Chapter 1

CHAPTER1

London, England

“Are you certain this is a wise idea?”

“Emily, I do believe you are starting to sound like our oldest sister.” Bridget abruptly stopped walking and turned to look at her sister.

Emily was used to the tired looks her older sister gave her by now. Bridget was sweet in nature, softly spoken, and would hardly ever dare speak too loudly, or say boo to a goose. Emily rather thought Bridget wouldn’t even dare whisper to a goose, she was so demure in nature. In contrast, Emily had no such qualms. Yet something Bridget did permit herself was such exasperated looks.

“Me?” Emily laid an innocent hand on her chest. “Do you mean that I am sounding increasingly like a watchful mother, inclined to usher you hither and thither, and warn you when you make the simplest of errors, like a clucking hen?”

“She is not that bad,” Bridget laughed warmly and threaded a hand through Emily’s arm, drawing her further into the ball. “Besides, even you must admit our sister’s attentions have been somewhat divided as of late, now she has her son and her husband to concern herself with.”

“That she does,” Emily agreed with a slow nod.

“And I know you miss her attentions too.”

“Oh, what a thing to say!” Emily declared in mock horror and threw a white-gloved hand over her lips. The ball gown she wore contrasted strongly with her gloves. Whereas the gloves were pristine white, the dress was a rich, bold blue, quite daring even, for the fashionable pastel colors of the season. In contrast, Bridget’s gown was a pale pink that suited her delicate features, small lips and light brown hair rather beautifully. “Do you mean to suggest I am missing my sister’s mothering ways now I am a little freer of them?”

Bridget did not need to answer but arched her eyebrows in Emily’s direction.

“Well, maybe we do both know it is the truth, but pray, do not let Rachel hear you say that. It will make her day,” Emily said in a rush.

“She and Daniel are not here tonight anyway,” Bridget explained, nodding her head at the ballroom. “They had… other things to attend to.”

“What other things? Their son?”

“Being happily married, I believe.” Bridget repressed a mischievous smile and blushed bright red instead. Emily tipped her chin back and laughed raucously.

“Who would have thought our saintly sister, who was so eager to ever avoid a scandal from me, had her own, and now throws herself into marriage and er, the… marriage chamber,” she added in a whisper, earning a dark glare from Bridget.

“Behave. Come, tonight is about something else entirely.”

“Yes, that is why I began this conversation in the first place, for I wished to issue a caution. Oomph!” Emily was not permitted to say anymore.

Their father, Edward Lock, the Earl of Pratt, arrived behind them in the ballroom, having finished his introductions with their hosts for the evening. He had barreled headlong into them and nearly knocked them both over. Fortunately, Bridget was always so sure of her composure and standing that she didn’t waver, even when Emily was in danger of pulling them both over.

“Now, girls, to business I think,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Business indeed,” Emily muttered wryly. “I am still not certain about this.”

“We discussed this, Emily.” Her father walked around her, revealing the same rich brown hair tones that could be seen in both Rachel’s and Bridget’s hair.

There were aspects of his face that Emily thought were a little more like her own. The sloping nose and high cheekbones were much the same as hers. Whereas these features aided him to age very well, on Emily, they were rather fine, not that she thought herself any great beauty. She merely knew she was at least not the most awful-looking lady of the ton.

“Yes, I remember discussing it,” Emily said tightly, forcing a smile for her father’s sake and Bridget’s. Both Edward and Bridget looked at one another with amused smiles. “I do not remember agreeing to the conclusions you two drew.”

“Do you think it hurts her? To hold such an expression for so long?” Edward asked mischievously, pretending to whisper to Bridget.

“She would never own it if it did,” Bridget laughed and shook her head. “Do smile properly, Emily, or as Mother Rachel would say, the wind will change, and you’ll be stuck that way forever.”

“Fine, then I shall do this instead.” She revealed a harsh frown indeed. “I am not convinced, Father, that you are ushering Bridget into the best of marriage betrothals.”

There! I have said my piece.

Yet Emily had plenty more she would gladly add to the discussion. When Edward had first posited the idea that it was time Bridget married, now that Rachel had been wedded for a year, everyone had been eager to see a match, even Bridget in her own timid way. Their brother-in-law, Daniel, had been interested in the idea too, but issued caution for Bridget’s sake.

“Our brother-in-law never uttered such wise words as when he declared that your husband should be a man of wisdom, Bridget. Who else would appreciate you for who you are? Anyone gregarious, or God forbid, foolish! Well, they would not do for you.”

“And she thinks Rachel is the protective sister,” Edward pointed out to Bridget, who laughed once more.

“Father, please—”

“I see they are here already.” Edward looked somewhere off through the ballroom. “He is here now with his mother.”

