Chapter Six

November 10, 1812

Frederick was fortunate, really, not to be waking that morning for a duel.

He supposed he should have been grateful. He didn’t feel particularly grateful, as he stretched out in his bed and stared at the ceiling, unwilling to get up.

Getting up would require him to face what he must that day. And it was going to be… awkward.

How had he managed this? After so many years of toeing the line, always ensuring he could never be accused of even the slightest misstep… of trying to earn his brothers’ trust, of always attempting to show them he knew what was required of the Chance name… he’d done this?

“I’ll… I’ll stop. If you want to.”

“Don’t stop.”

Frederick clenched his bedsheets into fists, but it didn’t change what had happened yesterday. Nothing would.

Now he had a ten o’clock appointment with Lord Stewart to discuss the matter.

“It’s not a duel,” he muttered as he kicked his legs out of the side of the bed and sighed heavily. “You’re not going to get shot in the head.”

Probably.

Frederick dressed swiftly. It may only have been eight o’clock, or just past, but there was no reason to delay. With no valet—with no income to support paying a valet—he had learned to tie a cravat in three different ways before he had left the family’s seat of Stanphrey Lacey and come to town. Three were all one needed.

Wild thoughts scattered through his mind as he stomped bad-temperedly down the stairs, but his mood was not improved as he stepped into his breakfast to discover—

“Ah,” said Frederick weakly.

William Chance, Duke of Cothrom, carefully folded his half-brother’s morning newspaper and placed it on the table. “Ah, indeed.”

Despite all his intentions, Frederick felt his shoulders slump.

He should have guessed. He was a Chance, after all, even if he was only half a Chance. The name had to be maintained. It could not be permitted to be dragged into the dust, and that was precisely what he had done.

How his eldest brother had managed to hear about it so quickly…

“I’ll leave the two of you to breakfast, shall I, Your Grace? My lord?” asked Mrs. Kinley, his stout and gray-haired housekeeper, who was bustling about putting the final touches to the table. Jams and preserves shone in their jars.

Frederick had never felt less hungry.

“Thank you, Mrs. Kinley,” he managed to say. “That will be all.”

His housekeeper gave him a look, as though she knew precisely what had happened last night, stepped smartly across the room, and shut the door behind her with a snap. He had to hope the footman who had seen them hadn’t been so uncouth as to spread the gossip that quickly…

“I received an urgent letter from Baron Stewart at about six o’clock this morning,” said William quietly, answering the unspoken question. “I think we need to have a little chat. Please, sit down.”

Swallowing the irritation at being invited to sit at his own breakfast table, Frederick obliged. He fought the temptation to pour himself a cup of tea. It would be merely a distraction tactic—both to distract his brother, and himself from the mess he’d found himself in. It was strange; despite sharing a father, they looked very dissimilar. The three full brothers, of course, were occasionally mistaken for each other by a vague acquaintance in a dark light, but not him. No, he was fairer, and with a less angled jaw, and he held himself differently. Always different.

“Why?” asked William quietly.

And Frederick was back to being a child again.

It did not help that William looked so much like their father. Countless memories scattered through Frederick’s mind of being called into the study at Stanphrey Lacey and having to look into those sky-blue eyes and give an account of himself.

It’s usually Lindow’s fault , he thought darkly. And he had known better, even then, than to admit to that fact.

“I don’t know,” he said aloud.

William raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

“She’s beautiful,” said Frederick, unable to deny that fact. “I desired her. I think any gentleman who came within ten feet of her would desire her. And I wanted… more.”

William groaned. “You didn’t—”

“I don’t mean like that!” Frederick said hotly, wishing to goodness he had poured himself some tea. At least then he could have hidden his face from the judgmental glare of the Duke of Cothrom for a moment. “I meant… there is something more. Something between us. I can’t explain it. I’ve met her a handful of times and yet Edie—Miss Stewart, I mean—there’s something… Damned if I can explain it.”

It sounded pathetic, even to his ears. What on earth had he been thinking? He hadn’t really been thinking—he’d been acting on instinct. An instinct that had told him being close to Edie was preferable than being apart. That knowing her better was only going to enrich his life.

He’d been a fool.

“You know what you’ll be asked,” William said quietly. “What is required of you. As a Chance.”

