Regency passion that defies all rules...

Chapter 1

“Forgive me, dear lady, but I could not help observing from across this crowded room that you are not enjoying yourself,” D’Arcy Dancer dared to say to the stunning woman who was already engaged by another. The woman, who he knew to be the Season’s most sought after debutant, Cecily Anderson-Reese, turned towards him and smiled. She looked more interested in him than the man on her arm.

Cecily’s smile lit up the room. This surprised D’Arcy Dancer, the charming and desperately handsome Irish rogue who had been the talk of the London social scene since he arrived several months earlier in the fall of 1819. It was now well into February of 1820, and although he had made an impression, he had not made many friends.

His short, dark hair and crystalline blue eyes darted around the place, making the young ladies at the ball, most of whom had been trussed up tightly in their beautiful gowns, nearly swoon.

“My dear fellow,” said Lord Nunn, the gentleman on whose arm Cecily was leaning. “I daresay that is none of your affair. Now please, sir, for the sake of propriety, leave us in peace.”

To D’Arcy, Lord Nunn appeared as a thin and wiry sort of chap, the sort of Englishmen described as handsome. However, to an Irishman, he seemed like a delicate reed who could be blown over with a feather. He was terribly thin, and standing beside him made D’Arcy feel frightfully strong.

D’Arcy glanced at the thin frame and somewhat blotchy face of this fellow and smiled brilliantly. “‘My dear fellow?’” he said, chuckling. “It seems someone is mired in the muck of social convention. I was under the impression that balls were intended for general merriment. Do you dispute this assertion?”

“I do not know you, my dear fellow, and I am not interested in your opinion.”

“Very well, my dear fellow,” said D’Arcy. “I shall not speak further to you. However, this vision of loveliness on your arm may be permitted to make up her own mind about the desirability of conversing with me, would you not agree?”

“Now see here, old sock,” said Lord Nunn. “This vision of loveliness has been escorted here under my protection and I plan to keep it that way. I have no idea who you are or by what means you secured an invitation, but I shall be forced to take matters a step further if you do not depart forthwith.”

D’Arcy Dancer looked at Cecily, who was smiling coquettishly at him, making sure her wraith-like companion was unable to see. One of her eyebrows raised and she made it clear that he was invited to follow up with her soon.

D’Arcy smiled and turned away. Although he did not know this, ten of the finest ladies in the room had observed this colloquy and all of them were keen to make the acquaintance of the handsome and charming newcomer they had been hearing so much about. For the fact of the matter was that London society had been in the doldrums since the death of King George III and its requisite mourning period. Consequently, things were dreary, and very little had happened since the Prince Regent had been forced to take life more seriously.

The period of mourning was still in force, although these balls, for some reason, seemed to fall outside the purview of the mourning period. Music was drearier, conversation was muted, and voices were rarely raised. Ennui began to creep through the highest ranks of society, and when ennui sets in, there follows gossip.

And D’Arcy was the subject of a great deal of speculation. He had some contacts in society, but mainly he was the object of interest because he was very handsome, very charming, and utterly unknown. A tall, dark stranger in the frightfully in-bred community of London’s elite was as welcome as a slab of steak to a pack of wild dogs.

D’Arcy, who rarely missed subtle signs from ladies, particularly those who are charming and pretty, smiled and made his way to the orchestra. They had just finished playing one of the quadrilles, and so he was able to engage the leader in conversation, something that was frowned upon in good society.

“I say, Little Chip,” said D’Arcy jovially, “this is a rather dull affair. Haven’t you anything livelier to play?”

“My dear D’Arcy,” laughed Cipriani Potter, the distinguished composer and pianist who was referred to by all and sundry as ‘Little Chip.’ “Surely you must know that the period of mourning is still in effect, and none of us can risk attracting the wrath of the older generation, many of whom are ranged around the dance floor. It seems to be their primary aim that none of the young people have any fun at all.”

“I suppose that is so,” said D’Arcy. “But it puts a devil of a pall on the goings on. Now, I know you to be a great student of character, and I know you to be one of the most observant men in the country. What do you know of that lovely creature yonder?”

“Miss Cordelia de Montmorency? Surely you know about her already,” said Little Chip. Cordelia de Montmorency was one of the most beautiful women in London, who also had a reputation for being terribly wicked. Her curling eyelashes surrounded huge blue eyes that seemed to make every man in the place drool, and her figure was the envy of nearly every woman.

“No. The young lady with the chestnut tresses and the pale blue gown. The beauty who is encumbered with that dullard, Lord Nunn.”

“I know very little,” said Little Chip. “I know her name and her station, but nothing of her character. I believe she has just come out this Season.”

“And what is her name and station?” enquired D’Arcy with a charming grin.

