Discouraging the Duke (Dukes Done Wrong Book 1)

Book 1: Dukes Done Wrong

by Alexa Aston

Genres: Historical Romance; Regency Romance; historical romance; Regency romance; England; 1800s; romantic heroines historical; Dukes Done Wrong; Regency Historical Romance; Alexa Aston

Synopsis

Welcome to the new world from Alexa Aston—Dukes Done Wrong.

Accused of something they never did. Five boys banished from their homes in disgrace, to the place where they find the brothers of their heart—and build new family ties that will last a lifetime.

A lonely army captain who suddenly finds himself a duke. A gentleman’s daughter running an estate because her father no longer can. Two lonely souls whose sparks are undeniable . . .

Miles Notley returns home as the new Duke of Winslow after being sent away for accidentally killing his younger brother when he was ten years old, an act his older brother committed—and denied. With his brother’s death, Miles finds himself in unfamiliar waters. He has no idea how to run an estate, much less be a duke. Until he meets an intriguing young woman.

Emery Jenson came to Wildwood ten years ago with her parents, hired to be the estate’s steward and housekeeper. She has taken on more responsibility as her father’s mind grows weak and now runs the ducal country seat. When the new duke shows up, she schemes to hide her father’s deficiencies, believing the Duke of Winslow won’t remain long since the Season is in full swing and he will need to claim a bride and provide an heir.

But Miles isn’t going anywhere. He becomes captivated not only by Emery’s charm and confidence but admires her skills in making Wildwood a profitable estate. Miles decides no one but Emery can be his duchess—and he is up for the challenge, ready to convince the blunt beauty in the battle of wills that they can both come up winners—if she will only say yes.

Will Emery, who thinks she has found her place in the world and urges Miles to now find his, discover that the best place she can be is at the Duke of Winslow’s side?

Find the answer in Discouraging the Duke, Book 1 in Dukes Done Wrong.

Each book in Dukes Done Wrong is a standalone story that can be enjoyed out of order and can be read for free in Kindle Unlimited.

Series Order:

Book #1: Discouraging the Duke

Book #2: Deflecting the Duke

Book #3: Disrupting the Duke

Book #4: Delighting the Duke

Book #5: Destiny with a Duke

Release date: July 16, 2021

Publisher: Dragonblade Publishing

Print pages: 264

Sample

CHAPTER 1

Wildwood, Kent—August 1796

 

Miles Notley awoke and immediately grinned.

Today, he was ten years of age. He would be in double digits the rest of his life, unless he made it to the ripe old age of one hundred years. He didn’t know anyone who had ever lived that long. Not anyone of his acquaintance, much less any figure mentioned in the history books he loved. Maybe he would do the impossible and live to be in triple digits.

His grinned widened. That would irritate Ralph to no end. One of Miles’ favorite things in life was annoying his older brother, who never let anyone forget that he was the heir apparent in the family. Ralph constantly mentioned how he would one day be the Duke of Winslow and his two younger brothers would be no ones. It didn’t bother Miles in the least. He didn’t want to be a duke. Especially if it meant being anything like his father. Winslow barely acknowledged Miles’ presence. Sometimes, he thought his father hadn’t a clue as to what his two younger sons were called. The duke was all about his heir and didn’t hide his favoritism.

It hurt Tony. He was only six and sensitive to criticism. Miles had made it his mission in life to protect Tony from Ralph, who could be cruel in both actions and words. Ralph would do something careless and blame the outcome on Miles or Tony, knowing they would be punished for his misdeed. Miles had taken many a thrashing which he didn’t deserve, all to protect the youngest Notley.

It didn’t matter. Neither of them cared for Ralph and tried to have as little as possible to do with the current marquess and future duke. If they weren’t family, Miles knew he would never wish to be friends with Ralph, who was lazy and spiteful. When Miles had gone away to school, it was expected that Ralph would look out for his younger brother, who had been sent to the same school all Notley boys attended.

The opposite had happened.

Miles had been bullied by several older boys, all at Ralph’s urging. He had learned to take whatever was doled out to him that first year. By the next school year—thanks to a painful growth spurt—Miles stood as tall as Ralph, who was three years his senior. He had laid a bully flat the first day of that second year and since then, Ralph and his crowd had given Miles a large berth. With Tony turning seven in two weeks, he would also go off to school with his older brothers. Miles intended to see his baby brother protected from Ralph and anyone else who might do Tony harm.

He rose and went to the window. The lawn of Wildwood looked like a magnificent green carpet rolled out as far as the eye could see. He wondered how he would spend his birthday. Probably riding with Tony. They could also go swimming in the nearby lake this afternoon. He knew not to expect any presents, however. Neither parent ever remembered his birthday. He told himself it didn’t matter when he knew that it did. When he was grown up and had children, he promised to always remember their birthdays. He would lavish gifts upon them, toy soldiers for the boys and dolls for the girls. He would take them somewhere special on that day and tell them how much he loved them.