Frederick supposed he should have been grateful he was still considered a Chance, after what he’d done. Still, it did not prevent his stomach from lurching.

“I know.”

“And I am disappointed in you,” his half-brother continued. “I had expected better.”

That was when his temper flared. Better? Better? Had he not spent his whole life being better, trying harder, restricting himself at every turn?

And some of the pain and hurt he had swallowed for so long finally burst to the surface.

“‘Disappointed’?” Frederick repeated in a harsh voice. “I kiss one woman and am a disappointment, whereas to my knowledge, Lindow—”

“Our brother has nothing to do with this,” William said in a warning tone.

It was a warning Frederick did not heed. George Chance, Earl of Lindow, had always been harsh on him, always loathed him, always attempted to convince the other two brothers to leave Frederick out in the cold.

“Lindow has bedded more women than I’ve had hot dinners,” Frederick continued. “And—”

“He is married now.”

“—you didn’t tell him he was a disappointment every time!”

William’s gaze was steady. “Actually, I did.”

Frederick hesitated. Oh. He hadn’t known that. “I have always sought to maintain this family’s honor, always tried to be worthy of you—”

“It’s not like that—”

“Isn’t it?” Frederick gave a laugh. “Cothrom, you’ve spent most of the last five years bailing Aylesbury and Lindow out of every disaster they have found themselves in, and here I am, one mistake before me, and you wish to pressgang me into marriage?”

Marriage .

He had tried not to think about it all morning. Marriage, love, affection. The things other gentlemen could decide whether they wanted. Some did, some didn’t. Some married without love, some gave in to their lust and never married.

But him? Frederick Chance, bastard of the late Duke of Cothrom, had few options and even less choice. Especially now.

“I’ve been good.” Frederick hated how his voice cracked, but he could not prevent it. “I’ve tried so hard to be worthy of the Chance name. You know I have. And now—”

“It’s different,” said William, and there was a slight awkwardness in his tone. “You know it is.”

He swallowed his retort. Yes. Because I’m only half a Chance.

His half-brother sighed. “I hope you are going over there.”

Frederick forced himself to sink into the stiff, polite, restrained disguise he so often inhabited. That he had created purposefully to prevent such situations as this.

Much good that has done me.

“I have an appointment with the baron at ten o’clock,” he said crisply.

William sighed, and Frederick tried not to see the slip of the man’s shoulders as his brother was filled with relief. “Good. You had better eat up, then. I’ll see myself out.”

Perhaps he should have asked his brother to stay with him—to see if reconciliation beyond their trite conversation was possible.

But Frederick did not attempt it. William had been good to him, in the main, but he could not change the past. He could not make him something he was not. There was a divide between them, a gulf nothing could bridge.

And so he ate his breakfast alone, nothing but the ticking of a clock edging him closer and closer to the moment when he would have to leave his home.

By the time Frederick was standing outside the Stewart home, his feet were lead and his lungs were tight and painful.

The neat and tidy butler frowned as he opened the door. “Sir.”

Frederick did not bother to correct him. “Good morning.”

“That remains to be seen,” said the butler archly as he stepped aside. “Come on in, my lord.”

A presumptuous thing to say, Frederick thought as he entered the Stewart home and handed the nearest footman his hat and gloves. To think a servant would be so bold—

“There you are! We only have five minutes. Come on.”

A hand grabbed his wrist.

Frederick hardly had time to think, to question what on earth was going on, before he had been pulled at great speed into a side room. The door slammed behind him and a voice spoke hurriedly.

“You know what we have to do, don’t you?”

He blinked. Miss Edie Stewart swam into view, standing in what appeared to be a morning room.

If only she weren’t so beautiful , he could not help but think. It was most distracting, a pretty woman like Edie before him when so much was at stake.

She could have at least tried to look unwelcoming. Attired in a soft-pink cotton gown that skimmed beautifully to her wrists and tucked delightfully under her breasts, the image was greatly accentuated by her heavy breathing. Breathing that lifted her bust closer to his tingling fingers—

Frederick hastily clasped his hands behind his back. “Good morning, Miss—”

“I think we’re a mite beyond that, don’t you?” Edie said with a hasty smile. “Now. I’ve thought it all through, and I have a plan.”

