Chapter 1

1

February 1817, London, England

E lizabeth held the leather journal in her hands, that blasted book from all those years ago when she and her friends—who affectionately referred to themselves as the wallflowers—had vowed to never marry.

Except now Hannah was not only wed, but also in a delicate way, and Elizabeth had drawn the bit of paper declaring she was next to break the oath.

Of course, Hannah had looked radiant with her skin glowing with good health and her eyes bright with undeniable happiness, hand resting on her swollen middle, as though she could caress the child within.

Elizabeth did not want that life, one with children she would embarrass and a husband who would likely roll his eyes at her clumsiness.

But her friends were not the only ones who had an eye toward Elizabeth finally marrying. Her sisters had been nattering on for the last three hours about a ball being held by Lady Gentry, her first of the season. They’d been speaking louder and louder, their gazes intentionally wandering toward Elizabeth. She was no fool—she knew what they were on about.

Elizabeth sighed and closed her book, trying to ignore the burgeoning dread filling the pit of her stomach. After all, she couldn’t exactly concentrate with their antics. She eyed her sisters. “I know what you’re doing.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Grace asked, batting her lashes innocently.

“Maybe she wants to come to the ball?” Kitty suggested hopefully. She was the youngest of the three sisters, and eager to participate as this was her first season.

“Are you so eager to be married off?” Elizabeth teased.

Kitty’s cheeks flushed, setting off the warmth in her brown eyes and brown hair. “I should like to flirt first.”

“Kitty,” Grace chided even as Elizabeth laughed at their younger sister’s cheek.

“Well, you just want to attend so you can see Harold.” Kitty drawled out the last word, letting it drip from her lips with a honeyed tone, then she placed the back of her hand on her brow and pretended to swoon.

“Yes, well, Harold means to propose if someone would finally set herself on finding someone to marry.” Grace looked pointedly at Elizabeth.

It was true, Viscount Scorbridge had been courting Grace for the past year, occupying her entire attention through the season and expressed his intention to do so again this year. There had been comments made when he attended dinner, of his plan to propose when ‘the right opportunity presented itself.’

‘The right opportunity’ being Elizabeth clearing the way for her sister by becoming engaged herself.

Elizabeth brushed off the complaint. “I simply haven’t found the right man yet.” Her guilt, however, was harder to set aside.

Besides, her statement wasn’t a lie. She hadn’t found the right man yet. Whomever she married—if she did—would have to love her, the way Darcy loved Elizabeth Bennet or Romeo loved Juliet. She wanted a man who loved her exactly for who she was, who wouldn’t roll their eyes or offer a deprecating remark at her clumsiness. Every woman deserved that, and she was no different. And she wanted a man she could love in return, one who made her burn with a fierce passion, who made her crave every second she spent with him. Perhaps even one who handled her direct questions and even read the occasional novel so they might discuss the characters and stories together.

Likely what she wanted would never exist, and so she was perfectly content to be exactly who she was on her own.

Grace crossed her arms over her chest. “You’ll never meet anyone if you don’t attend balls.”

“If I don’t attend balls, there will be no one to see me trip,” Elizabeth countered.

“You could join us for just this one at least…” Now Kitty was the one trying to feign innocence, her hands clasped behind her back as she twisted side to side, her gaze imploring.

“And you can’t say you haven’t a thing to wear.” Grace put a finger up in the air as if to stop Elizabeth from speaking. “Madame Banner has already delivered every item Mama ordered, and I know for certain she had several ballgowns made especially for you.”

Elizabeth was aware. She’d stood stiffly through countless fittings as velvets and silks were swathed over her body and careful hands pinned and unpinned various styles and embellishments.

Their mother meant to see Elizabeth married this year, if it was the last thing she did. Already Mama was appalled that four seasons had passed without a single proposal for her eldest daughter.

Elizabeth was well aware she had been a disappointment.

Now everyone in her life, including her dearest fellow wallflowers, were insisting she wed.

Anxiety pinched at her chest. “Very well,” she conceded. “I’ll attend, but don’t go lifting your hopes that I’ll find some dashing man to sweep me off my feet.”

“Yes, you will once you show up in that blue velvet gown with the red silk roses.” Grace’s wide blue eyes sparkled, most likely already planning Elizabeth’s engagement, and then subsequently her own.

