1. Chapter 1

Chapter one

April, 1816

James

T he greatest trouble with having good friends was, by my estimation, the persuading guilt to attend their house parties despite the lack of desire to do so. I had hoped the eight-day journey to Fallborn Estate would, at the very least, give my sour mood time to dissolve, but as the carriage rumbled up the long drive over a pocked road marred by spring rains, passing between blooming hawthorns and still-barren ash trees, my annoyance reached a peak rather than dissipating.

As I watched from the window, the stone fa?ade of the towering building peeked through the trees and shrubbery, its pale yellow hue just as my memory recalled. In my youth, I'd spent hours roaming the estate with Gregory before Father had relocated us to a grander, renovated house in Suffolk. I'd known Fallborn intimately from top to bottom then.

Had any of it changed? Were the furnishings as out of fashion as they had been all those years ago, or had Mrs. Davis finally decided to redecorate? For the sake of comfort in the familiar, part of me wished for nothing to have changed, not a single settee or rug replaced.

The carriage rattled to a stop, and I pulled in a large breath of fresh air. For the past eighteen months, I'd avoided countless balls and parties. I'd needed time to properly lick my wounds and rebuild my pride after being jilted. Both I had accomplished to some degree, enough so to entertain the idea of marriage yet again. This time, the recipient of my offer was the daughter of a viscount who lived near my country estate; however, that recent courtship and subsequent engagement had also ended before any vows could be exchanged.

Those attending this house party would know of my recent failure, as gossip of the event had likely spread by now, but insensitive rumors could do little damage to a heart uninvested. Besides, I was content in my freedom. I had no one to answer to and could come and go as I pleased, as I had always done.

A footman opened the carriage door, and I alighted, topping my hat. Dirt shifted beneath my boots as I stepped away from the conveyance, my gaze wandering the edifice and tracing the green vines and flowering wisteria covering the northern side. A sky filled with wispy white streaks completed the quaint scene.

Vain is the glory of the sky,

The beauty vain of field and grove,

Unless, while with admiring eye

We gaze, we also learn to love.

It had been some time since I could gaze at the sky or the beauty surrounding me and fully appreciate it. Where once my admiration for Wordsworth and his poetic verses had given me pause, I instead found myself eager to hide away in darkened rooms, secluded from everyone and everything. Heartbreak had tainted my previous love for nature and any eagerness to explore beyond the walls of my home.

Yet, as I stared up at the sky and felt the cool breeze caress my cheeks, I yearned to find joy in the world beyond my self-imposed prison. I was not a prisoner, after all, and there was nothing holding me back.

Could I find joy here at Fallborn? I had in my youth, and the possibility was a reason I had agreed to come. Many of my fondest memories centered around this estate.

I scoffed inwardly. Were my visit to Fallborn merely to see Gregory, I might have smiled or basked in the memories flooding my thoughts. Gregory had not named the other guests in his letter, but house parties were never without company of the unwed, female variety, and I was not here to throw my cap at another lady.

Gregory exited the house with a wide smile in place and twinkling green eyes that matched his impeccable emerald waistcoat. It left no surprise that his chestnut curls glistened with a heavy amount of pomade, dandy that my friend was.

He descended the stairs to the carriageway, his hand outstretched in greeting as he addressed me by my title. "Emerson! I didn't expect you until closer to nightfall."

I gripped Gregory's hand and shook it. Some of my trepidation eased with the camaraderie I'd missed over the last eighteen months.

"We made good time today," I said, releasing his hand. "The roads were not as terrible as I suspected given the rain. Your drive was likely the worst leg of the journey."

Gregory clasped my shoulder and laughed, though it sounded hollow. "Indeed? I must see to having it repaired then. I would not wish my guests to think ill of me solely because of the state of my road."

"Has no one else arrived?" I asked, following him to the house.

"You are the first. Dashed good luck, I say! I've been meaning to ask you about this courtship I heard tale of. I'd thought you had put off leg shackling after the incident with Miss Perry—pardon me, the duchess. Have you changed your mind?"

