Chapter 1

“Four weeks before Christmas,” Callum said miserably as he looked out of the window. In his mind, he completed the sentence. Two weeks of travelling, two weeks of Mama’s tiresome house party, and then just another week before my marriage.

The snow falling outside the window caught his grey-eyed gaze and he stared at it, mesmerised by the feathery flakes that fluttered down. Once, he would have been outside, revelling in the beauty of winter. Instead, he sat in his study and tried to create some order before the event of his wedding—an event to which he did not look forward. He had made the choice for reasons of business only. He had never even met Miss Rothwell before.

Her father informed me that she is beautiful and sweet-natured, he thought with a frown. But that does not have to be true. He took a breath, composing himself. Her looks did not matter. Her personality did not matter either. All that mattered was that her family had the country’s most eminent and well-stocked stables. And he needed access to those stables.

Drawing his mind back from that uncomfortable future, he turned to Mr Radwell, his stable master, who sat opposite him at the desk. “When did we own a horse called Stewart?” he asked. The entry in the breeding book for a hunting stallion named Stewart was recent, but Callum did not recall him.

“We did not, Your Grace,” Mr Radwell replied cautiously.

“Beg pardon?” Callum asked, eyes widening.

“We did not. That says “Starburst”. Your father’s handwriting was always a little crabbed,” the older man added, his brow creasing fastidiously.

Callum clenched his strong, square jaw. He had a naturally reserved, cool disposition and he never normally struggled with his temper, but of late even small things annoyed him. He had five weeks before his life changed unimaginably, and before that, he had his mother’s Christmas party to contend with. He had a great deal on his mind.

“Very well,” he said tightly. “Yes, I recall Starburst. He used to be stabled alongside Hugh.” His mood softened as he thought of the horses at the time that the late duke—his late father—had been in charge of the breeding program.

“Beside Buttercup.”

“Yes.” Callum’s expression lightened. He had been in the stables from as early as he could remember. “Roger,” he said softly, saying the names of the horses in order. “Meadowsweet, Amberleigh, Hugh, Blaze…”

“Starburst, Buttercup, Smoke, Lilac.” The stable master completed the sequence, nodding as if he, too, had fond memories of the times when the former duke had overseen the breeding at Stallenwood Park.

Callum inclined his head. The names had been a litany, a sort of incantation from his childhood. When he had said them, his father had always turned and smiled. Good fellow, his father had always said, praising his small son.

Callum’s heart twisted at the memory. His feelings for his late father had changed from admiration to confusion, to despisal and then to sorrow. He had thought his father was the best person in the world—a distant, wise hero who knew everything about horses and about life. When Callum found out, when he was eighteen, that his late father had left the family massively in debt, that he had been unable to stop gambling and that he had hidden that from everyone, his admiration changed to contempt. He had spent much of the intervening ten years hating his father, working to save the family from ruin. It was only recently that he had allowed himself to miss his father. He might have been complex and confusing, but he had a grin that could light up the darkest night.

“Mayhap you could confirm the information about the latest foals for me?” Callum asked, pointing to the most recent entries. He could not recall what any of them looked like, even though the entries were his own. That fact annoyed him. He was about to join forces with the owners of the finest Arabian bloodline in England, and he should at least know the history of his own stable.

What will the Honourable Miss Rothwell think of me? He thought wryly.

The Honourable Miss Rothwell was the woman whom he was going to marry. Her father, Viscount Cranfield, owned the best Arabian horses in the country. It was for that reason that he had agreed to the match. That reason alone. He needed access to those stables, and Miss Rothwell’s father was only going to grant that access to family.

Callum pushed his chair back and put the book down. As he did, the door opened. He tensed instantly. He had issued strict instructions that he was not to be disturbed.

“Who is...” he barked, but before he could complete the sentence, his mother, the dowager duchess, breezed in.

“It is I, Callum. There is no need to raise your voice,” she said tightly. Her blue eyes fixed him with a hard stare. Her face was a long oval, her mouth set in a grim, firm line. Her white hair was drawn back beneath a tasteful grey silk turban, her dress the same dark grey. Her expression was so determined that Callum almost smiled. She looked exactly like himself in that moment. Besides his stronger jaw, only their eyes were different—his eyes were grey like his father’s had been, whereas hers were pale blue.

“Mother, may I ask why you are here?” Callum said a little tightly. “I asked not to be disturbed.”

“Radwell, out,” his mother said to the stable master, inclining her head towards the door. Mr Radwell glanced at Callum, but stood and pushed back his chair, going to the door. He went through it silently, swinging it closed behind him.

“Mother?” Callum demanded, his back tense with anger. “Mr Radwell and I have not concluded our business. I required his assistance. And I did very clearly ask not to be disturbed this morning,” he added in a cold tone.

“I am not disturbing,” his mother said lightly. “I am coming in to tell you that luncheon is ready and that I wish to discuss the plans for the house party. Since you are insisting on thwarting my plans, you might as well help me to reconstruct them.” Her voice was tight, her mouth set in a hard line.

“Mother...” Callum protested, the headache he had been ignoring pressing tight into his temples. “I am not thwarting your plans. I am merely expressing my own wishes.”