He blinked . A plan?

“You must have thought of it too,” she said, her eyes raking over his face. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Well, yes. Frederick had known, from the moment Lord Stewart had demanded he call on him the following morning at ten o’clock sharp, that there was only one way out of a situation like this.

A woman had been compromised—a lady. Worse, she had been discovered. Far worse, discovered by her father.

There was only one outcome.

“Marriage,” Frederick said stiffly.

Edie nodded. “And that is out of the question.”

He had not expected the fire of resentment to course so strongly through his veins. She spoke so matter-of-factly, as though it were a clear disaster they were both desirous of avoiding.

And he… he hadn’t been.

Frederick could not explain it, not even to himself, but the idea of marriage to Miss Edie Stewart… Well, it would not exactly be a hardship, would it? Waking every morning beside her, spending the day getting to know her, seeing more and more of her character, her spirit—

Then going to bed with her every night.

Frederick swallowed, hard. Then he swallowed again. He mustn’t permit his mind to run away with itself. After all, had she not just said how impossible that would be?

“If you go in there, my father will force you to marry me,” Edie was saying, her voice hushed. “So it’s clear what we must do. We must pretend we are engaged.”

Perhaps it was too early to follow such complexities of thought, but Frederick rather believed it ended the same way. “What difference is there if we pretend—”

“It’s simple,” she said quietly. “If my father demands marriage, then it will happen. If we pretend an engagement—”

“Absolutely not,” Frederick said sharply.

The very idea! He was a gentleman, and though he may not have been the paragon of virtue at the time, he knew his responsibilities. He knew what was due Miss Stewart, and—

“I must save my reputation!” Edie’s voice rose in both volume and pitch, and for the first time since entering, Frederick realized just how worried she looked. “Surely, you can see—if you don’t walk out of his house engaged to me, one way or another… “

Her voice faded as she bit her lip, fingers twisting before her in clear concern.

Frederick swore quietly and turned away. He had been prepared to marry her—had even desired it, he would admit—but then she had come to him, urging him to allow her to escape such a fate. The blow had been swift—and devastating. But he could not walk away and leave her because she had no desire to spend her life with him. He had to think, and that was most definitely not something he could do while looking at such an attractive face.

Because she was right. As he stepped around the room navigating chairs, sofas, and numerous little tables with vases of flowers, Frederick could think of no other way around it. A woman’s reputation was a delicate thing—so delicate, he had rarely bothered to converse long with a lady before now in case there was any hint of impropriety.

All that had disappeared when he had seen Edie step into the alcove at Lady Romeril’s ball.

And now they had been discovered, and she was right—if there was no engagement…

“The only way to save my reputation is if that kiss was appropriate,” said Edie firmly. “It is appropriate to kiss if you are engaged.”

“Not the way we were doing it,” Frederick said dryly before he could stop himself.

Her cheeks turned scarlet. “I… I suppose not.”

Damn and blast it, but there wasn’t much else to say. What they had shared had gone beyond kissing. Frederick had flattered himself that there had been a true connection there, something deeper than he had ever thought to experience before.

Why, in that library, he had been closer to Edie than any woman he had ever fumbled with in the dark.

Hesitating at asking the question, and knowing it was most uncouth of him to do so, Frederick pressed on. “You don’t want to marry me.”

“Obviously not,” Edie said lightly. She cleared her throat, her eyes darting downward.

Her confirmation hurt Frederick far more than he had expected.

Oh, not just the rejection. He had known that there was no way a woman like that, as beautiful as that, would ever wish to have anything to do with him. She must surely know, by now, the sordid history of how he’d come to be. The complicated relationship he had with his brothers. The way the whole ton permitted him to be a part of Society but had never truly accepted him.

And she had followed him into that corridor, allowed him to pull her into the library, reciprocated his kisses.

But of course, she would not wish to be tied to him forever.

“We can pretend to fall out later,” Edie was saying. “The engagement only has to last a few weeks—a month or two, perhaps. The exact timing is immaterial.”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Frederick said faintly.

It was hard to believe this was happening. All his newfound hopes for affection and family were about to be upended by a pretend engagement to avoid a real marriage merely because he could not keep his hands off a woman who entirely enchanted him.

How had he managed to get this tangled?