And he would never let his parents see them. Ever. Miles swore never to expose them to his father’s cruelty and his mother’s indifference. He hoped the woman he wed would have nice parents. They would be his children’s grandparents, not the Duke and Duchess of Winslow. As far as Miles was concerned, the two of them could fawn over Ralph as much as they wanted. He and Tony would make separate lives, far away from the pair.

Leaving the window, he washed and changed into his clothes for the day. Heading to the schoolroom, he found Tony already there. A maid entered, bringing in a tray, and the boys breakfasted in peace, thanks to Ralph dining downstairs with their father. That had started a few weeks ago when Ralph turned thirteen. The duke had said Ralph was becoming a man and would take all his meals downstairs. Ralph had taunted his younger brothers, laughing at how privileged he now was. Miles and Tony had merely shrugged and proceeded to enjoy their meals for the first time in their lives, without Ralph’s constant taunting and badgering.

“Are you going to have a cake?” Tony asked. “For your birthday?”

“Yes. Cook is making a special one for me,” he shared with his little brother. “She remembers every year.”

Left unsaid was how their parents would ignore Miles’ special day.

Tony looked at Miles with undisguised devotion. “Do you feel older, being ten? That’s such a long way off,” he said forlornly.

“I don’t feel a bit different than when I was nine. But I plan to act as if I do.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “Do you mean to say that to Ralph?” he asked anxiously.

“I may,” he said.

“You know he doesn’t like you, Miles. Or me,” Tony said mournfully.

“Well, we don’t like him either, do we?”

“No,” Tony said resolutely. “We don’t. He’s mean to us. He broke a vase yesterday and told a maid I did it.”

“Were you punished?” Miles asked quickly. “Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

Tony shrugged. “You always stand up for me. I wanted to take the punishment.”

“You shouldn’t do that, especially when you hadn’t done anything wrong.”

“I wasn’t punished,” his brother said. “Once Ralph left, the maid swept up the pieces and told me she would throw them away. She promised not to tell anyone.” Tony bit his lip. “I think she knew I hadn’t broken it.”

Miles was certain the servants knew exactly what Ralph was like and appreciated that Tony hadn’t been blamed for the broken vase. He only hoped Ralph wouldn’t discover what had occurred. If he did, his brother would seek the maid out and blame her for the breakage and demand that she lose her position. It had happened before.

“Rub your bottom when you next see Ralph,” he suggested. “Wince a little as if you’re in pain. Make him think you’re so sore you can’t sit down”

Tony’s eyes lit up. “You want me to act as if I were punished?”

“Yes. Can you do that?”

His brother nodded solemnly.

“Good. Finish your breakfast. We’ll go riding after if you’d like.”

Tony shoved the rest of his food into his mouth and chewed quickly. Miles knew how much Tony enjoyed riding because he also enjoyed it more than any other activity. Being on a horse meant freedom. Being away from the house. Away from Ralph, who only tolerated riding and rarely chose to climb atop a horse.

The boys went to the stables, where a groom saddled ponies for both of them and then accompanied them across the estate. They rode for almost two hours, waving at tenants and taking a break to walk their horses through the forest so they could water them at a nearby stream.

When they returned to the house, Ralph awaited for them, his arms crossed over his chest and a surly look upon his face. He seemed to resent any fun his brothers had, especially if they did so together, even though he never chose to spend time with them himself.

“Father wants to see you in his study,” he told them.

“Why?” asked a panic-stricken Tony, who looked to Miles for reassurance.

Miles couldn’t help but wonder if this was in regard to the broken vase. When Tony started to speak, Miles shook his head subtly, causing his brother to clamp his lips together.

“Come with me,” Ralph insisted, leading the way through the kitchens.

As they passed Cook, she gave him a conspiratorial smile and pointed. His eyes flicked to the tall cake, already iced and sitting on a nearby table. His mouth watered at its sight. He grinned at her and hurried to catch up with Ralph, Tony trailing behind him.

When they reached the study, Ralph ushered them inside and closed the door, throwing the lock. The duke wasn’t present. A sick feeling coursed through Miles. If Winslow had been waiting and grew tired, whatever punishment that would be administered would be horrible.

He turned to Tony and whispered, “Rub your arse.”

Tony, whose mouth trembled, did as he was told. Miles saw the gleam of pleasure light Ralph’s eyes.

“Sore today, little brother?” Ralph taunted, rushing over and slapping Tony’s arse hard, so hard the boy cried out.

