwardly formal wording. “That’s…that’s impossible. I have never even heard that my father was in line for such a thing—or known anything about who held the Benwaith title before. This cannot be right.”

Rockwell handed Jack the sealed letter. “Best read your father’s explanation before you declare it impossible, man.”

Jack’s stomach twisted, and it was likely only his military training which kept him from breaking into a sweat. This wasn’t right. It had to be a mistake, a jest, a ploy?—

He took the letter and broke it open to find his father’s handwriting and a more familiar, informal tone.

Jack,

I know you will not believe it, son, but the best of fortune has fallen upon us. Some far-flung cousin of mine died, four months back, and they have only just traced the roots of the family tree to discover I’m the closest living male heir to someone who held the title a hundred years ago. The toff who came to inform us said no one wanted the lands and title to default to the Crown, so they went to all the bother of tracking me down to our ramshackle little cottage. When you get this letter, we will be on the way to a house in London. We have a house in London! What a thing to say. I have written to all the family—your brothers and sisters are coming. Your sisters are all Ladies now! How well it sounds to call them such. Lady Mary, Lady Anne, Lady Emily. It is the very best of news. Why are not sons of earls called lords? Seems strange. Richard will have the honorary title of Viscount. I am sorry there is nothing to offer the rest of you. But we need you here, lad. You can help us work all of this out. Come at once—leave your servant’s trappings behind. It is a new world and a new start for us.

Yours ever,

Father

Jack stared at the paper and read it over again. The nausea grew and his head felt thick with a fog of disbelief. He held the letter out to Rockwell. “This sounds more like him.”

Rockwell accepted the paper and narrowed his eyes with concentration as he read. The less formal letter also came with less tidy writing. “I have heard of stranger things happening with inheritances. I suppose I had better get your pay together.”

That statement startled him enough that Jack frowned. “What? Captain Rockwell, are you dismissing me? Because of this ?” He was a fourth son. Nothing about his father’s sudden change in status would truly change Jack Sterling’s place in the world. He would never inherit the title; he wouldn’t even be changed in address, he was still Mr. Sterling, not Lord John.

Besides, he enjoyed his work—he was good at it. He liked the routine. He liked sparring with the other guards. The pay was more than adequate, too.

The older man raised his thick graying eyebrows. “We couldn’t possibly employ the son of an earl, not even in a duke’s household. Perhaps especially not in a duke’s household. Not only is it unprecedented to do such a thing, but it would elicit judgment from both His Grace’s political rivals and his allies, once it becomes known…and it will become known. Things like this cannot be kept secret.”

Nothing about the situation was fair. Everything about it felt like a bad dream. Jack shook his head in denial again, though it made his insides twist to speak in such a way to a man he respected and had always obeyed without question. “I have no wish to join my family in London. What would I do, lounge about drawing rooms and speak of the weather? I am a soldier. My purpose is here. Not in Society, having dull conversations.”

Rockwell’s jaw became hard. “Not anymore, son. Things have changed. Think of it as a battlefield promotion—perhaps not what you want, but it is necessary.”

Battlefield promotions occurred when a commanding officer died, in the thick of things, and it fell to the man next in line to take charge no matter his rank. Unfortunately, Jack was familiar with the practice. He’d been young during the war with Napoleon…perhaps too young. Now, at nine-and-twenty, he faced a more complicated and less life-threatening form of promotion. A promotion in Society.

He cursed again under his breath. Military life didn’t make a man’s vocabulary gentler. Serving in the duke’s household had cleaned up his language and his uncouth habits to the point he’d lost most of his rough ways, but this situation merited several four-letter-words.

He had no choice in the matter. He had to forfeit the only thing which had kept him sane after coming home, worn and battle-scarred at the end of the war, and instead take up a life he’d watched others live for the last six years.

The life of a noble.

Jack rose from his chair and looked Rockwell straight in the eye. “As you say, sir. There is no choice in the matter. Before I go, I wish to express my heartfelt gratitude for all you have done for me, for all you have taught me, and for the opportunity to serve alongside you to protect the safety of an honorable man and his family.” It was a succinct speech. One he may have made better, if he’d had any time to prepare for such a moment.