“—you see?” Edie finished desperately. “Don’t you care what people will think?”

“You care about what people think too much,” Frederick said without thought.

Her eyes glittered. “And you don’t care enough. So we are well matched. Do you not see that this is the only way?”

Frederick sighed. “This is a bad idea.”

“You have a better one?” she countered in a low voice. “Because in less than a minute, my father is expecting you upstairs—and you’ll have all the choice taken away from you. You will marry me.”

And you’ll marry me , Frederick could not help but think, raking his eyes over her beautiful features. And you’ll be stuck with me.

She’d made it perfectly plain—painfully plain—that she had no wish to have him as a husband. This desperate plea, this grabbing him and pulling him into the morning room, it had come from a place of panic.

“There’ll be a scandal,” he said, mouth dry. “When we break it. The sham engagement, I mean.”

Edie waved a nonchalant hand. “Not if you do it. You… well. Your reputation will weather it.”

Frederick’s stomach lurched. “Because… ?”

She frowned, as if it were obvious. “You’re a gentleman. Gentlemen can do whatever they like—it’s only ladies who are frowned on. I know Society says it’s only the lady’s prerogative to end an engagement, but well, that hasn’t stopped a few men before, surely. The Season’s flourishing rose ought not to be seen as so capricious, even if a new one is named soon enough. My father wouldn’t stand for it. Now, are you going to rescue me, or not?”

She did not wish to marry him, and only his agreement to go along with this sham would save her from such a fate.

Well, he was supposed to be a gentleman, after all.

Frederick drew himself up as he took a deep breath. “Fine.”

Edie blinked. “You… You’ll do it?”

“Far be it from me to disappoint a lady,” he said as magnanimously as he could.

She pinched her lips. “You didn’t disappoint me last night.”

And before Frederick could ask what on earth that comment was supposed to mean, or wrap his head around the fact that he was now, to the world, engaged to be married, Edie pulled him out of the morning room and into the hall.

He was not permitted to get his breath back before Edie had dragged him into the room next to the morning room.

It was plainly a gentleman’s study. Leather and wood, a patina of age across every piece of furniture. A few ink splatters on the desk demonstrated generations of use, and there was a splendid silver inkstand that held a variety of silver pens.

Behind that formidable desk was an equally formidable man.

“So,” said Lord Stewart malevolently. “You are late.”

The chiming of the clock on the mantelpiece was still going, but Frederick thought it would be gauche of him to argue. “My apologies, my lord.”

“Hmmm,” sniffed the older man. His dark eyes examined him closely, and Frederick forced himself not to shuffle his feet. “You may go, Edie.”

“I will remain, Father,” she said in quiet reply, moving to sit in a chair opposite.

“You will—”

“This affair is my business, and I will remain to discuss it,” said Edie in a firm yet soft voice.

Frederick’s admiration of her only rose as she elegantly swept her skirts around her and deposited herself in the chair.

She had pluck, that woman. Not every lady would speak so directly to her father, at least from the little he knew about such matters. And with such calm, such style. It was no wonder she had been named flourishing rose of the—

“I said, my lord, will you sit?” Lord Stewart said testily.

Frederick hastily stepped forward and sat in the chair beside Edie, cheeks burning. He really had to concentrate. He had his brother’s comments ringing in his ears and his own honor to uphold.

“I hope you are going over there.”

“Edie is my daughter. My only child, the flourishing rose of this year’s Season,” Lord Stewart said with a sharp look. “A woman to whom the whole of the ton looks for a display of elegance and delicacy and propriety.”

Frederick winced. This was going to be just as awful as he had expected.

“The flourishing rose, as I am sure you are aware, is a title bestowed only to the—”

“He knows what the flourishing rose is, Father,” came the pert voice beside Frederick. “May we move this along? I have a walk agreed with Mrs. Teagan.”

Frederick could not help but smile. He had not expected that.

Her father did not look similarly amused. His glare was unchanged.

“So,” said Lord Stewart threateningly, “I suppose you know what commitment I am going to expect from you.”

“In fact, Father, I think you will be pleasantly surprised,” said Edie before Frederick could open his mouth. “His lordship and I are engaged.”