Miles pushed Ralph away. “Leave him alone,” he said, staring directly into Ralph’s eyes.

The two held their gazes and then Ralph looked away. He shuffled off but Miles knew Ralph wouldn’t stay intimated for long.

Ralph went to the desk and opened the bottom drawer on the right side. He lifted a pistol and aimed it at Miles.

“What are you doing?” he hissed at his older brother, his insides going cold at the sight of a weapon being pointed at him.

“Just playing,” Ralph said, moving his hand and pointing it at Tony.

Immediately, Tony teared up. Fat tears coursed down his cheeks.

“You’re such a baby,” Ralph taunted. “You better be ready when you get to school next month. The boys will really have it out for you.”

“Leave him alone,” Miles warned as Tony began to visibly shake.

“Or what?” Ralph said, pointing the pistol back at Miles. “What will you do about it?”

“I will protect him—as you should. He’s your brother, Ralph. You shouldn’t bully him or have your friends do so. Like they did to me,” he added.

Ralph puffed up with importance. “I am a marquess. I will be the Duke of Winslow someday. You can’t tell me what to do.”

He shook his head. “Don’t you ever get tired of saying that? We know you are the heir to the dukedom, Ralph. Tony and I don’t care. It’s yours and we don’t want it.”

“Of course you do. Everyone wants to be a duke. Only those good enough get to be one,” Ralph said smugly.

“If being good is what is required, then you will never be Winslow,” Miles declared, his temper flaring. “A duke is one of the highest peers in the land. He has great responsibility to his family and his tenants. You are a selfish dolt who can barely ride a horse. You are cruel and wicked. You should be glad you are the firstborn Notley and will inherit everything because if you truly had to be good to become the Duke of Winslow, you never would.”

“How dare you!” Ralph shouted. “You are a conceited, arrogant little nobody. You’ll never be anyone. I’ll see to that.”

“No, you won’t,” Miles said, reining in his anger. “I am a second son. I will go into the army and fight for king and country. If I am lucky, I will be sent halfway across the world to India. Then I’ll never have to lay eyes on you again. Ever.”

Ralph’s face grew red with rage and Miles figured his brother had never thought that both his brothers wouldn’t be around to be kicked like stray dogs once they reached manhood.

“You’ll go into the army if I say you can,” Ralph said stubbornly.

Miles shook his head. “That’s not how it works. Second sons are meant for the military. Third sons become clergymen.”

“I’ll be a vicar?” Tony piped up.

He looked to Tony. “Yes, if you’d liked to do so.”

His little brother nodded enthusiastically. “I would, Miles. I like the smell of a church. And I would get to marry people and christen babies. That would be fun.”

“You will be good at,” Miles said. “I know you would take good care of your parishioners.”

“No,” Ralph growled. “I won’t allow it. Father won’t allow it. When I am Winslow, you will work for me. You will be a steward at Wildwood and do everything I say, Miles.”

He smirked. “I will be doing whatever my commanding officer says, Ralph. You won’t have any part in my life. You won’t have me to blame for when you are reckless or thoughtless. You will have to stand on your own two feet. Yes, people will fawn over you and tell you what you want to hear, merely because you are a duke.

“But I won’t be one of them.”

“I hate you!” declared Ralph. “The both of you.”

“Hate us all you like,” Miles said casually. “We are indifferent to you. You think we are nobodies?” He snorted. “Well, you are no one to us.”

Ralph’s nostrils flared. “I will make Tony’s life miserable once we’re at school. You won’t always be around to protect him. I will see that he becomes a blubbering mess.”

Hate reared within Miles. “Don’t threaten him,” he warned. “Tony is your brother. He is young and innocent.”

Ralph smiled triumphantly. “I can get to you through him.”

“I’ll tell Father,” Miles blurted out, instantly regretting his words. “He won’t let you be cruel to Tony.”

“Will you? Would he even believe you?” Ralph asked softly. “Father only loves me. He doesn’t care one whit about the two of you. I am his heir. I am the marquess.”

“You are so full of yourself,” he said. “You are a terrible person, Ralph, and you’ll make for a terrible duke. No one will like you. They will smile to your face and laugh at you behind your back—the way all the boys at school do now.”

“They do not!” roared Ralph. “Take it back.”

“I will not. Because it’s true.”

Ralph swung the pistol up and aimed it at Miles. He froze. The murderous look in his brother’s eyes told him that Ralph was going to pull the trigger.

Then courage flooded him. “Go ahead,” he said. “I dare you.”

“They won’t send a marquess to the gallows. I am your better and always will be.”

As Miles stood defiantly, he steeled himself for the bullet. As Ralph fired, a blur went passed him. He heard a grunt.

And then Tony fell to the ground before him.

