Chapter One

Erdington Estate

March 1814

“Oh, let’s not walk in the south gardens today, Rose. I can’t bear the view of the house at the moment,” Harriet protested.

She and Rose had just stepped out of Erdington Manor house onto broad, mossy paving. Erdington was Harriet’s childhood home. Rose had been her close friend since the two met at finishing school. That had been before the death of Harriet’s father and the entailment of Erdington to the closest male heir. The heir being Harriet’s distant cousin, Simon.

The terrace that they walked across led to wide, stone steps, flanked by carved balustrades leading down to the famous gardens. The once-famous gardens. To go with the once-famous house. But time had not been kind to either the Erdington estate or its masters.

“Nonsense, Harry. I love walking in the rose garden. The scent is incredible at this time of year,” Rose enthused.

“But the house looks so woebegone with all that scaffolding around it,” Harriet said.

“Then don’t look at it,” Rose shrugged.

She set off across the patio towards the steps. The two young women were night and day apart. Harriet was petite and fair-haired with full cheeks that flushed at a moment’s notice. Rose had straight dark hair cascading down her back and dark eyes in a pale, pretty face.

“I didn’t come all the way from Tedbury to sit indoors, Harry,” Rose said over her shoulder as she skipped down the steps.

Harriet grumbled but caught up with the other woman, leading the way down into the gardens. They were not the works of art they had once been, a century before when the manor had been in the hands of her great-grandfather. The rose beds were still spectacular, with the plants flowering in profusion and reaching across the gravel paths which were supposed to separate different beds. Statues of famous Worthinghams were splotched with mildew and becoming gradually entwined with ivy.

“Take a deep breath. Isn’t that wonderful?” Rose said.

“It is. I just don’t like the sight that I know is behind me,” Harriet replied.

Rose looked back over Harriet’s shoulder towards the house and made a sympathetic face.

“It is rather ugly. I don’t actually see any workmen though. Just the scaffolds.”

Harriet swung around despite herself. The workingmen employed by Simon had been hard at work when she had woken that morning. Their incessant hammering had actually woken her earlier than she had intended. But Rose’s arrival for brunch had been enough to forestall the ill mood such a rude awakening would usually bring about. Their time spent catching up after several months apart had taken her mind from the work completely.

“I had not noticed that they had stopped. Were they working during brunch?” Harriet asked, frowning.

“I didn’t notice either. I was more interested in being reunited with my best friend,” Rose said playfully.

Harriet smiled distractedly. “It is the middle of the day and the repairs are important. There is a veritable river flowing through the third-floor library from the leaking roof. This worries me. Rose, would it be terrible of me to want to speak to Simon to find out what is happening?”

Rose grimaced but linked her arm with Harriet’s.

“A terrible imposition. But let’s do it anyway. You will not be happy until the mystery is solved.”

She laughed and the merry tinkle of the familiar sound brought a genuine smile to Harriet’s lips. Rose had always had the knack of doing that, which was precisely why she did it. As they walked back to the house, their abortive stroll in the gardens ended, and Rose leaned close.

“Is it really bad, Harry? The…um…situation?”

She looked worried and Harriet had no desire to lie to her in order to spare her concerns.

“Simon and I do our best to keep it from Eleanor but…every day seems to bring fresh evidence of papa’s cavalier attitude to money. And the pit we are sliding into gets a little deeper,” Harriet said.

“Oh dear. And I thought Lord Worthingham was such an adept businessman. My own papa was immensely proud that I was attending the same finishing school as the daughter of Worthingham. He always respected the ability to make money over all things.”

Rose made a face to show her opinion of such an attitude. Harriet sighed.

“Papa was a good and kind man. Too kind it seems. What he made through his estates and businesses, he lost through his charitable spirit. Simon is practically tearing his hair out.”

Rose squeezed her friend’s arm in an attempt to comfort her. They entered the wide drawing room through French doors that looked out onto the patio. The room beyond was mostly shrouded by dust sheets, the majority of the furniture covered as the room was part of a wing that Simon had closed, in order to allow some of the household staff to be released. Harriet had a master key and had intended to show Rose the south aspect until she remembered the sorry state of the house.

They hurried through the high-ceilinged room with its ceiling of chandeliers and elaborate plaster moldings. The wallpaper was a fine silk print of turquoise and gold, and the carpet, a royal blue. It had been Lord and Lady Worthingham’s favorite room. Passing through and locking the door behind them, the two women walked along hallways with bare patches on the walls, where pictures had been sold.

