Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Kent, England

Weston Estates

"O h, Papa, he's the most wonderful man in the world," gushed Phoebe, twirling on her toes, her auburn curls bouncing.

Andrew, Lord Weston clasped his hand to heart. "You wound me, Daughter."

She threw her arms around him. "Next to you, Papa, of course."

"Of course." He stepped back and cupped her cheeks in his hands as he kissed her forehead. "I'm happy for you. I hope Lord Kendall will make a fine husband."

"Are you sure you don't mind my going to London for Christmastide? I do want to get to know his mother better before we are wed." She looked up at him, her coffee eyes filled with concern. "It will be our last holiday together."

Andrew shook his head. "Nonsense, I look forward to many holidays with my grandchildren about me." He smiled at her blush. "No, dear. Your aunt will be chaperone enough. I have plenty to occupy my time and…"

"And?" She gave him a sly grin. "A lady friend, perhaps?"

He snorted. "No, but I did receive an invitation from an old friend in Suffolk. I might visit with him for a few days and catch up. He hasn't taken his seat in the Lords for several years, and I'm not much for correspondence, as you know. So, we'll have much to talk about." He waggled his brows. "Lord Beecham met my brother at Oxford. Used to come home with Phillip since we lived in town. They both took care of me when I started university during their last year. Oh, the antics we'll relive over some good brandy."

"Papa, I couldn't imagine you being devilish. But I hope you change your mind, for I will miss you dreadfully."

"You are a beautiful young woman about to start a new life with a family of your own. There won't be time for thoughts of me." He hugged her, blinking back emotion as images of her as a child hit him full force. "You know I will always be here whenever you need me."

He watched his daughter practically skip from the library. With a sigh, he leaned against the mantel, listening to the fire crackle. This was his favorite room. Filled with books and memories and decorated in strong, masculine colors. From the blue damask drapes on the floor-to-ceiling windows and the thick, patterned Turkish rugs to the carved oak desk and great wingback chairs, this was a place a man could relax in, think his problems through, find solace in the silence.

"She's made a good match, Aggie," he said to the portrait above the hearth. A young Agnes smiled down at him, her blonde hair upswept, the amber eyes as bright as the day they'd met. "With our Phoebe leaving, I've been thinking about being alone."

With a sigh, he strolled to the side table and poured himself a brandy. As he settled in one of the fine leather chairs, his gleaming boots propped before the fire, he swirled the amber liquid in the cut crystal glass. "I'm lonely, Aggie. What we had was… irreplaceable, but I'm no good on my own."

Andrew peered up at his wife, as if she would agree with him or give him permission. "I'm not looking for another love. Companionship, though, would be nice in my doddering years." He chuckled. "Not that I'm old yet, but I need to look to the future. How will I deal with grandchildren without a woman by my side? You know how awkward I can be with youngsters."

He took another sip of the liquor and leaned his head back. A dowager countess in London had warmed his bed for the past ten years but had made it perfectly clear she had no intention of marrying again. And the time between his trips to Town was getting lengthier. His visits with the countess satisfied his physical needs, but he left feeling empty, and that emptiness was growing.

"Funny thing, I don't feel old. When the deuce did I make forty years? With a daughter grown? And how did I manage it without you?" Andrew ran a hand through his thick hair and blew out a breath. "But where does a man of my age find a wife who isn't ancient or still half-child?"

Closing his eyes, he let his mind go blank. He wouldn't worry about it tonight.

Life has a way of providing what one needs. You only have to pay attention and not let it slip through your fingers.

How many times had Aggie said that? Good advice. He would pay attention and wait for… her .

* * *

20 December 1820

Beecham Manor, Suffolk

Andrew glanced over his shoulder at the cumbersome coach. He was glad he'd decided to bring his new gelding. The horse had been auctioned for almost nothing because of his weight and dull coat. But Drew had seen the gleam in the animal's eye and knew there was potential. He'd taken the beast home, fattened him up, and began a daily exercise routine, naming him Fortunate.

Patting the horse's gleaming neck, he squeezed its sides with his calves and moved him forward through the small copse. Evergreens rustled in the chill breeze, sending a light spray of snow into the air. There was barely a dusting on the ground. Enough to brighten the landscape but not hinder transportation.

When he reached the manor, he paused at the iron gates and studied the long drive to the manor. It was quite a sprawling piece of architecture, made of limestone with multiple gables and four stories. Anxious to see his old friend again, he kicked the horse lightly and trotted until he reached the portico. He slid from the saddle and found a lad waiting for him before his boots touched the gravel.

