Chapter 1

London

"Ouch!"

Selina looked around at the exclamation and the sound of breaking crockery. Her maid was standing by the washstand, holding her arm by the wrist rigidly, her entire body stiff. She could hear the whimpering. Putting aside the pins she had been putting into her hair, Selina hurried over.

"What is it, Hilda? Oh, my!"

She could see the problem now. The water jug was broken and had dropped everywhere. Some of it was in the washbowl, and the rest on the floor. And part of it had cut into Hilda's hand. Blood oozed from her palm, and Hilda's breath was coming out in sharp pants.

"I… I didn't… it just broke apart on me…"

The sight of the blood made Selina lightheaded, but she could see that Hilda was in a worse state. She gently led Hilda away from the mess and sat her on the edge of the bed. Then she hurried over to the bell pull and tugged hard, hoping that someone would come and help.

"Mrs. Oliver will be here in a moment," Selina said as she grabbed one of the cloths she had used to dry herself earlier, returning back to the bed. "She'll be able to take care of you."

"I hope so," Hilda whispered, staring at the blood welling up. "I… I feel sick."

"I know." Selina placed the cloth over the cut and pressed down, which made Hilda wince. "It'll be fine. It's just a scratch. You've had plenty of them before."

Hilda's mouth twitched, but it turned into more of a grimace. It had become a bit of a running thing between them. Her maid was probably the clumsiest person Selina had ever come across.

How she managed to break something or knock something over all the time was beyond anyone. It was just a trait that Hilda had managed to bring along with her when she first became employed in Selina's household, and it hadn't improved over the years. Selina had no idea how she was still standing and hadn't broken herself to pieces long ago.

"Forgive me, My Lady," Hilda mumbled, her face still very pale. "I don't know what happened. I just picked it up…"

"It was an old jug, so it was probably going to break sooner or later. Did you get yourself wet as well?"

"The jug was empty, but some water in the bowl splashed on me." Hilda shrugged one shoulder. "It's water. It can dry off."

Selina was surprised that the bowl hadn't been broken as well. Another expense to sort out, though. The housekeeper wasn't going to be impressed, but there wasn't much they could do about it. Selina was sure that there was more than enough to get a new jug. It was a small price to pay.

In the six months since she had become the sole beneficiary of her uncle's estate, Selina had learned a lot more than she had anticipated about being financially independent and where money went. It was a surprise that she even understood any of it, but it had been explained to her right at the beginning. Even her uncle had made sure she knew the basics when he was alive, and Selina was grateful for that.

He would probably be chuckling right now at Hilda's clumsiness. Getting a new jug would be nothing for him.

The door opened after a quick knock, and Mrs. Oliver came in. She stopped suddenly when she saw the pair, Hilda still sitting on the bed with Selina kneeling before her.

"Goodness! What's going on here?"

"Can you take Hilda downstairs, Mrs. Oliver? She's just cut her hand, and it needs tending to."

The housekeeper sighed and shook her head.

"Honestly, Hilda, when are you going to stop getting yourself into trouble? I'm almost worried about letting you help set the table at mealtimes."

Hilda bowed her head, and Selina felt some sympathy for her maid. She got to her feet, helping Hilda to stand.

"It was just an accident. No harm done otherwise. Would you mind, Mrs. Oliver?"

"Of course. Come along, dear." Mrs. Oliver reached Hilda's side and put an arm around her shoulders. "Let's get you seen to. Then I'll see if I can find something where you can keep yourself out of trouble."

Hilda nodded, biting her lip. She looked close to tears, and Selina couldn't blame her. She would probably be in the same position had it happened to her. It could have been her if she had been washing herself at that point.

Her maid seemed to have all the bad luck.

As the housekeeper led the younger woman out of the room, Regina Garrison entered the bedchamber. She stepped around the pair and gave them a curious frown, but Mrs. Oliver simply nodded her thanks for moving aside and they left. Then Regina turned to Selina.

"What just happened?"

"Hilda cut her hand on something."

"Again?" Regina sighed. "That girl could cut herself on cloth if she tried."

"Don't say that, Regina. It's only an accident," Selina pointed out.

"It's an accident too many." Regina shook her head, her gray curls bouncing around her face. "I don't know why you keep her on. She's always hurting herself, and I'm sure she's off sick more than she works. You don't have the time for her."