Finally, crossing the still-grand entrance hall and entering the Breakfast Room, they came across the new Lord Worthingham of Erdington. Simon had fair hair and a round face with blue eyes. His face was creased in concentration. One hand held a coffee cup with the air of having forgotten it was there. The other lay across a document filled with tight-packed columns of figures. His eyes darted back and forth.

“Simon, dear. Where are the workmen?” Harriet asked.

“God’s blood but I would like there to be one person in this house who does not ask me that question. They have downed tools because I cannot pay them!” Simon snarled.

Rose stopped short, a hand going to her mouth. Harriet put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow challengingly. Simon colored, putting down his coffee cup and then cursing as the liquid sloshed over the rim of the china.

“My apologies, cousin. And to you, Miss Mantell. I am somewhat distracted. There is a minor cash flow problem that I will resolve.”

Harriet’s face softened and she glanced at Rose, suddenly acutely aware that Simon would not wish to be forthcoming about money worries in front of a stranger. At least, Rose was a stranger to him, if not to Harriet.

“I’m sorry too, Simon. I should have known that you would be hard at work on the problem. You don’t need us cluttering up the place.”

“Actually, I was going to call you in anyway,” Simon said, standing from the table at which he had been sitting and crossing the room to the mantlepiece.

A white envelope had been placed behind the clock which stood there. He took it out and offered it to Harriet.

“Your invitation,” Simon told her.

Harriet frowned. “My invitation to what?”

“We all have one. The Duke of Wrexham is throwing a ball and you, I, and Eleanor are all invited.”

“Oh, how lucky you are Harry. The Duke of Wrexham is one of the wealthiest men in England. And the most sought after. Why, every Lord with an eligible daughter wants to marry her off to him. I had no idea you knew the Bolton family.”

Bolton was the family name of the Dukes of Wrexham. Rose crowded in eagerly to get a look at the invitation, which Harriet carefully removed from the envelope. It was written on stiff, white card with gold lettering in an exquisite hand.

“I didn’t realize we did either,” Harriet said, looking questionably at Simon.

He simply shrugged. “I have a passing acquaintanceship with the family. I will not look a gift horse in the mouth. We are invited and it could be the perfect opportunity to make some important connections. Everyone who is anyone will be there,” Simon said.

“A passing acquaintanceship?” Harriet enquired. “I had no idea, Simon. When did you meet a member of the Boltons?”

Simon waved the question away, returning to his coffee cup and draining it. “It is of no consequence. We are invited and I shall put to Edward Bolton my business plans, and pray that he is willing to invest. It could be the making of us.”

Chapter Two

“Oh, so you also received an invitation, did you?” Eleanor Worthingham said with barely concealed disappointment.

Eleanor was Harriet’s cousin and Simon’s sister. For reasons Harriet did not fully understand, there had always been a rivalry between them. Not on her own part, but from Eleanor towards her. She considered Eleanor to be far prettier than herself and with a more refined and fashionable wardrobe. She was also now a member of the family that owned Erdington.

The entailment that had resulted in the estate falling to Simon as the nearest male heir, instead of Harriet, also meant that Eleanor herself could not inherit. But, she was sister to the new Lord, while Harriet was merely a cousin. In Harriet’s mind, that should have meant that Eleanor would be content but the younger woman never seemed to be. Harriet and Rose had left Simon to his ledgers and his worries. They had ascended to the house’s second floor and the sitting room that Harriet now shared with Eleanor. The small room had once been Eleanor’s alone but she had been forced to share when the room adjoining Harriet’s quarters sprang a leak in the ceiling.

Simon could not afford to have it repaired, though this had been concealed from Eleanor. It meant that she was full of resentment, feeling that Harriet was receiving favorable treatment over herself. It did not make for pleasant company. Eleanor had Simon’s fair hair and blue eyes. But while her older brother had a pleasant, amiable disposition, Eleanor was anything but.

“Good morning, Eleanor,” Harriet said brightly, determined that she would not mirror Eleanor’s hostility.

“Good morning, cousin,” Eleanor replied frostily. “And to you, Miss Mantell.”

