Prologue

PROLOGUE

THE GRAYLING HOUSE PARTY, GRAYLING ESTATE

S unset blazed across the extraordinary grounds of the Countess of Grayling's estate, the evening air neither too warm nor too cold as Caroline Barnet drank in the beautiful view of lawn and woodland and garden from the drawing room terrace.

Lively chatter drifted out, but Caroline was content to share the outside quiet with her brother, who stood at her side. She needed the silence to think over the letter that had come to her, marked with the Matchmaker's emblem.

"Daniel?" she said absently.

Her brother glanced at her. "What is it, Caro? Are you well?"

"Quite well." Caroline paused. "Have you ever heard of the Matchmaker sending two letters?"

Daniel frowned. "I have not heard anything much about the Matchmaker, so I am afraid I could not say. Why do you ask?"

"No reason. Something one of my friends said, that is all," Caroline hastened to reply, clutching her reticule to her stomach, musing upon the two precious letters folded inside.

One had informed her, in a roundabout fashion, that Percival, the Duke of Granville, was not her match. The other had been far shorter, more of a note really, and altogether more confusing, bearing the words: One might consider the charming brother of a dear friend. A gentleman who would lead your horse by the reins and lead you to possible happiness.

The only gentleman who fit that description was Anna Dennis' brother, Richard—or ‘Dickie' to all who knew him. Indeed, he was always exceptionally charming whenever they encountered one another and had been very courteous during her ride in Hyde Park not too long ago, just before the Matchmaker's second note arrived. Amusing, too. The sort of fellow who easily made Caroline smile and laugh, far more than Percival had ever done.

"What do you think of Richard Dennis?" Caroline pressed, hoping she sounded casual.

Daniel shrugged. "I know him fairly well, and that he is to inherit the Earldom of Greenfield if all goes well with the Royal Court petition his brother had made." He quirked an eyebrow. "Is there something I should know about? Are you interested in him? I suppose you have been spending a great deal of time in one another's company. Would you like me to assist you?"

"Goodness, no!" Caroline gasped, her nerves jittering. "It is a… friend who has an interest. Certainly not me. He is just a friend to me, and what is better than seeing two of my friends fall in love?"

Daniel seemed to accept the explanation, leaning back against the terrace wall, tilting his face up to the burnished sunset. "He has a reputation. You ought to warn your friend of that, but with his imminent new position, a lady could do far worse."

"Lord Westyork!" A joyful, familiar voice snapped Caroline out of her contemplation, her heart lurching into her throat. Had she somehow summoned Dickie, just by talking about him?

The gentleman in question breezed out onto the terrace with two other gentlemen in tow: Percival, whom Caroline quickly looked away from, and Dickie's brother, Maximilian Dennis, the Duke of Harewood, who did not cast her a single glance.

"My good friend, the Duke of Granville, has come to bend your ear about matters of business," Dickie continued. "And he needs your advice rather swiftly, for his house is falling down."

Caroline did not hear any of the ensuing conversation between her brother and Percival, as she raised her gaze and finally met Dickie's pretty blue eyes. He beamed at her, flashing a wink.

"I was a late bloomer," he said, though Caroline frowned, for she had missed whatever led up to that particular response.

"Many beautiful things grow late in the season," she offered, hoping it made sense as a reply.

Dickie chuckled. "When is your birthday again?"

"November."

"I thought as much," Dickie said softly, coming to stand closer to her.

"And why is that?" she dared to ask.

He leaned in slightly. "Because the most beautiful things bloom when the world is cold and grim. Who does not delight at seeing a snowdrop when everything else is bare and stark? Who does not see a bright holly berry and feel their heart cheered?"

"But the beauty of a snowdrop is so fleeting," she murmured, waiting for the butterflies that did not come. They never had, with him. Instead, she experienced an urge to banter with him and chide him playfully, as she did with her brother. Not exactly the burgeoning romance she had anticipated.

"What beauty is not?"

She laughed at him, not altogether convinced that her smiles were of the adoring kind. Then again, friendship could be a good foundation for marriage. She had observed the four members of the Spinsters' Club who were married, and they seemed to be as much a friend to their husbands as they were a spouse. Perhaps, that was where love bloomed.

And she and Dickie had already struck up a fair friendship over the past few months, since their first meeting at her debut. A friendship that, at least in her mind, had only grown stronger during the Countess's house party, though nothing else had blossomed with it.

"If I had said I was born in August, would you have had a reply prepared?" she said slyly, unable to resist their usual banter any longer.

Dickie laughed, his teeth pearly white as he grinned. "Why, I do believe you have caught me out, Lady Caroline."

He has a reputation… She remembered her brother's warning and allowed her attention to wander to Maximilian. Or ‘Max' as Caroline's friend—and Max and Dickie's sister—Anna, referred to him.

