Chapter One

July 8, 1815

Ormandy Manor

Near Crosthwaite, South Lakeland,

Cumbria, England

Benedict Ormandy, 6 th Marquess of St. Synedon, paused in his daily walk on the tip of a hill that overlooked one of the many lakes and ponds on the property. Here, more than at his townhouse in London, was where he felt the most comfortable, and alternately, it was here that he was the most sorrowful.

After taking a deep breath, he let it ease out, but he still didn't utter a word. There was no need for it. Here, tucked away in the Lake District so far away from London and most of society, he could easily lose himself, and planned to do just that in more ways than one, because only then would the relentless grief and guilt ease.

"I'll wager you come out here every day, don't you, merely to torture yourself."

The sound of his best friend's voice wrenched Benedict from his musings. He glanced at William and gave a curt nod. "That is a rather obvious question, isn't it?"

They had been friends since Eton, and since William was the Earl of Traverston, it had almost been expected they would run in the same circles. They'd had much in common over and above their beau monde families, had done a stint in the military where the earl had come home early due to an injury, and then when they'd both lost their fathers within a year of each other, it was fate their lives were again thrown together, for they shared everything.

"Perhaps, but that doesn't mean each time is no less poignant." The summer breeze ruffled the man's blond hair beneath his beaver felt top hat. "However, and I say this with all the love and affection I have for you, don't you think you have tortured yourself enough? Years have passed, for both of those deaths. Isn't it time you lived again? After all, you have recently turned three and forty. Not a young man any longer."

"Indeed." It was a fair enough question, and one he'd asked himself during the time he'd hidden away on this property. Benedict kept his focus on the lake down below. "What is there for me to live for when everything I cared about is now gone?"

The remembrance of the horror and trauma that had left their stamp on his existence these past several years still had the power to cause his chest to seize and his heart to shudder with pain. Five years ago, his eight-year-old son had perished in a violent death, had bled out alone at his favorite lake when he should have been fishing.

Died from a ball to the chest, and never had Benedict forgiven himself for neglecting to hide his pistol better or for not getting rid of it altogether. Somehow, his son had snuck the pistol from the house and had taken it with him to his fishing spot, where he'd met his demise accidentally.

And what was more, he hadn't found his son's body until hours later since he'd not known he'd been in peril. After that time, his wife had been inconsolable. Over the years, they'd lost two children at young ages from natural causes, and then losing their only remaining child to negligence had been devastating. Not only had Henry been his heir, but he'd been their last surviving child. That death had completely broken her.

In the months following their son's death, his wife had simply… stopped living. Barely ate. Rarely went outside. Stopped talking to friends and acquaintances. No longer hosted dinners or parties. Didn't take joy in wearing her pretty gowns or drying flowers and herbs in her stillroom.

One day, she'd dressed in her best gown. Benedict's spirits had risen thinking that she'd turned a corner in her grief and was moving forward. He'd gone on his customary walk with promises to talk over dinner regarding travel plans they both wished to make.

Hours later, one of the groundskeepers had arrived at the manor with the horrible news that the marchioness had apparently walked into the lake where their son died… and kept walking until she drowned.

Her body had washed up against the shore in the waves at the lake, for it had been a breezy autumn day. Too much time had passed that there was no bringing her back, and suddenly, Benedict had been left alone.

"That is a rather dim view of things, isn't it?" his friend asked in a soft voice. "After all, there are other people in this world who care for you and whom you hold high in your affections, and we all wish you well."

"I am aware, which is no doubt why I am still with you," Benedict said in a barely audible voice, for the years following those deaths had taxed his strength and his mental fortitude.

Once he lost his wife, he had no more reason to exist. There had been nothing to look forward to and suddenly no one to talk to. Nothing brought him happiness any longer. Everything seemed to annoy him. The things and places and people he'd once found joy and satisfaction in only served as a reminder of better times.

So he'd fled to his Lake District property and basically prepared for death. A distant male cousin was his heir apparent. His duties to his properties and parliament and friends fell away. There was nothing captivating in his life. Neither had he had a woman in his bed. What was the point? Essentially, he'd shoved everyone to arm's length in an effort to protect himself and not become attached to anyone again.

It hurt too much.

The summer breeze caused ripples over the surface of the smallish lake. Since his son perished, he couldn't bring himself to visit that particular lake unless to mark the anniversary of his death, but as the days wore on, the urge to end everything had grown stronger, but could he actually drown himself as his wife had done?

That remained to be seen.

"You cannot continue to cut yourself off from everything."