Rose gave a bow of her head and then looked to Harriet for permission to sit. Harriet suppressed a smile. Such slights were beyond her to think of but Rose was an adept politician. The moment was not missed by Eleanor, who smiled fixedly as her jaw clenched in irritation.

“And in answer to your question, cousin,” Harriet said, composing her skirts calmly. “Yes, I did receive an invitation of my own. So, I will be joining you and Simon on this occasion.”

And I hope you choke on that fact. You thought that because I have shunned these invitations in the past, I would do so again? I do not have that luxury anymore, though god knows I would rather not be at such an affair.

She actually felt somewhat guilty at the tightly controlled look of chagrin on Eleanor’s face. It simply was not in her nature to enjoy indulging in spiteful behavior. She would much prefer ignoring Eleanor and avoiding these sparring sessions. Sometimes, Eleanor made that difficult.

“I was rather under the impression that you did not care for such…what was it you called it once?” Eleanor feigned a moment of deep thought. “Ah yes, indulgences. I did not think you cared for such frivolous indulgences.”

“A person can change their mind on a subject,” Rose said.

And that is just what I have had to do, Rose dear. For the good of the family, though Eleanor does not know it.

“Indeed, I find that sometimes these social occasions are quite the thing. I find myself quite excited,” Harriet said.

Rose looked at her briefly. Harriet knew her well enough to recognize a thoughtful look of consideration.

She knows that I’m lying but doesn’t know the reason. I must keep my promise to Simon. Oh Rose, don’t you realize, one cannot find a husband without mixing with society. And I cannot help Simon without a husband.

Thankfully, Rose said nothing but merely nodded as though in complete agreement. Eleanor’s face had reddened and she stood abruptly. Harriet raised a cool eyebrow as Eleanor made a visible effort to control her rising anger.

“I will leave the two of you, I have business to attend to if you will excuse me.”

Both Harriet and Rose gave gracious nods of acquiescence and Eleanor left the room. As the door closed behind her and Eleanor’s footsteps withdrew along the bare boards of the hallway, Rose let out a long-suppressed laugh. Harriet made to shush her.

“Oh Harry, however do you put up with such a spoiled brat?” Rose protested.

“By the simple fact that I try to look for the best in everyone,” Harriet replied.

She and Rose looked at each other for a moment, then Harriet laughed. “Everyone, even spoiled brats. No, no, I will not be drawn into laughing at my family behind their backs. Eleanor may be a little childish still, but that is because she is young. Do you remember being eighteen, Rose?”

“I do. Heaven forgive me if I was ever such a little…decorum prevents me from finishing that sentence. More importantly, since when did Harriet Worthingham care about a ball? I expected that you would end up married to a writer or a penniless artist. Are you seeking the approval of the county set?”

Her tone was light but her eyes were sharp. Harriet considered her response. The financial situation of her family was not her secret to tell. Simon was struggling to keep the household afloat and it was visibly aging him on an almost daily basis.

“On the subject of maturity. Perhaps I have finally grown up? One cannot spend all of one’s life, say, dreaming of adventure. The world is a difficult place for women with no resources behind them…and no husband.”

Forgive me, dear Rose for the lies I must tell. If Simon gives his consent I will tell you all, I swear it.

“Hmmm, a sentiment that just seems out of character but the proof is before me, I suppose. You really are going to attend?”

Harriet nodded with what she hoped was eagerness. “Yes, I really am. I intend to dance with some handsome gentlemen and perhaps, find one with whom I could be happy. Or not, as the case may be. But, I must do my duty.”

Rose frowned. “Duty? I have never heard you call love a duty. And we did always swear that we would only marry for love.”

So naive we were as schoolgirls, Rose. And so different. You with your family wealth behind you and all the freedom that brings.

“We did. But my circumstances demand that I look to the future and that of my family.”

Rose’s eyes widened. “Circumstances? By heaven, is Simon in trouble? Do you need help? You know that papa would…”

Harriet held up a hand, forcing a smile. “No, Rosie. You misunderstand. I merely speak of the duty of a daughter to her family name.”

Rose did not seem convinced. “Because you know that you need only ask…”

As if I could ever bring myself to do that. It is worse knowing that you and your dear father would go out of your way to help. No, Rosie, this is for the Worthinghams alone.

“Thank you, Rosie,” Harriet said. “As usual, you are the best friend anyone could ask for. Now, Eleanor and all the talk of dances have occupied us for long enough. I don’t wish to spend any more time in such talk. Not when we have so much else to talk about,” Harriet said.

