Chapter 1

Chapter One

T here were few things that Catherine Burlow, the eldest daughter of the Viscount Mowbray, enjoyed more than a quiet evening curled up on the sofa, immersed in some imaginary world that existed in some exotic book. It most certainly didn't include sitting in their stuffy carriage, on the way to one of the many tiresome affairs of the ton that constituted the famed London Season. Unfortunately, she had no say in the matter, as she desperately needed to secure a match this Season, or else she would be firmly on the shelf.

"My darling Cat, while I always long for your happiness and understand that you would rather stay in the comfort of your room, I am afraid that might not be possible this Season," her mother said beside her with a slightly rueful tone.

The Viscountess was a handsome woman in her fifties who was still a great beauty. In her face, Catherine could glimpse what she might look like in a few decades to come. With her dark hair and chocolate-brown eyes, she could as well be a younger replica of her mother. She counted that among the blessings she received by being born to the Viscountess Mowbray.

"I love you and want you to find love, but I am afraid that if you do not secure a match this Season, you will be firmly on the shelf, and that is not good for little Lily when she comes of age…"

Of course, that was the crux of the problem. On her own, Catherine did not practically care for the prospect of marriage, and she would be quite content to live her life as a spinster, renting out a cottage just for herself and maybe taking up work as a companion to an older lady, provided that she was allowed to bury herself in her books.

She was fairly certain that getting married would rob her of the freedom to pursue her hobbies, since most titled gentlemen would rather die than have a bluestocking as a wife.

The institution of marriage held no charm for her, but Lily, even at the tender age of thirteen, showed idealistic romantic tendencies, and Catherine didn't want to be a stumbling block to her happiness in the future.

Catherine had seen enough love matches not to desire such a thing for herself. Her parents were an example of such a match, and to say their relationship was explosive was an understatement.

She had come to learn that the hotter the flames of their passion, the more explosive their disagreements. The sounds of banging doors, clanging cutlery, shouting matches and drama were part and parcel of her childhood. They always made up quickly after they quarreled. The lovebirds, unfortunately, lacked the ability to stay away from each other for too long. When they were at peace, their home was heaven on earth, but when they had a falling out, it became a biblical fiery pit.

Living constantly under her parents' display of the extremes of emotion was frankly exhausting—she, being the first of their offspring, had the thankless duty of mediating their disputes.

She literally had to raise herself and Lily and Hugh because her parents were so wrapped up in each other that there was hardly any space to accommodate them. Oh, they had tried. They at least made sure they had material possessions any young lady would want, and they made resources available for her to pursue her love for books, but their support ended there.

But then it was difficult to offer emotional support to anyone when you are having impassioned quarrels with your husband. So Catherine had learned to provide that care for her siblings and herself.

Doing that for over two decades of her existence had helped her to come to the conclusion that she didn't want the extreme passion that sometimes reduced her intelligent parents to petty primitive humans periodically. It was even worse that both her parents had fiery personalities, so when the fire raged, she had to become the ice that prevented their home from being burned down to ashes—figuratively, of course.

"… also, Emmeline just concluded her mourning and will be returning to London for the Season."

Catherine was jolted out of her reverie at the mention of Emmeline, her beloved friend who had just come out of mourning for her late father.

"Poor girl," the Viscountess continued in a sad tone. "It must be difficult to have lost both parents at such a tender age."

It was indeed sad, as Emmeline was such a sweet girl and definitely did not deserve the hand that fate had dealt her.

"It is unfortunate that her older brother, the Duke, is a rake of the highest caliber. I wonder how he would properly chaperone such an impressionable young girl." The Viscountess shook her head.

"Mother!" Catherine exclaimed in outrage.

"What? I was just stating facts here," the Viscountess said in a bewildered tone.

Catherine hated to admit it, but her mother was definitely right. The Duke of St. George, the older brother of her beloved friend, was definitely not a good guardian for any young lady, least of all her friend. He was more likely to be interested in flirting with the young matrons of the ton than keeping an eye out for his younger sister.

She couldn't blame him, he was quite easy on the eyes. With his height and athletic build, he was a delectable specimen of the male species. His blue eyes and curly hair just added to his charm. It was said that just a sight of the dimple on his jaw sent many ladies of the ton swooning.

That might sound like an exaggeration, and she really thought it was, until she witnessed it happen firsthand. The Dunley girl who had debuted last year had fallen into a dead faint once he flashed her his signature smile while asking her to dance.