“Preference! For that nobody of a woman who comes from some unheard-of hole in the countryside! Is that what you call it? I call it a lack of any sort of protocol and decency.”

“Mother.” Callum interrupted, his voice like a whip cracking. “I have told you a hundred times. I am making a sound business choice. The viscount has the best Arabian horses. We have none. Since I cannot travel to Arabia to select some for myself, I am forced to select them from his stable. Which is why I am choosing to unite myself with their family.” He sniffed. That was all that mattered.

“Surely there is some other way to obtain your precious bloodlines! You cannot make that person the duchess. I will not see it happen in my lifetime.”

Callum glared. “This is not a matter about the future duchess, Mother. This is about our stables . The Stanhope bloodlines have always been among the best in England. I wish that to continue. It is the one thing I can maintain from...how things were,” Callum concluded roughly. He had inherited an estate in ruins. He had sold off parts of what he had inherited, including a great deal of property like the London house, in order to repay the debts. The estate he maintained was a third smaller than what he had inherited. The least he could do was to maintain the family status as the best horse-breeders in England.

“What nonsense!” His mother dismissed his words. “It is the future duchess that you have chosen! And you have made a terrible choice. A nobody, from some wretched provincial backwater. When you could have had a celebrated debutante from London’s highest circles! I...”

“Stop. Please ,” Callum shouted. He tensed. He hated raising his voice. His father had raised his voice, sometimes, and Callum had sworn to himself that he would not be that kind of man. He wanted to control himself. But his mother pushed him beyond all reason.

“I will take luncheon, then,” his mother said in a small, tight voice, her blue eyes widening with shock. She looked down at the floor, apparently wounded by his anger. “You seem indisposed to company.” She turned and went through the door.

Callum sat down, exhausted, at his desk. All his energy had drained out of him.

“Heavens help me,” he said silently, a prayer for divine guidance. He had struggled with his beliefs after his father's passing, but if he had ever needed help, it was with his current decisions. He had never once met Miss Rothwell, and he could not care less what she looked like, what her character was like, or whether her family were acceptable. He had long ago decided that he was never going to trust anyone outside his family with any kind of affection.

“I do not care about anything else. I just need those horses,” he whispered.

He looked up as someone tapped on the door. He drew a breath, about to shout at whoever it was, but someone spoke through the wood.

“Callum? Brother? Are you here?”

“Harriet,” Callum called, going towards the door. “Come in. Do,” he added. Harriet opened the door and slipped in. Her clover-honey hair tumbled around her shoulders; her blue eyes wide. Her face was slim, like his, but she had their mother’s shorter, smaller nose instead of his long, thin one and a neat, pointed chin. She frowned.

“Callum. Are you quite well?” she asked softly.

Callum sighed. “I think you heard that our mother was just in here,” he said carefully. He did not want to lay all his worries on Harriet’s slight shoulders. At twenty, she should be enjoying her life, revelling in being newly out in society. Callum had never had the time to enjoy his youth—at eighteen, he had become the duke, and all the responsibilities of the household had settled on his shoulders.

“Was she terribly horrid?” Harriet asked, her nose wrinkling.

Callum smiled. “You know Mother. A navy captain would have a hard time bossing her about.” He could talk openly with his sister like that, with no fear of any misunderstanding. She loved their mother, as he did; and she understood full well that she could be difficult sometimes.

She nodded. “Even a big navy captain. Like Uncle Gerald.”

Callum chuckled. “Yes. Even he would think twice before making any kind of argument with Mother.” Their uncle was a commodore in the navy, and even he tended to avoid any direct conflict with the formidable Duchess of Stallenwood.

Harriet laughed. She went to the door and Callum thought that perhaps he had avoided laying any worries on her, but at the door, she frowned up at him.

“Are you uneasy about tomorrow?” she asked him.

Callum sighed. “Not particularly, no,” he answered softly. In truth, he was worried, but he was not about to tell his sister that fact. The next day, he was departing on a week-long ride to Sussex, to meet with the viscount, and to make the acquaintance of Miss Rothwell.

“Oh, good,” his sister said with a smile. “I cannot wait to meet her.”

“Mm.” Callum smiled at her, though his thoughts were elsewhere. “That’s good, sister,” he said gently. “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to attend to these wretched books.”

“Of course, brother,” Harriet said with a grin. “But do eat something. It’s cold today.”

Callum smiled fondly at Harriet as she went to the door. “I will,” he promised her. She grinned at him—a breathtaking, dazzling grin—and then went out into the hallway.

Callum sighed and sat down at his desk. His heart was heavy. He was going to make a commitment the next day, and he had still not really obtained his mother’s blessing. She was fighting him, and the last thing he needed was fights.

I wonder what she looks like, he thought idly, recalling Harriet’s excitement to see her. He pushed the thought away. It did not matter to him, as he had told his mother. The horses and the future of the Stallenwood stables were all that mattered. He ran his gaze across the line of entries in the breeding book, focusing on the task at hand so that he could be ready to speak to the viscount when he finally met with him at his home after a week of riding.