They passed the rest of the morning in reminiscence, about adventures and misadventures at school and since. By lunchtime, Rose went to her room to wash and Harriet took the opportunity to seek out Simon. She found him where she had left him. He looked as though he was drowning in the sea of ledgers and paper that had flooded his table in the library. As she entered the room, he looked up sharply.

“Your friend, Miss Mantell is not with you?”

“No, Simon. She is washing for lunch. We are alone.” Harriet closed the library doors and turned the key in the lock. Then she crossed the room to take a seat across from Simon.

“Will you tell me what has you so worried? I know that money is short but you just seem to be more and more worried with each passing day. Is it really so bad?” she asked.

Simon looked at her for a moment as though considering lying. Then he seemed to visibly deflate. He sagged in his chair and covered his face with a hand. Harriet felt a surge of sympathy for him. Since he was a child, Simon had been a sensitive boy, most upset when he felt he was not living up to the expectations of his demanding father. His side of the family was distant from her own but Harriet had spent some childhood summers with her parents at the Norwenshire home, not far from Birmingham, in which Simon had grown up with Eleanor.

“The truth is, Harriet. We are…to use a vulgar phrase…broke,” Simon said miserably. “I did not inherit as great a fortune as you may have expected from your father. It was greatly diminished by the time he died. I do not know if it was mismanagement or if someone within the estate was stealing. But…the truth is, we are perilously close to complete bankruptcy.”

Chapter Three

March 1814 

Franklin House

Soft skin and gentle, sensuous curves. Edward’s first sensation upon waking was the feel of the luscious body that was pressed against him. Eyes still closed, he moved his hand from where it rested on a firm thigh, up over the glorious rounding of the hips. Fingers splayed across her stomach and rested there for a moment. The response was a murmur, delicious in its femininity and vulnerability. Then, the sinuous body squirmed against him. His hands found her round, pert bosom and gently squeezed.

“Good morning, your grace,” she said in a sleepy cultured voice.

“Good morning, Alexandria. Thank you for another fascinating discussion last night. What was it we talked about?”

Alexandria chuckled, a deep, throaty laugh. “Economics, I believe.”

“Ah yes. I love a good…economic discussion.”

“Certainly more invigorating than anything you would get at your club.”

“Do you think so? There are a few members who…went to Cambridge.”

“But not you?”

“I sailed through Oxford. And I’m proud to say it barely touched me,” Edward whispered.

Alexandria’s hand closed around him, squeezing firmly, but Edward was already moving away. She made a disappointed noise, kicking the bedclothes away from her and lying on her back, arms spread and legs crossed coquettishly.

“It is morning, dear Alex. And there is business to be about. I cannot dally all day in bed with you.”

“You’ve changed, darling. There was a time you wouldn’t get up before dusk, and then spend all night at the club and then in my bed.”

“Your bed?” Edward said with a wink.

He walked across the room to the huge, antique wardrobe, pulling open the doors and selecting a shirt and breeches.

“Most of the time,” Alexandria replied, “I’ve missed you. My husband is an old man. All he cares about is his precious porcelain collection.”

Edward scrubbed a hand through his unruly dark hair. His stomach was flat and muscled, chest and arms well defined. Like many sons of the gentry, he had taken an officer’s commission in the army. Like most who did, he’d expected to spend his time at Horseguards, looking pretty in his uniform. The fine white scars that crisscrossed his abdomen stood testament along with his honed body to the fact that he had done far more than attended with the Prince Regent at court, or pushed papers for the Department of War.

After collecting an assortment of garments and casting them onto the bed, he began to dress.

“You really are an inconvenience in the mornings, Alex,” he said, “if you weren’t here, I would summon Rafeson to dress me. A gentleman really mustn’t bother with all this nonsense.”

He gestured at the cravat, tie pin, underclothes, breeches, shirt, coat, and other accouterments of the gentleman’s wardrobe.

Alexandria, wife of the Duke of Richmond and, therefore, one of the elite of London society, sat up. She propped herself with her hands behind her, letting her breasts be exposed to him without shame. The sheet fell away from her stomach to reveal just a hint of her womanhood. Edward’s eyes lingered there for a moment and she gave a wicked smile.

“Are you sure, Edward?”

Dark eyes locked with hers. “Yes. Quite sure. You of all people know how much work goes into arranging a ball. Especially one of this scale. Half the country is invited.”

