Chapter 2

Isaac Deverell, Baron Droxford, stepped outside onto a brick patio where the alfresco luncheon would be held. The space had been transformed into an elegant outdoor dining room with a long table set for eight people.

His friend, the Earl of Shefford, whose father owned the Grove, the estate where they stayed every August, stood nearby with the Viscount Somerton and Evan Price. Somerton gestured for Isaac to join them.

Isaac looked at the three of them with their heads bent together. They almost appeared guilty, and Isaac suspected he knew why. Shefford went out of his way to annoy his sister, and she did the same to him. Since Lady Minerva had organized this luncheon, Isaac surmised that Shefford was going to make trouble. "What are you plotting?"

"Nothing terrible," Shefford replied innocently. "My sister knows to expect mischief from me."

Evan nodded. "I can attest to this since I too have a younger sister."

Somerton grimaced. "I had it much worse with threeolder sisters. Drox, if you'd had a sibling, you would know this sort of thing is a matter of survival."

Isaac didn't have any siblings because his mother had died giving birth to his brother, who'd also died, when Isaac was four. It had been a tragedy, of course, but even more so due to his father, a rector, ensuring the grief of losing them was ever present. Not a day went by that the two of them hadn't prayed—extensively—for his mother's and brother's souls.

Isaac adjusted his hat to more effectively block the sun. "If I had a sibling, I would enjoy their company rather than find ways to annoy or play pranks on them."

Shefford chuckled. "Do you ever tire of being serious?"

"You know the answer to that," Isaac said.

"I do indeed. Serious is probably one of your names. Isaac Serious Deverell." Shefford waggled his brows in jest, but he wasn't wrong. Isaac's father had wanted his son to be like him: serious and joyless.

"Isaac Serious Grim Deverell," Somerton added with a grin.

"Whatever your name, I'm glad you decided to attend the luncheon," Shefford said with genuine warmth.

Somerton brushed something from his sleeve. "I'm glad I didn't take your wager that he wouldn't."

"Is there nothing you won't bet on?" Isaac asked his host.

Shefford shrugged. "It seemed easy money. Except Somerton is more intelligent than his marks at Oxford indicate."

Rolling his eyes, Somerton gave Shefford a light shove. This was normal behavior amongst them. They teased Isaac about his moodiness. Then they made light of Somerton being unserious regarding his studies—and a great many other things. With Shefford, they needled him about his fear of marriage and the impending ultimatum to wed that was surely coming from his father. Isaac wasn't yet sure how they might poke fun at Price.

"Why you thought Somerton would fall for such nonsense is beyond me," Isaac said to Shefford. "It's no secret at all that I would rather be inside working than participating in this luncheon."

Isaac typically preferred to avoid social events entirely, but this one was small, and he could easily escape into the house under the guise of having work to do—which wasn't really a guise, because he did have work to do.

"But you do attend some social occasions," Price said. "I know I met you at a rout in London."

"You are correct," Isaac replied. "I allowed these idiots to drag me to several events this past year, starting with a soiree in Bath last autumn and at least three routs in London during the Season."

Somerton snorted. "You only agreed to those routs because you were on a mission to discuss certain business with gentlemen who were in attendance, not because you were hoping to enjoy yourself."

"That is precisely how I enjoy myself," Isaac said crisply. Working in the House of Lords and persuading others to his causes were the things he relished most.

"Promise you won't work too much while you're here." Shefford clapped him on the shoulder. "We've a great many activities planned for our week together. And please tell me you'll stay for the duration this time."

Isaac had arrived only the day before and typically stayed four, perhaps five, days. By then, he was more than ready to return to the solace of Wood End, the ancestral pile in Hampshire he'd inherited four years ago. "We'll see how long I can tolerate your company." He lifted the edge of his mouth.

"The Droxford Smirk," Somerton said with a laugh. "Closest thing we get to a smile."

"Is that true?" Price asked. He was relatively new to their group after Shefford had befriended him last Season, perhaps as an unconscious replacement for their dwindling numbers now that Wellesbourne and Bane were wed.