While Catherine agreed that he was good-looking—maybe a little too much than was good for him—she didn't think his charm would inspire such a response. But then the Dunley girl had earned a reputation for being a ninny. Even if she was not, it was common for debutantes and young ladies of the ton to feign a faint to gain the attention of eligible suitors.

They believed it made them look more feminine. But more likely, it made them look like invalids—in her opinion. She had never been good at deception and pretense, and now that she thought about it, it might be part of the reason why she was still unmarried at the ripe age of two-and-twenty.

"We are here," her mother informed her as soon as the carriage turned onto the drive of Townbrige Mansion.

A look outside the carriage window showed that indeed her mother was correct. A long queue of fashionable members of the ton extended from the front doors to the pavement.

Mentally, Catherine braced herself for a night of necessary, mind-numbing socialization. Remembering that her dear friend would be in attendance lifted her spirits somewhat. It had been several weeks since she had last seen her. Dear Emmeline had to travel to their countryside estate, where her father was eventually buried.

Catherine had tried as much as possible to provide support for her dear friend through letters, but she knew it would never suffice in comparison to an actual meeting. Granted, she was aware that there was no love lost between the late Duke and his children. But surely losing a parent no matter how estranged took its toll.

The butler at the entrance announced her and her mother, and soon they were led inside. She was immediately hit by the sweltering air in the overpopulated ballroom.

Of course, what had she expected? Lady Townbrige's balls were highly sought-after, as every member of the ton wanted to see and be seen. As Catherine was an almost-spinster in search of a suitor, this was considered to be the best place to start. But she hardly thought any suitor was worth the heat she had to endure.

She was barely inside for a minute, and she could already feel the humidity on her skin and the sweat trickling down her back.

She had barely spent a minute in this ballroom, and she already longed for her cool beddings and the comfort of her goose-down pillow. She was already falling deep into her fantasy when she was jolted by the sound of a cold masculine voice beside her.

"It so nice of you to grace us with your presence, Miss Burlow."

Catherine turned towards that voice, and a dashing young man bowed deeply and took her hand, kissing it with reverence.

Benjamin Windham, the Viscount Livingston, was a prime example of a dashing suitor. He was handsome, titled, chivalrous, and just as practical as she was when it came to matrimony—at least she had gleaned that much from their earlier conversations.

This evening, he wore a white shirt with a midnight-blue waistcoat and a matching jacket, which she must admit complemented his olive skin and made him practically glow under the light of the chandeliers. His hair was slicked back so ruthlessly that there was no single stray hair on his forehead. His cravat was ironed immaculately, and his hessian boots were polished to perfection, reflecting the light in the room.

This man was strong-willed, and the force of that will was evident in his appearance.

Overall, he cleaned up well. She could bet her last money that his valet was the happiest there ever was, as his master had never been seen out in public with a strand of hair out of place.

He was by no means a dandy, but he was severe about everything in his life. Catherine admired that trait in him. As a lady born into a family that easily descended into chaos at the drop of a hat, she was very particular about marrying a man who valued order and discipline.

He was the perfect match for her. She just hoped that she didn't scare him away like she did her previous suitors.

Every year, every Season, she gained a host of admirers, and it was no surprise, as she was quite aware she was well above average in the looks department. But, for some unfathomable reason, they all withdrew before the Season ended. It was an inexplicable phenomenon.

She was determined that whatever it was, it was not going to repeat itself. She was so not going to lose this prime suitor.

If everything went according to plan, she would be the Viscountess Livingston by the end of this Season. Never mind that a voice in the back of her head kept nagging her about an emptiness in her soul that the dashing Viscount would never fill. But that was just fanciful thinking, was it not? She squashed the thought faster than it could sprout.

"May I ask, Miss Burlow, if you would grant me a dance later tonight?"

"Yes, of course," she replied, raising the wrist bearing her dance card and waving it till the Viscount had to swerve to avoid being blinded by the square of paper.

Grabbing her forearm, he kept it steady enough to sign his name on her dance card and hurried off with a harassed look on his face.

To her, nothing showed her interest like waving a dance card in the face of a gentleman, but instead of interesting him, it seemed to have alarmed him. She had always been awkward in social gatherings, but over the Seasons, she had learned to conceal it and play the avid conversationalist.

But it seemed that skill was slipping, and she was reverting to the shy, awkward girl she had been when she had debuted three Seasons ago. She couldn't afford to lose that skill now that she needed it the most. Now that she desperately needed a suitor.

Suddenly, her reverie was interrupted by a high-pitched feminine voice.

