Chapter Seven

November 15, 1812

“Another cake, Miss Stewart?” came the imperious voice.

Edie shook her head. Her stomach was fit to bursting. Her sweet tooth had always been a weakness, and these little pastries were absolutely—

“I insist!” said Lady Romeril aggressively, actually picking up the tray and thrusting it into Edie’s face. “You would not wish to anger my cook, would you? Or offend me?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that consuming five of the small cakes already could hardly be constituted as an offense, to either cook or hostess.

But she said nothing, smiled vaguely, and took another cake to place on her plate.

Lady Romeril returned the tray of cakes to the console table beside them. “Excellent. Now, where was I?”

“You were enumerating the number of marriages that have occurred this year,” said Edie, attempting to keep the weariness from her voice.

“Ah, yes, so I was.” Lady Romeril beamed, leaning back in the wingback armchair within which she had been reposed from the moment Edie had arrived for tea. “Now, there is that young lady, what’s her name… “

Edie had learned swiftly that when Lady Romeril trailed off like this, it was not—decidedly not—an invitation to interject. The older woman rather relished the own sound of her voice, it seemed, and so much preferred to be permitted to meander her way to the answer.

Leaving Edie free with her thoughts.

“—I must have met her a few times and she had that nasty habit of coughing. Can’t abide a woman who coughs without cause,” Lady Romeril said wistfully. “And she wore that horrendous concoction to the Duchess of Axwick’s summer ball. That headdress—I thought she would collapse under the weight! Hennessy, that was her name. Her marriage was announced only last month…”

And despite all this talk of engagements , Edie could not help but think, Lady Romeril has not yet congratulated me on my own.

It was only a small fault. She certainly should not have been so irritated, considering that the engagement itself was a complete fabrication. Edie would not marry a man forced into making a proposal because of one evening’s indiscretion. Barely an indiscretion. She had thought to save herself the shame of Frederick’s indignation over how her own foolish mistake would result in everlasting consequences by assuring him of his freedom from such a match—if only he would grant her right to exit gracefully.

So yes, though only she and Frederick knew it, their wedding would never happen. But still. It was galling. Sitting here and being forced to listen to the list of ladies who were being wed, and Lady Romeril did not even consider her?

“I knew they would marry. My instincts are never wrong about these things,” Lady Romeril said expansively with a smile. “The moment I saw them at the Earl of Chester’s party—you would not have been invited, as you were not in town then—but if you had seen them!”

Edie forced herself to return the smile and hoped to goodness the woman would not make her eat the sixth cake. “I wish I had.”

“Oh, they were elegantly matched,” said Lady Romeril with a nod. “Far better than that young lady now, what was her name… “

Again, Edie did not attempt to interject. She could not even if she had wanted to. Lady Romeril had a far better grasp on the complexities of Society than she did—than she ever would.

And still Lady Romeril did not mention her engagement to Viscount Pernrith.

Edie could not help but feel offended. She was the year’s flourishing rose. She thought the ton fawned over her. But still she was considered less impressive than her contemporaries? Was it because, come July when the Season had ended, she had not been engaged? Was it because she was merely a country girl, a daughter of a very minor noble, and from the village of Woodhurst, no less? A place that she was certain no one in London had ever heard of?

“I suppose your marriage preparations abound?”

“What—oh, yes,” Edie amended hastily. “Yes, we have spoken to a florists and ordered a modiste to start preparations for the gown. The church is being selected.”

They were, she and Frederick had agreed, the easiest wedding preparations to make, ones that could be swiftly canceled when needed. After all, some effort had to be made to make it appear as if they were actually planning the thing.

“Some marriages are better than others,” Lady Romeril was saying blithely as she helped herself to what Edie believed was her eighth little cake. “And some… well. Delicate.”

Edie blinked. “‘Delicate’?”

Lady Romeril’s beady eyes met hers. “Like your own, for example.”

And it was only then that Edie realized her hostess, far from ignoring her engagement, had been slowly working her way to it. As though it were a most difficult conversation. As though there were something desperately wrong.