“Her name is Cecily Anderson-Reese, the sister of Lord Jonathan Anderson-Reese. The very one who has been seen in public with the charming French singer I have been accompanying in her conquering tour of London society. You must have heard of the Parisian Nightingale.”

“Indeed, I have. I had the pleasure of hearing her sing before the period of mourning set in.”

“Quite,” said Little Chip. “And Lord Anderson-Reese is to be the Earl of Lincolnshire. Has been through some hard financial trouble, I’m afraid, but a charming fellow and quite a good gambler.”

D’Arcy’s eyes lit up. “Indeed?” he said, smiling. “And this fellow is her brother?”

“I believe that is the case,” he said.

“And that dullard she is with called Lord Nunn,” said D’Arcy. “What’s his excuse for living?”

“He is the best friend of Lord Anderson-Reese, although I’m not familiar with his station. He is also very close with Lord Northridge, the heir to the Earl of Hampstead, and from one of the wealthiest and noblest families in England. Those three are best chums. I warrant it is best to be on his good side.”

“I shall make his acquaintance,” said D’Arcy. “But this Lord Anderson-Reese fellow. I could swear to you I encountered him in a gambling den not a week ago. Or perhaps a trifle longer.”

“It is not unlikely. He frequents those sorts of places.”

“Yes. And this is his sister?”

“It is.”

“Intriguing. I hope to make her acquaintance at my earliest opportunity. Thank you for your assistance, Little Chip, and I will enjoy your lovely music.”

Chapter 2

D’Arcy was being tracked by every feminine eye in the ballroom. He walked alone, carrying himself like a conquering hero, even if he was almost entirely without friends at this place. At least, he was until he joined up with Jonathan and the beautiful French songstress, who were trying their best to stay out of the limelight. Of course, they were the most talked-about people in London that Season. The very fact that they would appear in public together was a matter of great interest and talk among the members of good society. Nevertheless, very few people were conversing with either of them. D’Arcy took advantage of this opportunity and made his way across the empty dance floor.

“Johnny?” said D’Arcy as he approached them, smiling knowingly.

“Dear God, is that you, D’Arcy Dancer?” said an astonished Jonathan.

“Yes, my friend, it is. I have been trying to fit into this ridiculous society, and I am afraid I have made rather a bad impression.”

“Well, I know what you mean.”

“And you played me for a bit of a fool the other night,” said D’Arcy. “You led me to believe you were of common stock, with that ‘Johnny’ stuff.”

“I confess I was a little embarrassed to let you know my true identity. I am Lord Anderson-Reese, at your service.”

“I surely know that now,” said D’Arcy with a chuckle. “I’m finding it devilishly hard to make a good impression on a certain someone.”

“Considering all the young ladies that are tittering behind their fans upon seeing such a dashing Irish lord, I find that hard to believe,” said Jonathan.

D’Arcy laughed. “Be that as it may, I understand your sister and her beau were less than impressed, despite the kindness of my approach.”

“Well, you must forgive Lord Nunn. Although the two of them may appear very secure in their positions here in society, Lord Nunn is a very sensitive young man. He’s one of my greatest friends, but even I can see that Cecily is far more than he can handle.”

“Is that so?” said D’Arcy with a grin. “I must say, I am very taken with her.”

“Perhaps approaching her at a ball is not the best way to ingratiate yourself with her,” offered Garance.

“Forgive me, madam,” said D’Arcy, turning to the singer. “I must say it is an honor to see you again. When you serenaded me in the gambling den, I had no idea you were the much-talked-about Parisian Nightingale. And even so, I had the privilege of hearing you sing at Covent Garden a few days ago, just before the mourning period began, and I was transported. I have never heard a voice like yours before, and I was honored to be able to witness your performance.”

“Thank you, D’Arcy,” said Garance with a kind smile. “And I must thank you as well for your assistance with the frightful business in that awful gambling den.”

“I daresay, any man would have done the same,” said D’Arcy.

“I beg to differ. You showed true bravery in the face of an armed attack. Jonathan told me in confidence that he was very grateful for your help. There were rather a lot of ruffians that evening, and I shudder to think what might have happened had that man been allowed to take advantage of me. I was fairly abducted.”

“I shouldn’t attribute too much to my intercession,” said D’Arcy to Garance. “Jonathan was the hero in that scenario.”

“Why thank you, D’Arcy,” said Jonathan, feeling emboldened. “I say, you might want to visit us tomorrow at our place on Wimpole Street. Would that be something you might consider? It would be no bad connection to make, for I am well-placed in society, despite my depleted financial situation.”

“I heard someone say something about that. Do you need money?”

“I should say not,” said Jonathan. “I have that well under control.”

“And my finances are more than enough to see us through this period,” added Garance. “For I shall tell you a secret, my friend. We are to be married.”