"He used to grin and guffaw," Shefford said, referring to when they'd first met, shortly after Isaac had arrived at Oxford. When his uncle, the baron at the time, had sent Isaac off to be educated, he'd experienced joy for the first time. However, he'd found a way to muck it up, just as his father had said he would. He'd advised Isaac that indulging in gaiety and happiness inevitably led to disappointment and disaster, which was precisely what had happened. Isaac had learned that lesson most painfully.

He directed the conversation back to something less personal. "What do you have planned beyond riding and playing billiards?" Those were their primary pursuits during their time at the Grove.

"I'm trying to arrange a boat to take us out to Steep Holm." Shefford referred to an island in the channel with many caves he wanted to explore.

Isaac would find a reason not to go. Though he'd grown up in a seaside village not too unlike Weston, he didn't like boats, and for good reason.

"Brilliant," Somerton said. "Wellesbourne will be game, I'm sure." He paused before adding, "It isn't quite the same here at the Grove without him."

The duke had wed last autumn, and instead of staying at the Grove this year, he'd leased a cottage for himself and his wife, who Isaac believed had arrived at the beginning of the month. Wellesbourne seemed quite changed since marrying, from what Isaac had observed, particularly during the London Season. While the duke had typically avoided Society events in the past to keep himself from the Marriage Mart, he now attended them with his wife. They appeared devoted to one another, as if they were truly in love. While pleased for them, Isaac understood that most people were not that lucky.

Shefford's brow creased. "I do wonder if he'll continue spending time with us here now that he's married. He will no doubt prefer to be with his duchess." He sounded resigned and a trifle disappointed.

"Marriage is not a death sentence," Somerton said. "We know you are averse to the idea, particularly given your parents' continued insistence that you wed soon." The more they pressed him, the more Shefford resisted.

Shefford became visibly uncomfortable, his shoulders twitching and his gaze moving away. "I'm not ready to be leg shackled. It's forever, you know."

Isaac was aware, just as he was of the duties that came along with marriage, namely siring children. He wasn't ready for that specifically and didn't know if he would ever be. He could never be a good father.

"You'll hear no argument from me," Isaac said. "Nor from any of us." He wasn't aware of Somerton or Price harboring a desire to wed.

"You are all fortunate to not have any family members pestering you," Shefford grumbled. "Just look what happened to Bane."

"Nothing happened to Bane," Isaac said. "He chose to wed."

Somerton arched a brow. "We don't know that. None of us have seen or spoken to him in months." That was true. Bane had stayed in northern England with his new wife, and none of them had been invited to celebrate their union. "Seems to me he married someone his parents chose."

"It certainly didn't come about naturally," Shefford said. "He didn't tell any of us about her. Not until after he'd already committed to the marriage."

While they weren't necessarily defending Bane, they were not as direct in their condemnation of their friend's behavior as Isaac had been. That was perhaps because they hadn't behaved as badly as—or worse than—Bane, as Isaac had done years ago. "I should like to know why he was carrying on with the Duchess of Wellesbourne's sister if he was already betrothed. It's no wonder he hasn't shown his face in Society since then."

"I doubt he had an ulterior motive," Somerton said. "Bane has simply never been able to ignore a pretty face."

Isaac sent him a dark look. "Do not defend him. Unless… Do you find his behavior acceptable?" He looked at both Somerton and Shefford, but not at Price since he didn't know Bane.

"Of course not." Shefford's brow furrowed. "However, I would be a hypocrite if I said I hadn't found myself in similar circumstances—allowing myself to be swept into a romantic moment that I should not have." He gave Isaac a pointed look. "We've all made missteps."

Isaac knew precisely to what Shefford was referring, and calling his transgressions "missteps" was a gross understatement. "Bane's behavior was egregious. He engaged in inappropriate activity with a young lady while apparently betrothed to someone else. That is simply inexcusable." As had been Isaac's actions.

Shefford exhaled. "I can't disagree. However, we don't know precisely what happened between him and Miss Barclay. I am not ready to terminate my friendship with a dear friend, though he's made it damned difficult with his silence. I stopped writing to him a few months ago. There was no point since he never responds."