Taller than his brother by half a head, with broad shoulders that were enhanced by his excellent posture, and a mane of golden-brown hair that shifted from fair to dark depending on how the sunset's glow struck it, he was the handsomer of the two. But where Dickie was carefree and loud, Max was serious and serene, his blue eyes darker than his brother's, as if great mysteries lay in the depths of those shining pools.

And he is, perhaps, the only gentleman who has never looked at me with anything but polite indifference. Although, she could not blame him for having little interest in her. They had met but a handful of times, and every such time, she had spilled something on him or caused him embarrassment.

"Did you teach your brother how to be charming?" Caroline blurted out.

Max turned surprised eyes on her. "Pardon?"

"It is not unusual for the younger to learn from the older," Caroline explained, her cheeks flushing with sudden, embarrassed heat.

Dickie nudged Max in the arm. "He taught me nothing of that kind, though he could do to learn from me. If he would but agree to let me tutor him, he would be married by now, with a fine duchess at his side. The way I see it, there is no use in being a bachelor if one does not behave like a bachelor. Alas, my brother is already married to his tireless work."

"And how would one behave as a bachelor, in your humble opinion?" Max replied, with a knowing look to his brother.

Dickie smirked. "I doubt that would be polite to say in front of lovely young ladies."

"Indeed, so perhaps you should speak with more decorum," Max suggested firmly.

"I did not realize you were a gentleman of business, Your Grace," Caroline said shyly, her mind revisiting the occasion where she had knocked straight into him with a cup of steaming hot tea in her hand, months ago at Daniel and Phoebe's wedding. It had all splashed on him, and though he had informed her that he was quite well, she knew it must have hurt.

Max mustered a courteous smile. "The world is changing, Lady Caroline, and we peers must change with it if we are to have any legacy left. Your brother is the inspiration, leading the way."

"My brother is a very clever man," Caroline agreed.

"Indeed." Max bowed his head. "If you will excuse me, you have just reminded me that I have some correspondence to write."

He left without another word, and though Dickie remained for a while longer, engaging her in a conversation about the boring nature of poetry, she found herself doubting the suggestion that the Matchmaker had offered.

The Countess of Grayling's house party had already lasted for several days, and she had sought Dickie out wherever possible, hoping to gain some confirmation that he was the one for her. Hoping to feel what the Matchmaker had suggested. But though Dickie did show her plenty of attention, and she enjoyed his company immensely, she really could not shake the feeling that theirs was nothing more than a pleasant friendship.

"Well, I think the port is calling," Dickie announced. "You will dance with me at the finale ball, will you not?"

Caroline furrowed her brow. "Is that any way to ask a lady?"

"It is a way to ask a lady," he replied, smiling.

"I will consider it, but my card is already quite full."

Dickie shrugged. "No matter if you cannot find a place for me. I am sure you will have your pick of every gentleman in attendance, and though I relish a challenge, I do not like to compete too vigorously if I am not wholly determined to win the prize."

"Pardon?" She squinted at him, trying to figure out the true meaning in his words.

He wafted a hand. "Enjoy the next couple of days and the ending ball to their fullest, Lady Caroline. Do not mind me." He bowed his head. "Excuse me."

As he wandered back into the drawing room, she knew, with almost complete certainty and not a small amount of horror, that the Matchmaker had to be mistaken. Dickie Dennis was not the one for her.

"But how can the Matchmaker be wrong?" Caroline muttered, taking out the letters and flattening them out, so she might read them for the hundredth time.

She did agree that Percival was not her match, so she could not argue that the Matchmaker had been correct in that assessment. But that other note, that frustrating suggestion that Dickie might be her match, pinched like a thorn in Caroline's head. It throbbed all the more, remembering his casual dismissal two nights ago.

Ever since that dismissal, she had conversed again with him a few times, and though their discussions were engaging, there was no thrill or romantic attraction to be found. In truth, there had been a few occasions where she had drifted off while he was talking, daydreaming of other things.

His eyes seem to glaze over when I talk, too.

Tomorrow night would be the house party's ending ball, and yet she felt no excitement when she thought about dancing with him. She doubted she would care a jot if he did not ask her. Surely, that was not a good sign?

"Even the note does not seem certain," she mused, picking it up for a closer inspection and reading it aloud. "One might consider… Lead you to possible happiness."

Another of the Matchmaker's letters had been recounted in the scandal sheets several months ago, and she remembered reading it with such admiration in her heart. It had led to a very blissful union between a widow and a widower, and the words had been more definite, not the wishy-washy vernacular that she had received.