“Garance,” said Jonathan. “That is not public knowledge yet. I should not like the news to get out before our public declaration and we get my mother’s blessing.”

“Jonathan,” said Garance with a laugh. “You know yourself that D’Arcy has no social connections at all. That has been the substance of our conversation these last few minutes.”

“Why yes, but of course he has more than he claims. I must swear you to secrecy for the time being,” Jonathan said, nodding his head toward D’Arcy.

“Understood,” D’Arcy replied. “And I should be honored to attend your at-home time. Have you a card?”

“As luck would have it, I haven’t, but I shall be sure to get it to you forthwith. Where are you staying?”

“On Rubicon Court, in King’s Cross. I have taken rooms there with my man, O’Malley.”

“Then I shall be sure to pay you a visit as well when convenient,” said Jonathan.

“Certainly,” said D’Arcy. At that very moment, he spied that Cecily was alone by the punch bowl. “Forgive me, but I believe there is an opportunity to dance with your sister, and we both know that the early bird gets the worm.”

Before Jonathan could say a word, D’Arcy was across the room with the hope of engaging Cecily in conversation.

~*~

Cecily noticed that the Irishman who’d so boldly approached her earlier with flattery and flirtation was talking with her brother. She decided it was time to part from Lord Nunn to obtain a glass of punch, since the man wasn’t keen on dancing. And, by allowing herself to be freed from the overbearing nature of her escort for the evening, she put herself in a position to be spoken to by other gentlemen. Seeing that the daring Irishman—who had the physique of an Adonis, she couldn’t help but notice—was acquainted with her brother already, she saw no harm in making his acquaintance as well.

When he approached her from across the room, Cecily made eye contact as she sipped her punch. Her brother had become such a daring man as he chased after his scandalous love, that she herself felt like following the same path.

The idea of marrying for love instead of convenience certainly appealed to her. Seeing that a very attractive Irishman was approaching her, her heart skipped a beat. She was willing to give this man a chance if he could one day capture her heart as well as her interest.

“Good evening, Miss Anderson-Reese. Would ye care to dance with me?” asked the man as he approached, bowing before her. Their eyes never disconnected, sending a thrill of excitement through her.

“I would be delighted, sir. I could see you speaking with my brother already, so I can only assume you asked his permission to approach me?” Cecily said with a smile. The man smirked in response and only nodded in reply. When he offered his arm to her, Cecily took it, placing her hand on his. Compared to Lord Nunn, this man was certainly a pleasure to walk with. He was so strong and handsome that she could actually feel pleased about being seen with him in public.

“I see you have met Miss Cecily Anderson-Reese,” said Lord Northridge to D’Arcy, coming up behind them and trying to get in between the two. Cecily tried hard to ignore the sigh that came out her lips when she noticed the bothering man.

“I beg your pardon sir,” said the astonished gentleman that Cecily remained attached to. “But whom have I pleasure of addressing?”

“I am Lord Northridge, heir to the Earldom of Hampstead.” Cecily knew that the man was exaggerating for the benefit of those around him.

“Well then, Lord Northridge, I am awfully glad to make your acquaintance. I am Lord D’Arcy Dancer of Kilkenny, Baron of Callan. I was just escorting this young lady towards the next dance.”

“I think I can speak for her when I say her dance card is filled,” said Lord Northridge, to which Cecily, who was by nature contrary, balked. He moved to take her to the dance floor, despite his shortness of breath and somewhat moist, sweaty exterior.

“It most certainly is not,” snapped Cecily. “This young man is most welcome, and in fact, I see the quadrille is about to begin. Shall we dance, sir?”

“I would be delighted,” he said gallantly as they walked away from the stunned Lord Northridge, who didn’t look to appreciate being told no.. “As you may have heard me say just now, my name is Lord D’Arcy Dancer.”

“Why yes, I did hear you mention that,” said Cecily as they moved to the dance floor. “And pray tell, how is Kilkenny this time of year?”

“It is most dreary, I’m afraid,” he said. “But enough of these inanities. Now that we are to dance, I wish to come to know you better. I would like to call on you, for your brother has already invited me to join him.”

“Yes, you may, but I must ask you to be discreet. My darling brother has taken it upon himself to marry me off to the highest bidder. At this point, the highest bidder is that dullard Lord Nunn.”

“How interesting, my lady,” said D’Arcy, laughing with delight as they began to dance. “I am looking forward to discussing this further. And may I say that you look radiant in that beautiful gown.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Cecily, curtsying to Lord Dancer and dancing down the line as the music began. Cecily, who was only eighteen years old, was enjoying her first Season and her ability to attend and dance at these balls.