"It's strange not having him here this year," Somerton said. "Hopefully, when Wellesbourne arrives, it will feel more like years past."

Shefford kicked a pebble off the patio. "Except Wellesbourne isn't staying here. I'm afraid we have only our nostalgia. Marriage is putting an end to our fun. Now you see why I'm avoiding it."

Somerton rolled his eyes, then looked to Price. "Don't listen to Sheff. He's being maudlin. There is plenty of fun to be had."

This perked up Shefford. "Yes, there is. Starting with today. Here comes my sister and her companion now."

Lady Minerva sauntered toward them, the lilac skirt of her gown swaying gently as she moved. Beautiful and charming, she would be married if she hadn't turned down a half dozen marriage proposals during the last Season, or so Shefford had told them.

Dark curls brushed her temples beneath her bonnet as her pale gray eyes focused on them. Her elegant brows lifted slightly as she regarded them. "I hope you have abandoned any plans to sabotage my luncheon."

"We're still finalizing them," Shefford said with a mischievous glint in his eye.

She gave her head a light shake. "I honestly don't know why I invited you."

Shefford grinned. "Because now that Wellesbourne and your friend are wed, we must socialize together."

Lady Minerva rolled her eyes. "Next time, I'll avoid including you just the same, especially if you ruin anything." She glanced toward Isaac. "I'd still invite you, despite your perpetual scowl. At least you won't try to add too much pepper to one of the dishes or water to the wine."

Shefford gasped as he raised his hand to his chest. "I would never defile wine in that manner!"

Lady Minerva looked at him with great skepticism. "I think you doth protest too much. The rest of the guests will be here soon. Perhaps you could see where you are sitting at the table?"

She and her companion, who'd come to their household as an orphan, moved in that direction. Somerton and Price drifted after them.

Isaac frowned at Shefford. "Am I really always scowling?" His friends liked to jest that he did, but hearing it from someone else felt somehow different.

Somerton lifted a shoulder. "Not always, but I remember when you rarely did it. I can scarcely reconcile the man you are now with the lad I met that first year at Oxford."

They'd started together at Christ Church College, and Isaac had been thrilled to meet young men his age and, more importantly, people who were generally happy and liked to laugh. After a childhood in which he was expected to be quiet and sedate, the environment had been heady.

Isaac had thrown himself into the social aspects of being with a group of students and away from his oppressive father. He'd drank too much, behaved obnoxiously on multiple occasions, and started a liaison with the laundress who came to his room to fetch his clothing.

Two years his senior, Mary was sweet and beautiful, with the most delightful laugh. Isaac had been entranced, then smitten, then head over arse in love with her.

"Why aren't you like that anymore?" Shefford asked.

Now Isaac definitely scowled. "Because that wasn't the man I wanted to be. And you know why." He was the only one who did, aside from Isaac's uncle and father.

Shefford's features creased. "That was over a decade ago. You need to stop blaming yourself. Your uncle took care of the matter. The girl was fine, better off than if you hadn't given her a child and necessitated her removal to a faraway place."

Just hearing someone else mention the family Isaac had abandoned nearly tore him apart. The pain was still sharp all these years later. Isaac knew it would never go away, nor should it. He deserved to live with regret and shame the rest of his days.

And while Shefford's perspective might be true, that Mary's life was likely improved from that of a laundress, it didn't excuse Isaac's actions. He'd behaved like an absolute rogue, without care for Mary. He'd completely surrendered to indulgence and emotions, and the results had been utter ruin. He'd altered Mary's life and fathered a son who would never know his true father. The loss of the family Isaac could have had ate at him.

"I wanted to marry her," Isaac said quietly.

"I know." Shefford nodded faintly. "But that would not have worked. Not for you, and not for the laundress. You came from completely different classes."

"I wasn't even heir to the barony then." At that time, there were multiple people in front of Isaac: his cousin who was the baron's son, another uncle who was the middle son between the baron and Isaac's father, who'd died a few years later on a campaign in Spain, and of course Isaac's own father. Though Isaac couldn't imagine his father, a devout rector, becoming a baron.

