Drake squatted down. "What is your name, son?"

"Robbie," he said in a frightened voice.

"How long have you been working in the mines, Robbie?"

"About three months, sir. Came over with four other lads from Gloucester."

"Why did you come? Are your parents here?"

He shook his head, his hair a ragged crop of brown. "They died in a fire, my da and mum. Me and some boys heard of the work here and decided it was better 'n the streets."

Drake nodded, stood, and patted the boy on the head. Looking at the men around him he asked, "Where is the overseer? I would speak with him."

One of the men pointed toward the town. "Gone to hear the preacher, I expect. Word just came that George Whitefield is preaching in a field north of town. Not enough room for all that wants to hear him in those fancy churches, I guess." He motioned to the people around the camp. "Most of us are headed there. We were quitting early today. Most days we are in the mines twelve, fourteen hours and don't come out till dark. But Mr. Henley, he said we could quit early today and go and hear the preacher."

Drake took a long breath. "How many children would you say work in these mines?"

The man shrugged. "I guess about thirty, countin' the older ones. About twice as many women." He squinted up at Drake. "You never seen a mine before, mister?"

How could Drake tell this man that he was a partner in several mining companies? It sickened him to think that those might be like this one. "Not firsthand." Drake looked around again. "Are they all like this?"

The man shrugged. "I guess so. Can't rightly say. This is the only mine I've worked in." He pointed to a stooped man. "'Enry, over there, he's a well traveled sort. Worked in all kinds of mines."

Drake nodded to the man. "Thank you." He looked at the boy again. "I would like to take you to a doctor in town. Will you come with me?"

The boy grinned up at him, showing surprisingly white teeth against the dirty face. "I wouldn't want to miss the preacher, sir. Can we go there first?"

How could he disappoint the first light he'd seen in the lad's eyes. "Of course."

Drake questioned the "well traveled" Henry, heart dropping as the man confirmed that, yes, this was the typical condition of the mines. Then he looked into the main tunnels, gauging their size and depth. There was no doubt in Drake's mind. Something drastic had to be done. The air was dank and probably full of gases. He would not be surprised if lung damage showed up early and permanently. Some of the tunnels had standing water. And, so he was told, the further down one went, the worse the conditions became. Disgusted, Drake made his way back to the boy. Lifting him onto his horse, he mounted behind him. The boy moved stiffly but didn't complain as he grasped the gelding's mane and smiled up at Drake.

"I've dreamed of riding, sir. We're so high off the ground."

Drake looked into those deep brown eyes and felt some piece of a wall inside him crumble. His childhood . . . his life, so full of self-indulgence, every desire gratified before he had had the chance to really feel it-it all seemed so horrifying in the face of this child's simple joy.

He didn't want it anymore. He wanted something real, something important to live for. He wanted to help someone.

Starting with this boy.

IT WASN'T LONG before Drake and his new charge began to merge with the streams of people going to hear George Whitefield. There must have been thousands riding and walking and driving carriages toward the vast gra.s.sy clearing. Curious now, Drake directed his mount over toward the main crowd.

Thousands sat on the warm gra.s.s, listening to the young man who was already speaking. Amazing how well the man's voice carried. He stood upon a large, wooden platform, hands upraised, hair blowing in the breeze. Drake felt himself pulled in by the man's voice, so full of fervor and authority.

Drake dismounted and helped Robbie down to the gra.s.s.

Whitefield was speaking of his own life, how he had joined a group of young men at Oxford University called the Holy Club. They were diligent, holding to a disciplined life of early devotions, journaling to examine their spiritual life, fasting, and visiting the prisons and poorhouses. They read voraciously and studied every translation of Scripture. He asked the audience of miners, farming men, and townspeople if they didn't think such a man would please G.o.d?

The crowd shouted a hearty "Yes, preacher!"

But the young man shook his head.

His eyes flashed, so piercing and bold Drake thought they were directed right at-and through-him. Whitefield told them that even after such efforts, he still felt something was missing. Drake nodded inwardly. He knew that feeling.