"Am I reading too much into it? What if the Matchmaker really just meant that I should consider him, in order to simply rule him out?" she wondered aloud, peering out of the window at the sprawling lawns of the Grayling Estate. A fox slunk across the grass, while a restless dove cooed from a nearby oak tree.

There is no other option—I must show this to Dickie and hear his opinion, or I shall not sleep a wink. She slipped off the window seat and, holding the note close to her chest, she took her housecoat from the stand by the door and headed out into the silent hallways of the enormous manor.

She knew the chambers where Dickie was staying, as she had accompanied Anna to that very room, where Anna had asked to borrow some paper for a letter she meant to write.

As such, it was not hard to find. But it was rather difficult to muster the courage to knock.

She must have waited outside that door for at least ten minutes, toing and froing as to whether it was a terrible idea or if it could at least be delayed until morning, before the sound of footfalls propelled her into action. Worse than being let down by the Matchmaker was the prospect of being caught outside a gentleman's door, causing herself a scandal.

Panicking, she turned the handle and let herself into the room, closing it quietly behind her as the footsteps thudded past the door. Breathing hard, her heart feeling like it might explode with nerves, she prayed she had not been seen.

"Who is there?" a sleepy voice grumbled from the bed.

Caroline turned, drawing in a deep breath. "It is me, Dickie," she said shakily, not knowing if it was proper for her to speak so informally. But she had done it now, and she could not stop, the words pouring out of her.

"I have come to show you something that I think you must see. A letter came from the Matchmaker, and… it is strange," she explained. "I want your insight because I feel as if I like you very much, but just as an acquaintance, and I get the feeling that you would agree with that sentiment. So, what am I to do? The Matchmaker is never wrong, but the letter was not very strongly in favor of our match. It would be easier to explain if you read it for yourself."

She had taken but three steps toward the bed when the sleepy figure rose up into a sitting position, wearing not a stitch on his upper half. In the moonlight that streamed in through wide open curtains, Caroline saw everything—hard muscle, powerful arms, the deep ridges of a sculpted abdomen, so startling that she dropped the note altogether.

But that was not the most astonishing thing. Indeed, the truly shocking part that elicited a yelp from her throat was the fact that she was not looking into the face of Dickie, but of his older brother, Max.

Oh no… Not you. She had not forgotten how he had ruined the night of her debut, making her feel awful for a simple accident of spilled claret. There had been other accidents afterward, during almost every encounter they had, but those were more to do with how nervous he made her with his cold stares than anything else. He was as much to blame for those, and she would have told him so if it were not for the shock of seeing him in such a state of undress.

He hastily scooped the coverlets against his bare chest, his eyes wide. "Lady Caroline, are you quite insane?" he rasped in a husky voice, the clutches of sleep still loosening their hold on him. "What is the meaning of this intrusion?"

"I… I… thought you were your brother," she squeaked, hurrying to pick up the note that had fluttered even closer to the bed.

"Stay back!" he growled, as she retrieved the piece of paper.

She waved it helplessly at him. "I did not know it was you."

"And that makes it better?" he challenged, shaking his head. "I would have expected this of Dickie, Lady Caroline, but not of you. Did he ask you to meet with him in secret?"

Caroline gasped, horrified. "No! Goodness, no! I… had something to ask him, and it could not wait, and… now that I am thinking of it, I realize how atrocious this must look." She gulped. "It was innocent; I swear it."

"If it were anyone but you, I would not believe it," he grumbled. "But I have noticed you often act before you think. You are impetuous."

"I am not!" she protested.

He arched an eyebrow and gestured in her direction. "And this is a well-deliberated endeavor?"

"Well… no, but…" She understood his point, though she did not like it much.

Max sighed. "You are aware that you could have caused us both a scandal with this reckless behavior, yes?"

"It was not my intention. I was not here to see you."

"Regardless, you could have caused my brother and yourself a scandal too." Max swept a stressed hand through his golden hair. "Go through that adjoining door. It leads to Anna's room. She is a heavy sleeper and will not hear you if you can, at the very least, attempt to be stealthy. From there, please do us both a favor and return to your chambers without a single pause."

Caroline faltered. "But…"

"Whatever you have to say to Dickie, it can wait until morning." He expelled a weary breath. "Now, if you will excuse me, I should like to go back to sleep."

He turned over to punctuate the point, likely not realizing that the coverlets did not conceal his back. Walking to the adjoining door, Caroline could not help stealing a glance, knowing it would be a long while before she could remove the vision of those broad shoulders and that sculpted muscle out of her mind… and wondering why on earth there were butterflies loose in her stomach.

"If I had known you would be here, I would never have come in," she said as she passed, knowing he was not yet asleep. "Whatever you say or whatever you might think of me, my intentions were good."

He did not reply, but she hoped she had given him something to consider.