Edie swallowed. “My own, my lady?”

Yes, there was definitely something holding Lady Romeril back. She was silent at the moment, a rarity in and of itself. But Edie could also see something in the woman’s expression, something akin to…

Her stomach lurched. Pity?

“You know something about my betrothed, don’t you, Lady Romeril?” Edie said without thinking.

It was a good thing Mrs. Teagan had not accompanied her to Lady Romeril’s invitation of tea, for her chaperone would have been mortified by the openness with which she spoke.

But how could she not?

Curiosity had been teasing at the edges of Edie’s mind the instant she had met Frederick. That little alcove where they had both hidden from the masses at Lady Romeril’s ball had been the beginning of something that would regrettably conclude with their false engagement coming to an end—but it had also begun a marvel that had never left her.

What was the reason for everyone’s stiffness about this man? Why had her father been so outraged by the fact that she had been speaking with him? Whatever the cause, her father had at least overcome his objections now that he thought a marriage a certainty, but…

Why, when Lady Romeril should have been congratulating her heartily on capturing a handsome, well-titled gentleman for a husband, did she look so… so uncomfortable?

“What do you know of Viscount Pernrith, Miss Stewart?” her hostess asked quietly.

Edie hesitated. Not much, as it turned out. Though she was loath to admit it. “I know a little—as much as any lady knows before a gentleman and her father agree to a match for her.”

She had thought her response elegant, but Lady Romeril waved it aside with a blunt wave of her hand. “I meant his reputation, his background. His wealth—or should I say, lack thereof.”

“Lack thereof”? Edie blinked, attempting to wrap her head around a viscount without wealth. Surely, Frederick was not penniless? Surely, she would have read about such a thing in the scandal sheets?

“His… His family.”

“Family”? Edie racked her brain and tried to dredge up the little she knew about him. “He has three brothers, I think.”

Family, that was what Lady Romeril had said. And a thought occurred to her that stunned Edie into silence.

Was it possible—was there any chance that Frederick had been married before?

What did she know about him? She had never even asked if he had children—hadn’t thought to.

That guess was proven to be incorrect, however, as Lady Romeril said, “Yes. Yes, three brothers. Three estranged brothers—or should I say, one estranged brother and two brothers warming through an estrangement?”

Edie stared.

Estranged? These things happened, but to the best families? It was most unusual. What could have precipitated such a breach, and between four men who should surely be closer than any people in the world? In what other family did four brothers share the estate’s titles, for example?

“Oh, those blue-eyed boys,” said Lady Romeril on a heavy sigh, her mouth downturned. “It was quite the talk of the town when they arrived in London. You do not typically get so many handsome, titled, eligible men arriving so swiftly. And all from the same family.”

Edie blinked. Blue eyes? “But Frederick—Frederick has hazel eyes.”

She’d noticed them the very first moment she had seen them. Who wouldn’t? They had the richness of the forest, the glint of gold, that shimmer that spoke of intelligence and power.

Lady Romeril was looking at her with a clenched half-smile. “The Chance family is… complicated.”

Complicated? Now what on earth could she mean? The title sharing?

Edie carefully placed her plate, which still held the untouched sixth cake, onto the console table between them. Then she leaned forward.

“Complicated,” she repeated, looking closely at Lady Romeril as she said the word.

Her hostess pursed her lips. “Yes, that is how I would describe the Chances in… in polite Society.”

“Let’s just pretend, for a moment, that we are not in polite Society,” said Edie, knowing there was a high possibility she may regret this later. Her father certainly would not have sanctioned such directness. “Would you do me the honor, Lady Romeril, of explaining what you mean by ‘complicated’?”

Lady Romeril’s eyebrow arched imperiously. “You mean to tell me you don’t know?”

Of course she didn’t know! Everyone else seemed to—there were enough raised eyebrows and murmurs whenever she entered a room now for Edie to realize that something had happened, a long time ago, in the Chance family.

But no one would tell her. Not Mrs. Teagan, not her father, not… Well. There wasn’t really anyone else she could ask. Frederick did not deserve such scrutiny from her, not after the position she’d put him in.