Emily at once craned her neck, desperate for a view of the man that was to marry her sister. She’d heard much of him, especially from those in her friendship group that were fond of gossip and the scandal sheets, but she had never seen him herself.

“I will be back shortly, girls.” Edward left before Emily could voice any further complaints. She tried her best to catch a glimpse of the mysterious man but had no luck. All she could see were the sea of heads, both of ladies and gentlemen, as they hurried either to the dance floor or to enjoy the vast displays of food and liquor that had been laid out in crystal glasses and great towering cake stands, built like towers.

“Can you see him?” Emily whispered.

“No, but I shall see him soon enough.” In contrast, Bridget did not seem too interested in searching for her betrothed. She looked down instead, hung her head and adjusted the sleeves of her gloves in her usual self-conscious way.

“How tempted are you to run to the shadows of the room where you usually like to hide?” Emily asked her, knowing her sister well. Bridget didn’t answer but offered a knowing smile. “Yes, yes, I know. I know you too well.”

Sensing her opportunity, Emily pulled on her sister’s arm tighter and led her to one such dark corner of the room, away from the prying eyes of anyone new that could be walking into the ballroom.

“Sister, please, I beg you to reconsider this. Marrying this man… oh, there is so much that could go wrong.” All of the complaints that had come before fell from her lips again now. Before, they had been brushed under the carpet, either by her father, Rachel, or even Daniel; at least alone, she could speak to Bridget and know her words would be heard. “He is a known rake.”

“Yes, everyone has told me as such,” Bridget said, though there was a tightness around her lips that suggested she was not completely comfortable with the idea. “He needs to marry. He has agreed to the match.”

“Yet what of your own happiness?” Emily asked, gesturing wildly. “Believe me, sister. Rakes are amusing company. Yes indeed, they know how to flirt, how to make a lady smile, and…” She trailed off as Bridget quirked her eyebrow. “Do not look at me like that.”

“I fear now I am the one turning into Rachel. I’m wondering exactly how many dark corners of your own you have crept off into and come across a rake. If I knew the answer, would you be married already?” Bridget asked, that smile returning.

“I am not answering that question,” Emily shook her head firmly.

Even from her debut ball, Emily hadn’t seen what all the fuss was about and was happy to stay completely still like a statue in ballrooms or ignore interesting men’s company. More than once had she entertained the idea of a courtship that had not come to pass, and it would be a lie to say she did not know what a kiss was like. She’d had a couple, and that’s all she would admit to, though even the memory of the second incident was a little hazy.

I am part to blame for that one.

“The point is that rakes do not make good husbands. The chances of them being faithful to you are slim indeed. I know you have read the stories about this gentleman as much as I have. Pray, tell me you realize what situation you are agreeing to if you go ahead with this match?” Emily waited with bated breath, desperate to have her sister’s agreement.

“I know what I have agreed to,” Bridget adopted a serious tone and reached for Emily’s hand, patting it between her own. “Do not make yourself ill with your concern for me.”

“That’s like telling Rachel not to be worried. As impossible as it is not to breathe.”

“Yes, I take your point,” Bridget continued tapping her hand and stepped forward farther still. She was exceedingly pretty, to the point that though Emily had often been called the beautiful sister, she thought Bridget was actually the prettiest. She had a sweetness to her face that neither she nor Rachel had, in her bold if rather unorthodox, good looks. Along with Bridget’s excessively good heart, her benevolence and her humility, Emily knew she deserved the best gentleman in the world.

That gentleman, whomever he may be, will certainly be no rake!

“You must not worry about me. I have agreed to the match, as has he. Not everyone ends up in as loving or as happy a marriage as our sister has. Believe me, Emily, I am perfectly content.”

“Then I shall do all the worrying for you.”

“I thought you might.”

“I shall,” Emily said again, with emphasis, drawing another laugh from her sister’s lips.

“Worry for yourself.” Bridget nodded her head across the ballroom. “For there is one coming your way this minute who we both know will be more than a little forward when he reaches you.”

Emily didn’t need to hear the name or see the face to know who was coming, but she looked around on an impulse regardless.

“You remember when we went to see Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream?” Emily asked, wrinkling her nose as she stared at the gentleman walking toward her. He was over twice her age, with an excessively long face, and a chin that was more akin to a horse’s snout.

“Of course.”

“Well, the character of Bottom does rather remind me of Lord Gilchrist. Especially when his head is transformed into that of a donkey.”

Bridget laughed into her hand, in a way that showed she knew she shouldn’t find such audacious things funny, but she truly did.

“Forgive me whilst I escape, sister,” Emily whispered to her. “I will not risk another dance with him again. The last time, goodness, if Father had seen where he reached for me then we would be arranging my marriage right now.”

“Then run, swiftly, and when you return, I shall have met my husband-to-be.”

The words gave Emily pause. She hesitated, looking back at her sister, then tried to contend with Bridget’s insistent tone.

