Chapter One

‘In truth, I cannot see what the problem is.' Jennifer Sinclair put her hands on her hips and favoured her father with a frustrated glare. ‘To stand in the way of progress simply because one dislikes change is quite simply preposterous.'

Such was her annoyance, that the fact she had dared speak so to her father concerning such an emotive subject in polite company went entirely over her head. Not to mention the fact that the person expressing such distaste was a fellow member of the Lords.

Unfortunately the scandalous indrawn breaths of those watching told another story altogether. Nicholas Sinclair gave an inward sigh, recognising that ever more exaggerated tales of his daughter's wilfulness would undoubtedly be circling around the ton within minutes of his guests' leave taking.

Knowing it was expected, his eyes turned wintery cold. Seeing their flinty depths, Jennifer flinched, finally realising her faux pas. His low, ‘Go to your room, Jennifer,' was uttered in a tone she'd never heard from him before. Swallowing, she gave a low curtsy, bowed her head and hurried from the room.

As she ran up the stairs, she caught sight of Anthony's wife through the open door and couldn't help stifling a chuckle. Georgiana's horrified expression was a cross between concern for her friend and overwhelming relief that she hadn't been the one to make a cake of herself in public.

On entering her bedchamber, Jennifer seated herself on the window seat and waited for the summons that would inevitably come. She wasn't overly worried, although her father's steely expression didn't bode well. Still, he'd never yet tossed her over his knee, and she didn't think that at one and twenty, he was likely to start now. Lifting her feet up onto the seat, she hugged her raised knees.

Jennifer was well aware that she would have tried the patience of a saint over the last eighteen months. She was into her second London season and despite the surfeit of gentlemen vying for her attention, she'd yet to find one who so much as piqued her interest. Sighing, she rested her head on her knees. Her parents had promised not to force her into wedlock. But that didn't mean they would stand idly by while she blithely turned away suitor after suitor.

It wasn't that she didn't want to be married. The problem was, she wanted a marriage like the one her parents had. And most of the titled gentlemen she'd been introduced to were no more than unlocked cubs. So far up their own nether regions that they had no idea what to do with a woman who actually possessed opinions of her own. She knew that the offers were dwindling - despite her being the daughter of the powerful Duke of Blackmore. She'd even heard mutterings of, ‘what does one expect of the offspring of a vicar's daughter.'

And now, all she'd done with her outspokenness was make matters worse. For her father, her mother and most definitely herself. Groaning, she dropped her feet to the floor and went to ready herself for bed. Evidently the summons was being postponed until the morrow.

She thought back to her father's stony expression. Mayhap she did have cause to be worried after all…

∞∞∞

‘I cannot allow her behaviour to go entirely unpunished,' Nicholas declared wearily after the last of their guests had departed. ‘At the very least, she will have to return to Blackmore for the remainder of the season.'

‘I know.' Grace gave a tired sigh of her own. ‘In many ways, we only have ourselves to blame. She has grown up in an uncommon household. But Jennifer will never bow to a man, and in truth, I would not wish her to have to.'

‘Then she will remain unwed,' Nicholas retorted.

‘I have seven sisters who share the same characteristics as our daughter, and they have succeeded in finding men who value their independence,' Grace responded tartly.

‘Well, naturally she gets her wayward traits from her aunts,' Nicholas countered drily, ‘since her mother has always been the epitome of a dutiful wife.'

Grace chuckled. ‘I may have been in awe of your bad temper when we first wed, but I soon realised you are eminently persuadable given the correct encouragement.'

‘I'll have you know my temper is legendary amongst my peers.' Nicholas gave a low groan as his wife settled herself on his lap.

‘They don't know you like I do,' she murmured, bending down to kiss him.

‘My counsel is valued above most others.'

‘Unquestionably.' She nuzzled into his neck.

‘My statesmanship is universally acknowledged by all who know me.' His voice had turned a little hoarse.

‘Stiff-rumped,' she agreed, blowing gently into his ear.

A sudden loud knock had them both springing apart like guilty adolescents. Grace hurriedly climbed to her feet just as the door began to open. Seconds later, their eldest son, Peter stuck his head through the gap. ‘Am I interrupting anything?' he grinned.

At three and twenty, Peter was fast becoming his father's double, and as he stepped through the door, Grace caught her breath. It was like looking at her husband over twenty years earlier. Without the scowl admittedly.

‘When did you get here, dearest?' she asked as Peter raised her hand to his lips.

‘About half an hour ago and from the gossip below stairs, it seems my arrival is not a moment too soon.'

‘You know it's not necessary to listen to kitchen gossip to discover the latest catastrophe,' Nicholas commented drily. ‘You could simply ask us. We keep no secrets.'

‘And where would the fun in that be?' Peter retorted, giving his father a low bow. Nicholas shook his head and chuckled. Then stepping forward, he enfolded his eldest son in a tight hug.

‘Steady on, father, I can't even begin to tell you how long it took me to get my cravat exactly so.' Peter complained. ‘Truly, it would save me hours if you allowed me my own valet.'

Nicholas simply raised his eyebrows. ‘How long did it take him this time?' he quizzed Grace.

‘I think it might be a record,' she responded with a tinkling laugh. ‘I don't think we actually reached the minute mark.'

‘It's alright for you,' Peter grumbled, throwing himself into a chair. ‘You're old and crochety and nobody cares whether your cravat is straight or your shirt collar sufficiently starched. I have a reputation to maintain.'

‘It's a good thing I'm sending you to Scotland then,' was his father's unsympathetic response.

Peter gave a theatrical sigh. ‘I'm simply a pawn in your ongoing machinations.'

Nicholas gave a snort. ‘You make me sound positively Machiavellian. Caerlaverock will be yours one day, and it's important to make clear you will be no absentee landlord.'