He dropped to his knees. “No,” he whispered.

Miles scooped up his brother’s shoulders and placed Tony’s head in his lap. Blood bubbled from the young boy’s lips as a crimson stain spread across his thin chest.

He glanced to Ralph. “Get help. Now.”

Looking back to Tony, he cooed, “You’ll be fine, little brother.”

Tony swallowed hard. “I . . . wanted to . . . save you.”

“You did,” he assured Tony. “You were very brave.”

“It hurts.”

“I know it does,” he murmured, brushing Tony’s hair from his brow. “Not for long. The doctor will come. He’ll make it feel better.”

Tony’s eyes grew glassy. Miles heard a pounding and someone shouting for the door to be opened.

“You must take the blame,” Ralph said, coming close and staring down as the life ebbed from the youngest Notley. “I am going to be the duke. You’re just a second son.”

Miles watched as the light faded from Tony’s eyes. His shudders ceased. He kissed his little brother’s brow as the pounded continued.

Calmly, he looked up at Ralph. “I won’t. For once, you will have to live with the consequences.”

Ralph’s mouth trembled as he turned and numbly walked to the door, the muffled shouts growing in volume as fists beat against it. Miles focused his attention on the dead brother cradled in his arms. He thought quickly. He could tell on Ralph, ruining his life, but would Tony want that? His sweet brother had given his life to protect Miles. His gut told him Tony wouldn’t want Ralph to suffer. Tony had always been more forgiving, which is why he would have made for an excellent vicar. As it was, Ralph would always have to live with the fact that he had shot his brother.

No, he would tell them it was an accident. Spare Ralph from the world knowing that he shot and killed his own brother.

He glanced to the door and saw Ralph unlock it. It was immediately pushed back. The Duke of Winslow stormed into the room.

“What in God’s name . . .” His voice trailed off as he caught sight of Miles holding an unmoving Tony.

Their mother rushed in and came to a halt at the sight. Her piercing shrieks nearly burst Miles’ eardrums.

“It was an accident,” he said as Winslow slowly approached.

Before he could say another word, Ralph shouted, “Miles shot Tony!”

His eyes cut to his surviving brother. “No, I didn’t. You shot him. You know you did. But it was an accident,” he said calmly.

By now, the duchess had fallen to her knees. She yanked Tony from Miles’ embrace and held him to her chest, blood smearing her pearl gray gown.

“My boy. My sweet, sweet boy,” she moaned, rocking back and forth with the dead boy as she sobbed.

Tony had always been her favorite of the three of them, just as Ralph had always been favored by the duke, leaving Miles out in the cold.

His father strode across the room and jerked Miles to his feet. “How could you?” he asked harshly. “Blame your brother for . . . this.”

Anger flared within him. “I didn’t kill Tony,” he said.

Winslow released him, only to backhand him so hard that it knocked Miles to the ground. His cheek screamed in pain. He lifted his hand to it and felt warm blood, realizing his father’s signet ring had sliced open his flesh. Instantly, he knew the injury would leave a scar—a reminder of the day his brother died.

“I didn’t shot Tony,” he said stubbornly.

Winslow struck him again, this time with his fist. Blood spurted from Miles’ nose as he stumbled backward, bumping into a chair.

The duke grabbed him by the shoulders, his fingers digging into Miles’ flesh.

“You did this,” he insisted. “You killed my son. The least you could do is be a man and accept the blame.”

Ralph stepped close. “No, Father, I am the one to blame.”

Relief swept through him. Finally, Ralph would straighten things out.

“I shouldn’t have taken the pistol,” Ralph continued. “If I hadn’t, then Miles never would have grabbed it from my hand.” He hung his head, his gaze falling to the ground. “I am the one responsible for Tony’s death.”

The duke shoved Miles away and put comforting arms about his heir. “No, my dear boy. You aren’t responsible for this reprehensible act. I won’t hear of it.”

Shock filled him. Ralph wasn’t owning up to his actions. Nothing had changed. Only this time, Miles would be blamed for the death of his beloved brother.

“I did not kill my brother,” he insisted.

Winslow glared at him, hate filling his dark eyes. “Deny it all you want. You are a monster. You have killed my boy and tried to blame my heir for your carelessness.”

The duchess wailed loudly and collapsed. Her maid and a footman helped her to her feet and led her from the room.

The butler stepped forward. “What shall I do, Your Grace? Send for the authorities? The doctor?”

“Her Grace certainly needs a physician. As for the magistrate?” The duke gave Miles a withering look. “Ask him to come at once, Sevill.” He looked at the remaining servants hovering in the doorway. “This was an accident. Miles was playing with my gun and it went off, tragically killing Anthony. Is that understood?”