Benedict frowned. "I haven't had issue before now." Only then did he glance fully at his friend. "Was the reason behind you traveling here to berate me into joining society again? I am perfectly content in the Lake District alone."

"No one should be alone. Humans are social creatures by nature." He shook his head. "As fortune or fate would have it, I am on my way to my hunting lodge in the Scottish Highlands. Your estate was on the way, and since I hadn't heard from you in an age, I wanted to pop in for a visit and see for myself that you are of a proper mental state."

"That designation shifts day by day." Wanting to put distance between himself and the earl, Benedict started down the hill toward the lake.

"You can no longer run from your troubles, my friend." Of course, Traverston followed. Why couldn't the fellow see he wanted to be alone?

"I can try, and it has been working well for me thus far."

His companion snorted. "Has it? I haven't seen you for three years. You haven't haunted London, and your name has become like a wraith." When Benedict didn't answer, the earl continued. "I miss knocking about Town with you, competing over who would woo a woman into which bed, attending the opera or wagering at gaming hells."

"Though we did have fun, you must know that you and I haven't done those things since before I married." And that had been at least ten years ago.

"I know, which is why I mentioned it. You are once more free and need to surround yourself with the familiar again." The earl blew out a breath. "At the very least, put yourself back on the Marriage Mart so you can marry a second time."

Jagged stabs of pain went through his heart. "What about my situation makes you think I'm in the market for a wife?" He couldn't imagine anyone replacing Phoebe in his life or his heart. Hell, he didn't plan to be around long enough to contemplate a romance, for the anniversary of his son's death was rapidly approaching, and that would be his own exit from this mortal coil.

"You might like to think that you are content in being alone, in being aloof from everything in life. Perhaps you believe there is nothing else for you, but I think you are the type of man who needs a woman by his side." The earl met Benedict's gaze. "Men have needs. If marriage isn't in the cards for you, then take a lover. At least then you won't be alone and perhaps it will yank you from your own thoughts."

"What if my thoughts are all I have left of my former life?" It terrified him to replace those memories with someone else. What if he forgot? Or worse, what if he did move on in his existence and he enjoyed it that too much distance separated him from his old life? "I simply cannot forget them, William. They were all I had," he admitted in a choked whisper.

Nearly two years since his wife had died both seemed like an eternity and as if it had just happened yesterday.

"I am not asking you to forget, and neither should you. Keep those memories in your heart because they are part of you." The earl dropped a hand on Benedict's shoulder. His eyes were kind as he offered a brief smile. "I am asking you—imploring really—that you pull yourself back from the brink because the world is a much better place with you in it." Concern creased his brow. "You don't deserve to wake up and go to sleep miserable and hurting. You need joy in your life again, or at the very least, something that helps you remember that everything isn't horrible. You still have much to live for."

He forced a hard swallow. "It sometimes doesn't feel like it."

"That is because you've hidden yourself away, far from everything you've ever known, won't allow distractions, which leaves you alone with your rotten thoughts." His friend shook his head. "This is a gorgeous part of England, Benedict. Open your eyes and actually see it as it is. Live your life while you still can." He paused, looked at Benedict, not exactly with pity but with worry. "It is not your fault that you survived."

Another round of pain slammed into Benedict's chest. "Why the devil was I the strong one?" His whole family had left him, so what did that mean for him? And why the deuce couldn't he off himself like his wife had done? "Most days I don't feel that way."

"Call it fate or call it intervention from a higher power." The earl shrugged. "You are here, and there is a reason for that."

"To suffer? To remember? To be wracked by guilt and grief every damned day of my life?" Something had to give, for he didn't think he could bear it for too much longer.

"Perhaps grief is the penalty we all must pay for the privilege of loving someone." Traverston sighed. He picked over the narrow pebble-covered shore of the lake, the tip of his cane marking his progress, and when he reached a large boulder, he perched upon it. "I don't claim to have all the answers. Neither do I pretend to know what you are going through. I only know that your wife has been gone for nearly two years and your son for five." Moments of silence followed the words before he spoke again. "You used to be such a vital, powerful man in society, a man who lived every day to the fullest, a man who took pride in his responsibilities and the duties to his title. Perhaps selfishly, I want that man to return because I miss my friend, the brother I never had, the person who has been at my side since we were children."

It was true. Since Henry's death and more precisely Phoebe's, he'd gradually pulled away from everything that had made him… him. He no longer cared about the things he should, and no doubt his estates had suffered. Thankfully, his man-of-affairs and estate manager were intelligent men who'd taken up the slack when he'd failed, but it still wasn't well done of him.

