Whispers of the Heart by Rose Pearson

Chapter One

“You must return to England.”

“No.” Daniel shook his head hard and immediately winced at the pain that shot through his shoulder and down his arm. Grimacing, he tried to ignore the fire that seemed to burn into his very bones. “I can still be of assistance here.”

“You cannot.” The Marquess of Stratham put one hand on Daniel’s shoulder – his good shoulder – and looked steadily into his eyes. “You need to return home.”

It went against every instinct that Daniel had. The war was here. The fighting was here. The defense of his country was here. Yes, he had been injured but surely that did not mean he simply had to turn tail and go home? Desperately, he looked back at his friend and prayed silently that the Marquess would see the extent of his determination and offer him another alternative, but as the minutes ticked by slowly, Daniel began to realize that it was not to be.

“I am sorry.”

Dropping his head, Daniel let out a long sigh but did not allow any further protestations to pass his lips. The decision had been made, it seemed, and he could no longer fight against Napoleon’s forces. Had he not been forced from his horse, had he not fallen so very badly, then he might now be back in his position and doing all he could to prevent the French from proceeding. Instead, it seemed, he was to return to England and to know nothing more about what was being done here. Whilst Daniel was grateful for his life of comfort, it did not seem so much of a comfort any longer. To return to his estate and to that particular way of life did not hold any sort of delight for him. Instead, he felt himself burdened. His heart was heavy with grief, anger, and frustration.

Someone stepped inside, handing the Marquess a note, which he took at once. Daniel did not look up, keeping his head bowed and forcing himself to breathe at a steady pace so that he would not give in to the despair that continued to snap at his heels.

“My goodness….”

In an instant, Daniel’s head shot up and he looked eagerly back at his friend. His heart was pounding quickly, his good hand curling into a tight fist as he saw the Marquess look from the letter to Daniel and back to the letter again.

“Well,” the Marquess said, his chin lifting just a little and a brightness coming into his eyes. “I was very sorry to have to send you home to recover, but it seems now that fate is calling you back to England.” Leaning forward, he handed Daniel the note. “You are now the Viscount Harrogate.”

All of the air seemed to be pulled from around Daniel as he held the note in his hand and read it carefully. He could hardly believe what he was seeing, for the few short lines informed him that his uncle had, unfortunately, passed away and that he was now the new bearer of the title of Viscount. His uncle was not someone that Daniel had ever been particularly well acquainted with and, whilst he had known that he would inherit the title should anything happen to his uncle before his uncle produced an heir, Daniel had never considered it a near possibility. His uncle had not been anywhere near his dotage and, having only recently married, Daniel had expected an heir to be produced in the next few years.

“How – how did he die?” he muttered to himself, still trying to take in this news. “And there is no heir?”

“It seems there is not,” the Marquess replied, one shoulder lifting as though to say that this was not a matter of any great importance. “Well, well! A Viscount!” He chuckled, then leaned forward and looked steadily at Daniel. “How would you feel about making your way to London, Viscount Harrogate?”

It was as though a great and heavy fog now pushed itself forward, flowing over Daniel and making him struggle to see or hear the Marquess clearly.

“To London?” he repeated, a little unsteadily. “For what purpose?”

The Marquess chuckled.

“For the Season!” he exclaimed, as though that was all that Daniel ought to be thinking about. “You must go to London for the Season and find yourself a pretty young lady to be your wife, given that you will now have to make certain to produce an heir!”

Daniel swallowed hard, feeling dust in his throat as he tried to make sense of what the Marquess was saying.

“The Duke of Abernyte will be there,” the Marquess continued, the smile dropping from his face as he leaned forward in his chair, fixing Daniel with a serious look. “There is a message that I must relay to him.”

“And you wish me to do it?” Daniel asked, still a little overwhelmed. “All because I am now a Viscount?” A sense of unfairness began to wash over him. “I could not have done it when I was an untitled gentleman, only a few minutes ago?”

Again, the Marquess shrugged.

“I must take my opportunities where they present themselves,” he replied, calmly. “As an untitled gentleman, you would not be in the same social circle as the Duke and might arouse suspicion should you attempt to gain his company. However, as a Viscount, there will be nothing at all to concern anyone.”

He sat back in his chair and smiled, leaving Daniel to blink rapidly as he fought to put everything the Marquess had said into clear, coherent order.

“You wish me to attend the London Season, to find the Duke, and to relay a message to him,” he said, speaking each word with great deliberation and slowness. “The message no doubt relates to war matters.”

The Marquess of Stratham nodded, his eyes still grave.

“That is it, precisely.”

“And what is this message to be?”

Clearing his throat, the Marquess sat up straight in his chair.

“There are a few concerning matters as regards an impending invasion,” he said, sending a jolt of shock through Daniel’s frame. “The southeast coast is the expected destination of our enemy, and it is being prepared for battle. However,” he continued, as Daniel hung on every word which was being spoken, “we expect there to be a few of the French already making their way into our country as spies, so that they might report on all that is taking place. Some may even attempt to become connected with those in high places, with those who consider, debate, and decide what we are to do next.”

“Such as the Duke,” Daniel interrupted, seeing the Marquess nod. Daniel knew that the Duke of Abernyte had been involved in the war effort although he was not privy to the role that the Duke might have played. “What is it that I must tell him?”

The Marquess grinned, the severe look in his eyes fading in an instant.

“You will go then?”

Daniel nodded.

“Yes, I will.”

“Capital.” The Marquess’ smile remained fixed. “Then I will write my message for the Duke, and will rest assured that you will give it only to him.” His eyes fixed to Daniel’s. “I beg of you to keep the seal unbroken, that you will not look inside or read the note under any circumstance.”

“I will not.”

Daniel lifted his chin, knowing that the Marquess of Stratham – and indeed, the country itself – required his allegiance.

“It is not that I do not trust you, but only that the words contained within will be solely for the Duke’s eyes,” the Marquess finished, as Daniel nodded. “It may be that what I write will be proven incorrect, although, given what I have heard….” He trailed off and shook his head. “Very good. I will write it this very hour.”

“I will hand it directly to the Duke of Abernyte, just as soon as I return to London,” Daniel promised. “You have my word.”