Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

" Y ou must be so glad that soon you can wear something other than black and lavender," Rosy Lymington, the Duchess of Cambridge, said as she and Judith walked back toward the sprawling house.

Judith tugged on the sleeve of her lavender-colored gown and sighed deeply. "I suppose I am," she said with a shrug. "But the truth is, a part of me feels strange because the dark colors have been like a cloak for me, a shield. When I go outside, people see I am in mourning and leave me in peace. I do not get invited to balls and functions, and nobody bothers to tell me that I must marry because I am on the shelf."

"You are not on the shelf," Rosy stated sharply.

Judith shook her head. "I am four and twenty, Rosy. Do not forget that I am older than you. I am unmarried. We must face reality—I am on the shelf. A spinster. An old, old maid."

Rosy gave her a playful pat on the arm. "Stop it. You make yourself sound as if you were a grandmother."

Judith sighed and took her friend's arm. "You must admit, it is not easy to defy Society's demands and expectations. You must feel it. You have been married for almost three years, and you haven't a child yet."

Rosy cringed. "It is true, but it is by choice. And…" She bit her lip and looked at Judith. "You not being married is somewhat by choice. You could have been married by now, but you chose not to. I thought it was so brave and inspiring at the time. Do you not think so anymore? Do you regret it?"

Judith pondered this for a moment. It was true. She had been all but betrothed three years ago to a gentleman from Scotland. She'd spent a lot of time with him, and everyone had expected them to be married—as had she. However, she'd had a change of heart when those around her, particularly Rosy, Joanna, and to a lesser degree their elder sister Sally, had chosen husbands they loved and embraced lives that made them truly happy.

She'd decided to end her courtship then, seeking instead true love—alas, love had eluded her up until now. She hadn't been bothered by it at first, as she'd been willing to wait. However, now that she had reached an age that made the prospects of marriage improbably small, she wondered sometimes if it had been better to marry when she could have.

Alas, it was too late now, and there was no point in pondering these issues. She wasn't married and perhaps would never be.

"It cannot be helped now," she said as they approached the house. "I did what I did. I am sad that love has not found me, but I must live my life as best I can. Father never pressured me. Besides, it has been so long since I have been to a ball, I do not think I'd remember how to dance or charm anyone."

She meant it in jest, but there was a kernel of truth to it. The longer she'd been without a courtship, the harder she'd found it to be charming or even graceful. Once upon a time, she'd been among the most refined ladies in high society, but now she often felt out of place. Her mind was occupied with other things—things that seemed more important than etiquette and accomplishments.

Since her father's death, she'd had to care for her younger brother, who'd been distraught by their father's passing. She'd been a companion to Matilda, who had spiraled into deep melancholy with the sudden loss of her husband. And she'd had to assist Oliver as he found his way into a role he'd never wanted.

Balls and the opera had been the furthest things from her mind—and in a way, she hoped they would remain this way, as she had no desire to re-join Society.

"Rosy, I have half a mind to ask you to take me with you when you go visit Sally in Portugal next," she said.

Rosy's older sister spent most of the year with her husband, Leonard Harding, the Duke of Chester, and children on the Continent to tend to her Leonard's vineyards.

"You ought to! We are going in the spring," Rosy offered enthusiastically.

But their conversation was interrupted when a window flew open on the upper floor and her brother's face appeared.

"Judy! Come to my study," he shouted and disappeared again.

Judith groaned and shook her head. "I suppose I have been summoned. I beg your pardon, Rosy," she said, but her friend waved a hand.

"Do not fret, I understand. Your brother ought to be grateful he has you to help him with the estate and everything." Rosy lowered her voice a little. "How is he doing, by the way? I know you said he never had an interest in the estate."

"He didn't, and he doesn't. He does what must be done but leaves most things up to the steward. It is a good thing the estate was in good condition, thanks to my father. Oliver needs to do nothing but show his face at the House of Lords when necessary. Everything else runs almost by itself," Judith drawled, but then, the window opened again.

"Judith!" her brother barked, louder this time.

"Yes, I am coming," she bellowed back and rolled her eyes. "I must go. Tell Joanna I will see her for tea tomorrow."

She hugged her dear friend, and then they parted ways. As soon as Rosy's carriage disappeared around the corner, she made her way back into the house.

It was winter now, and the great manor always seemed cold, no matter how many fires were lit. She pulled her shawl tighter around herself and climbed up the steps to what had once been her father's study.

"Oliver?" she called as she entered.

Her brother looked up from his desk, his eyes bleary, a glass of whiskey on the desk beside him. She glanced at the clock. It was two in the afternoon. She didn't think her brother ought to be drinking so early, but he wasn't the type who'd take advice from anyone, least of all his younger sister.

Judith closed the door behind her and looked at Oliver, who was now standing up, straightening his waistcoat. She noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the strain in his expression.

"Judith, good. I thought you were going to chat the entire day away with your friend. You're quite popular, I see. With the young ladies, that is," he said.

Judith tilted her head to the side. What was that supposed to mean?

"I have my friends, as you do yours," she replied.

Indeed, Oliver spent more time at Brooks with his friends than at Parliament.

He looked at her, his eyes narrowed. Then, he scratched his stubble and indicated the seat in front of him while dropping into his own.

"Sit, Judith," he ordered and then placed a foot up on the desk.

She inhaled sharply. Her father would have been livid at this display.

"Oliver, what is it?" she asked, walking toward the desk before taking a seat.

He took a deep breath. "Judith, we need to talk about your future."

"My future?" Judith raised an eyebrow, sensing where this conversation was headed.

"Yes, your future," Oliver repeated, avoiding her gaze. "You're four and twenty now. In Society's eyes, you are considered an old maid."