"Cat…"

She turned to see the small frame of her dear friend forcing its way through the mass of human bodies. Her olive skin glowed with perspiration, while the blonde hair framing her face flew behind her like the halo of an angel. But that was where her angelic looks stopped, as the skirt of her white dress was raised with her hands, exposing her stockinged feet. When she ran, Catherine could swear she got glimpses of her calves, but Emmy did not seem to care as she made a beeline for her with such a wide smile on her face that Catherine half expected her face to split open.

Her friend's joy was so contagious that she couldn't resist cracking a smile of her own.

Trust Emmeline to show her enthusiasm in the most unladylike—and improper—of ways.

"Catherine!" Emmeline squealed, hugging her so tight that Catherine feared she would suffocate.

"Emmy, I need to breathe," Catherine said in an amused tone.

"Oh, sorry." Emmeline released her. "It is just that I have missed you so," she added sheepishly.

"I missed you as well," Catherine said, taking her friend's hands in hers, forcing her to let go of her dress.

She just hoped that the guests had not noticed that her friend had committed the faux pas of showing her calves and ankles in public. But a look around immediately dashed that hope, as she spotted several ladies tittering behind their fans and gesturing towards them.

Returning her gaze to her friend, she noticed Emmeline was completely oblivious to her faux pas and was still smiling and regaling her with a tale with such enthusiasm that she didn't have the heart to call her attention to her misconduct.

"Oh, it was so beautiful, Cat. The countryside is so full of vibrant colors. The air itself tastes different, I swear it…"

Of course, the countryside air was going to be different, as the pollution in London was absent. Apart from the occasional odor of farm animals' excrement, the countryside air was remarkably fresh and calming. A fact that Emmeline had only recently come to appreciate.

It was unfortunate, but the only daughter of the late Duke of St. George had only visited her family's seat following news of her father's deteriorating health and eventual death—a father that she barely knew at that. But there was a good explanation for that.

The beautiful Dowager Duchess of St. George had been a remarkable woman in her prime, and when she had debuted in English Society, she had been the equivalent of a diamond.

She had been highly sought-after by the young gentlemen of the ton, and the late Duke had not been free from the fever of infatuation she had left in her wake. She had been the daughter of a baron, but her popularity made her family's modest townhouse the most popular location in London at the time.

Men fell over themselves to offer her flowers and poetry—some poorly written. Deborah Terrel had been vain, as she did not hesitate to lap up the attention she received. She reveled in it. That singular trait should have warned the late Duke off, but at the time, he had been blinded by love.

When it came time for her to choose a suitor, she had settled for the young Duke of St. George. That was no surprise to the members of the ton, as they believed she had simply settled for the highest rank in the English aristocracy. There were whispers that she was only marrying him for his money, but the young Duke had paid them no mind, as he truly believed he had found his soulmate. He secured a special license so quickly that there were whispers that she was already with child, but the Duke had simply wanted to secure his prized diamond before a more discerning gentleman swept her off her feet and married her.

After marrying her, he whisked her away to his country estate, where, nine months later, she gave birth to a son whom they named Richard, after her father. That happy event had put to rest the rumors that had stemmed from their impromptu wedding, and eventually, everyone wrote it off as a true love match.

For the first year or so, they had lived in relative tranquility, savoring the quiet serenity of the countryside while raising their young heir. It was by far the closest to paradise that the late Duke had ever experienced. Until everything changed.

Deborah slowly started becoming restless, nagging and accusing her husband of imprisoning her in the countryside. She had decided that she preferred London's lavish lifestyle to the deafening silence of the countryside, and she wanted her husband to set up the family's permanent residence there.

The late Duke reminded her that he had informed her before their marriage of his need to remain in his country estate for most of the year, and she had agreed. But apparently, Deborah had not been paying attention at the time, as her mind was occupied with the fantasy of marrying a duke.

Over time, their quarrels turned into feuds, with the Duchess moving to a different wing of the mansion despite her husband's entreaties.

With time, the Duchess started to entertain the attentions of other men in the neighborhood, because, at her core, she was a vain woman. She had missed the euphoria of having men fawn over her, and no matter how much the late Duke tried, he was just one man unable to fulfill her obsession with external validation.

Her tawdry affairs eventually cemented the chasm between her and her husband, causing a cold atmosphere to permeate the mansion.

Richard had been unfortunate to grow up in that atmosphere, and even at a young age, he was forced to become conversant with the true definition of a cold war. A war fraught with deafening, cold silence. He had loved his mother and tried several times to win her affection when he was a boy, and she had at least loved him.