"I need to do better; I know this. But it is a Herculean task on most days." It had been a difficult admission, yet making it, giving it to his longest-standing friend felt right. Benedict bent, picked up a smooth rock, and then threw it in such a fashion that it skipped through the water in no less than four arcs. Then he stared at the lake as he stood not far from his friend's location. "How do I pull myself out of this downward spiral when every breath I take brings with it memories? When every sound I hear, every sight I see reminds me that nothing will ever be the same?"

For the first time in a long while, he was genuinely concerned for his own future.

"While that is to be expected, at some point you will need to make the decision to go forward. I rather doubt Phoebe would have wanted you to become this haunted version of yourself who hates himself for an accident that could have happened to anyone." Silence once again brewed between them, broken only by the gentle slap of the waves against the shore and the rustle of the breeze through the leaves of nearby trees. "Which is why I firmly believe you need another woman in your life. You were happy and had purpose with Phoebe; it only goes to follow that marrying again would bring the same… with a depth you didn't have before."

For a long time, Benedict remained silent. Then he rubbed his eyes with his fingers and shoved one hand through his hair. "If I promise to keep an open mind, will you promise to stick around here for a while? I have rather missed you too."

It was the best concession he could give, for pulling himself out of the muck and mire would take some doing, and he wasn't entirely hopeful he could do exactly that.

"Of course." For the first time since the earl had dropped by, his smile was genuine. "I'll remain here for as long as you have need. In fact, if you are truly determined to find a new woman for your life, I could host a rout or something small, invite notables from the area, perhaps even throw a house party."

Kill me now.

"While I appreciate the enthusiasm, I wish to go at this new idea slowly instead of diving in feet first." He'd been married to his wife for ten years. That was nothing to sneeze at, and it had been one of those immediate falling in love things. It had taken them both by surprise, but they'd been well matched, and two months later, they'd been wed. "Perhaps I'd like to take my time now."

The earl snorted. "You aren't one to do things by half, Synedon. I'll wager the second you set eyes on an appropriate woman, you'll go head over heels."

"There is more to it than that." Or perhaps there wasn't. Love and romance remained largely a mystery for him, and usually it was left to fate's design. "You have my word that I'll give serious thought if an interesting and intriguing woman comes into my path."

Not that it was likely to happen. His estate in the Lake District was far removed from society let alone anyone from the nearest village. More times than not, he lived in isolation, and that was how he preferred it. Yet now that the idea had been presented, a curiosity of sorts had come bubbling to the forefront. Though he wasn't certain he wanted marriage, he might be persuaded for a quick tryst. After all, it had been a year since he'd last tried to take a lover.

"Excellent. Now perhaps a trip to the village is in order, to ruminate at the local tavern and persuade the barkeep to gossip about the choicest bits of womanhood in the area." With a groan, Traverston stood and kept a steady hand on his cane. "With little persuasion, I could fancy a roast for dinner."

Benedict rolled his eyes to the heavens. "You are always thinking with your stomach."

"Well, I do enjoy a good repast."

"That is something that has never changed since we were boys." It was good to have his friend visiting and sorely needed. Perhaps he had been by himself far too long. "What of you, then? If I'm to have a mind toward matchmaking, why not you as well?"

The earl snorted. "I don't believe I have ever denied the willingness to wed. I merely haven't found an appropriate candidate."

"Ah, then it will be much like our salad days, two bachelors on the prowl." Yet part of him rebelled at the very thought of replacing Phoebe. It was something he'd have to square with if he were to move forward into the future.

Which he still wasn't certain he wanted.

"Then shall we say any woman who doesn't have a horse face, missing teeth, and who doesn't have a worn-out cunny is fair game?" The light of the chase lit the earl's face.

A long dormant buzz of excitement made itself known at the small of Benedict's back. He gave his friend a nod. "Why not? I'll wager two hundred pounds I can find a woman to bed quicker than you." Whether he could go through with such a thing was an entirely different story. Yet, the prospect of slaking his physical needs with a warm and willing woman did have merit, and sounded infinitely better than taking himself in hand while in the bath.

"Done." They shook hands on the unofficial bet. "Ah, it is good to have you coming back in small doses, my friend. I don't know what I'd do if you were to off yourself from this mortal coil."

Benedict frowned. "You would manage."

"Just as you will by taking up the reins of your life again," Traverston said with a wink. "If I am to be here so will you."

For the moment, he didn't argue, but it wasn't as if those dark thoughts would simply vanish like mist before the sun. It would be a fight he'd need to meet with daily.

God help me.