Her deep brown curls cascaded around her oval face, accentuating her large brown eyes and the luscious curling lashes that encircled them. She had a small and shapely nose that crinkled slightly when she laughed, and bow-shaped lips of the deepest natural red color. She was slim, and her beautiful pale blue silk dress clung to her shapely frame like a beautiful work of art, highlighted as it was by tiny pearls sewn into the front in a beautiful floral design. Cecily truly loved to dress up for these balls and to enjoy this time in her life.

As the dance continued, Cecily found that Lord Dancer was indeed as good of a dancer as his name suggested. She felt the strength of his arms and hands as he led her down the line and through the steps of the dance. She couldn’t help smiling at him, seeing the amusement in his eyes. Cecily felt that the dance was much livelier than the others that had been performed earlier in the night.

“You are a joy to dance with, Miss Anderson-Reese. Most of the dances tonight have been so reserved, and perhaps even gloomy, that dancing with you is a breath of fresh air,” Lord Dancer said as he twirled her around and led her back into the reel.

“You are too kind, Lord Dancer. But if we are both being honest with one another, I will say as well that you are a superior dance partner,” Cecily admitted, feeling bold. She was not practiced in the art of flirting, and since this man was acquainted with her brother and would no doubt be calling on her in the future, she wanted to leave this man with a good impression of her.

“English society has done me well, teaching me all sorts of things about pleasure and the enjoyment of taking a break from one’s work. But I find these dances to only be enjoyable if you spend them with the right people,” Lord Dancer replied.

“I’m pleased to hear that you consider me good company,” Cecily quipped.

“You seem to be the only one here worth speaking with,” he admitted. “You are not like other ladies of society.”

“Life has a way of teaching a young lady the reality of what society is all about,” Cecily admitted with a sigh. “I may only be eighteen, but the world has taught me much.”

“Do you refer to the circumstances in which your brother will soon be inheriting his title? That must be hard for someone as young as you,” Lord Dancer admitted, placing his hand on the small of her back to guide her through the dance. Cecily had to admit to herself that she liked his warm touch on her.

“Indeed, sir. My father wastes away, and as soon as my brother marries, he will gain fortune, soon to be followed by his title, once the inevitable end comes for my father. However, little is known about the current state of affairs of that fortune. Therefore, I’m urged to marry for wealth to save my family. What pressure that puts on one so young as I.”

“Why do you tell me such things, pray tell? We’ve only just met,” Lord Dancer asked with a smirk on his lips.

“Because my fate is sealed, Lord Dancer. You and I are just two people who have happened to meet. We might move through the motions of this dance, but it will not change what has been decided for me,” Cecily said. “Yet, I surely enjoy getting to dance with a man like you. I can see that there are others who would wish to do the same.”

Cecily followed Lord Dancer’s eyes as he surveyed the room as they danced together through the line. Cecily was not surprised when his eyes landed on Miss Cordelia de Montmorency, for she knew all about the other woman. She was also a debutant that liked to flaunt her father’s wealth in order to attract all sorts of men. If rumors were true, Miss Cordelia had strong feelings for Lord Northridge. Luckily, that future earl only seemed to have eyes for her as well.

“Regardless of what others wish, we are here together in this moment. We can just be two people who enjoy dancing with good company,” Lord Dancer offered.

“Indeed, sir. I fully agree. I’m so glad we could come to terms in this moment,” Cecily said, smiling. She didn’t know many Irishmen, and certainly no other lords besides those that were English. But getting to dance with Lord Dancer had been splendid. She could certainly see why her brother would befriend such a rogue. He certainly provided good company.

When the dance came to an end, far sooner than Cecily would have liked, she curtsied to Lord Dancer as he bowed. Cecily was just about to invite him to walk with her about the room, that their shared company might be continued. After all, there was still the dinner to enjoy. But Lord Nunn seemed to appear out of thin air by her side, causing her to stiffen.

“Miss Cecily, my dear. You look famished. Let us reconvene with your brother in preparation for dinner,” he said, taking her hand and placing it on his arm. Cecily gave Lord Dancer one last smile as she was led away towards a future she wanted nothing to do with.

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Chapter 1

Louisa wished she could dump the entire kettle of water onto the gentleman before her.

A smile was frozen on her face as she sipped the lukewarm tea that she had long ago lost her taste for. A cool wind wafted in from the open windows of the drawing room, making bumps rise on her skin. Before her, the white marble fireplace shone under the glow of the sunlight, the pianoforte that stood next to it begging to be played. Louisa lifted her gaze from the table laden with cakes and tea to look at the gentleman who had not stopped talking since he’d arrived.

He is quite handsome, she thought, widening her smile just a tad. He caught the movement and seemed to take it as encouragement. Though, it would be nice if I could at least remember his name.

His dark brown hair fell around his head in the Brutus style, accentuating his strong jaw. He had a very wide smile, one that filled his entire face with happiness. He was certainly the type to have ladies yearning for his attention, but that seemed to be his downfall. It was very clear that he was used to being handed the world because of his good looks, but Louisa was not in the mood to entertain this nonsense any longer.

