Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Berkshire, 1813

“Rich, but shrewd. His father left the estate in a dreadful way – sponsoring women, accruing debts, making poor business decisions. He tried to sell brandy to the French – can you imagine it? It’s quite remarkable. Still, it’ll be good for you to see Penelope again, won’t it, Sophia?” Sophia Powell’s cousin, the Earl of Milton, said, glancing across the carriage at Sophia, who was looking absentmindedly out the window.

“What? Oh… yes, I suppose it is,” she replied.

She had not been listening – she rarely listened to her cousin, though that did not stop him from talking to her in the most authoritative tones. Since the death of her father, and the inheritance of his title by her cousin, who was practically the same age as her, Ethan had taken it upon himself to act as her ward. He liked to play the father figure – a strange way to behave, and one Sophia did not appreciate.

“What is?” Ethan said, raising his eyebrows with a confused expression on his face.

“The estate. You said something about the Duke being in terrible debt,” Sophia said, knowing she had been caught out.

“No, that was his father – the previous Duke. When the current Duke inherited, he was saddled with terrible debts. They say he’s ruthless – the new one – but it’s necessary, I suppose. He’s clawed the money back, though – I admire him for that,” Ethan replied.

Sophia was not entirely sure why she had been invited to a house party at Weston House, the country home of the Duke of Weston, though she assumed it was merely to make up the numbers and balance the female fraternity. She knew Penelope, the Duke’s sister– their mothers were old friends – and it seemed she had been invited as company for her, with whom she had made her debut.

Penelope was a year older than Sophia, but there had been some difficulty with the exact date of her coming out, and thus the two women had debuted together. Penelope was very pretty, with red hair in ringlets and deep green eyes. But Sophia recalled her brother, the new Duke, as somewhat cold and distant.

“I’m sure you do,” Sophia replied, for her cousin would admire any man who put profit before self.

Ethan was a social climber. He had no head for the complexities of his inheritance but enjoyed the status it offered him, and the adulation and respect – entirely undeserved – it received.

“And what’s that supposed to mean, Sophia?” her cousin asked, glaring at her from across the carriage.

“Oh… nothing… but… he doesn’t sound like the sort of man I’d want to admire,” Sophia replied.

She was resigned to the fact of what the coming days would bring – a dull house party, populated by the sort of men her cousin would “admire.” Her mother had made clear her duty, telling Sophia to use the occasion as an opportunity to secure a husband. Sophia was twenty-one years old, and this now being her third Season, the question of marriage was pressing.

“You need to make a match, Sophia. Tell her, Ethan – she needs to make a match. Doesn’t she?” Sophia’s mother, Caroline, the Dowager Countess of Milton, had said before they left.

“She certainly does,” Ethan had replied, though he, himself, had made little effort to secure his own match, preferring the advantages his title and newfound wealth conferred on him when it came to the attractions of the fairer sex.

But Sophia was in no rush to make a match. There had been dalliances, fleeting romances, and even a proposal. But all of them had been from men for whom she could feel no spark of real attraction. They had bored her, and Sophia knew she was not willing to settle for mediocrity. She was a passionate person, possessed of many and varying interests – she read, she painted, she rode, she played the pianoforte, she dreamed of traveling to far-off places, and was curious about the world around her. For this reason, her mother had told her she made men nervous, to which Sophia had retorted she had no intention of marrying a man who could not be her equal. A stalemate had ensued, and the matter had been left at that…

“You know what your mother said, Sophia. And what I think, too,” Ethan said, looking pointedly at Sophia, who returned his gaze defiantly.

She did know what her mother thought, and what Ethan thought, too, but she was not about to be played for a fool, and the thought of being forced into an unhappy marriage filled her with dread.

“I know, but sending me to a house party full of boring, old men isn’t going to help,” Sophia replied.

“I’m not old,” Ethan retorted, and Sophia smiled.

“Or boring?” she asked, and her cousin glared at her.

“Please, Sophia – people are starting to talk. You can’t go on like this forever. Don’t you want to get married?” Ethan replied.

He said it in such a way as to make its denial seem ludicrous, and yet, to Sophia, the acquisition of a husband was not a universally acknowledged desire. Some women chose not to get married, others waited. Most did not have a choice. In this, Sophia knew she was fortunate. Her father – knowing the inevitability of Ethan’s inheritance – had made certain provisions for her in his will. There was a small allowance, enough for independent means, should she fail in her attempts to make a match.

“I think so, yes. But not to just anyone. I’d want to marry someone who shared my passions. And they’d have to like cats, of course,” Sophia replied, thinking fondly of her two feline companions, Arthur and Rose.

They had been a gift from her father on her tenth birthday, and spent their days in aristocratic splendor, lounging in the morning room, where they would lie in the sunlight streaming through the windows, or else be found by the fire in the drawing room, luxuriating in the heat.

“You and those cats, Sophia – men don’t want cats,” Ethan replied, rolling his eyes, as though in despair.

But Sophia was not interested in her cousin’s opinion of Arthur and Rose. They were her delight, and the sooner she could get home to them, the better.

The carriage now pulled up outside Weston House. It was a grand-looking dwelling, though somewhat faded from past glories. Some of the windows were shuttered, and paint was peeling off the door, where an unpolished brass knocker, in the shape of a lion’s head, glared down at them.

“Who else is going to be here?” Sophia asked, for she really knew nothing of what was to come.

Her cousin shrugged.

“Well, I suppose… friends of the Duke. His mother, too – the Dowager Duchess. It’s such a shame that Aunt Caroline couldn’t come, but she wouldn’t cancel Lady Pembroke’s visit,” Ethan said, shaking his head.

Sophia was, in some ways, glad to have escaped from the visit of her godmother. Lady Pembroke always arrived full of criticism and would spend the duration of her visit offering opinions on how those criticisms might be addressed. The house party had thus proved the lesser of two evils, even as Sophia could not say she was particularly looking forward to it. Still, it would be nice to see Sophia again, and though she did not think much of Ethan’s description of the Duke, there was something intriguing about him. He had inherited the title at such a young and tender age, and despite his coldness at their one and only previous meeting, Sophia was at least a little intrigued at the prospect of meeting him again.

“I’m sure it’ll be… very interesting,” Sophia replied, and her cousin nodded.

“Well, come along. We don’t want to keep them waiting, do we?” he said as the carriage door was opened for them.

Nodding, Sophia stepped down from the compartment, curious about what was to come.