Which was why she was delicately accosting one of the most powerful women in the ton in the hope that she would reveal what her curiosity could no longer leave alone.

“I don’t know,” said Edie quietly. “But you do. And I wish you would tell me.”

Lady Romeril held her gaze for a moment as though considering whether or not the younger woman could take the strain of the truth.

She gave a curt nod. “I suppose you should know, as you are about to marry him. The third brother.”

Edie frowned. The third—no, that wasn’t right. Frederick was the youngest. He had to be. He had the lesser title. “Frederick is the fourth brother.”

“The third,” said Lady Romeril, dropping her voice as though they could be overheard. “Only by a month or so, my sources tell me, but most definitely older than the Earl of Lindow.”

Edie’s frown deepened. How on earth could that be? Were they twins? But what twin was born a month after his brother?

“I don’t understand,” she said helplessly.

Lady Romeril rolled her eyes, as though she had made it perfectly clear. “My dear child, your betrothed was the late Duke of Cothrom’s bastard. He’s only half a Chance.”

Half a Chance—a bastard?

Edie stared off into the distance, no longer hearing precisely what Lady Romeril was saying. If she was saying anything at all.

Frederick Chance… had been born illegitimate?

It would explain a few things. Why his eyes were not the same blue as his brothers’. Why her father had been so mortified to discover them together. Why Frederick and her father had exchanged that most surprising of phrases when the engagement—the false engagement—had been agreed.

“And you are Viscount Pernrith.”

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

“ The Viscount Pernrith. You know what I mean.”

Lady Romeril was, Edie realized now that she’d come to concentrate, still talking. “And the current Duke of Cothrom, the eldest brother, William, he decided to give Frederick a title. No one else in the family was using it, and it was his right to give it. I suppose he felt emboldened after he broke from tradition and gave his other brothers titles as well. Still. It did not prove popular in all quarters… “

And something Frederick had said, only the second time they had met, blossomed in Edie’s memory.

“I understand what you mean about titles unearned. It is a strange sort of burden, being asked to live up to a title you would not have necessarily chosen for yourself.”

Oh, dear Lord—did he think that she knew?

“You do not appear to be mortified, Miss Stewart.”

Edie gathered her senses together. “I am… I am astonished, certainly. But not mortified. These things happen.”

Yes, there were always whispers about certain people being born on the wrong side of the blanket. Sometimes children were born slightly too soon after a wedding, and murmurs went around Woodhurst… but nothing came of it.

Though when it came to dukes and their mistresses, that was undeniably a different matter.

“They certainly do,” said Lady Romeril imposingly. “I must say, I am impressed with your sanguine approach. Others would have been… less calm.”

Edie could well imagine. She would just have to hope she did not make it obvious, the next time that she encountered Frederick, that she knew. She could not bear to have him think she’d treat him any differently upon learning the news. No, best to have him think she’d already known it and had acted as she would with any gentleman she’d put in such a position. They were still… friends, were they not?

Besides, he must not have wished to discuss it. He’d never brought it up himself, not even with all the talk about marriage.

How they had managed to keep it out of the scandal sheets—but then, it had all happened so long ago. He must be a few years older than her, so there was no reason why she would have read about it. No reason why it would have mattered to her.

Until now.

“Well, this has been a most pleasant encounter, Miss Stewart.”

Edie blinked. Lady Romeril had risen, clearly indicating their time together had come to an end.

She rose hastily, brushing cake crumbs from her skirts. “Yes—Yes, very pleasant, thank you. Thank you, my lady.”

Moving in a daze of confusion and too many thoughts, Edie curtseyed, allowed herself to be shepherded by the butler out of the morning room, along the corridor, through the hall—taking her bonnet, gloves, and pelisse from a silent footman—and out of the front door.

And still all her mind could think was, “Your betrothed was the late Duke of Cothrom’s bastard. He’s only half a Chance.”