"G'day, my lord," said the blond lad, reaching to take the rein. "Is the carriage far behind?"

"It will be here shortly." Andrew stomped his boots to send the blood through his limbs. The large doors opened, and a butler bowed to him as he climbed the steps. "Lord Weston," he announced himself.

"Yes, sir," answered the rotund, immaculately dressed man as he took Andrew's hat and gloves. He looked over Andrew's shoulder and announced the arrival of the coach. "I'll have your trunk sent to your rooms."

It had been years since he'd been here. A strapping lad of eighteen? The large entrance hall held the same large mirror, tapestry, and portraits on the wall. There was a drawing room on the right, and past that began the large circular staircase that led to a balcony. As he gazed up, he saw a woman with deep-brown hair and brilliant emerald eyes watching him.

His heart thumped a little harder when their eyes met, and she smiled. Lovely. No, more than lovely. She was stunning, and his heart thumped again. A rusty, odd feeling in his chest. Attraction? Possibly. Nerves because he'd been thinking of taking another wife?

"Hello," she said in a rich, honied tone, interrupting his thoughts. "You must be here for the party."

"Yes, this is Lord Weston," informed the butler just as the door opened again and footmen came in carrying a trunk and a traveling bag. He turned back to Andrew. "This is Lady Annette."

That sounded familiar. Annette, Annette?—

An invisible pitcher of icy water doused him, and he blinked. Demmit, she was Beecham's daughter? He needed to get hold of himself, then, because he was no lecherous old man. But she was deuced lovely.

"Which room, Mr. Gibbs?"

"The green room, my lady."

"I'll show him the way." With a smile, she beckoned him to join her.

Without hesitation, he took the stairs and bowed when he stood before her. A day dress of light-rose muslin clung to her curves and showed off her ivory skin. He deliberately avoided her neckline as she held out a hand. A bare hand. His lips brushed the top. Yet a vaguely familiar heat sizzled through him.

He straightened, and she smiled again. A brilliance of white filled the shadowy hall. Her eyes sparkled, making him smile in return. Now that he was closer, he noted the tiny creases around those green orbs and realized she wasn't quite as young as he'd assumed. Perhaps she was even married already.

"You have your father's eyes," he said, attempting a sane conversation.

"So I've been told." She glanced over her shoulder, leading him farther down the hall. They climbed another flight of stairs, stopping at the second room on the right with a green door and a tiny brass knocker. "Here we are." Lady Annette turned the knob and stepped aside.

The green room was true to its name. Wool carpet the color of a dark forest covered most of the floor with matching drapes on the tall windows, opened to let in the dim winter light. Several landscapes showing off the Beecham estate hung on the oak paneling. To the left, a small fireplace was flanked by a side table with a pitcher and bowl and a dark walnut wardrobe. On the marble mantel was a miniature grandfather's clock, its delicate weights and pendulum intricately carved with a design he couldn't discern from the doorway. The four-poster canopied bed took up the right side of the room. A counterpane and canopy with the same lighter, brighter green and gold print that matched the two wingback chairs before the hearth.

"It's one of the more masculine rooms, so we thought you'd feel more at home here."

Andrew moved past her into the room, feeling the plush carpet beneath his boots. The scent of jasmine tickled his nose and made him think of warmer weather. Lady Annette lingered at the door. He could feel her eyes studying him as he walked to the windows and pulled back a sheer curtain. He knew the path below. It led to the stable.

"I haven't been here since I graduated from university," he mumbled, turning away from the window.

"Then your last visit was fairly recent?" she asked with a grin.

He chuckled. "If you are appealing to my vanity, you have succeeded."

"Good. Let's see how your memory holds up. Do you remember where the library is?"

Impertinent, adorable chit. "I believe I do. First floor, end of the hall." He smirked. "Not bad for an old man."

She snorted. He laughed. "I don't believe you are old. Nothing about you shows the wear of years like I've seen on other men. Either you are exaggerating your age, or you've never had a care in the world."

Andrew shook his head. "You are wrong on both counts, my dear, though such observations make me feel years younger."

"Hmm," she mused over her shoulder, turning to leave. "Challenge accepted."

His mind buzzed as he breathed in the lingering scent of jasmine, wondering what challenge he had just issued. Watch your step, old boy. She's a temptation that could lead to trouble.