This conversation again. Selina understood that Regina meant well, but she had put her foot down on Hilda. Her Uncle Christopher had hired Hilda and had been fond of her, and Selina was content with Hilda being her lady's maid. She wasn't about to let her go now. Regina might think that it needed to happen, but Selina didn't.

It was a good thing that she was the one in charge of the household and not her cousin.

"She is efficient when she's present, and that's enough." Selina went over to the dresser and picked up the pins she had been using. "I'm not going to get rid of her because she drops a few things."

"She'll end up breaking something of value, and then you'll not want her around," Regina insisted.

"She's not going anywhere, and that's final." Selina shot the other woman a look in the mirror. "Don't argue about this, Regina. I don't want to hear it."

She could tell that Regina wanted to argue further, but she wisely kept quiet. Selina didn't want to start anything again. Much as she liked Regina, she seemed to think that she had a voice in the house because she was older. It didn't matter that Selina was the one who had the fortune and was in charge, Regina Garrison saw her position differently.

Probably because she had been a close confidant of Uncle Christopher when he was still alive. As cousins, the two of them had been close, and Regina liked to think that Christopher Cotter listened to her. Maybe he did, and Selina did listen as well, but she was not about to be swayed on the decision of keeping Hilda around.

"Alright, I won't say anything." Regina approached her, taking the pins from Selina's hand. "Let me finish. It's your usual style, yes?"

"Please." Selina settled on the stool and waited as Regina began to put the rest of the pins into her hair. "My curls seem to be out of control lately, and I don't want to look like I've been dragged through a hedge."

Regina laughed.

"You mean like the time you actually ran through a hedge when you were playing with your cousins and came back with half of the hedge in your hair."

Selina groaned.

"I can't believe you remember that. That was nearly fifteen years ago!"

"I have a good memory. Your curls were adorable back then."

"Not so much now." Selina made a face in the mirror. "I don't want Lady Milbourne to see me in such a mess."

"You've never looked a mess, Selina. You always look a picture."

"I've never understood that expression. It sounds odd." Selina frowned. "Do you think she's going to start talking about how I need to choose a husband sooner rather than later?"

Regina raised her eyebrows.

"You believe that's going to come up?"

"It's been coming up for the last six months. Any conversation comes back to it, and it's really annoying."

Selina liked the Countess of Milbourne, and she was a good friend, but she seemed to be fixated on getting Selina married, especially in the last six months since Selina inherited her uncle's entire estate. The fact that a woman, and an unmarried one, had inherited something that would normally be passed to a male heir, was practically unheard of and the talk of the ton even now.

Uncle Christopher had been one of those people who was classed as eccentric and did things his way, so it shouldn't have been a surprise. Selina could still remember the shock hearing that she was the sole beneficiary and that was it. The lawyer wasn't too sure what to do about it, and Selina felt as if nobody knew what to do with her.

She had needed to mature a lot faster than she wanted in recent weeks, just to keep on top of everything.

The last thing Selina wanted was to have suitors pestering her about wanting to court her when they would barely give her a glance before. She had no faith in people outside her small circle anymore.

"Maybe it's something to think about," Regina began, and Selina groaned.

"Not you as well, Regina!"

"But you can do that in your own time. You decide when that's going to happen." Her cousin fixed the last pin and stepped back. "But we all want to look out for your welfare, that's all. You understand that, don't you?"

"I understand it." Selina stood up and dusted herself down. "I just wish it wasn't all the time and when it's not a priority." She glanced at Regina with a sly smile. "Maybe I should become a spinster and say that marriage isn't for me."

Regina laughed.

"Given your beauty, I don't think that's going to be a deterrent."

"You enjoy being unmarried, don't you?"

"I do, but not in the beginning. It's lonelier than you think." Regina looked towards the clock. "We'd better get going. You're going to be late for the Countess of Milbourne if we don't hurry."

Selina wondered if being a spinster wasn't as lonely as her cousin made it out to be. She had reached her fifties without a romantic partner in sight, as far as Selina was aware, and said that she was fine with her life. While being a spinster with her current situation sounded like a good idea, Selina didn't think that she would be able to do the same.

Not that it was on her list of priorities right now. Keeping her estate in order was more important than finding love.

#

Durham

Peter looked out over the landscape before him. From the top of the hill, it was perfect. The rolling fields and the river traversing below was soothing, no matter what time of year it was. And in early autumn, there was something fascinating about it. Peter loved to look at the trees going from green to gold and then brown. At the right moment, it made his father's estate look like burnished gold was touching everything.