She should have waited there for Mrs. Teagan. Her chaperone had promised to meet here there precisely at midday, for she had presumed Lady Romeril would not wish to take tea for longer than an hour.

“She is, after all, a…a lady,” Mrs. Teagan had said impressively just that morning.

Edie’s stomach had lurched at that comment. So would she be, once she married—

Not that she was going to marry him. Obviously.

“You don’t want to marry me.”

“Obviously not.”

It had been difficult to speak with such certainty, but the last thing she wished to do was put Frederick in any sort of delicate position. No, she had done precisely what was right. She had given him the opportunity to get out of marrying her, and he had taken it.

The fact that she had been sorely disappointed by his swift agreement to go along with her false engagement plan? That she had said the words “obviously not” only to pretend she was not wounded by the absence of any declaration that he’d happily wed her? Oh, that was by the by.

Edie should have remained just outside Lady Romeril’s house waiting for Mrs. Teagan. And she would have done. If it had not been for—

“Ah, Miss Stewart,” said a voice she did not recognize.

Turning, Edie had flushed to see Frederick walking toward her, accompanied by a gentleman she did not know. The stranger was the same height as him but with much darker hair and sky-blue eyes.

Her lungs tightened. The Chance blue eyes.

“Good afternoon,” Edie said, curtseying, as was expected.

When she straightened, it was to see both Frederick and his brother—for who else could it have been?—bowing to her.

“May I be so bold as to demand a proper introduction?” asked the man with a teasing smile.

Try as she might, she could not help but flush. Why, if things had been different, this would have been a far more formal affair. To be introduced to a future brother-in-law…

But that wasn’t her future, was it? Edie tried to remind herself that the entire engagement was a sham. A sham! This was nothing more than a coincidence, a chance of fate.

Frederick was so stiff, she wondered how he managed to speak. “Lord Aylesbury, Miss Edith Stewart. Miss Stewart, my brother John Chance, Marquess of Aylesbury.”

“Delighted to make your acquaintance,” said the Marquess of Aylesbury. “Can’t wait to welcome you into the family!”

Edie smiled self-consciously.

Had… Had Frederick told him? How on earth was she supposed to reply to congratulations about an engagement that was in no way real?

“Thank you for a pleasant conversation, Aylesbury,” Frederick said distantly. “I will see you tomorrow for lunch. Give my regards to your wife.”

Edie glanced at the viscount. He looked… Well. Under a great deal of tension, now that she came to examine him. There was a tightness in his jaw, a formality about him she had not seen before.

The loose, relaxed, and charming man was gone, though they could have been twins. Instead, there was nothing but a man who appeared uncomfortable and most unhappy. What on earth could have happened?

The Marquess of Aylesbury nudged his half-brother on the shoulder. “Right you are. I’m sure Florence sends her best back to you. Delighted, Miss Stewart.”

He bowed and Edie hurriedly curtseyed again. By the time she had risen, the man had continued along the pavement whistling as though he had not a care in the world. Perhaps he had not.

She turned to the remaining Chance gentleman. “Your… Your brother?”

“One of them,” said Frederick curtly.

Although she waited for him to continue, there appeared to be nothing more to say. It only piqued Edie’s curiosity even further, and she could not help but think of what Lady Romeril had said to her mere minutes ago.

“And the current Duke of Cothrom, the eldest brother, William, he decided to give Frederick a title. No one else in the family was using it, and it was his right to give it. I suppose he felt emboldened after he broke from tradition and gave his other brothers titles as well. Still. It did not prove popular in all quarters… “

“Come with me,” said Edie softly, slipping her hand into Frederick’s arm before he could argue with her. “It is not so cold out today. St. James’s Park is not too far, and any passersby might assume my chaperone is watching us from a park bench.”

He did not disagree. True, he did not exactly agree, either. He merely allowed himself to be guided along the pavement, crossing the road carefully after a carriage rattled past at high speed, and through the gate that led to the delightful St. James’s Park.

Winter was approaching rapidly, and Edie saw with sadness that most of the leaves had now descended to the well-kept lawns. A few shrubs battled on with their greenery, but the whole place was transformed from when she had first arrived in town.