Whitefield's voice rang out. "I believed that, somehow, I was not doing enough. And so I took a new resolution upon myself, to work harder. I even stopped attending the Holy Club, for fear I loved it too much." His words brought to life the image of nights spent in sweaty prayer, of eating less and less to the point of constant fasting. This young man gave everything he could to the poor.

"One frosty morning," he said, "after hours of prayer outdoors, I realized one of my hands had turned black. I scarcely cared, but my friends urged me to my bed, and there I lay for the next seven weeks."

Drake was appalled and, at the same time, admired this man's devotion. He looked about him, saw the engrossed faces, saw how quiet all around him were, how they strained to catch every word.

The preacher began laughing. It was as if joy bubbled up within him and overflowed. Robbie laughed too, looking up into Drake's face. Those around him smiled, and a few laughed for no apparent reason other than basking in Whitefield's joy.

"While I lay on my bed near death," Whitefield went on, "unable to do anything to please G.o.d, I began to hear G.o.d speak. 'If any man thirst, let him come to Me . . . ' The words pierced my whole being and I broke, crying out, 'I thirst!' It was so simple-absurdly simple." Whitefield's voice rang out like a liberty bell. "To finally be saved by such a simple prayer. And then . . . I laughed. And once I began laughing, the floodgates of heaven burst upon me.

"Listen, now, my friends, to Ezekiel 36:26: 'A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you: and I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you a heart of flesh.'"

Tears streaked the blackened faces around Drake. Some stood, but many had fallen to their knees and were crying out, hands lifted to the heavens. Drake looked down at Robbie-the boy's eyes shone, full of hope. A deep shaking started within Drake, frightening him with its intensity.

Then he, too, collapsed to his knees in the gra.s.s. His heart rushed so in his chest, he thought he might die. Eyes closed, he saw his life, all the events leading to this moment. He saw his mother, glowing and smiling down at him, so very pleased. He saw himself as a child playing in a stream, with his shirt and socks hidden on the bank so he wouldn't be caught. He saw his father, Ivor, a stern face glaring down at him. But then he saw beyond the face into his father's eyes-and saw Ivor as a frightened little boy.

And then he saw her. Serena. A bright light illuminated her face and then faded, and he saw her as warm and living and real. He could almost reach out and touch her. But she vanished, replaced in his mind's eyes by the coal miners and the filthy wretchedness of the children, of Robbie- And suddenly, Drake knew.

His mission was as clear as if G.o.d had spoken it aloud. In those few moments, everything fell into place: the man he had tried to be and the man he was created to be. It was as though a key were turned, a locked-up place opened, and all the people, all the events that led to this moment suddenly made sense as never before.

Throwing his eyes open, he gulped in air. The preacher was praying for the souls of all those in the audience, and Drake grasped hold of that prayer with all that he had. Yes. The word resounded within him. Yes! Yes! His spirit soared, his hands lifted toward heaven without any fear or shame.

Save me, Lord Jesus. Save me, too!

G.o.d's response came, swift and sure, and Drake had never felt so light . . . so alive.

So deeply, deeply loved.

Chapter Twenty-Six.

Drake rose from the damp earth, laughing. He couldn't seem to stem the tide of joy that had overtaken him. He hugged Robbie's thin, broken frame and felt nothing but overwhelming love for the lad. He would help him. He would help them all.

It was then that he saw her. Serena. Across the way, sitting in a carriage beside Richard.

His father.

At first Drake didn't know if she was real or some further apparition of his mind. But everything within him silently called out to her, Serena! Wife of my heart. And as he stared, he knew. She wasn't in his mind, she was here! I'm sorry. I am so sorry. He stumbled toward them, forgetting all but the woman before him.

When he was but a few feet away, she turned her head and their eyes locked. He saw her inhale sharply, shock on her face, and then Richard saw him too. Drake traversed the crowd, desperate to reach her, watched in despair the hurried gestures she was making, asking Richard to take them away.