‘Will I not?' Peter sighed. ‘It takes nigh on a week to travel so far, and I'm certain Gifford has everything in hand.'

‘Gifford is getting old,' Nicholas countered. ‘He's written that he has a replacement in mind. We cannot afford to be deemed good-for-nothing Sassenachs. Culloden was barely a hundred years ago, and the Scots have long memories.'

Peter nodded. In truth he was looking forward to inspecting the Blackmore estates near to Loch Lomond. It had been far too long since his last visit. And this time he would be doing it without the Duke looking over his shoulder.

Despite his joking, Peter was well aware of the responsibilities that came with being the heir apparent and was gratified his father trusted him enough to deal with their prickly tenants over the border.

‘How are Tempy and Adam? Is Jamie back from Eton?' Grace asked seating herself with a sigh.

‘He's all ready for Oxford apparently. Aunt Tempy says she has no idea where he gets his intellect from,' Peter grinned. ‘Uncle Adam chased her into the rose garden for her impertinence, while Lily declared she'd never seen any evidence that her brother had anything between his ears other than fresh air.' He shook his head and laughed. In other words, Ravenstone is in wild disarray as usual.'

Before either of his parents could answer, a knock at the door signified the housekeeper bringing in a tray of hot chocolate. ‘Mrs. Jenks, you're a lifesaver,' Grace breathed with a grateful smile.

‘There's no sense in you fretting without a bit of sugar in you, your grace.' The housekeeper did not pretend ignorance of the latest calamity to befall the Sinclair household.

Grace grimaced in response. ‘It seems that lurching from one catastrophe to another is the Sinclair lot...' She paused and gave a rueful grin. ‘Actually I think mayhap it's more of a Shackleford issue. My poor husband simply keeps getting caught in the way.' Taking a grateful sip of her chocolate, she smiled at the housekeeper. ‘It's late Mrs. Jenks and high time you took to your bed. Thank you so much for your thoughtfulness.'

‘Is there anything else I can get for your graces?'

Nicholas shook his head before adding ruefully, ‘Get some rest, Mrs. Jenks. I suspect my daughter's behaviour is going to be on the lips of every household this side of the Thames, and we're relying on you to keep us informed.'

‘So what exactly has Jennifer done to warrant all the scandalmongering?' Peter asked as the housekeeper closed the door behind her.

‘Your father was soothing ruffled feathers over Parliament passing the bill giving permission for the new railway,' Grace answered, warming her hands on the cup of chocolate.

‘Jenny's support for such new innovations might well be admirable, but she has yet to master the art of diplomacy. Would you care for a brandy?' At Peter's nod, Nicholas climbed to his feet and went over to the sideboard. ‘Of course that's without even considering the fact that in Society's opinion, ladies in general should not harbour such radical opinions.'

‘Or any opinion at all, really,' Peter added drily.

‘Quite so.' Nicholas handed his son the snifter of brandy. ‘I have no wish to clip Jennifer's wings. And even if I wanted to, I don't think I'd succeed.' He shrugged and gave a weary chuckle. ‘I love that she has her own views and ideals – she reminds me of her mother.' Sitting back down he tossed a wry glance over at his wife who favoured him with a small unrepentant wink.

‘That said, I have no choice but to do something to appease the stuffed shirts. They're afraid of change and will do everything in their power to maintain the status quo.' He shook his head. ‘Innovation will not be stifled, and in truth I'm of the same opinion as Jennifer. But if such change is to take place without the resistance of those in power, it must needs be coaxed along, however frustrating that may be to those who wish to change the world overnight.'

‘So Jenny must be reprimanded to appease the blockheads.'

Nicholas grimaced. ‘If you wish to put it that way. I will continue to use my influence to encourage change, but being dismissed as a radical will not help me win the so-called blockheads over. But in regard to Jenny, I was thinking more of the old adage, out of sight, out of mind.'

‘Why don't you send her to Scotland with me?' Peter leaned forward, his eyes alight. ‘It's an age since we've spent any amount of time together.'

Grace and Nicholas looked at each other. ‘She would not be able to go without a chaperone,' the Duchess insisted.

‘Malcolm is accompanying Peter…' Nicholas began.

‘…And Jennifer's presence would give Felicity an excellent excuse to go with him,' Grace concluded with a wide smile. ‘Do you think Jenny's likely to put up much of an objection?'

‘I think she'll be delighted,' Peter answered. ‘How long is it since she made the journey that far north?'

‘It was before Nicholas was born I think,' Grace responded. ‘She's certain to know we are banishing her.'

‘She's hardly being locked away with only bread and water,' Peter scoffed.

‘Jennifer might be impulsive, but she's astute enough to know why we're sending her away. And I think Peter's right – she'll relish the idea of an adventure away from the gossipmongers.'

‘I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but I'm concerned she'll miss nearly the whole of her second season…' Grace let her voice trail off.

‘That will be the chief reason she agrees to go,' countered Peter with a short laugh.

His mother sighed and nodded ‘You're right. She has no time for Society's current crop of popinjays, but I do so want her to make a good match. And by a good match, I mean someone who will love her for her and care nothing about her outspokenness.'

‘She is very unlikely to find such a man by participating in a London season.' Nicholas placed a comforting hand on Grace's shoulder. ‘You've always known that darling. Mayhap we are doing her a favour by broadening her horizons. By next season, the gossips will have moved on to the next unfortunate. If Jenny is still not betrothed by then, perhaps we will consider allowing her more freedom to choose her own suitor – within limits of course.'

Grace placed her hand over that of her husband. She was well aware of the huge compromise Nicholas was making. It was quite one thing to watch his sisters-in-law make complete cakes of themselves while choosing their own suitors, but giving his own daughter the same licence was an entirely different matter altogether.