She is content to marry this man, even if I fear it will be a disaster. Oh, my poor sister. I pray you are the one who is right and that I am wrong.

Emily turned on her heel, and before the overzealous attentions of Lord Gilchrist could find her, she slipped out of the ballroom side door and into a darkened corridor.

* * *

“Now, the time is here, my darling. I hope you are ready.”

“As ready as you are when I invite you to play a game of shuttlecock,” Jacob said tightly. His sarcasm didn’t get him far. His mother, Catarina, turned to the nearest drinks table and poured a rather excessively large glass of claret.

“Drink that. They call it Dutch courage and it might give you some right now.”

“Thanks.” Jacob took a hearty gulp of the claret.

Why did I agree to this again?

Despite the complaint, he remembered why he had said yes to marrying a woman he had never met in his life. It had nothing to do with the lady or her own situation, and everything to do with his own.

It must be done, even if I am dreading this moment.

“You make it sound as if I am about to introduce you to Medusa herself,” Catarina glared at him.

She was tall, just like him, though he was taller still. Her blue eyes were a mirror image of his own, but their hair was shockingly different and captured attention for different reasons. Where Catrina had dark auburn hair, that was still not graying despite her advanced years, Jacob bore rich dark brown hair. It had a habit of always falling perfectly, without him having to try very much, tangling around his ears a little longer than many gentlemen thought was fashionable.

“Medusa? God, I hope not.” Jacob shook his head and looked down at the claret glass in his hand, startled to find it was empty in his palm. “Did I drink all of this already?”

“Yes,” Catarina took the glass sharply out of his grasp. “You have the red wine mustache to prove it.”

He chuckled and lifted a handkerchief from the pocket of his tailcoat, dabbing his bare upper lip to get rid of the wine smudge.

“You remember why you agreed to this, do you not?” Catarina asked, not looking at him, but returning the glass to the table. She did something he had so often seen her do, ever since he was a child. She readjusted the glasses on the table, until they were all perfectly aligned. One glass seemed more difficult than the others to place, and she moved it repeatedly until it was perfectly placed, with no wrinkles in the tablecloth around it.

“I remember.” His voice grew deep and somber. Quite frankly, he would have agreed to anything if it meant assuaging his mother’s nervous habits after all this time, but he doubted even marriage would help at this point.

When she picked up another empty glass and laid it in a perfect line alongside the others, he laid a hand over the rims of the glasses, capturing her attention. The shallow wrinkles in the skin of her cheeks suddenly furrowed deeper.

“I know. I’m doing it again.” She released the glasses completely.

“It does not matter.” Jacob tried to brush it off.

The only other person he’d spoken to in this world about his mother’s fears for him and her nervous habits was his good friend, Seth Miller, the Marquess of Ramsbury. Seth had pointed out long ago that the more Jacob drew attention to such things, the more it made his mother panic about what she did. Best to downplay it and make it seem like no great matter at all.

Nevertheless, Jacob shifted the glasses away from her, so she could not do it again.

“Now. You should come and meet her. It’s time.” His mother turned to face him, clasping her hands together, her excitement palpable.

“I need five minutes first.” The words escaped his lips before he really knew what he was doing. “Just to gather myself, a breath of fresh air, you know.”

“I rather hoped the claret would have made you courageous enough. I pray you are not planning to make a run for it the moment you are outside.” Her beady eyes narrowed on him, that glacial blue rather shocking, like glass marbles.

“I promise to return. I just need a minute.” He laid a hand on his mother’s shoulder in reassurance. “There is nothing to worry about. I shall be back soon.”

His mother waited, said nothing, and offered one of those tight-lipped looks that told him her mind was full of all her nervous worries again, then she magically shifted them and offered a small nod with a smile.

“Yes, of course. I shall see you in a minute or two then.”

Jacob turned and left his mother’s side, hurrying across the insanely busy room as he aimed for a door. As he went, faces turned toward him. Many ladies’ eyes shifted to admire him. He’d seen those looks before and knew what they meant. Either they hoped to be the one woman that could saddle him into marriage, or they knew his reputation and dreamed of one night only with him.

I cannot think of such things tonight. From now on… I will be a married man.

Uncertain what to think or feel about the situation, he hurried rapidly through a door, moving so quickly that he barely noticed he was suddenly in a completely pitch-black corridor, with no candles or footmen. Evidently, it was a door that guests were not supposed to use.

He strode through it, sighing heavily and glad to have escaped his mother for a few minutes, but in the darkness, he could not see where he was going. There was merely a sliver of moonlight at the end of the corridor, filtering through a window. The soft gray light fell on the bottom of the stairs and what he perceived to be some sort of marble statue.

Then he tripped on something and fell straight into the statue.

“Oh!”

Wait… that is no statue.