second letter might be. With his mother dead and Rhys and Eli agreeing when they parted years ago not to write one another since neither man proved to be sentimental, he literally had no one beyond Dez who would wish to correspond with him.
Glancing at the spindly handwriting, his name barely legible, he turned it over and froze.
The seal of the Earl of Sheffington.
He knew it because the earl had written to him twice a year during the three years Eli tutored Rhys in London. Sheffington’s last letter had been to wish Rhys well as he entered military service. After that—nothing.
With trepidation, Rhys broke the seal and unfolded the page, seeing only two lines scrawled upon it.
My son, Raleigh, is dead. I will be soon.
Come to London.
Sheffington
After all his time at war, Rhys didn’t think he would ever be shocked by reading a few words on a page—but he was. He had pushed aside all ideas of becoming the Earl of Sheffington since he hadn’t heard from the earl or any of his people in well over a decade. He assumed Viscount Raleigh’s health had improved and had been grateful to be fortunate enough for his distant cousin to have purchased Rhys’ army commission, enabling him to have a career in the military instead of being a servant in the stables.
All that would change now. He would need to leave immediately for London and eventually Sheffield Park, which was in Surrey, just under twenty miles outside the great city. He folded the letter and took it with him, returning to General Shepherd’s tent. Rhys thought it best to speak directly with his commanding officer regarding the situation.
“Might I have a few minutes of the general’s time?” he asked the soldier stationed outside the massive tent.
“One moment, Colonel.”
The soldier returned quickly. “You may go in.”
Rhys nodded and brushed past the guard. As he entered, he saw Shepherd at his desk, papers scattered across it. He crossed the tent and saluted.
Shepherd returned the salute and indicated for Rhys to take the chair in front of the desk. He did so.
“What is it, Colonel Armistead?” the general asked almost wearily. “Have you another idea to contribute to our spring campaign?”
“No, General Shepherd. I come to you to discuss selling out.”
Angry spots of red immediately dotted the old man’s cheeks. “Sell out? What the bloody hell would you want to do that for? We are in a war, man. We need every able-bodied soldier, along with officers to lead them on the battlefield.”
He passed the letter to his commander. Shepherd opened it and, looking puzzled, asked, “I know Sheffington. What does this mean?”
“My mother was a distant cousin to Lord Sheffington. With the death of his only son, Viscount Raleigh, I am the earl’s heir apparent. Since the earl writes of his imminent death, I will be needed in England. I know his estate is vast and I will have numerous tenants which I will be responsible for.”
The old man’s attitude changed completely. “Yes, of course, Colonel. I quite understand the need to sell your commission immediately. I had no idea you were related to Sheffington. We were at school and university together.”
His words surprised Rhys because the general looked so much older than Lord Sheffington. He supposed the war had aged the man considerably. It also made Rhys hate the system. The ton. Shepherd had gone from outraged to contrite, now willing to do what it took to see Rhys got home safely because of a title he would soon hold. He really didn’t want to be a part of Polite Society but at least by becoming the earl, he would be able to put the war behind him.
If he could put the war behind him.
Doubt filled him. Something told him memories of the past dozen years would haunt him the rest of his life.
“Certain steps are to be taken in the matter of resigning your commission,” the general continued pleasantly, as if they were discussing the weather and not an end to Rhys’ professional military career.
The commander elaborated on them and told Rhys he would help facilitate matters.
“We will get you home to England safely and as soon as possible,” Shepherd said brightly, offering his hand.
“It has been a pleasure serving under you, Sir,” he said, shaking the general’s hand.
A day later, all matters had been resolved, including transportation to England, and Rhys packed a satchel with a few personal belongings. He left his trunk behind, telling his batman to take whatever