Chapter 1

One

T he first buds of spring ought to have been a joyous occasion for all in the London environs. They brought with them a thaw from the unrelenting winter, the aroma of romance, and the whispered promise of the summer Season. Yet, for Stephen Theyer, the Duke of Richmond’s disconsolate son who looked down at the blooming gardens from the second-floor window of his father’s grand estate, the bright green shoots coming up from the cool earth could only mean one thing.

“Mother will be on again about my marriage,” he said curtly, turning to address his valet. The servant, a pale little man in proper livery, looked up with a sparkle in his eyes.

“I am impressed by Lady Richmond’s endurance of the topic,” he said. Mr. Carl Smith, commonly referred to as “Smith” in the house, had been Stephen’s valet for years and knew his master’s complaints well.

“It is easy for her to endure when she has my father’s full support.” Stephen walked to the free form where Smith was dusting off the shoulders of his morning coat. “And now I am expected to appear at breakfast with the robins echoing their tune of love.”

Smith pulled the coat off the form and helped his master into it, adjusting the collar carefully and stepping back to survey his work. Stephen was of medium height, although strongly built so as to appear taller than he was upon first introduction. He had long, red hair, nearly to his shoulders, dark brown eyes, and a well-trimmed beard that his mother absolutely detested. “ You look like a farmer ,” she’d always said. “ Or worse, a poet. ”

Smith frowned as he examined the coat. “This is a bit out of fashion now, my Lord,” he said thoughtfully. “The lapels are double-notched now. You ought to let me call up your tailor and make some changes.”

“As I have no intention of appearing in France at present,” Stephen said with a brief smile, “I suppose my crimes of fashion will be overlooked for the time being.”

“Do not suppose too quickly,” Smith said, his face sober but his tone filled with gentle humor. “One would not have to travel to France to see double-notched lapels. I’m sure your own father has a proper morning coat now, and he is one who clings to the old ways,” he continued.

Stephen raised his eyebrows at his valet. He was well-used to the servant speaking his mind, as long as respect and proper diligence were maintained, but the reminder of his father’s adherence to tradition only brought back to mind the problem at hand.

His parents, Lord and Lady Richmond, had only him as a son and heir and, seeing him approach the sophisticated age of six and twenty, were quite concerned that he had not yet entertained any marriage prospects. They were already lining up the ladies of the ton, attempting to discreetly insert names and attributes of the fair damsels into common conversation.

Stephen was not fooled. He had been to a dinner party only two nights past, where he found himself face to face with yet another dimpled beauty at every turn. Each fought to capture him with their smiles and coy remonstrations, but the more affectionate they appeared, the more he wanted to escape.

“If my father would only give me time,” he said, more to himself than to Smith. It was a comment unconnected from Smith’s discussion of fashion, but the valet seemed to understand perfectly and merely nodded silently.

There came at the door a quick double rap and then the butler, Oliver, let himself in.

“Are you quite at the ready, my Lord?” he asked. “Lord and Lady Richmond are in the breakfast room, requesting your presence.”

“I am aware,” Stephen said, drawing himself up and bowing his head briefly to the butler. “I was finishing up my bathroom routine.”

The butler hovered a moment and then, looking uncomfortable, added, “Lord Richmond asked that I escort you downstairs personally.”

Ah. Stephen thought. He doesn’t want me to have a chance to escape the conversation through tardiness or other means.

“Of course,” he said aloud, hoping his frustration didn’t show in his words. It was unprofessional and unkind to allow servants into one’s family troubles. His frankness with Smith was not preferable, but over the years a polite friendship had formed between the two. Even so, he tried to keep his own business separate from that of the staff as much as possible. It was for their good, as well as his. It was a thoroughly unpleasant thing for a servant to become entangled in the political and relational affairs of their master — quite confusing for all involved, as his father had always told him.

He followed Oliver down, leaving his valet behind to tidy the room and set things out for the evening. The breakfast room was a fine, open space with wide windows and plenty of natural light. In fact, previous to the ad nauseum way his parents brought up the marriage scene, Stephen would have thoroughly enjoyed the prospect of a peaceful morning meal in such a place. Lord and Lady Richmond, dressed in fine silks as always, looked up in unison when he entered the room .

“Stephen,” his father spoke first. “We were worried you wouldn’t be joining us.”

“I had hoped you were out late last night at Lady Raymond’s card party,” Lady Richmond interjected, tapping her spoon against her boiled egg as though to appear disinterested. “If you needed your rest after a particularly pleasant evening, we would have understood.”

Stephen could see she was fishing for information, but pretended not to have guessed, taking his seat at the other side of the table and helping himself to some toast. “It was a fine evening,” he said, “although I did not stay late. I had no desire to lose my money, and the stakes went high rather too quickly for my tastes.”