The servants nodded collectively and quickly vanished. Only the butler remained.

“Send for both men now.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Winslow turned to Miles. “As for you? You are to be locked in your room and remain there until I see fit for you to leave.” He glanced to the butler. “Escort the boy there now. Place a footman outside so he doesn’t attempt to leave. Bread and water only. Once a day.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Sevill’s eyes narrowed. “Come along, Lord Miles,” he ordered brusquely.

He ignored the instructions and went to Tony’s body. Pulling his brother up, he kissed his brow and then lowered him to the ground again.

As he passed Ralph, he noted the look of triumph the marquess wore. He brushed passed Ralph, slamming his shoulder into Ralph, who hissed as a snake.

“Murderer,” his brother said, so softly that no one else heard.

Miles stormed from the room and raced up the stairs, running down the corridor and slamming his door. He threw himself onto his bed and began to sob.

Tony was gone. He was never coming back.

And the world would think Miles had killed him.

 

 

CHAPTER 2

September

 

Miles stared morosely out the window. He had been banished to his room for the past three weeks. The only time he had been allowed to leave had been to attend Tony’s funeral. Surprisingly, his brother had fought for him to do so, according to the duke. Winslow had come to Miles’ room and told him that Ralph had insisted Miles come to the service and burial. That Ralph wanted people to see how contrite Miles was for his careless action that ended a life.

He swallowed hard, thinking of the coffin standing at the front of the church and Tony inside it. Sweet, happy Tony. He would never go away to school. Make friends. Attend university. Become a vicar. Have a family. All that had ended with his brother’s brave, foolish leap, an act of love and protection. Miles knew he should have been the one laid to rest, buried six feet under in the graveyard standing beside the church.

Of course, he had been aware of the whispers inside the church. The looks as he stood at Tony’s grave. For the rest of his life, Miles would be blamed for the death of his beloved younger brother. Perhaps that was why Ralph had wanted him to be present at the funeral, to put the focus on the one who supposedly killed Tony.

Miles couldn’t imagine the guilt Ralph now lived with, every morning opening his eyes and remembering he was the one who had shot and killed his own brother. Knowing Ralph, though, Miles supposed that his surviving brother had convinced himself that it was Miles who had pulled the trigger that day. Ralph had spent no time at all with Tony and probably didn’t even miss the boy.

Miles missed his baby brother every day.

He had kept track of the days while he remained in solitary. Once a day, a footman unlocked the door and delivered a tray with bread and water on it and collected Miles’ chamber pot. After a few days, the tray came with a cloth draped atop it. Once removed, he had found more than bread and water. Sometimes, a cold, roasted chicken came. Other times, a few vegetables or a fruit tart. He suspected it was Cook who prepared the tray and handed it off to a footman, deliberately hiding its contents. Gratitude filled Miles every time the tray arrived. He had never been so hungry in his life, receiving only bread early each morning during those early days. He worried that Cook might be found out and lose her position and prayed each night that wouldn’t occur.

Hearing footsteps outside his door, he turned from the window. Their butler entered without knocking, motioning to servants as he ushered them inside. Two men carried a copper tub, which they placed in the center of the room. Other servants followed with buckets of steaming water, pouring them into the tub. The housekeeper appeared carrying a bath sheet and soap. She set them down, giving him a sympathetic look.

“I’m to gather up your clothing, Lord Miles,” she said. “I will see that it is laundered for you.”

“Everything’s over here,” he told her.

He had changed clothes daily but had run out of fresh ones and started repeating the outfits. He spread them out each day to air, not having had any way to wash them.

Sevill frowned at him. “You are to scrub yourself from head to toe. I will return in an hour and take you to see His Grace and the marquess.”

“His lordship will need fresh clothes in order to meet with His Grace,” she pointed out to the butler.

“Bring him something Lord Ralph has outgrown,” the man sniffed. With that, Sevill left the room.

The housekeeper gathered up Miles’ things. “I’ll be back soon with something you can change into, my lord.”

“Thank you,” he said, his voice breaking at the simple show of kindness.

Quickly, Miles stripped off his clothes once the door closed. He sank into the water, sighing. He swore to never avoid a bath again as he dunked his head under the water and then lathered it up.

A footman came in, bearing fresh clothes. He placed them on the bed.

“Thank you, Thomas,” Miles said.

The servant quietly said, “We all know you ain’t done nothing wrong, Lord Miles. It’s that other one that causes all the mischief.”

His eyes widened. “Don’t say that aloud,” he warned. “You don’t want to be booted from Wildwood without references.”

Thomas grinned cheekily. “Bide your time, my lord. You’ll get what you deserve. We’re all for you.” He exited the bedchamber.