Her father snorted. “Damned straight you are! Now that I found you out—”

“If you had bothered to listen to us for more than a minute together last night, you would have been informed that we have been engaged this past week,” Edie said, her voice not rushed, but each word spoken swiftly. “Engaged to be married ,” she added.

Frederick worked hard not to fiddle with the button of his jacket. He clasped his hands together instead and tried to look for all the world as though this were not brand-new information.

Lord Stewart’s frown lessened, but only slightly. “Engaged. To be married.”

“We had thought to tell you this week,” Edie said. And then she did the strangest thing. She reached out and took one of Frederick’s hands. “And ask for your blessing, naturally.”

Her father did not look mollified. “It didn’t look like this man was asking for anyone’s blessing last night when he—”

“A momentary lapse of judgment, I assure you,” said Frederick, sensing it was time he got involved in the conversation. “I consider your daughter to be most beautiful, most—”

“You and half the ton ,” growled Lord Stewart. “And you are Viscount Pernrith.”

“Yes, I shall be Lady Pernrith,” said Edie hastily. “Haven’t you always wanted me to have a title and—”

“ The Viscount Pernrith.” Her father spoke over her and his eyes never left Frederick’s face. “You know what I mean.”

Frederick straightened his spine and tried to sit straighter. “I do, my lord.”

Of course he did. Edie evidently did not, despite Frederick’s certainty she’d have discovered the truth by now. She was looking between the two gentlemen with pinched brows and puckered lips, but Lord Stewart did not need to say any more. Frederick knew what he meant.

All Society thought it. They looked at him and saw nothing more than an interloper. A bastard. Someone of illegitimate blood who had usurped his way into one of the most noble houses of England.

On paper, they were right.

But by God, he hadn’t asked to be born. To be loathed for the circumstances of one’s birth! To be ostracized merely because one’s eyes were not the same as all other Chances’. To know that no matter what he did, good or ill, he would always be reduced to half a Chance.

“Hmm,” said Lord Stewart darkly.

If knowledge of his origins was not the cause behind Edie’s insistence they not end up married, what was? Had she heard that, for a titled man of his stature, his fortune was far from impressive? Yet she had not heard of the circumstances of his birth? No, unlikely. Could he have been so mistaken about what he felt between them?

Frederick felt a squeeze on his hand and took it as a sign he needed to speak. “I am an honorable man, my lord. Edie will receive nothing but the utmost respect from me throughout our marriage and will be given all the power and prestige a viscountess deserves.”

He saw, even though the older man attempted to hide it, the flicker of delight. Yes, a baron may well be delighted that his daughter would take a step up the social ladder. It was not a huge one—he was hardly a duke. But it was an improvement.

“And we shall have to announce the engagement soon, Father,” Edie said swiftly. “In case… In case anyone else saw… saw us.”

Her cheeks pinked prettily and Frederick tried not to think of the hand clasped in his. The soft hand. The soft hand mere inches away from his throbbing, aching—

“You know I don’t like this,” Lord Stewart said suddenly.

“I know, and I am sorry we did not come straight to you,” Frederick said stiffly. “That I did not seek your permission. It was remiss of me.”

“It was more than remiss of you, it was damned rude,” came the sharp reply. A long breath escaped his lips. “But I cannot deny it is a relief to know you are of the same mind as I. That marriage is the only way to resolve this… this error.”

This error. Frederick.

He did his best to keep his face impassive.

“There will be talk. There is always talk,” said Edie’s father heavily. “I will be relying on the two of you to attend as many Society events as possible—as an engaged couple. Make it clear you are planning a wedding. We shall scatter invitations far and wide, to as much nobility—”

“Father!” Edie chided.

Lord Stewart shrugged. “You think you have a better way to restore your reputation? To cease the whispers? To make absolute certain you are not snubbed for your… indiscretion?”

Indiscretion was putting it mildly, and Frederick knew it. On the other hand… This was supposed to be a fabricated engagement. Attending balls, card parties, dinners, as an engaged couple? With Edie?

“And there is nothing I can do now to stop it,” Lord Stewart said, furthering the impression that if possible, he would have whisked Edie back to the country. “I suppose we’ll just have to go ahead and announce it, then.”

Edie beamed at her father. “Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you,” said Frederick, his mouth dry. “An announcement. Of our engagement. Oh, good.”