The Duchess Rochester. How I wished that name did not haunt me.

"Yes and no. I was open to the idea, but after yet another failed courtship, perhaps I might turn into a recluse for a few years and avoid Society and the Marriage Mart altogether."

"Skipping the Season, as you have already done, grants you that label, my friend."

So it did.

Gregory entered the house, and I followed close behind. It did my soul well to see that the furnishings in the foyer were as I remembered, if not a bit worn from the years of use, and golden yellow wallpaper still caught the sunlight that poured in from the tall windows. It felt like coming home.

Gregory led us to the drawing room where his mother sat with her needlework. She stood when she noted our entrance, but all act of propriety was tossed aside once she recognized me.

"James Blakely!" The plump woman crossed the room at an exuberant pace and pulled me down so her lips could reach my cheek. Mrs. Davis had always been quite affectionate toward me, often calling me her second son, which served as amusing irony given I had inherited an earldom.

"Mrs. Davis," I said, clasping my hands behind my back. "I am glad to see you are in good health."

"Yes, yes. I'm fit as a spring chick. Never mind these graying hairs." She reached a hand to her head and patted the mass of pepper strands there. "Most of them came from Gregory, as I am certain you could guess. Throwing this house party without notice! He means to see me on my deathbed with such antics. How can a woman be a perfect hostess when she is not told of her guest's arrival until mere minutes before?"

"It was a week ago, Mother." Gregory folded his arms, unamused. "I should think that plenty of time to make arrangements."

"And you have clearly never been in charge of such an event. The expectations! My nerves will never recover."

Her voice held a false outrage that made me smile. Mrs. Davis had always been on the theatrical side, but I liked her all the more for it. She brightened rooms with pure enthusiasm, and I appreciated her blunt nature.

"She does make a valid observation," I said to Gregory. "You are not one to leave London at the peak of the Season. Why throw a house party now?"

I had asked myself that question repeatedly since the moment I read Gregory's letter requesting I attend—no, more like pleading that I attend. The man was popular among the ton , and with my determination to avoid the social scene as of late, it had surprised me to have been invited at all, let alone with such gusto.

Gregory rubbed the back of his neck. "You know how it is in Town. One can grow tired of the constant noise and require a change of scenery."

My expression pinched. I'd never known Gregory to tire of anything in London—the parties, balls, women, or gaming hells—especially so early. Perhaps he had changed, but I had my doubts.

Gregory swatted at the air. "It hardly matters why I decided on a house party. We are here and shall have the grandest of times, yes?"

I was not so convinced. My stomach tightened with uncertainty and suspicion, though the cause for the latter, I couldn't quite work out. Was Gregory in some sort of trouble? I could think of no other reason he would flee to his country estate. After inheriting, the man had spent more time in Town than he had in the country. But even if he had found himself in hot water, what did it have to do with me attending his house party?

I forced a smile, putting my concerns away for later evaluation. "We shall, I am sure."

"Well." Mrs. Davis heaved a dramatic sigh. "Now that we have that out of the way, I must know of this woman you are courting, James. Are the rumors true? Have you proposed to Viscount Garrick's daughter?"

I shifted on my feet. Explaining the situation had been an expectation, but knowing the impending conversation beforehand had done nothing to prepare me for the moment. Mrs. Davis asked out of care, this I knew, but in many ways it made revealing all that had transpired more difficult.

"I did make her an offer, which she accepted," I said. "But the engagement barely lasted a sennight."

Mrs. Davis's hand shot to cover her mouth, muffling her words. "Oh, my dear. I am so sorry."

"It is nothing to fret over," I assured her. "The proposal was a marriage of convenience, and when it became clear to me the match would not suit, I rescinded the offer."

That was not entirely true, but it was the story Miss Garrick—now Lady Keswick—and I had agreed upon to mitigate the damage to her reputation. It hardly mattered any longer, though, with her being married to a marquess. It seemed I attracted this sort of pattern—offering for a woman who then gave her heart and hand to someone of higher rank. Once was an unfortunate turn of events, but twice left a man to wonder if he was lacking in some respect or another.