Elizabeth offered a tight smile, knowing full well the only one sweeping her off her feet would be herself, as she tripped down the stairs or committed some other graceless folly.

What a night to dread.

Jasper Fitzroy, the fifth Earl of Darington, contemplated the underside of the canopy over his bed, his mind ticking through a list of items to see to that day. An abrupt knock came from the door.

Jasper frowned and examined the pocket watch on his nightstand, revealing the hour to be just after nine in the morning. Early for most, but even for him. Then again, Lord Ranford kept him up into the early hours of the morning, cajoling him into sharing “just one more drink” as he went on and on about a gentleman Jasper didn’t even know.

“Forgive me, my lord.” The voice on the other side of the door was clearly Jasper’s valet, Hughes. “You have a visitor.”

“At nine in the morning?” Jasper asked, incredulous.

Wasn’t it a bit early for mothers to be forcing their way into his home under feigned excuses to mention their eligible daughters? Whoever named him the most eligible bachelor of the season—again—was decidedly his least favorite person in London. Of all the bloody stupid titles…

“The dowager is here, my lord,” Hughes replied.

Jasper frowned. What the devil was his grandmother doing in London?

“I thought she’d retired to the country,” Jasper called out from his bed.

“It appears retirement is subjective, my lord.”

“Best come in before she hears you.” Jasper sat up as the door to his bedchamber opened. “She’ll never forgive you if she does.”

Hughes entered the room, head lifted with his haughty manner. “She’ll always forgive me, my lord.”

Jasper snorted. “You’re not wrong and you’re damn lucky for it.”

“Yes, my lord.” Hughes set the tray of tea on Jasper’s dressing table. “The blue jacket this morning?”

Within the short side of a half hour, Jasper was properly dressed and shaved. Hughes could shave a man faster than anyone and with greater care than a barber who took three times as long.

And considering how much time the estate required of Jasper these days, every second counted.

His grandmother was waiting in the parlor with a steaming cup of tea and an assortment of pastries in front of her.

“Good morning, Bess.” He swept toward her, arms open to embrace her.

“You ought to call me Grandmother.” She pushed to her feet with the aid of a silver-topped cane and let him wrap his arms gently about her slender frame.

There was a floral fragrance about her, like roses. A sweet scent making him recall when she’d taken him in at her summer estate when he’d been a young teen. After his elder brother, Benjamin, had died and Mother hadn’t forgiven Jasper. An ache nipped inside his chest and he pulled away.

“You’re not nearly ancient enough to be addressed by anyone as ‘Grandmother.’” He popped a pastry in his mouth and almost spat it out. The thing was dry and crumbling in his mouth, sticking in his throat even as he tried to swallow it down with a gulp of scorching tea.

“You smooth-tongued scoundrel.” Bess smirked and shook her head. “Haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

“Ever steady.” He flashed her a grin and poured a bit more tea.

“I see your cook hasn’t changed either.” She grimaced at the offerings on the pastry tray.

“I haven’t time to deal with such things.” Jasper considered a jam-filled pastry, wondering if it would be as bad. His stomach growled and he took a risk, biting gingerly. The jam was so tart, his eyes watered and he set the remainder aside.

Bess lowered herself to the sofa and regarded him with a raised brow. “Don’t act as if you enjoyed that.”

“Oh, it was entirely awful, but better than nothing.”

“Is it?” She looked toward the garden, blanketed in snow save for a few scraggly branches jutting out from the sea of white. “You know if you had a wife, she could see to such matters for you.”

Jasper lifted his cup of tea and sipped in an effort to stave off the chill in the room, sipping more carefully this time after having scalded his tongue earlier. He hummed in acknowledgment that she’d spoken, though he scarcely agreed.

“Word has it, you’ve been named the season’s most eligible bachelor.” Bess smiled proudly at him.

Jasper rolled his eyes. “ Et tu, Brute ?”

“Oh, do go on with your theatrics,” she chastised. “This is not the first time. How many times have you been named the most eligible bachelor? Three years? Four? Isn’t it about time you use that honor to find a bride?”

“Honor.” Jasper scoffed at the word. “And if I’m no longer a bachelor, I cannot continue to hold the title.” He set his teacup down. “I’m aiming for a ten-year streak. A decade has a nice ring to it, does it not?”