The gentleman beside her was silent. They walked for a good five minutes as Edie wrestled with herself, attempting to decide what to say.

Or rather, what not to say.

After all, she could hardly just come out and say it, could she? It would be most uncouth of her to make demands of Frederick, expecting him to spill all his family’s secrets. Even if she did want to know them.

Most gentlemen would not do half as much for a woman to whom they were truly engaged.

“He’s only half a Chance.”

Yet his family, his past, the complexity of the relationships, the way Frederick so utterly transformed when he was with them… Edie could not help but be curious. Who would not be?

“It is good to see you.”

Edie glanced up and saw with relief that some of the stiffness around Frederick’s mouth had softened. “It is?”

“You doubt me?” asked Frederick lightly, tightening his grip on her hand. “It feels as though it has been too long… too long, indeed, since we have seen each other.”

“It has been but five days—”

“As I said. Too long.”

Warmth flowed through her at the compliment. There was something about being spoken to like this. Quietly, intimately, as though they were close.

And they were, in a way. They were certainly walking close together. And they were engaged. Everyone who passed them, every couple who walked by or gaggle of people they passed, they knew she and Viscount Pernrith were engaged.

And, Edie realized with a strange twisting within her, they probably knew too that her future husband’s parentage was not what Society believed it should be.

Was that why he sometimes became all stiff? Was Frederick as conscious as she now was of the eyes that fell upon them, of the potential whispers muttered behind their backs?

“I saw the announcement,” he said.

“In the newspapers?”

“I even took a leaf out of your books and reviewed the scandal sheets,” said Frederick, a slight smile curling his lips. “ Whispers of the Ton was most complimentary.”

She flushed. She had seen the announcement in the papers, and it had been written just as it ought to have been.

The engagement is announced between Frederick Chance, the Right Honorable Viscount Pernrith, younger son of the late Duke of Cothrom, Stanphrey Lacey, and the Honorable Miss Edith Stewart, only daughter of David Stewart, the Right Honorable Baron Stewart, and the late Lady Vanessa Stewart, Woodhurst.

It had been very strange to read such a thing—but far more astonishing to read the gossip in the Whispers of the Ton .

An engagement has been announced between the scandalously titled Viscount Pernrith, and the flourishing rose of this year’s Season! Precisely what Her Majesty thinks, after bestowing such an honor on a country bumpkin who could not, even with such an honor, secure a match before Season’s end, this author does not know—but we shall follow the marriage preparations with interest.

Country bumpkin, indeed! She was a daughter of a baron!

At the time, she had not comprehended quite what had been meant by “scandalously titled.” Thanks to the gossiping Lady Romeril, she did now.

“We’re the talk of the town,” said Frederick.

And Edie relaxed. There was now an earnestness in his expression, a lightness to his tone, that returned him to her Frederick.

Well. Not my Frederick, obviously , she corrected herself hastily. More the Frederick she had thought she’d known. The jubilant one, the one with all the charm and the allure. Not the staid, stiff, unbending Frederick she had seen with his brother.

His half-brother…

“Yes, I suppose we are,” she said as they meandered down a path. “But I suppose that is only because—”

Edie halted herself just in time.

She had only just been informed of the scandalous nature of Frederick’s past—but he had not chosen to tell her. She had gone behind his back and inquired of so many people, it had only been a matter of time before someone like Lady Romeril had spilled his secrets.

And they had not been Lady Romeril’s secrets to spill.

A twist of guilt encircled Edie’s conscience. She had been wrong, she knew that now, to persist in attempting to discover what Frederick had not been telling her. It would have been different if she were truly to be his wife—he’d at least have owed her the courtesy of informing her so she could make an informed decision. But she was already asking too much of him. Now she knew the history of his parentage, she could quite easily see why he might wish to keep such a thing to himself.

She had intruded, and what had it gained her? Nothing.

“Because what?” Frederick asked, nudging her in a familiar way that made her stomach swoop.

Edie smiled weakly. “Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.”