"Wait!" He stumbled, righted himself, and then began to run. "Serena . . . wait!"

The glossy black carriage flashed in the sun as it turned and spun away, jostling over the b.u.mpy ground.

He tried to catch them, ran after them, then slowed to a walk and finally stopped. "I am so sorry!" He said it to the wind, but not with despair. He would find her and beg her forgiveness. He would win her back.

It took a little time to find his horse and Robbie. The boy chattered about Whitefield's preaching all the way into town.

The Bristol doctor was not surprised by the boy's wounds. After examining Robbie and putting salve where the chains had worn the skin raw, he took Drake into the outer room and spoke in low anger. "He will be lucky to live to see twenty. I must tell you, sir, the cases only get worse, and the little girls . . ." He shook his head.

"I do not imagine many of them even seek your care."

"No, they don't. Not until it's too late." He motioned toward the closed door where the boy lay. "What he needs is rest and decent food. The children that work these mines are so tired, they fall asleep while walking home at night and their parents have to go and search for them alongside the road. They haven't the strength even to eat. They sleep all day on Sunday to rest for the week ahead. It is absolute barbarity."

Drake could only agree. "I plan to see the king hears of this. I will speak to Parliament myself."

The doctor squinted at him. "You are of the n.o.bility, then? Good, good, we need men like you to take up the cause of these children. I would be glad to help . . . write up my findings, appear before Parliament, anything at all."

Drake patted him on the shoulder. "Yes, any cases you can doc.u.ment would be helpful. The boy can stay here overnight? I have other business that needs attending, but I would like to check on him tomorrow."

"Certainly. He will be given the best care."

Drake handed the man some coins and returned to the boy. He picked up Robbie's bony hand and squeezed it, something he wouldn't have done even yesterday. "You stay here and rest, Robbie. The doctor is going to take good care of you."

"But sir, if I don't return, they'll dismiss me. I have to have work."

Drake shook his head, near tears. That the child wanted to go back proved how dest.i.tute he really was. "No, you won't be going back, Robbie. As soon as you are able, I am going to give you a job, a good job, with plenty of food and a good place to sleep at night. And you will go to school. You will learn to read and write and do sums so that someday you can have a life of your own choosing. Does that sound fair, son?"

"Fair, sir?" Robbie's eyes filled with tears. "It sounds a dream, sir."

Drake nearly lost his composure but pulled himself together and smiled down at the lad. "Good." Drake ruffled his hair. "Now rest and I will see you in the morning."

DRAKE STOOD OUTSIDE the front door to his father's house. He took a deep breath, said a little prayer, and knocked. His father answered, his face impa.s.sive and impossible to read.

"Come in, your grace, we've been expecting you." He gave a slight bow of his head as Drake swept past him into the hall.

"Please, call me Drake." Suddenly a new thought occurred to him. "For all I know, you were the one to come up with the name . . . did you?"

There were many questions in that query. Richard shook his head. "I told your mother to name you David. I always thought to have a son named David."

"You never married, then? Never had children?"

Richard shook his head. "You are my only child."

There, it was said. Out in the open at last.

Drake didn't know what to say.

"I am sorry."

Richard hesitated. "You found the letter, then?"

He moved further into the hall, where the lighting was better, so that he could see his father, read his reactions to all that was said. He studied Richard. The man was a good four inches shorter than Drake, a little round in the middle, his face softening around the jaw line, his hair gray at the temples. He was a little amazed to see that his resemblance to Ivor was by far more p.r.o.nounced.

"Yes, I found it. Are you certain?"

Richard motioned him into the salon, and poured them both a drink. He looked to be seriously considering the question. Sitting across from Drake, he finally inclined his head. "Your mother was sure. That was enough for me."

Drake nodded. "I seem to look more like my uncle then, and after being raised by him . . ." He couldn't seem to finish the sentence. A hard lump immobilized his throat.