“It has a horrible ring to it.” Bess said with exasperation. “One that reverberates with the sad fact that my life is one without a single great-grandchild.”

Ah, this again. Jasper swallowed his impatient sigh more readily than he had the burning tea.

She reached for him. “Jasper, you have an obligation?—”

As soon as the word obligation was out of her mouth, she stopped, knowing she’d said the wrong thing.

Heat flared in Jasper’s cheeks. He set his teacup down, minding not to do so with too much force. She hadn’t meant that word.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

He nodded, his shoulders relaxing. And she was sorry. She knew what that word meant to him, how deeply it cut into wounds that would never heal.

This obligation never should have been his. Benjamin should have been earl, the way his parents had wanted. Father never thought Jasper was worthy of the role.

“Jasper,” Bess said softly. “I’m dying.”

His head jerked toward her in shock. In this entire world, she was the only person who cared for him. The only person who had ever bloody well cared about him.

His mother had seen him as a playmate for his brother, a guardian. His father saw him simply as the spare heir should anything happen to his oldest son. And Benjamin only ever saw him as a nuisance.

Having Bess retire to the country had been hard enough; to know Jasper might only see her once a year, if that. He’d come to rely on her counsel in years past.

When he’d been a boy, he’d given his love and trust freely and without restraint. Both had been crushed. In the years he’d known her, Bess was the only person he knew he could trust with his thoughts and his heart.

Imagining a life without her was a cold, stark world indeed.

He narrowed his eyes, assessing her appearance for signs of illness.

Her dark eyes were clear and sharp as ever, a healthy flush tinged her cheeks, and she looked as though she’d put on a bit more weight lately, padding her otherwise too-thin frame.

The realization suddenly occurred to him: she was lying.

He turned his head, gazing askance at her. “You are not dying.”

She tsked. “Of course I am, I’m old.”

“Not so very old.”

“Well, nearer to death than I have been to birth in many decades.” She sighed and stared at him. “I want to see great-grandchildren before I die, Jasper. Being as you barely attended two events this season?—”

“How would you even know that?” He almost grabbed the remainder of the jam tart, but thought better of it. “And the season only started a fortnight ago.”

Bess quieted his outburst with a lift of her brow. “I may not live in London, but I have many acquaintances who have remained.”

Old biddies who linger on the fringes of ballrooms, critiquing the food and decor while sharing gossip on prospective couples. Old women with nothing but endless stretches of time to meddle.

How very irritating.

Bess clasped her hands over the top of her cane. “If you do not go to balls, you will never find a young lady to wed.”

“I haven’t even received any recent inv?—”

But Bess pulled out an envelope from some hidden pocket in the frilly gray frock she wore. “Oh, would you look at this? An invitation to Lady Gentry’s ball tonight!”

“That was from my desk in my office.” Irritation prickled up his neck. “I dare say, did Hughes give you that?” Jasper looked behind him where Hughes peered around the doorway and promptly disappeared, a guilty party to be sure.

Bess simply lifted her chin with a benign expression and said, “I do not reveal my sources.”

So, definitely Hughes then.

“Please.” Bess’s face softened. “Please just go and try to find a young woman with whom you might find some semblance of affection.”

Jasper resisted the urge to sulk. Bess never asked anything of him. And it was only one ball.

“I won’t live forever.” She spoke in a feeble voice.

“That’s laying it on a bit thick, don’t you think?” he muttered.

“I can go thicker.” She extended the invitation toward him, her hand trembling as she gave a weak cough.

“Oh, do stop this nonsense.” He snatched the invitation from her. “We both know you’re immortal.”

“I’ll be no such thing until I have a great-grandchild.” She perked up immediately and beamed a smile in his direction. “And until I see you happily wed to a young woman, I’ll be remaining in London.”

He nodded distractedly, already dreading the night.

“In fact, I’ll be staying here,” she added. “To ensure you actually try to find a wife.”

He lifted the invitation toward her. “I take it you’ll be joining me?”

“Of course. How else could I provide my opinion on who would be a suitable match for you.” Her eyes sparkled. “This is going to be such fun.”

But Jasper knew that despite having his grandmother close to him once more, the process of her procuring a wife for him would be decidedly not fun.