Judith folded her arms. She knew they'd have to talk about this at some point, but she didn't appreciate his bluntness. "And?"

"And you need to find a husband," he stated candidly.

Judith's eyes narrowed. "We are still in our mourning period, Oliver," she reminded him, but he waved a hand.

"Yes, yes. Only another three weeks. Who is counting, anyhow? Besides, Father would rather you find a husband than observe this custom, I am sure."

"Are you? And how would you know what Father wanted? You've hardly been here to know what he liked to eat for breakfast," she fired back.

Her brother flinched and looked at his fingers before raising his head again. "Judith, we need not argue. I acknowledge that Father and I did not see eye to eye on… much. But this, I am sure of. It was in his will. He left me a letter, as you know," he said.

He opened a drawer to his right and withdrew a folded letter that bore their father's handwriting.

Judith sat upright. Her father had left a letter for each of his children, as well as Matilda, with personal words of encouragement and hopes for their future. He had always been a pragmatic man, and while his sudden death had not been foreseen by anyone, it hadn't surprised her that he had created such documents. She'd wondered what he might have written to Oliver. And now she knew.

To say that this was a surprise was an understatement.

"He wanted me to help you find a husband and be settled, and we will see that this is done. His letter asked me to start the search the moment the mourning period was over so as not to waste time. However, I am afraid I cannot tend to this matter myself," he continued and leaned back, removing his foot from the desk.

"And why, pray, is that?"

The idea that she was to be thrown into courting so soon after the mourning period was over was bad enough, but now her brother was shirking his responsibilities?

Oliver sighed and rubbed his temples. "I must leave for a business trip. I leave tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? A business trip?" Judith scoffed. "You mean you want to avoid your responsibilities again."

"That's not true!" Oliver protested, a bit more forcefully than he intended. He softened his tone. "I have obligations that cannot wait, Judith. While our estate is run perfectly, my own business needs attention. I must travel to the Continent. I've already postponed the trip several times."

"So, am I to be working with a matchmaker, then? Is that it? Since you cannot tend to the matter yourself? You're abandoning me to some gabster who likes to pretend they are Cupid?" she asked bitterly, for this was often how ‘old maids' found partners. Some lady of high society who had no pastimes of her own would make it her business to find matches for the hard-to-marry.

This was getting worse and worse by the minute.

"There will be no matchmaker involved. And I am not abandoning you. My very good friend has just arrived back in England from Italy, and he has agreed to help you find a match in my stead. He will approve any gentleman you might meet and ensure everything is done properly until I return."

Judith's eyes widened. She had an idea who that person might be but hoped she was wrong. "Your best friend?"

"Yes, you know him. Aaron Fitzwilliam. The Duke of Nottingham," Oliver said. "I tasked him with helping you find a husband. You'll attend balls and other events together, and he will make an introduction when he deems it right. And he'll teach you some tricks that might help you."

Judith's blood seemed to roar in her veins. "Tricks? What, as if I am a dog? You cannot be serious, Oliver. Besides, the Duke of Nottingham is the last person I need help from. He's a rake, a charmer, and the most arrogant man I've ever met."

Oliver chuckled. "He's not that bad, Judith. He's a good man, and he'll take care of you while I'm away. You don't need to be afraid."

"I am not afraid. I simply do not like him."

She recalled her childhood days. Aaron had pulled her hair and teased her mercilessly when they were children, and then, once they were older, he'd always treated her more like a pesky fly than a young woman. He'd vexed and irritated her at every turn—and she'd always had the feeling that he liked doing so.

"He's not the type of person I want to look after me. And if your goal is to find me a husband, he is the last person who ought to be in charge of that. His reputation…"

"His reputation as well as mine are entirely undeserved. You know how the ton is. Whoever goes against convention has all manner of rumors attached to their name. You should know this better than most, given what your friends have gone through," he argued as Judith shrugged.

It was true. Her friends, the Blackmore sisters, had been written and talked about a lot—and at one point so had she—but she had experienced Aaron's behavior herself, seen the way he acted. Therefore, she was almost sure that his reputation was indeed rightly earned.

"Aaron will help you while I am away—he will look after you like a sister," her brother told her.

Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door.

"Come," Oliver called, and the door opened just as Judith leaned back and closed her eyes.

What a disaster this was. So much had happened these past few months. Her father had died, her brother returned, and now, suddenly, she was to be thrown back into the marriage mart, something she'd considered behind her. How could things possibly get any worse?

"Well, well, if it isn't the Marquess of Worcester himself," a voice drawled as the door opened.

Judith turned just as a figure entered the room. She blinked as he came into view, her lips parting. Before her stood a man more handsome than any she had ever seen.

Tall and muscular, he stood a half head taller than Oliver, who'd rushed to his side. His dark blue eyes flashed as he looked at Judith over Oliver's shoulder, and his luscious lips curled into a smile. A strand of black hair had fallen over his face and drew her attention to his sharp cheekbones.

This man was utterly charming, there was no denying it.

But who was it? Surely this wasn't … Or could it be?

As if to answer her question, Oliver turned to her.

"Aaron, there you are. Perfect timing as always," he said and stepped aside. "You remember my sister, of course?"

"How could I forget," the man murmured, and his voice sent a warm tingle through her entire body. It was smooth and soothing, like a cup of hot milk with honey on a cold winter morning. "Lady Judith," he said with a smile while she stared at him, unsure of what to say. "What a lovely young woman you have grown into."

It was him. The Duke of Nottingham. The man who was to be in charge. Had he always been so handsome? Or had she simply forgotten?

"I thank you," Judith replied in a whisper, for now that she stood before him, it became painfully clear to her that her life had just become a whole lot more complicated than she'd ever imagined possible.