He didn't think he would be able to find anything as beautiful as this in any part of the world. The Medford estate was always going to be his home, his favorite place. Even with some memories that he would rather not have, it was what Peter loved the most. If it was possible to take it around with him, he would do that.

"My Lord!"

Peter could hear the words float through the air, and at first, he thought it was just the wind. Then he heard the sound of a horse, and he looked behind him. Coming up the slope was a man on a horse, navigating the bumpy terrain rather awkwardly. He joined Peter at the top of the hill, leaning on the saddle with sweat making his forehead practically glow in the sun.

"I didn't think you would be this far out, My Lord."

Peter smiled.

"If you can't find me, Jim, I'm more than likely going to be out here."

"You must have ridden like the wind. You didn't leave that long ago." Jim was panting hard, trying to get his breath in. "If I'd known, I wouldn't have offered to come and get you."

"You're our carriage driver. How are you out of breath riding out here when you're around horses all the time?"

"I drive the horses, My Lord. I don't sit on one. They're completely different things."

Peter laughed. Jim Huston was probably the most agile man he had ever met, and he struggled to ride a horse. He never thought the family's carriage driver would struggle with that when he was in charge of four horses, at the very minimum, and a huge carriage. Surely, that would be harder to handle?

Evidently not, given how out of breath he was.

"What did you want me for, anyway? Couldn't you have waited until I got back?"

"I'm afraid not. Your father wishes to speak with you."

"Father does?" Peter frowned. "When did he get back?"

"Shortly after you left. He was rather agitated and demanded to see you immediately." Jim shrugged, brushing his dark hair out of his face as it fluttered in the wind. "I wasn't about to ask why, just told him that I would find you."

Peter was worried now. His father, the Duke of Medford, had been rather reclusive lately. He had pulled away from everyone, including his trusted servants, spending all of his time in his study. Then a week ago they came to Durham. Peter hadn't questioned him about it, suspecting that he would find out eventually. It didn't stop him worrying, but it was clear that the duke had a lot on his mind.

"Alright. I'll come back." Peter turned his horse around. "Then you can go and have a lie down. Riding a horse for you must be so difficult."

"Very funny, My Lord."

Laughing, Peter rode away, back towards the house. The brief mirth at teasing Jim faded as he thought about his father and what the problem could be. Was it his health? It hadn't been good lately. Then again, Medford's health had been deteriorating slowly since his wife's death two years before. He had dearly loved his wife despite the frostiness coming from her, and it had torn him to pieces when she fell ill and passed away.

Peter had tried to be supportive of his father, but it had been difficult. His mother had been a cold woman, barely showing emotion towards him. She was lively and vibrant with other people, including other members of her family, but when it came to her husband and son it was decidedly cooler.

And that was on a good day; Peter couldn't remember a time when his mother had been kind to him or had a nice word for him. It was like she would prefer that he didn't exist.

He could understand, in some way, why she would feel negatively about him. They had never discussed it, Peter not willing to confront the duchess about her attitude for fear that he would hear something he didn't like, but he suspected that his mother didn't care for children.

She didn't like children, and she had to provide her husband with an heir. Perhaps childbirth was too much for her or traumatic? Or something happened and she wasn't able to bear any more children? It had to be something like that.

Peter wished that he had asked, but his mother's behavior towards him made him nervous. He liked to avoid it when he could. His father was closer to him, but even with him, Peter hadn't been able to bring it up. It was like a topic of conversation that hovered around in the room but was never addressed… as if it didn't exist.

Maybe this was something they could discuss when they were talking. Peter knew it was past the point of knowing, but he deserved to have some sort of explanation. At least it would make him feel more grounded in knowing why the Duchess of Medford thought he was something sent from the devil himself.

It didn't take long to get back to the house, and Peter left his horse with the stable lad to sort out. Normally, he would do it himself—he found the process soothing—but it sounded like his father wanted to speak with him urgently, and Peter wanted to get to him as quickly as possible.

As usual, the duke was in his study. He was standing at the window, hands clasped behind his back as he looked out across their gardens. Living in the Durham countryside, there were no neighbors for miles, so their garden merged with the rest of the estate with no fences. It made their land look far larger than it actually was.

