Ambersley (Lords of London) by Amy Atwell

had been witness to that disaster. Still, he refused to be routed while he had debts to pay. He would suffer Society’s barbs and do what he could to provide for Reginald Vaughan’s children, especially now that he knew how destitute his father had been upon his death.
     
    “ Derek, do you intend to be silent and inattentive all evening?”
     
    Derek looked up. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
     
    Harry laughed good-naturedly. “That’s precisely what I meant. We’ve just arrived in London, and I plan to embrace the city and celebrate my freedom from that ship. Think of it—tonight we’ll sleep in beds that don’t rock with waves. There’s fresh water by the gallon, not that I’d drink it if you paid me, but I did enjoy an excellent hot bath this afternoon. We have so much to be thankful for—”
     
    Derek’s brows knit. “Harry, have I ever told you that you jabber like a magpie?”
     
    “ Daily,” Harry replied, unabashed.
     
    “ And have I ever expressed that I find it irritating?”
     
    “ Almost hourly.”
     
    “ Yet you persist.”
     
    “ Because I often find your conversation lacking. Just now, you were a thousand miles away—why, you may as well be still in India.”
     
    Derek was glad for the mask of darkness as Harry contemplated him.
     
    “ Derek, we’re home , and I sense neither elation, nor grief, nor anything from you.” Harry continued to watch him. “When we were boys, we kept no secrets from each other.”
     
    They walked in silence for a few moments before Derek responded with a sigh. “I shall try to be better company.”
     
    “ You need family,” Harry said quietly. “Join me and Mother for supper tomorrow in Bath. She’d love to see you. We shall enjoy a few concerts, perhaps an Assembly or two, and soak away our cares. It may be just the remedy for this sudden melancholy of yours.”
     
    “ It might at that,” Derek agreed with a fleeting smile. “But I cannot go tomorrow, Harry. Will you grant me another day?”
     
    “ Certainly.”
     
    Derek acknowledged the prodding of his cousin’s uncharacteristic silence. “Those letters were from creditors and a solicitor here in London. Whatever business must be conducted for my father’s estate, I’d like to put it behind me as quickly as possible.”
     
    ~
     
    Despite the following day’s heavy mist, Derek threaded the streets around the Chancery and Temple Church before successfully locating Tallis Street to contemplate the shingle, “N. Minton, Esq.” Glancing once again at the signature scrawled in the mysterious note, he opened the door to the solicitor’s office.
     
    A bell heralded his entrance with a tinny clamor. As Derek’s eyes adjusted to the dark interior, he detected a figure hunched over a desk at the far corner of the long room and made his way toward it.
     
    A young clerk, lit by the sputtering remains of a single candle, stopped scratching out words with quill and ink. “How may I help you, sir?”
     
    “ I’m here to see Mr. Nigel Minton.”
     
    “ Mr. Minton’s away from Town,” the clerk replied.
     
    Derek accepted this latest delay with fatalistic calm. As if to punctuate his thoughts, the lone candle died with a wisp of smoke and the strong scent of beeswax.
     
    “ One moment.” The clerk unfolded his limbs and reached atop a high shelf for a fresh candle, which he inserted into the melted remains of its predecessor. “Perhaps I may be of assistance?” He struck a match, casting welcome light about the dark wood walls and desk.
     
    “ Yes.” Derek held forth the note. “I’m Derek Vaughan. I received this from Mr. Minton requesting I introduce myself at the earliest opportunity as he has urgent business to discuss with me. I arrived in London yesterday, and—sir, take heed, you’ll burn yourself.” Derek grabbed the young man’s skinny wrist and shook the match from it. It fell to the desk where it scorched the edges of some papers before