"Drake, I'm . . . sorry. I made choices based on the paltry experiences of a twenty-year-old. II made mistakes."

Drake nodded briefly, then taking a deep breath asked, "May I see my wife, sir?"

"Of course. I'm sorry we ran out at the meeting, but she. . . wasn't prepared. You gave her quite a shock. Did you enjoy George Whitefield?"

Drake couldn't help his smile. "More than I can express. I had heard of him and the near riots to hear him preach. Now I understand why."

Richard nodded. "Word is, he will be here in Bristol for a few weeks and preach every day. I plan to see him, and I believe Serena does, too, but I will let you speak with her. Oh, here she is now."

They both stood as Serena walked into the room. Drake turned, setting his gla.s.s down too hard on the table in front of him, the sound in the sudden quiet startling everyone. His wife looked pale and tired in a simple blue dress, her hair pulled back with a few curls hanging down her back. More distressing was the sadness laced with longsuffering that now looked back at him. He hated that he was the cause of it. He went to her and reached out for her hands.

Serena turned from him, walking over to stand beside Richard. Her greeting was cool. "Good day, your grace."

Drake walked back to his chair. "For heaven's sake, Serena, do not call me that."

Her chin lifted as did her beautiful reddish-gold eyebrows. "Why . . . art thou not a duke, perchance?"

He supposed he deserved that. Bowing his head, he acknowledged it was time to tell the truth. He had rehea.r.s.ed many different versions of the truth on the way to Bristol in an effort to discover his best advantage. Now, seeing her, all the words fell away.

She couldn't have chosen her position better. She stood behind the settee, his father seated in front of her like guard and protector. He hated that she felt need of one with him. But that, too, was his fault.

"Serena, there is one thing you must understand before I tell this story. One fact that can never, ever leave your mind."

She nodded and he was intensely glad. She wanted him to explain it, which meant she still loved him. It gave him the courage to continue.

"From my first memory I was raised to be a duke. There was never a time when it was not reminded to me, never a moment when the weight of such a t.i.tle didn't sit upon my shoulders. Ivor directed my training from the least inconsequential activity, such as how to hold my fork, to the most complex economic schemes. More than that, he taught me how to think like one of highest-ranking men of the n.o.bility, just beneath royalty. His example ingrained in me how to regard humankind as my servants and, if there was no need I had of them, how to let them fade into the background like a piece of furniture with no thought to their well-being or even that they were a living being. It wasn't a lifestyle, Serena; it was a mind-set, and one I adapted to and even thrived on with amazing success. It was, and to some degree even after all I have experienced in the last years, still is what I am today. And whether you would like to admit it or not, it is part of why you fell in love with me."

Her face whitened at that, her hands gripping the back of the settee, but she wanted the truth and now she must have it, barefaced and cold as it sometimes was.

"One night, several months ago my father died." He gave Richard an apologetic look. "I regret you were not informed, sir. You will comprehend why in a moment." His attention shifted back to Serena. "I also regret that we, my barrister and good friend Charles and I, read the will before Ivor was even laid in his grave. It sickens me now to see how ruthless I was. Nevertheless, it was done, and that was the night the madness began. The will stated that I was completely cut out of any and all inheritance."

Richard and Serena exchanged shocked glances, which was understandable. For a father to cut his son out in such a manner . . . it just wasn't done.

"At the time I couldn't begin to understand why he would do such a thing. Now I realize, Ivor knew I was not his son and, in a preconceived revenge, that had I not been the object of, I would have greatly admired, he trained me and painstakingly prepared me for a position in the world that he intended to rip away at his death. Needless to say, I was outraged. Enraged is more precise. And so I concocted a plan to marry secretly, as my father, and as quickly as possible produce an heir, who would then be introduced into society as my sibling. A brother, I was told, might inherit all, and I was determined to have it all even if it be through a son. I thought whatever woman I married could easily be bought with the t.i.tle of d.u.c.h.ess."

Serena gasped. "Thou only married me to-?"