The footman had no way of knowing just how much Miles needed to hear those words of encouragement. His spirits bolstered, he finished bathing and rinsed himself, drying off and dressing in clothes slightly too small for him. Ralph’s hand-me-downs made it obvious Miles had passed him physically. The trousers struck just above his ankles. The shirt’s sleeves were a tad short, exposing his wrists. He tried shrugging into the coat but it was impossible, its shoulders far too narrow. At least the clothing was clean. He was finally clean. As he combed through his wet hair, smoothing it down, he steeled himself for the encounter with the duke and Ralph.

As expected, Sevill arrived and silently escorted Miles to the library. He wondered if the duke would ever enter his study again after what had occurred there.

When he entered the room, his father and brother were seated side by side. The duke gestured to the chair opposite them. As he sat, Miles thought how much the two were alike. Their posture. Their facial features. Their disapproving looks.

“We are here to discuss your education,” Winslow began.

Miles knew in two days he and Ralph should be leaving for school. Suddenly, apprehension filled him. He wondered what Ralph would tell his friends about Tony’s death. Officially, it had been ruled an accident by the local magistrate but he knew his brother would insinuate otherwise. He could see a year of brawling ahead of him as he fought off the boys Ralph would set upon him. Because of that, the boys his own age would probably avoid him, not wishing to be caught in the middle of the trouble.

“You won’t be returning to school with me,” Ralph added, a smug look upon his face.

Surprise filled him. “What?”

“I can’t have you anywhere near your brother,” the duke said pompously. “It would reflect poorly upon Ralph. As my heir and the future Duke of Winslow, it won’t do to have you taint his reputation in any way.”

“Where am I to go?” Miles asked, stunned by this revelation.

“Father has found just the place for you,” Ralph said. “A school just outside of Westerham, on the border of Surrey and Kent. The Turner Academy. It is for troubled youth who are sons of the ton. You will be with others like you. An odd mix of fellows who for one reason or another don’t fit into their families anymore.”

His fists balled and he forced himself to relax them. He kept a bland look on his face. He didn’t want to go to this place—but he most certainly didn’t want his brother to know this.

“When do I leave?”

“In the morning,” his father said. “This is goodbye, Miles. Ralph and I will be preparing for his departure the day after.”

 “Mother doesn’t want to see you,” Ralph added, a sly grin on his face. “You know Tony was always her favorite. She despises you, you know. Never wants to see you again.”

“It will be hard for her to avoid me during holidays. Unless I am to remain in my room the entire time.”

“You will spend your holidays and breaks at your new school,” Winslow said smoothly.

Stunned, he asked, “For . . . how long?”

“Permanently,” the duke snapped. He rose and hovered over Miles. “As far as I am concerned, you are no longer a part of this family. I will do my duty and see you educated but this is the last time we will ever speak in person. I cannot have you influencing your brother with your wicked ways.”

“I am to never return?” he asked, feeling tears fill his eyes as his father took a seat again.

“That’s right,” Ralph said, superiority oozing from him. “You will reside at Turner Academy until you graduate.”

“And then?” he asked, helplessness washing over him at the thought of never returning to his home. Never riding his horse again. Never visiting Tony’s grave.

The duke frowned, as if he hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I suppose I will send you to university. I can’t have my peers think less of me. There will be enough gossip as it is about you and the family.” He paused, mulling it over. “Yes, you will go to university and then into the army as planned. My solicitor will purchase the commission for you. The discipline the military brings will be good for you.”

Ralph looked alarmed by the turn of events. “Shouldn’t Miles come home after university, Father?”

He remembered how badly Ralph wanted to have him under his thumb and decided to speak up, knowing he could never serve under his brother.

“No, Father is right. I should enter the army. A lifetime in the military, away from England and our family, is what I deserve. I will do my penance and serve king and country at the same time.” Miles looked to the duke. “Thank you, Father. You are right to keep me away from Wildwood.”

“Good,” the duke said, nodding sagely. “Perhaps there is hope for you after all.” He rose. “Come along, my boy. Your mother is waiting for us. We’re to call upon Lord Hamilton.”

Without a backward glance, the two exited the room.

Miles glanced around, knowing he would never see this—or any room—at Wildwood after his departure tomorrow. He was being sent into exile.

Standing, he crossed the room and plucked his favorite book from a shelf. No one would miss it. His father barely skimmed the newspapers and Ralph never picked up a book. Miles knew it would bring him comfort in the days and weeks ahead. The one familiar thing from home.

With a heavy heart, he returned to his room and spent his last night in his bed.