“Stakes?” his mother asked, her disappointment evident. If he was speaking of stakes, he would have been off in some dingy study with the gentlemen, gambling far away from the simpering ladies she was hoping he would fall in love with.

“Yes, just a bit of loo on the side, but I could see a few captain sharks planning to steal the night, and I have no desire to be fleeced.” He buttered his toast and poured himself a cup of tea. “How was your evening?”

Ignoring the question, his mother pressed, “Were there any young ladies there of note?” She hurried to cover the question. “I ask for societal reasons of course. I wish to know if it was an affair I ought to have attended.”

Stephen looked up at her, keeping a smile at bay. “There was cigar smoking in the gentleman’s gaming room,” he said briefly. “I hardly think you, or any lady, would be expected in such a place.”

Lord Richmond cleared his throat. “You are teasing your mother,” he said, “but she has a right to ask such questions. Will you continue in your bachelor ways for eternity? We are simply looking out for your best interest, and it is high time you show a little responsibility.”

“Father,” Stephen answered calmly. “I have shown the utmost responsibility. For years now I have followed in your footsteps, caring for the business of the estate in greater and greater magnitude, until your daily duties are all but gone. How would a wife make me any more responsible.”

“You have a duty to uphold our lineage,” Lord Richmond said firmly. “I know it is not a subject upon which you like to reflect, but the truth is there regardless. Personally, I fail to see why you are so resistant to the idea. A fine young lady would improve your life, not detract from it.”

This seemed to be just the opening Lady Richmond was hoping for, because she brightened considerably and set down her teacup with a little clatter. “Truly, you speak the aright,” she said to her husband. “For I was only just talking with Lady Elliot about her daughter — a Miss Caroline Elliot who is newly arrived on the social scene.”

She cast a significant glance in Stephen’s direction. “This will be her very first season, and I assure you she is promised to be quite the catch. I have heard she is beautiful beyond comparison, and well liked in the social circles she has inhabited prior to her official introduction.” She took a deep breath, and Stephen wondered if she was finished. But, of course, she was not. “She has a lovely voice, it is rumored, and has put effort into her needlework as well.”

Stephen nodded. “I know Miss Elliot,” he said. “I met her by happenstance at an ice cream parlor two weeks past.” But I do not think you will like the story, he added mentally.

“You did not say!” his mother exclaimed. “You ought to invite her to tea.

Lord Richmond, however, seemed to know his son better. “You didn’t approve of her,” he said, studying Stephen’s face. “What fault could you have had with such a creature?”

“It’s her first season, as you said,” Stephen explained, remembering the tedious conversation they’d shared in the ice cream parlor. “She’s very young, and knows little of the world.”

“You would hardly want a worldly woman,” Lady Richmond said with astonishment. “And you wouldn’t want a lady in her third or fourth season, the dregs of what society has to offer.”

Stephen sighed, feeling suddenly tired. “We spoke of things with no import — the weather, the newest fashions; a passing carriage horse in need of a shoe. It was hardly the sort of conversation to encourage interest.”

If Lady Richmond’s exasperation had not been so disappointing, Stephen would have been tempted to laugh. She raised her hands weakly. “I don’t understand what you want, Stephen,” she said. “Would you have her speak of war and politics like a man of work?”

Lord Richmond cleared his throat. “If you are not interested in Miss Elliot,” he said, “then perhaps you could allow your mother to invite Miss Pembleton or Miss Martin over. You know that they are both in line for fine things, and have excellent prospects. They are a bit older than Miss Elliot, but only by a year or so. They will hardly be considered old maids yet.”

“I should hope not, at the ripe old age of nineteen,” Stephen said. He took a sip of tea to calm his thoughts, and set his cup down on the saucer with precision, pausing a moment to make certain his tone was kind before he spoke.

“I know what you wish of me, Mother; Father. I know what is expected of me, but this endless parade of eligible ladies is driving me further from the goal of marriage.” He shook his head. “I have met no one I would wish to spend the rest of my life with.”

“You aren’t looking for a friend,” his father said gently. “You needn’t be certain that the woman in question has good conversation and is pleasant for passing the time. Marriage can be a matter of convenience, and as long as the woman you choose is not a villain, comfort and happiness is attainable.”

Stephen could not think of a response, so completely did his wishes differ from that of his parents. They are happily married, he thought miserably. And yet they speak to me as though I can make do with less than they themselves enjoy.

He was saved from having to voice these thoughts, however, by the appearance of Oliver in the doorway. The butler cleared his throat.

“I am sorry to interrupt, my Lord,” he said, directing his words at Stephen’s father. “But, a most urgent letter has just arrived from March Manor. I would not have disturbed you, but the attached missive said to deliver it to you with the utmost haste.”