“Forgive me,” she said, refraining from using any titles. She couldn’t remember if he was a duke, or an earl, or even a baron. She’d only met him two days ago at a ball and his name was quite gone from her memory. “I am afraid I will have to ask you to leave.”

His smile fell. His eyes, a glorious shade of brown, were filled with bemusement. “Pardon me?”

Louisa waved her hand carelessly toward the doors of the drawing room. “Would you like for me to accompany you to the door? I do not mind doing so.”

His bemusement deepened. Louisa resisted the urge to sigh. It seems he was not very smart either. “But, my Lady…why? I had believed that you were enjoying yourself with me.”

“No,” she said with a shake of her head, looking him directly in his eyes. “You were enjoying yourself. I was merely sitting here while you talked on and on. I am in no mood for it any longer.”

“Would you like for us to go for a walk along the river tomorrow instead?” he asked, leaning a bit closer.

“So that you may only talk even more?” Louisa shook her head. “I would rather not.” And because she could already hear her mother’s voice in her head, she plastered another smile onto her face, trying to sweeten her voice. “I am only feeling a bit unwell. I wish to retire to my room, as I’m afraid I will not be good company.”

He sat back in his chair, blinking. Louisa wondered if he was trying to ascertain the truth in her words, but his easy smile came back with full force. “Is that so? For a moment there, I was afraid I might have offended you in some manner.”

“You? Oh, heavens no.”

Her idle, uninterested tone did not seem to raise his suspicions in the slightest. “Very well, my Lady,” he continued, still wearing that broad smile. “I will bid you goodbye. I do not want to be the reason for your malady.”

“How very kind of you.” Louisa rose, and her lady’s maid, Valerie, who had been sitting nearby, rose as well. The gentleman also came to his feet, taking a step closer to her. Louisa thought he might have intended to walk alongside her, but she turned and stalked away before he could. To her slight annoyance, he hurried to catch up.

“I would love to write to you, my Lady,” the gentleman said as they left the drawing room. Emerging from the shadows, Louisa saw the butler, Henry, trailing shortly behind. He was a silent man in both words and actions—and she supposed that was why she was so fond of him.

“I suppose you would,” she responded noncommittally.

“I would also love to go riding with you,” he went on. “I have quite the habit of riding at dawn. I do hope that is not an issue for you.”

“I do not enjoy riding,” she lied. She did enjoy it from time to time, reveling in the escape she found within the act—but he didn’t need to know that.

To her disappointment, he was unhindered. “Ah, is that so? Well, I suppose we all prefer different hobbies. That is what makes us all different as humans, after all. It is like what I said to a dear friend of mind, the Duke of Forester, while we were fencing together—”

“I bid you goodbye,” Louisa cut in. They’d barely made it through the foyer, the grand front doors directly in sight. Her annoyance was growing by the minute, but she kept that small smile on her face even as she curtsied. Anyone with a lick of common sense would be able to tell that her smile was fake.

But this gentleman only looked slightly confused. Throwing him out in the middle of his story might have befuddled him a bit, she supposed.

“A-ah, yes.” He bowed jerkily. “It was truly a pleasure, Lady Louisa. Though I would have greatly liked to have more time with you.”

Because the words that had come to her head were things she should never say to a gentleman, she only widened her smile a little further.

He didn’t seem to know what to do with that, and so he bowed again. It seems I have baffled him again. He is not quite smart, is he?

A twinge of humor pricked her as Henry took the lead from her and proceeded to escort the gentleman out of the manor. Louisa watched him go, tilting her head to the side when he glanced over his shoulder at her. There was a hint of longing in his eyes, a yearning to stay. It gave her that much more pleasure to see him leave.

Perhaps I should have been a little more impolite. He will not wish to court me if I have hurt his feelings.

Louisa sighed once he was gone. She flashed a genuine smile at Henry, who bowed silently and went off for his own duties. The smile fell as she stared at the nowclosed doors. Now that he was gone, she had a bad feeling that he would return. It was very likely that he had not realized the extent of her disinterest in him. If he did call upon her again, Louisa would have no choice but to be a little more discourteous, her mother’s opinion be damned.

Turning, intending to return to the gardens where she had been before the gentleman’s arrival, she came face to face with her parents.

Lord Anders King, the Earl of Warwick wore a tired expression. His brown hair stuck up around his head in an unruly fashion, though bits of it seemed to have been desperately smoothed down. He shook his head disappointedly at Louisa, his green eyes shifting over to his wife.