Rockwell’s solemn gaze softened somewhat. “You are one of the best men I have trained and worked with, inside this duty and the military. It has been an honor to know you, Sterling. I will order a carriage for you in the morning to take you as far as the first coaching inn. As of this moment forward, you are relieved of all duties. Say your goodbyes, son. Know that we will all miss you, sir.”

Jack winced at the acknowledgment, however slight, that he now outranked the man who had commanded him during his time in the ducal household. He did not voice his discomfort as he bowed, then left the office with a heavy heart and his father’s letters—both of them—clutched in his hand. He hated this feeling, one he knew well from when he’d returned home from the army. He was untethered, a kite without string, a sword which no longer knew which direction to point.

Purposeless.

Sons of earls didn’t do much with themselves, unless they were the heirs, did they? They merely managed estates or tried to marry well.

He thought of his oldest brother, Richard, named after their father. Richard, now an heir to an earldom, needed to be home. But the rest of them? They all had careers…and not exactly noble careers, either.

Realization struck him hard as a hammer to the head. He stopped walking abruptly and rubbed at his temple. No one in his family knew the first thing about being part of the gentry, let alone what it meant to be peers of the realm. He’d grown up in a cottage! His mother had one maid of all work and a cook, and his father had been the one to hitch up the horses to a plow to work the land. His older sisters had married tradesmen!

None of them knew a thing about London, either—except maybe Arthur, who’d worked at the London docks until he found himself a merchant ship that needed additional crew.

Jack swore again, then bit his tongue. He’d never heard the duke swear. Not ever. And though not at all close to the duke’s position, he made up his mind in that moment to model his behavior after the noble he held in highest esteem.

He looked around the corridor he stood in. Down at the rug he’d walked across thousands of times, up at the elegant painted ceiling, around at the masterpieces hung in their gold gilt frames. He’d miss all of it.

He said his goodbye that evening in the servants’ hall during dinner. His brothers-in-arms jested with him, called him a toff, a noble, along with a few less savory words reserved for the upper classes. He laughed through it, their pats on the back, their congratulations. Those were more difficult to bear.

But as he rose to go to bed, Rockwell caught him one more time. “His Grace wants to speak to you, sir,” the old guard informed him. “Said to inform you before you turned in. He’s in his study.”

Jack straightened immediately, tension shuddering through his shoulders. There was that sir again. From a man he always considered his superior in all things. It rankled. “I wish you had told me before, Captain. I have no wish to keep His Grace waiting.”

“Aye, I’m certain that’s why he ordered me not to tell you until now.” Rockwell’s smile was brief but sincere. “He’d want you to enjoy your last evening, wouldn’t he? Off you trot now, Mr. Sterling.”

Mister instead of simply Sterling. How was he ever to bear it?

It took all his self-discipline not to actually break into a trot. Walking as efficiently and quickly as he could through the halls would have to suffice. He wished he could change back into his footmen’s uniform, but he’d taken it off before dinner in favor of his own clothing.

He passed one of the other men outside the library and study and nodded.

The man gave him a grin. “Lucky devil, aren’t you? He said to tell you to knock.”

Though tempted to respond to the remark, Jack went through the library without saying a word. The familiar scents of rich tobacco, books, and leather offered him paltry comfort. He came to the door disguised as shelves and knocked on the wooden frame.

“Enter,” came the duke’s voice.

Jack entered the duke’s study—a room he’d stood in many times to brief His Grace about matters, or to stand guard during delicate moments. He found the duke inside, sitting before the hearth with a book in hand.

The duke stood when Jack walked in—a thing the man had never done before—and gave a shallow bow. “Mr. John Sterling. Thank you for coming.”

Everything within Jack revolted at the idea of the duke acknowledging him this way—as the son of a peer rather than a soldier. He bowed more deeply. “Your Grace. You have been informed of my change in circumstances.”

“Indeed.” His Grace gestured to the chair across the hearth from his own. “I must insist that you sit. For a moment, at least.”

Jack immediately hated it. Sitting in the presence of a duke? Had His Grace asked rather than commanded, Jack would’ve politely refused. As it was, his movements were stiff, his legs like iron, his knees bending reluctantly.

He sat. Unhappily.

“Thank you, Your Grace. May I be of service to you in some way?” The question was habitual, he couldn’t hold it back.

