New parents Lady Kiera Darby and Sebastian Gage look forward to introducing Sebastian’s father to his granddaughter, but instead find themselves investigating an attempt on his life...
Yorkshire, England. August 1832. Relations between Sebastian Gage and his father have never been easy, especially since the discovery that Lord Gage has been concealing the existence of an illegitimate son. But when Lord Gage is nearly fatally attacked on a journey to Scotland, Sebastian and Kiera race to his side. Given the tumult over the recent passage of the Reform Bill and the Anatomy Act, in which Lord Gage played a part, Sebastian wonders if the attack could be politically motivated.
But something suspicious is afoot in the sleepy village where Lord Gage is being cared for. The townspeople treat Sebastian and Kiera with hostility when it becomes clear they intend to investigate, and rumors of mysterious disappearances and highway robberies plague the area. Lord Gage’s survival is far from assured, and Sebastian and Kiera must scramble to make the pieces fit before a second attempt at murder is more successful than the first.
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August 1832
Yorkshire, England
The sun shone hot on our backs as we left the shade of the old-growth forest behind us to navigate the steep, rutted road. I trusted in Figg's sure-footedness to manage the descent. There wasn't much more I could do, for it took most of my concentration to maintain my seat in the saddle. I might have remained in the carriage, but having spent nearly a week inside its confines on the road from the Highlands, I'd begun to relish any opportunity I could to escape. When we'd broken our journey in the Borders at Blakelaw House-my childhood home, which now belonged to my brother-I'd seized the chance to requisition the strawberry roan, who for all intents and purposes had always been mine, from the stables.
By all rights, I should have remained at Blakelaw House with our young child and the female members of our staff. At least, that's what any normal wife would have done. But I, and everyone around me, had long accepted I wasn't a typical gentlewoman, and I simply couldn't bear to wait in comfort while my husband faced what was before him.
The exact nature of what he was to confront wasn't yet known to us, but it soon would be-likely within the hour-and the evidence of that strain marked his handsome face. His strong jaw was tight, and his brow furrowed, and whenever I caught a glimpse of his pale blue eyes, I could see the fear lurking in their depths.
As if aware of my scrutiny, he pressed his hand to the breast of his deep green frock coat over the interior pocket, which contained the source of his distress. I'd watched him remove the letter often enough over the past six days, unfolding it to study the few short lines, as if perhaps, this time, the words would be different. But no matter how many times he read it, or how worn and pliant the paper became with use, the message never changed. His father had still been attacked along the Great North Road nine days ago.
It was impossible to know what we would discover once we reached Wentbridge. The letter Lord Gage's valet, Mr. Lembus, had penned to my husband had been short on details. Haste had clearly been his sole objective. That fact alone stirred the dread within me, as I knew it did Gage. For if his concern that word reach Gage promptly had not been so great, would he not have shared more? As such, the trepidation that we might arrive to find his father was already deceased was never far from either of our thoughts.
We could see little of what lay before us, for the carriage blocked the road, and the cuttings through the limestone soared twenty feet high on either side. Plants and vines had begun to take root in the crevices of the rock walls and along the verge of the road, and trees that had been trimmed back when the cutting was made had begun to gently arch over the lane in places, forming a tunnel. The air was thick with a swirling musk of damp from the vegetation and dust from passing coaches.
As we rounded a series of slight curves, the road began to level and the walls ended to afford us an expansive view of golden fields and brilliant blue skies. Several hundred feet farther along we spied the first stone cottages perched at the outskirts of the village. The carriage slowed, and Gage and I spurred our horses forward to overtake it now that we were no longer in danger of being bowled over by it on the steep incline.
Two riders waited at the edge of the road a short distance away, and my stomach dipped at the sight of the familiar figures. Gage had sent his half brother, Lord Henry Kerr, and his loyal valet, Anderley, ahead to do reconnaissance, as it were. For while Lembus's terse letter had said that Lord Gage had been taken to the village of Wentbridge, he hadn't told us exactly where. Perhaps because he didn't know where his employer would end up. By sending Henry and Anderley ahead of us to find out, we'd hoped to be spared from traveling back and forth across the village with a lumbering carriage and an infant in tow.
I searched the two men's faces as we approached, seeking any indication of what they'd uncovered-whether Lord Gage was alive or already deceased-but neither revealed more than a stoic resolve. Anderley's face habitually wore such an expression, so I found my eyes drawn toward Henry, who was not usually so adept at hiding his emotions. Though the prospect of facing his natural father for the first time in years, the father who had firmly stated he wanted nothing to do with him and then forbidden him to tell Gage-his half brother-of his existence, must be weighing on him heavily. That Gage now knew, and had confronted his father on the issue, albeit only in letters, simply increased the tension.
"Any word?" Gage asked as we drew our horses to a stop before them.
Anderley turned to Henry, perhaps feeling he should reveal their findings, and the pause made my heart stutter in my chest.
"He's alive," Henry finally declared.
Excerpted from A Fatal Illusion by Anna Lee Huber Copyright © 2023 by Anna Lee Huber. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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