Lady Liliana King, the Countess of Warwick was a fearsome sight, even though she was shortest lady in the manor. She stood with her arms crossed, a fierce scowl on her face. Her golden blond hair had been set loose around her shoulders, simply because she tended to get migraines when it was done up. A few times, Louisa had contemplated using that same excuse, but she knew her mother would see right through her.

“What do you think you are doing?” asked the countess in a low, eerily calm voice.

Louisa pulled her shoulders back. She’d always had the power to handle her mother whenever she angered her, but right now, she was unsure of whether she had the energy. “I was bidding a young gentleman goodbye,” Louisa responded.

“That is not what you were doing,” her mother pressed. Liliana always lost her composure when handling her eldest daughter. “You were trying to chase him away. Just like how you chase away all your other suitors.”

“Potential suitors,” Louisa corrected. “They have never gotten that far.”

“Louisa,” her father warned. He always stood as peacemaker between them. Just as how no one else could anger Liliana like Louisa could, no one else could calm her like her husband. Louisa was happy he was here.

“None will ever truly make it that far if you continue to act in such an abhorrent manner,” Liliana hissed. Then, she took a deep breath, visibly reining herself back in. “What was wrong with this one?”

“He talks too much about himself,” Louisa asked. This was not a conversation that she would like the servants overhearing, so she turned in the direction of the drawing room. Her parents fell into step behind her.

“Don’t they all?” Anders mused aloud. “I am yet to meet a gentleman who does not go on and on about himself. They only wish to impress you.”

Louisa hid her smile. “I am happy you noticed it, Father. Surely, you cannot expect me to court someone like that.”

“Oh, heavens, Louisa, we all know that is not the reason for your actions,” Liliana cut in. When they arrived at the drawing room, her mother stayed at the door while Louisa reclaimed her seat by the window. “And I am certain you understand that you do not have the luxury to act in such a manner any longer.”

“Truly, Mother, you need not worry,” Louisa said calmly.

“Why should I not worry?” Liliana demanded. Anders sank into a plush, violet sofa with a sigh. “You have not given any indication that you wish to be married.”

“Because I do not,” Louisa stated. How could she when the very thought of a man touching her made her tremble? A marriage could never thrive with such a fear.

“And I should not worry?” her mother nearly screeched.

Louisa looked at her. She understood why her mother was so upset. It was necessary for her to marry, a fact of her birth. She was the eldest daughter of an earl and she was fast approaching spinster age. In order to secure her future, Louisa knew she needed to find a decent husband. Liliana had every reason in the world to be concerned that her daughter showed such little regard for her own future.

But Louisa had already come to terms with it. She did not expect her mother to. So, she said, “I am a strong lady. You raised me to be that way. I will be just fine on my own, I assure you.”

This time, it was Liliana’s turn to sink into the sofa next to her husband. As if by instinct, Anders reached out and took her hand. “Oh, heavens, she will be the death of me,” Liliana murmured.

Louisa nearly laughed. “Oh, Mother, do not be so dramatic. Charlotte is already married, and Selina is out—in her second Season now, in fact. Within a couple of years, Tereza will be as well. Even if I do not marry, you have three other daughters to make up for my shortcomings.”

“You must think that will make me feel better,” her mother mumbled. “But it does not.”

“You must understand our concern, Louisa,” her father spoke up. “You will become a spinster in a matter of years. You must marry before then. It is not as if you are short of any potential suitors. You may very well marry any gentleman in London.”

Louisa said nothing to that. It was true that she was quite a beauty, that she did not have to worry about attracting a suitor—because they basically lined themselves up for her, wanting her hand in marriage. But because of that, Louisa felt a heavy burden. She did not like that she was beautiful. Had she been plain, her life would have been much easier.

“You are talking to a wall, my dear,” her mother spoke up with a sigh. “It will take a miracle to move her mind.”

Louisa smiled warmly at her mother. “Does this mean you will no longer pressure me to accept the gentlemen who come my way?”

“It means quite the opposite,” Liliana maintained. “I will not allow such a fate to befall you. Perhaps we will find someone suitable at Charlotte’s ball tomorrow.”

Louisa nearly sighed. She turned her attention to the window as her parents rose to make their way to the door. But just before they left, her father asked, “Louisa, I wonder. Do you happen to know the name of the gentleman who left just now?”

Louisa felt a little pleasure in sending an innocent smile over her shoulder. “Why, Father, it is funny that you should ask, because I hadn’t a single clue.”

Liliana groaned.

Chapter 2

“Are you certain he has returned?” The moment Jerome asked the question, the butler, the housekeeper, and the valet looked at each other. When he’d posed that same question ten minutes earlier, the valet, Jackson, had responded with ease and confidence. But now, as they stood in the center of the ornately decorated foyer of Leinster Manor, they seemed unsure of themselves.

Jerome rested his gaze on the butler, the one of the three who should know the answer to this question. “Has he left the manor?” he asked.