“Yes, I’m quite looking forward to it. Am I to assume that this ball to which you have attached so much significance will presage the end of our…fun?”

Edward arched an eyebrow. Then, without warning, he leaped onto the bed, kissed Alexandria, and pressed her onto her back. One hand circled her buttocks while another squeezed one of her breasts. She had time for a startled gasp before she succumbed to his passionate kisses. Presently, he lifted his head.

“Never,” he whispered.

“But, rake that you are, you care too much about your name to disgrace any prospective wife by being openly adulterous,” Alexandria said, winding her fingers through his shaggy dark hair.

“True. But I must see Rebecca safely married off before I can think of myself. That is the ulterior motive you’re looking for behind this soiree.”

He kissed her again, forgetting his own decision not to dally beneath the sheets after sunrise. Their bodies entwined and kissing became more heated, hands more insistent as touching and caressing became grabbing. When Alexandria began to undo the dressing Edward had already achieved, he pulled away. Alexandria screeched like a scalded cat and threw a pillow at him. Edward laughed.

Alexandria looked at him for a long moment, her frustrated desire putting anger in her eyes. But, Edward’s easy, boyish grin was infectious. She chuckled, flinging the sheets away from her and standing, looking around the clothes Edward had ripped from her the previous night.

“My dress better be intact. You were most insistent in your disrobing of me.”

Edward laughed again, putting on a silk brocade vest of black and purple, over tan breeches.

“So, do you have a prospective suitor in mind for your sister?” Alexandria asked.

“Yes, a very worthy fellow. I came across him in the army. Stout fellow, very solid. Perhaps you know him? Grantley is the name. Philip. He will be Duke of Stamford.”

“Yes, I’ve seen him. You couldn’t find someone a little less stone-faced?”

“He’s not a rake like me. Almost puritan in his values, in fact. Just the kind of serious-minded man that will ensure Rebecca is taken care of. She does not need a clown for a husband.”

“And you would be content with Rebecca spending the rest of her days in the distant north. Where is Stamford? Scotland?”

“Hardly. Yorkshire. Twenty miles from York. Not exactly the ends of the earth.”

“It would be for me. Poor Rebecca. Have they met?”

Edward was dressed. He strode to the curtains and yanked them wide. Pale daylight flooded the room. Beyond lay the streets of Chelsea. Franklin Place was quiet at this time of the morning. Somewhere behind the rows of townhouses, a milk delivery cart clattered, kept out of sight of the gentry to make its delivery to the servant’s entrance. The houses were tall and immaculately dressed. The city beyond was misty, the highest buildings poking through in murky silhouette.

“No,” he said distractedly, “they will meet at the ball.”

“Then I at least hope, for Rebecca’s sake, that you will have told her of your plans before she meets him.”

Edward turned back from the window. London was a distraction he could do without. Once it had been his playground, but that was a long time ago. As he often did when considering his youth, he uttered a silent prayer within his head to the spirit of his father.

Forgive me papa for my callow youth. I did not know. But I will make you proud.

“Of course I will tell her. It is important that she makes a good impression. Grantley will have his pick of prospective wives. She must stand out from the lot.”

“And if she rebels? Rebecca always struck me as the romantic sort. Something like you, when you were her age.”

Again the boyish grin from Edward, his typical defense mechanism.

“Was I ever romantic?”

“The very soul of romance.” Alexandria laughed, stepping into her dress having already put on petticoat and underskirt.

“Well, she will understand her duty as a Bolton. And she will see that duty done,” Edward said with finality.

“And if she does not see it so?” Alexandria persisted.

Edward was shrugging on a coat of deep blue, studying himself in the mirror. He stopped, looking at Alexandria’s reflection.

“You continue to ask. Do you think she will resist my choice for her?”

He did not believe that Rebecca would be so irresponsible. But then, once upon a time, so had he.

“She may. You are not her father.”

“I am Duke and therefore father to her in all but name. She is my responsibility. And this is in her own best interest. A match with the Duke of Stamford will bring her prestige and a comfortable income for life. What more could she want?”

Alexandria’s pouting lips twitched into a mocking smile.

“Love, my dear Teddy.”

“Love?” Edward scoffed. “Love is for poets and fools. It is not practical. When I marry, it will be for the betterment of my family and my name. That is all.”