Mrs. Davis hummed. "Terrible shame, of course, but I am glad you discovered the unsuitability before reaching the altar. It is most exhausting being married to a person one does not love. Very little to encourage patience and overlook aggravations."

"Of which you would know nothing about," said Gregory. "You were madly in love with Father."

A smile tugged at Mrs. Davis's lips. "So I was, and therefore want nothing less for either of you. Your father and I had our share of differences and arguments, troubles and challenges. Love does not eliminate those things. The trick is to establish a pattern of easy forgiveness. It does the soul good, you know. "

"Or," said Gregory, "one could simply not marry with deep feelings and avoid interaction altogether."

Mrs. Davis glared at him. "What good is a marriage if you cannot stand the company of the person you are to share the rest of your life with? That would be akin to gaol, I imagine. Marriage should be freeing, not a sentence of imprisonment."

Gregory scoffed. "You condemn convenience as if a great portion of society does not seek wealth and title above all else. There can be a great deal of good come from such agreements. Security and comfort, chief among them, should be the goal of the fairer sex. Besides, love fails as often as it succeeds in creating bliss. James knows all too well the cost of offering one's heart rather than a simple, suitable arrangement."

I did know the cost well. I'd offered a woman my heart once, and she'd trampled it.

"Oh, posh." Mrs. Davis shook her head. "It is understandable for women to prioritize those things, but that does not mean love cannot remain part of the equation. If you truly love someone, the magnitude of their wealth, or the lack thereof, will hold little consequence on your feelings. The treasure is in the person, not the pockets."

Gregory clapped with dramatic but false bravado. "Well done, Mother. Perhaps you might become a poet."

Mrs. Davis lifted her chin. "You had best hope not. Should I take up that endeavor, I will have all the widowers in Gloucestershire at our doorstep within a matter of days."

"So long as they are wealthy, I would not complain," muttered Gregory.

His mother either did not hear or did not care to address his response. "I will leave the two of you now. I must prepare for dinner before the other guests arrive. Gregory, I trust you will see that James is shown to his room?"

"Yes, Mother."

Mrs. Davis nodded and then bustled from the room, her skirts slightly lifted to accommodate her pace. Gregory sighed and took a seat on the nearest settee. "I cannot blame any man for putting off marriage. Can you imagine dealing with someone like my mother day in and day out?"

"Your father seemed to take no issue with it," I said. Although it had been years, I'd never forgotten the gentle smile that lined the late Mr. Davis's face whenever he spoke to his wife. The adoration in his eyes had been unmistakable, even to a young boy. My parents had displayed similar attachments before their passing.

Gregory rested his head against the back of the settee and laid a hand over his face. "Do not misunderstand, James. I love my mother, but she is rather exhausting at times. I wonder if taking on the title of wife has that effect on all women."

I chuckled and took a seat in a chair opposite him. "Perhaps so. We will learn for ourselves eventually."

"Eventually, yes, but I've no desire to settle for one woman any time soon. You may welcome courtship, but I am perfectly content in my bachelorhood."

"Your intention with this party, then, is not to create an opportunity to court someone?" I hadn't expected it to be, but I still did not understand why Gregory would leave London to host a party with the Season in full swing. Something must be motivating him, and I would not feel at ease until I knew what it was.

Perhaps not even then.

Gregory lifted his hand, fully revealing his face, and raised a brow at me. "Gads, man. I wouldn't dream of it."

"Then why?"

Gregory's expression twisted with what I recognized as guilt. We'd known one another far too long for him to hide it from me. Before I could confront him on the matter, the butler drew both of our attention.

"More guests have arrived, sir."

Gregory scrambled to his feet and shot me a furtive glance, panic lining his voice. "Which guests?"

"A Mr. Rowe Apsley and the Misses Scott."

Gregory relaxed, but the reaction was short-lived when the butler continued. "The coachman has informed me that the arrival of a second carriage is imminent. It was not but a few minutes behind them."

Gregory swallowed. "Whose?"

"The Duchess of Rochester's."