***

Miles tamped down the trepidation inside him as the carriage pulled up to the imposing stone edifice. No sign marked that the building was in fact a school for troublemakers. He had no idea what class of boys he might encounter and doubted the curriculum would be as rigorous as what he was used to. The boys in attendance at the Turner Academy might very well have committed heinous crimes. Murder. Arson. As sons of the nobility, though, they were above the law. He wondered if this were the only place difficult boys were sent or if other schools such as this existed. While Miles wanted to believe he could take care of himself, he had no idea who he would encounter behind these doors.

The carriage slowed and came to a halt. No one from Wildwood had accompanied him. He had been sent with only a driver, who gave him a pitying look as he exited the vehicle. He mustered a smile and waved to the driver as someone came out the front door of the academy.

“Greetings!” he proclaimed. “I am Mr. Smythe. Who might you be, young man?”

He cleared his throat. “Lord Miles Notley.”

“I see. Well, my lord, titles aren’t recognized here at Turner Academy. You will be Mr. Miles to me and your instructors.”

He nodded, not knowing how to respond. He had been Lord Miles his entire life, the son of a duke. Despite not being the firstborn son, he had been made aware of his rank in society at a young age. Obviously, the school had put into place certain rules and there was nothing he could do about it. He grinned, thinking how put out Ralph would have been not to be acknowledged as a marquess by the staff and servants. The thought put him more at ease.

“Driver, can you help me bring down Mr. Miles’ trunk?” called Mr. Smythe. “Thank you.”

Once the trunk was on the ground, the driver looked to Miles.

“I’ll be fine,” he told the servant. “Go on. Tell Cook I will miss her fine meals.”

“Aye, my lord. I will do so,” the driver said. “Good luck to you. All the Wildwood servants wish you the best.”

He waved farewell as Mr. Smythe easily lifted the heavy trunk and tossed it upon one shoulder.

“That’s a good sign,” the servant said. “For you to have the respect of your family’s staff.”

“They have always been kind to me. More so than my own family,” Miles admitted.

The man studied him a moment. “I know you wonder what you are getting into here. Let me tell you that there are some boys who are sent here, ones who truly are a bad seed. The Turner brothers—Mr. Nehemiah and Mr. Josiah—do their best to help them live up to their full potential and put their difficulties behind them. Others are sent here because they were an inconvenience to their families or they were accused of something that they wouldn’t have done.”

“Like me,” he muttered.

Smythe nodded. “Like you,” he agreed. “Whatever happened is in your past, Mr. Miles. You start with a clean slate at Turner Academy. Come along.”

They entered the school and as they journeyed up the stairs, the servant said, “You’ll be with four new boys. We have anywhere from eight to twenty students at any given time. Some stay a short while and leave for other schools. Others are with us until they finish their education.”

“I’ve been told I will stay. Until university. Holidays and all,” Miles said glumly.

“”That’s a good thing because you’ll be wanted here,” Smythe said good-naturedly. “You’ll make friends. Good ones, I believe.”

They went down a corridor, passing several boys who greeted the servant, before stopping at a door at the end of the hallway.

“This is yours, Mr. Miles. Your home for the upcoming years. Three boys have already arrived.”

He rapped on the door and opened it, breezing in and placing the trunk at the foot of a bed. Above the bed was a placard with his name. It was a good omen to Miles. At his other school, spots were never assigned. It sometimes turned into a bloodbath as to where a boy might bunk. This way, no arguments would ensue regarding who had what bed.

“Assembly in the ballroom in half an hour,” Mr. Smythe said. “Don’t be late. The Turners can’t abide tardiness.”

“Thank you,” he told the servant, who departed quickly.

Miles looked around at the three boys present. One sat on his bed, his forearms braced on his legs, his hands gripping his knees. His gaze was focused on the floor so Miles couldn’t really see anything but a head of blond hair. He didn’t bother looking up or acknowledging that a new boy had arrived, causing Miles to grow wary of him.

He glanced at the other two, who had ceased their conversation and eyed him with interest. One was tall and lanky, with chocolate brown hair and hazel eyes. The other had dark chestnut hair and gazed at Miles with sapphire eyes. He was lean and lithe. Both looked as if they would be good athletes.

They came toward him and he stiffened until the first held out his hand.

“I’m Wyatt. Wyatt Stanton. They say I burned down our stables and killed all our horses. I didn’t. It was my idiot brother’s fault.”

Miles took the offered hand, surprised by the open declaration from the boy but deciding to return the favor. “I appreciate you being frank. My older brother shot and killed my younger brother. He’s a marquess and my father’s favorite. Ralph blamed me—and no one dared to question his version of the events.”

He wouldn’t have thought within minutes of arriving at his new school that he would share such a confession but it felt good getting it off his chest.

The second boy also stuck out his hand and Miles shook it.

“I’m Aaron Hartfield. My friends call me Hart.” He looked at Miles. “I hope we can be friends.”