That was why everyone had been surprised when the Duchess's belly started swelling with another child ten years after she had Richard. The servants speculated that she must have been impregnated by one of her many lovers, but the late Duke proclaimed to everyone who cared to know that the child was his and forbade anyone from suggesting otherwise.

Even with their separation, he believed she was his wife and hence remained under his protection. This singular act made ten-year-old Richard swear never to allow a woman to jerk him around by the collar simply because he had the misfortune of falling in love with her.

All would have been well, but the worst was yet to come, as one day, when Emmy was barely a week old, the household woke up to the news that the Duchess had taken flight, leaving just a note behind.

She had decided that the secluded life of a duchess did not suit her. She had then decided to flee to the Continent with her new lover, leaving her newborn and her family behind.

That single act took a toll on those left behind. The late Duke shut down, emotionally distancing himself from his children, abandoning little Emmy to the care of the staff. Everyone suspected that one of the reasons he ignored the little girl was that she was the one symbol that reminded him of his beloved wife's infidelity.

By the time he was fifteen, Richard had taken her from the countryside to London, away from their negligent father. He didn't care if she had been born from the loins of his mother's lover or not. She was his sister, and she deserved his care. He then proceeded to raise her, hiring staff and assuming the role of a father.

For this singular decision, Catherine felt a modicum of respect for the man. Unfortunately, that also meant that Emmy had no real memory of their countryside home and was able to enjoy its charms only recently.

"Oh, I would have really loved to stay longer, but Richie insisted that I must return so I could be presented in Court." She scrunched up her pert nose in defiance. "I only agreed because I missed you so much. I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed reading your letters."

Her entire being radiated so much excitement that she was positively vibrating with it.

It must be true what they said that opposites attract because Emmy was a bright ball of energy compared to Catherine's more cool-headed personality.

"Ladies, what is so interesting, might I ask?" a rich baritone suddenly drawled in amusement.

Catherine looked up to see the Duke himself standing close to them, an amused smirk on his ridiculously handsome face.

"Your Grace," she greeted, curtseying.

She noticed the uncomfortable look on his face, which he quickly covered with a teasing smile.

That is quite interesting. It seems the new Duke is not used to being addressed by his title.

"Miss Burlow, I didn't expect that you would grace us with your presence this Season. I always thought you would be hitched to some rich gentleman by now, considering your popularity among the ton."

"Going by your logic, Your Grace, your popularity among the ton should have made you a married man by now," Catherine retorted hotly.

She chanced a glance at her friend, only to see her mouth slightly agape in shock. Scratch her first evaluation—it seemed she was the hothead.

Catherine was quite levelheaded, but she had never been able to keep her calm in the face of a perceived insult, and something about the arrogant smirk on the Duke's face ignited within her the urge to slap it off his face. But no matter how she felt about the man, she had been rude, and if there was something she had learned about high society, it was that you do not reply to a duke rudely, no matter the provocation.

She started to apologize, but he waved his hand dismissively.

"I guess I deserved that," he said with a rueful smile. "Why are you two ladies standing here? You should be in some gentlemen's arms, dancing."

"As if," Emmy snorted. "Catherine might have better luck, but the gentlemen seem to be avoiding me for some unknown reason."

Catherine turned sharply to her friend in shock. Emmy was too beautiful to be without a dance partner. She was outraged on her behalf, but a close look at her friend revealed the reason for her lack of a dance partner. Catherine had been so carried away by the excitement of seeing her friend again that she had not taken note of her appearance.

Her dress, while still clean and the white that was recommended for debutantes, was high-necked with full, puffed sleeves. It was still in good condition. The problem was that it had gone out of fashion for at least two Seasons, and it was clearly too tight for her, as she had grown into a young lady. While that might be inconsequential to Emmy, many gentlemen were shallow enough to gauge the worth of a lady by the quality of her clothing.

The ton, unfortunately, espoused the notion that every member should update their wardrobe every Season. So many promising young ladies had been relegated to the fringes of the ballroom or left firmly on the shelves, collecting dust, simply because of their choice of clothing.

Catherine agreed that it was definitely ridiculous, but she didn't make the rules, and she was definitely not going to watch her friend suffer because of some ridiculous code of ethics the ton seemed to adhere to.

It was unfortunate that her friend was oblivious to all this. But those were the consequences of not having a guiding influence of an older woman in her life. It seemed to have fallen upon Catherine to take on that mantle. She might be friends with Emmy, but she was five years older than her.

She might not have secured a husband despite being out in Society for three years, but she had received firsthand knowledge about how to navigate the ton and the marriage mart. She was going to bring all that knowledge to bear on chaperoning Emmy during this Season.