The duke smiled at him almost fondly. “I cannot count the number of ways in which you have already served my family, Mr. Sterling. You have protected them many times. You have shepherded my children when they were on their worst behavior, and you have suffered the indignities of some of my guests when they thought to abuse a common servant.”

A memory of a specific lady asking him to model for a painting exercise came to mind, but he quickly dismissed it. That certainly hadn’t fallen under mistreatment.

“You have done your duty with honor and dignity. I have come to trust your judgment, along with your abilities. I have not invited you here to ask more of you, sir. Instead, I mean to offer my services to you.”

Immediately, Jack was on his feet again. “Please Your Grace, that is not necessary?—”

“No, I shall brook no objections,” declared the duke, his hands thoughtfully steepled before him, his eyes twinkling with good humor. “Your service has been marked by steadfast loyalty and unwavering honor, qualities which bespeak a man of great virtue—uncommon qualities. Now you and your family ascend to a more distinguished station within Society. Such transitions are fraught with both opportunity and peril.”

Here the duke’s brows drew together, his expression changing to one with more seriousness. “You will find yourselves in need of allies, of friends well-versed in the intricacies of our world—your new world. It is with both pleasure and purpose that I offer my support and goodwill to guide you through this labyrinth. My friendship. You, who are adept at discerning the subtleties of human nature, must surely appreciate the value of forming the right alliances swiftly—and let us not disregard the less savory characters, those who might seek to exploit your family’s newfound prominence. It is in our mutual interest to shield your good fortune from such predations.”

Jack’s heart hammered and his mind sorted through the formality of the duke’s words. He relaxed. The gesture was more than benevolent. It was not sympathy; it was strategic. And Jack always appreciated a good strategy.

Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, Jack’s posture remained rigid with military precision. Finally he spoke, his voice steady and reserved, despite his inner turmoil. “Your Grace, I am...overwhelmed by your generous offer. To say I am grateful would scarcely cover the breadth of my appreciation. You have always been a commander worth serving—wise and just. I had imagined continuing in your service, safeguarding the legacy you are building here. This…this new role, it is not one I had ever envisioned for myself.”

He paused, looking towards the hearth, where flames danced like the thoughts flickering across his mind.

“However, I understand the importance of strategy, both on the battlefield and within the walls of Society. Your guidance would be invaluable, and frankly, necessary for my family as we navigate this unfamiliar terrain. I accept your offer with a hope that I can continue to give you my loyalty and aid where it is needed.”

Jack’s gaze met the duke’s, a silent acknowledgment of the shift in their relationship. “I only ask for patience, Your Grace, as my family learns to walk this unexpected path. This will be entirely new to them, in every way conceivable. I would not have your reputation sullied should we fail to rise to the occasion. And perhaps...perhaps I can help them, though I feel like little more than a soldier borrowing a noble’s cloak to wear.”

The duke’s warm smile reappeared. “Good man.” He rose from his chair. “I will see to it that my family calls upon yours at the earliest possible moment, and there will be invitations from Her Grace to your mother and sisters when we return to London ourselves.”

That would not be for some time, Jack knew. The duke’s eldest son and his wife were due to have a child, their first and the possible future heir of the dukedom, in two months’ time. The whole family planned to remain at the castle until that event occurred.

“Lord Dunmore will arrive in London sooner than my household. I already dispatched a message to his home in Town, along with a few other men I trust to make introductions to your father.” Dunmore, Teague Frost, was brother to the duke’s expectant daughter-in-law, and a close friend to the duke himself.

Jack bowed. “Thank you, Your Grace. ”

“You had best get your rest, I understand you leave early in the morning. The road to London can be miserable this time of year. I hope your journey is swift and safe. Until we meet again, Mr. Sterling.”

Taking his leave like a gentleman instead of a footman or soldier proved difficult, and Jack had to clench his jaw to get through it. Everything in his life had changed in the space of a single day. He’d hoped a dozen times or more that it was all a dream, yet the knot of worry in his stomach and the weighty burden of his father’s two letters in his pocket assured him every moment that this was all too real.

In the space of a few hours, his life changed forever. His purpose gone, he’d have to rededicate his life to something new. He hoped he found it soon. There was nothing he loathed more than feeling directionless.