“I hope so, as well,” he replied. “Why are you here?”

Hart snorted. “It seems we three have something in common. My older brother, Reginald, pushed my baby brother into the water. Percy was scared. Always hated the water. Reg thought he’d force Percy to finally conquer his fear. Instead, Percy somehow landed wrong and broke his neck. Guess who got the blame?” Hart shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I hate the lot of them anyway.”

“Do they want you back?” he asked, looking from Hart to Wyatt.

“You mean are we allowed to go home?” Hart asked, immediately understanding Miles’ question. “Not me. My father, the Duke of Mansfield, washed his hands of me. He hasn’t spoken a word to me since Percy died. His solicitor is the one who told me I would be attending school with a bunch of wayward, wicked boys. And that I am not welcomed at Deerfield ever again.”

Wyatt sighed. “Thank God. I thought I was the only one who had been banished for good. I live—lived—at Amberwood, about ten miles southeast of Maidstone. Our family butler delivered me here. My parents have disowned me.” He paused, his voice becoming deep and gruff. “Oh, I’ll do my duty to you, you worthless piece of scum. Polite Society would frown upon me if I abandoned you. You’ll be educated. You just won’t be allowed home. Ever,” he emphasized.

“I suppose that you’re imitating your father,” Miles stated.

“Yes. The mighty Duke of Amesbury. May he rot in Hell someday.” Wyatt turned and spat on the ground for good measure.

He looked to the blond boy sitting on his bed. “Does he talk?” he asked quietly.

“Not yet,” Hart said.

The door opened and Smythe entered again, carrying another trunk with a different boy in tow.

“Back again,” he said cheerfully. “This is Mr. Donovan Martin,” he informed them as he placed the trunk down. “Take good care of him. He’s the last of those you’ll share the room with.”

Once the servant left, the three introduced themselves and quickly told why they’d been sent to Turner Academy.

“So, what did you do—or not do?” Miles asked.

Donovan shrugged. “Nothing.”

“No one is sent here without doing something,” Wyatt pointed out.

A pained expressed crossed Donovan’s face and Miles said, “You don’t have to say anything. If you’re ever ready, we’re here to listen.”

He went and opened his trunk, shuffling items around.

Donovan said, “It was my mother.”

Miles stilled and rose from bended knee. He went to Donovan. “Did something happen to your mother?”

The dark-haired boy nodded, tears filling his piercing, blue eyes.

“We loved to talk and walk. We were cutting through the forest to return home and she accidentally stepped in a trap.”

All three boys winced.

“I ran for help and they got it off her but it was horrible. Her skin jagged and ripped. Blood everywhere. The doctor said he would need to remove the limb.” Donovan’s mouth set stubbornly. “But my father wouldn’t let him take it.”

A sick feeling filled Miles. “What happened?” he asked.

“Infection set in. She ran a high fever for days. She was delirious. And then she died,” Donovan said dully. “Father can’t stand the sight of me because I look just like her. She always favored me over my older brother, who will be Duke of Haverhill someday. That’s why I’m here.” He looked about defiantly, mopping the tears from his face. “I loved her so much I hate my father. And my brother. I don’t’ care if I ever see them again.”

Hart placed a hand on Donovan’s shoulder. “We’re here for you,” he said solemnly. “We’ve all been done wrong. We may not have our families anymore—but we have each other.”

The four boys regarded one another solemnly and nodded.

Then Miles glanced to where the fifth boy sat mute.

“Won’t you join us?” he asked.

The boy raised his head and he saw the pain filling the bright, blue eyes. Slowly, he came to his feet and moved toward their circle. Wyatt stepped back, allowing the newcomer to join in. They faced him.

“I’m Finch,” he finally said. “William Finchley. And I don’t give a damn about what any of you did or didn’t do.” Sullenly, he met the gaze of each boy within the circle. “I sure as hell won’t ever tell you why I was sent here.”

“You don’t need to,” Donovan said. “You’re here. And you’re with us. That’s all that matters. We’re all new here. That’s what Mr. Smythe told me. I think we could all use a few friends.”

Miles saw Finch was still filled with tension. “Donovan’s right,” he asserted. “Whether you did anything or not, you’re a part of us. We’re all stuck here together. We might as well make the best of it.” He glanced around the circle. “Agreed?”

“Agreed,” chimed in the other four.

He stuck out a hand. Wyatt placed his on top. Hart, then Donovan, and finally Finch added theirs to it.

“To the Turner Terrors,” Miles declared.

“The Turner Terrors,” the four echoed.

“We should make our way to the ballroom,” he told them.

As the five boys left their room, Miles hoped that he had a future here.

With these boys. His new friends.