Stephen sat up with interest. He knew hardly anything about March Manor, other than the simple fact that his mother’s sister lived there. He knew her name — Lady Cecelia Cudle, the Dowager Duchess of March — and that his parents were not especially close with her. In fact, his father now picked up the letter from the proffered silver tray with a look of marked disapproval. He looked at it a moment, and then laid it on the table in front of him. Stephen was surprised.

“Did Oliver not tell us the missive was most urgent?” he asked pointedly. “Surely we ought to read it at once.”

“I know what it says,” Lord Richmond said. He looked up briefly at Stephen’s mother, the two sharing a knowing glance. “It can wait.”

“How do you know what it says?” Stephen pressed. This was a level of intrigue and mystery that was quite unexpected in his parents. He didn’t know quite what to make of it.

“We’ve already received three letters of its kind,” Lady Richmond interjected, looking uncomfortably down at her plate. “I assure you, the matter is not as urgent as Oliver made it seem.”

Stephen waited a moment more, expecting to have more light shed on the matter, but as his parents resumed eating in conspicuous silence, he realized the matter would have to fall to him. He reached quickly across the table and, before his father had even noticed the letter was gone, slit the seal neatly with his butter knife and opened the letter.

“Stephen,” his mother said, looking up with alarm. “I assure you, these theatrics are entirely unnecessary…”

He was not listening, his mind otherwise absorbed in the contents of the letter.

To Lord and Lady Richmond, regarding the circumstances of your sister, the Dowager Duchess of March.

I have written previously to tell you of your sister’s deteriorating state of health, and my concerns for her well-being. I have unfortunately received no reply, and therefore feel compelled to introduce myself again lest the previous letters have been lost in the post.

I am Mr. Tylor, Lady Cecelia’s butler and the current manager of her grounds. Her agent, at present, is not aware of her condition. I have taken great pains to keep it thusly. She is getting older, and has been failing in health for some time. She seems frail and distracted, and I am no longer able to keep her safe and free of scandal. Her behavior is at times quite erratic.

Please, send word on how I should proceed. It is my belief that she is in need of serious help, and my additional belief that she would wish her family to know and give aid. She has said before that she has no one else in the world but you.

Please write back with instructions.

Your humble servant, Mr. Tylor of March Manor

Stephen set down the letter, looking up in disbelief at his parents, who had stopped eating and were watching him read the missive with obvious trepidation.

“You knew about this?” he asked, incredulous. “It says she has no one in the world but us, and she needs help. How could you have avoided these letters for so many weeks? It seems her situation is deteriorating, and we, her family, are doing nothing to stop it.”

“You do not fully understand the circumstances of our relationship with Aunt Cecelia,” Lady Richmond said quickly, dusting her hands together as though to push the conversation away. “It is not us who chose to avoid her — she chose to avoid us. The Dowager Duchess chose to live alone all these years. No one was forcing solitude upon her. Her butler is writing us — most untoward I must say — and so I can assure you, if we showed up on the steps of March Manor he would immediately get the sack and we would be sent away. Cecelia will brook no guest to stay in her house, even if she is sick.”

“You can’t know that,” Stephen said. How can they be so heartless? He wondered. It was unlike his parents to be cold or distant, and here they had written proof that there was a family member in need that they were ignoring. There must be more to this story, he thought. “Perhaps her situation has changed, and she would indeed appreciate companionship.” He shrugged. “Perhaps she is too proud to ask for it.”

Suddenly a thought came to him: a solution to both the problem in the letter, and his own worries about the upcoming Season.

“I shall go to stay with her,” he said suddenly, pushing back from his seat at the table and standing. “I will care for her until she is well again.”

Lord Richmond laughed briefly. “Don’t be ridiculous, Stephen,” he said. “You have only just learned of her plight, and you have absolutely no history with the woman. She wouldn’t let you stay more than two minutes.”

“I’m not sure she’ll have a choice,” he said, reading from the letter: “It says here that she is frail, and her behavior is erratic. Perhaps she will be forced to accept the support of family, now that she is no longer able to support herself.”

“I would not place your hopes on it,” Lady Richmond said. “And besides, you have enough to worry about here. This letter has taken us away from our previous conversation about your future, and I fear you will run off in some rash endeavor, leaving all marriage prospects behind.”

My hope exactly, Stephen thought with amusement.

“My mind is quite made up,” he said to his parents. “I know this will seem abrupt — it seems thusly even to myself — but I think when such an urgent request is delivered, it is not for us to put in in a back drawer. We must help Aunt Cecelia. If you will not go, I will.”

His parents exchanged a brief, exasperated glance. They were not happy with it, but Stephen saw them giving in. He knew there would be more protests and exclamations as he went about packing for the trip, but in that one shared glance he saw that they were giving in for the time being.

He smiled. “Right, then,” he said. “I will set out at first light tomorrow.”