The butler stiffened, lifting his chin. “No, sir.”

“Then where is he?”

“I believe he is still in his bedchamber, sir.”

Jerome cocked his head to the side. Standing before him in the foyer were the only people in the manor who were aware of his true status. The rest of servants only saw him as a close partner to the Duke of Leinster.

“His bedchamber,” Jerome repeated, looking the butler in the eye. It didn’t make sense. The Duke of Leinster was not the sort of man who spent all his day in his bedchamber. “Is he ill?”

“I believe that—”

The fact that he hadn’t received an instantaneous denial made him tense. “What has become of him?”

Even though Jerome’s voice was calm, the butler flinched. “Would you like me to inform him of your visit—?”

“There is no need,” Jerome clipped. “I will see him myself.” He looked at the aging woman who stood silently next to the butler, the housekeeper. She was a familiar face, as he’d known her ever since he was young. She was the only one of the three who didn’t seem intimidated by his presence. She said nothing to him.

Jerome looked away from her. He set off toward the grand staircase spread out before him, listening to the echo of his footsteps in the silent manor. The moment he’d walked in, he knew something was wrong. The manor was never silent. The air was oddly still as well, as if all the servants were tiptoeing around and not wanting to be heard.

Jerome’s hands clenched into fists at his side. He was hardly aware of Jackson following behind, but he almost held his up a hand, a silent command for him to leave him be. Jackson’s own footsteps came to a stop as Jerome continued on.

It did not take him long to arrive at the duke’s bedchamber. He paused before the door, letting that annoying tremor of nervousness drift through him before he raised his hand to knock.

“Enter,” came the duke’s voice. Jerome hesitated. He doesn’t sound good.

After a moment, Jerome entered the duke’s oversized bedchamber. He instantly spotted the duke standing on the balcony, the curtains by the doors drifting into the room. Jerome drew nearer, tentative.

“Is all well?” he asked. No greeting, because it was not welcomed. No announcement of his return, because it was not necessary. The duke preferred when he got straight to the point.

With a low grunt, His Grace, Francis Nelson of Leinster, turned to face Jerome. Wrinkles lined his face, his thin lips turned down in constant disapproval. His hair had gone entirely white, but Jerome had not forgotten the thick head of brown hair he’d once possessed. The duke had put on a bit of weight over the years, but he was still every bit the strong, domineering man Jerome had known since the day Jerome learned he was his father.

“You have returned,” Francis pointed out.

Jerome frowned slightly. For as long as he’d known the duke, he’d always spent his time in his office. He was a man who lived through his work, managing his business and the dukedom with ease. He gave little time to other aspects of his life and, as such, failed miserably in social settings. Many knew the name of the wealthy Duke of Leinster, but not many knew who he truly was, unless they happened to be in business with him.

It was odd seeing him in here. Standing on his balcony, his voice calm.

“Yes,” Jerome said, venturing closer. They were about the same tall height, with a very muscular build. “Are you well?” he repeated.

Francis said nothing to that. He turned to face the overlook from the balcony, the bit of the Leinster gardens that had been dedicated to the late Duchess of Leinster. “Tell me how it fared,” he ordered.

Jerome’s frown deepened. Despite himself, he felt a pinch of unease. But he could not very well go against what his father had asked him to do. “I have successfully established a route with Belman Company. They will now be using our ships to facilitate their trade between America and the Far East.”

It was simple and to the point. Jerome knew his father didn’t want to hear him talk about the specific details of his trip. The duke only wanted results, and results he would give him.

“Good,” was all his father said. Jerome had long ago learned how to live with that stab of disappointment.

Jerome joined his father in facing the gardens. The roses that were now growing there had been planted in memory of the late duchess, but Jerome could never look at them without thinking of his own mother. A simple servant girl she had been before she’d fallen for the duke. And a hardened mother she had become when she had been tossed aside. Jerome hadn’t learned of his lineage until he was a teenager and the duke, perhaps because of his wife’s childless status, had welcomed him. Now, Jerome’s mother was gone, the duke’s wife had passed, and all that remained was a strained relationship between father and son.

Though it seemed Jerome was the only one being affected by it. He looked at his father, feeling at odds with the soulful expression on his face. “Has something happened?” he asked him. “Why are you not in your office?”

“I do not wish to be,” was the duke’s only reply.

But Jerome would not leave it at that. “It seems the servants are all tense. There was an air of unease in the manor when I arrived.”

Francis grunted. “What would you have me do, address them regarding my wellbeing?”

“No,” Jerome responded easily. “But at least put my mind at ease. Are you unwell?” He thought back on what the butler had said and felt his uneasiness growing.

To make matters worse, Francis did not respond right away. He continued to gaze out before him, and Jerome wondered if he was thinking about his words. Finally, he spoke, “Yes. I am not well. I believe I will die soon.”