"Still, your position was such that you could not marry a laundress." Shefford grimaced. "I know how that sounds, as though we inhabit some pompous, superior space."

"Isn't that precisely what you are saying?" Isaac asked without a hint of irony.

"I was trying to help you then, and I would do it again," Shefford said firmly. "You were seventeen with no means to support a household. She was settled in a nice village as a widow. It's highly likely she wed and has been living a secure life with her family for nigh on a decade. That should make you happy. Or at least relieved."

He wasn't sure what it made him. Isaac had gone to that village—against his uncle's advisement—to see if Mary and their child were indeed living the life they deserved. However, he couldn't find them and assumed they'd ended up somewhere else, not that he'd asked his uncle, for then he would have had to reveal that he'd gone looking.

As much as he longed to know they were safe and well, he accepted his uncle's assurances that they were. Anything else would be too heartbreaking to contemplate.

And he struggled with enough sorrow, as he had to work on not dreaming of the life that could have been his. Regardless of what Shefford said about not having the means to support himself, Isaac would have loved to be the one to care for his wife and child. In any case, that life hadn't been his, and he'd learned to not even want such a life. He didn't deserve it.

Before Isaac could head toward the table, Shefford added, "You should also relinquish whatever vow you made to yourself when all that happened."

Turning back to face Shefford, Isaac gave him a cool stare. "What are you talking about?"

"You can't deny—not to me—that you completely changed after the girl was sent away and the situation resolved. You no longer did anything for amusement, at least not in the same way." Shefford stepped closer, his dark blue eyes moving over Isaac's features as if he were trying to discern something. "You've loosened up a little over the years, but you don't drink to excess, nor do you gamble, and you do not indulge your most basic needs, not even at the Rogue's Den, as the rest of us do. You're a bloody saint."

A saint? A man who'd ruined a young woman, got her with child, and left her and the babe to fend for themselves was a saint?

Isaac glared at his friend, who'd made a rare miscalculation and overstepped. "You've no idea what I do or don't do at the Rogue's Den or anywhere else." If Isaac were truly a saint, he would take a true vow of celibacy and deny himself all pleasures of the flesh. Instead, he merely abstained from intercourse in order to avoid fathering another child. He wouldn't take that risk again.

Shefford looked at him with concern. "You are hard on yourself, Drox, and you needn't be. You deserve joy just like the rest of us."

"I'll ask you to keep your counsel to yourself," Isaac said coldly. "I live a comfortable life that is apparently my birthright. I don't need to laugh or gamble or delight in stealing a kiss from some widow in an alcove at a ball. That is your life. Leave me to mine." Isaac refused to succumb to the roguery that lurked beneath the wall he'd erected around himself.

Shefford's nostrils flared, but he didn't respond because the other guests arrived just then. Wellesbourne came from the house with his wife, and they were accompanied by two other young women—Price's sister and Somerton's cousin, Miss Penrose.

Moving away from Isaac, Shefford went to greet them.

Isaac's gaze was drawn to Miss Penrose. Petite in stature, she possessed delicate features and warm brown hair. Some of the strands reminded him of dark honeycomb. She was dressed in a cheerful yellow gown that perfectly matched her bright smile. Looking at her, he saw nothing but light and found himself wanting to drift toward it. She was like the flowers his bees at Wood End buzzed toward, an attraction that could not be ignored. Which he found odd, for he'd met her last year, at least, but barely recalled her.

Wellesbourne came abreast of him, smiling. "Good to see you, Droxford. I keep meaning to ask if you wouldn't mind giving me scowling lessons."

The query was made affably, but after his very recent discussion about scowling with Shefford, Isaac made a concerted effort to keep from scowling. "Did Sheff tell you to say that?"

"Er, no. I was joking. Mostly." Wellesbourne shrugged. "Scowling is a useful expression. However, I am not very accomplished."

"Have you not had reason to scowl?"

"I have always found it easier to smile," Wellesbourne said without a hint of irony.

"And you do it so well," Isaac said, glancing toward Miss Penrose who was still smiling quite beautifully. He averted his gaze from her and remained on the periphery as everyone began to mingle.

When, he wondered, would it be too soon to excuse himself?