But, from what Peter could tell as he hovered in the doorway, his father wasn't looking at any of that. It was as if he wasn't really paying attention to it at all, just staring into the distance. With his normally tall frame hunched over, his white hair not looking as thick as usual, and the fact that he appeared to be thinner, there was something on his mind.

"Father." Peter stepped into the study and closed the door. "You wanted to see me?"

For a moment, he thought that his father hadn't heard him. When his father spoke, it made him jump.

"Can you sit down, Peter? We need to talk."

Now Peter was more nervous. He wasn't comfortable with this at all. What were they going to discuss? Nevertheless, he went over to the chairs by the cold fireplace and sat down. It was beginning to feel more uncomfortable by the minute. He waited, resisting the urge to squirm. He was a grown man, not a little boy. He needn't revert back to when he was a ten-year-old about to get a scold because he played a prank on his governess.

Somehow, though, it felt just like that.

"How was the ball at the Earl of Berwick's?" Medford asked suddenly.

"The ball?"

"You went there last night, didn't you? I recall that the date was yesterday."

Peter groaned. He had hoped that his father wouldn't ask about it.

"I didn't go," he admitted.

"What?" Medford turned. "Why not?"

"Because I'm not comfortable being around the earl. He keeps talking about his daughter and how beautiful and eligible she is." Peter made a face. "I don't want to start talking to him about it again, and I've told him to stop."

Medford frowned. He didn't look happy.

"You really refused to go because we're trying to match you with his daughter?"

"We?" Peter stared. "You agree with this as well?"

"Of course! You need a wife, Peter, and this dukedom needs an heir."

"I'm the heir. You don't need to worry about that."

"I mean after you. Then I know I can relax about the future of my title."

This again. They had been through it many times. Peter sighed. He was fed up with explaining himself over and over.

"I thought we discussed this, Father. I don't want to marry out of duty. If I do marry, it's because I'm in love with the woman."

"This again?"

"Yes, this again. While Lady Margaret is a sweet young lady, I'm not in love with her. I don't feel anything for her, if I'm to be honest." Peter shook his head. "If I'm going to be with one person for the rest of my life, the least I can do is make sure that it's someone I actually love. It will make the time more enjoyable, and I will actually want to be around her."

"You can grow to love her after the wedding."

"That's not how I want it to happen, Father."

Medford looked pained as he rubbed his hands over his face, pacing across the room.

"You're aware that you can't remain a bachelor forever, aren't you, Peter?"

"Of course I am, but I shouldn't be forced into something I don't want," Peter shot back. "I saw what happened with you and Mother, and I don't want that for my family."

Medford flinched. Peter frowned. Had he hit a sore spot? Surely, his father knew that their marriage wasn't good.

"What makes you think your mother and I married out of duty?"

"Come on, Father, I saw how she was towards you and how she treated me. She couldn't stand the sight of either of us. How you two produced me, I have no idea." Peter gestured at himself. "I don't want that for me. I want to be happy, not miserable. That's not good for anyone, least of all me. Lady Margaret would make me resent her if I pursued her now with no romantic feelings."

Medford now looked pained.

"I don't know why you thought Imelda and I were matched before marriage. We actually loved each other. I asked her to marry me because I loved her."

"What?"

"She loved me, too." The duke grimaced and glanced away. "I know it sounds hypocritical to tell you to find a wife out of duty when I married someone I loved, but not every love match turns out well."

Peter was getting confused now. What was going on here?

"You and Mother loved each other? How is that possible? She treated me horribly, and I don't think she's said a kind word about you at all that I'm aware of. She can't have loved you."

"Oh, she loved me. For the first ten years of our marriage, we were happy. Then I…" Medford hesitated. He looked as if he would rather not say this. "I had a child with someone else. That was when she lost all love for me."

Peter felt like someone had hit him over the head. What was he saying? That Medford had an illegitimate child out there?

"I have a brother or sister? She turned on you because you had a child with another woman?"

He could understand that. While having illegitimate children wasn't exactly uncommon, it did tarnish the family involved somewhat. Peter had thought that this could be a reason his mother hated them, but from what he saw Medford loved his wife dearly. And why would she take it out on Peter as well?

"I produced an illegitimate child, but you don't have a brother or sister."

"What? What does that mean?"

Medford turned to him, and clarity set in for Peter before the duke said anything.

"You're the illegitimate child. I produced you."