“Father…”

“I am an old man,” Francis went on. “I have spent all my life working hard without giving myself much time to rest. I have done all that I should as the Duke of Leinster. And still, I have failed.”

Alarmed, Jerome faced his father. “I find it hard to believe that the gentleman who has achieved so much wealth and prestige for his dukedom could say such a thing.”

Then, the unthinkable happened. Francis smiled. “We are but humans, Jerome. We may strive for one thing and fail terribly in another. In my case, I have neglected my health.”

Jerome tightened his grip on the railing. “What did the physician say? Did he tell you what might be the cause of your illness? Why are you not in bed?”

“I am an old man, Jerome,” Francis repeated. “It would do me no good to fight it.”

And then he coughed. The wheezing sound felt like a punch to Jerome’s chest. He stood there, watching as the man he’d looked up to half his life, the man he’d worked so hard to make proud, shank under the weight of his cough.

This…this just does not make sense.

“There is something I want you to do, Jerome,” his father said once the coughing fit ended.

Jerome stood a bit straighter. “Yes, Father. Anything.”

“You must inherit the dukedom.”

Jerome went still. For so long he’d wished to hear those words. To hear them now felt like a dream. He was an illegitimate son, one that had been hidden away from the world to prevent a scandal. It felt like a fool’s dream to yearn for the title.

“Are you certain, Father?” Jerome asked, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart.

Francis nodded. “You are not the son of my wife, but you are my son, nonetheless. If you do not inherit the title, it will become extinct.”

And that was a worse fate than having an illegitimate child inherit an entire dukedom.

Jerome hardly knew the words to say. “Thank you, Fa—”

“Do not get ahead of yourself,” his father said in a gruff voice. “You must first marry a woman of noble birth. If you do not, then I will not ask the Prince Regent to smooth your way to inheriting the dukedom.”

Jerome glanced down at his father’s hands to see him gripping the railing so tightly, his knuckles turned white. He was quite adept at masking his feelings, something Jerome had both loathed and marveled at. To see the duke turn to him, his eyes narrowing into slits, Jerome instantly went on edge.

“Do you hear me, boy?” he growled. “You cannot inherit the title if you do not find a fitting wife. A wife that I will approve of.”

“Yes, Father,” Jerome said with a stiff nod. He tried to ignore the roaring in his head at the duke’s insistence. “I am an illegitimate son. I understand that you will not name me as your heir unless I find a woman of noble birth.”

The duke ran his eyes up and down Jerome, as if gauging if he understood the seriousness of the situation. And he did. How could he not? For half his life, he’d known that he would never have a place in his world, despite being so close to it. Even though his father was a duke, his mother was nothing but a commoner. And it seemed commoner blood ran strong in situations like this.

A noble lady would help greatly. Perhaps the daughter of a duke, or even an earl. Someone who was more than fitting to stand as a duchess.

Jerome wasn’t hindered by his father’s condition. If he became the new duke, he would have to marry. It would not be so difficult, he believed, to find a suitable wife to please his father. He’d been doing very well pleasing him thus far, even if he would not say it. “Yes, Father,” he said.

Francis turned to him. He was leaning rather heavily on the railing, Jerome noticed, but he said nothing about it. “I hope you understand the severity of this situation,” Francis told him.

“I reckon no one else would understand as much as I do. You will not be disappointed.”

“I hope not.” With that said, Francis turned away, heading back into the bedroom. Now that he was no longer resting his weight on the railing, he stumbled a bit as he walked. Jerome trailed closely behind, but he didn’t dare to lend his aid. He knew that his father would not appreciate that in the slightest.

Somehow, Francis made it to the bed without collapsing. A faint sheen of sweat covered his forehead as he laid down, pulling the sheets over him. “Fetch my valet,” he ordered, his eyes fluttering close.

Jerome, even though Francis wouldn’t see it, nodded. Then, without a word, he left. Jackson was already making his way into the bedchamber the moment the door opened.

Jerome paused on the other side of the door for a few seconds, trying to process all that he had been told. It felt surreal to have the dukedom right at the tips of his fingers when for so long it had felt out of reach. Francis had no son, no close relative that could stand in place as a male heir. If necessary, Jerome would have been his only choice, and yet he had convinced himself that he would never be considered.

His face grim, he set off down the hallway. A fierce wave of determination came over him. His mind was whirring, his chaotic thoughts already fleshing out into a plan. Tomorrow night, there would be a ball at Rutherford Manor. Considering he was already acquainted with the family, he should take advantage of his invitation. Once he was in attendance, it should be a simple matter to find a decent lady who may serve as his future wife.

That grim expression gave way into a smile. He was being given a chance at the life he had always wanted. Jerome was not going to allow that chance to slip away.

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