Chapter 1

“This really is beyond the pale!”

         The Earl of Chester was not generally a man given to yelling; his tenants and compatriots all held him in high regard as a patient, reasoning sort. His eldest son, however, was enough to drive any man to lose hold of his temper.

         At least, that was what the earl had told (well, shouted at) aforementioned eldest son on a bright, sunny, late summer day. The London Season was well and truly done, and the ton were departing for other locales. The dining room was bathed in warm morning light, and the table was laden with coffee, ham, buns of every description, butter, and a selection of small cold pies. The earl had been in the midst of reading the newspaper; his wife, the Countess of Chester, was in a morning dress and a light shawl, thumbing through invitations and letters; and their younger son, Jack, was doing his level best to wolf his breakfast down without looking like he was.

         It was, in short, a scene of domestic bliss…if one stoppered their ears to the shouting that had commenced the moment that Lord Tom Norman, oldest son of the house and heir to the earldom, had made his appearance. He very much wished that he could have stopped up his ears with wads of cotton. He was not one for early rising, and was already rankled at being summoned at such an ungodly hour.

         He was still bleary-eyed with a head that was subtly pounding when he had made his entrance, trousers and shirt hidden beneath his quilted dressing gown. His hair, a dark chestnut hue that favoured his mother, was tousled into charming disarray, or so he liked to think. It had only been two hours at most since he had fallen into bed; being awoken at the crack of dawn by Stolten, the redoubtable and stony-faced butler, was not how he had envisioned spending his morning.

         Nor was receiving a lecture at such a pitched volume. When his father had fixed him with that withering look Tom hated so much, he knew he was in trouble. He had not yet even sat down when the shouting began; his elegant entrance was completely spoiled, and was reduced to sitting heavily in a chair at the foot of the table.

         Tom managed a glance at Jack, who only give him a tight-lipped grimace. He could usually count on Jack to forewarn him about any coming trouble, but all he managed to convey this time was that it was not the usual mischief Tom was due to be lectured about. Automatically, Tom’s eyes shifted to his mother, who was steadfastly ignoring him.

         Well, dash it, Tom thought grimly.

         “You have caused some addle-pated mischief before, but this—this is the final straw!” The earl continued, folding the newspaper and slamming it down on the table so hard that the cups and plates rattled, and the family seated around. Leaning forward, he pointed one finger sharply down the table at Tom. “This will not go unpunished, you have my word on that.”

         Tom, affecting a great show of being unworried, blinked languidly at his father. “May I at least know the nature of the complaint, sir?”

         “You have disgraced yourself, and this family!” was the snapped reply.

         Tom pulled back a little, stealing a querying look at his mother again. The countess met his eyes only briefly, then glanced away, her cheeks colouring and her shoulders slumping a little. His father’s disappointment and anger he could be bear—was used to it, even—but his mother’s disappointment? That was new, and it stung.

         “I—I…if I might know what you are referring to—” Tom tried again, stammering uncharacteristically. Usually, words came easily to him, perhaps too easily if certain acquaintances were to be believed.

         “Therein lays the problem,” the earl said, placing both hands flat upon the table. His greying brows were knitted together in consternation. “You find yourself in so many fixes that you do not even know which has landed you in the pot this time.”

         Tom shot another glance at Jack, who steadfastly looked down at his plate, clearly trying to stay out of it. Tom turned in his chair, crossing his long legs elegantly while gesturing with a flick of his hand to his coffee cup. A footman darted forward to fill it, then withdrew. All of this was in an effort to give Tom a moment to think; everything from last night was in a haze still.

         The earl watched this display with obviously mounting irritation. “Your cool manners will not work on me—I am not one of your ivory-turning friends!”

         Tom shrugged one shoulder and nodded in acknowledgement of the truth of that remark. All ease and careful manners, he lifted his coffee cup slowly and inhaled appreciatively. “Sir, if you might simply tell me what I have done this time, then we might all get on with a perfectly enjoyable breakfast.”

         The sudden scraping of chair legs across the floor heralded the earl’s sudden rise to his feet. Still holding his linen napkin, he gestured sharply at Tom. “No, we certainly shall not! Your ‘perfectly enjoyable’ time in London is at an end. I shan’t be funding your carousing for one day longer! It is high time that you recollect yourself and your station.”

         “You’re banishing me to the country…a whole week early?” Tom asked, his lip curling slightly in amusement. This was a good cover, as in truth, he detested the country, finding any and every excuse to make his way to London or Bath.

         The earl laughed mirthlessly. “Oh, no, dear boy, you mistake me: You are not welcome under my roof until you prove yourself respectable enough to do so. In the meantime, we shall see what we can do to mitigate your latest…stunt.”

         “Very well, I still have my flat in—”

         “No, you do not,” the earl interjected. “When I tell you that you are cut off, my boy, I mean it. You will not receive another farthing from me until I am convinced you are worthy.”

         Tom simply stared at his father for several moments, during which there was not the slightest sound: no scraping of forks on plates, no clearing of throats, not even the servants could be heard breathing. Everyone was staring either at Tom downward, waiting to see his reaction. He was not unaccustomed to being stared at, but it was always on his terms; he was not used to being stared at in humiliation.

         “You can’t cut me off forever, I’m still your heir,” Tom replied, only a little petulantly. It was the only card he really had to play.

         “For now,” the earl said, his voice low and cool. “That can easily be changed in favour of your brother.”

         At the mention of himself, Jack looked up, stricken. “Father, please, you know I—”

         “Very well,” Tom said, rising from his seat and lifting his chin grandly. “Since my company is distasteful to you, Father, then I shall remove myself. I will need a few moments to find suitable lodgings—”

         “Go to your cousin, my nephew,” the countess said, lifting her warm brown eyes to her wayward son for the first time all morning. “He is lately married, and at his estate.”

         Tom’s eyebrows flew up at the suggestion. “Oh Mama, you can’t be serious! The duke? He’s so…so…” Tom trailed off, unable to find an adjective that wasn’t wholly untoward. “Wooden,” he finished at last.

         “The Duke of Brandon is a respectable peer of the Realm, and I will thank you kindly to remember that when you address him,” the earl snapped. “And I do not believe it was a request. He is the only relative who would take you in such short notice, and some time under his charge will do you good.”

         Yes, I cannot wait for endless lectures on the joys of duty and familial obligation, Tom groused inwardly. He did not give his father the satisfaction of complaining aloud, however; instead, he made a polite bow to the table at large, and swept from the room. It was only when he had crossed the grand tiled hall and was halfway up the stairs that he realised he had not even had a sip of his coffee, which he was sorely in need of this morning.

         And there was brown-sugared ham on the table, too, he grumped, his elegant posture slumping as he tromped up the stairs. I love brown-sugared ham. Whatever he may have done, he was fairly certain that it didn’t warrant a man to forego breakfast.

* * *

         A quiet knock interrupted Tom’s packing. Well, at least, his overseeing of the packing being done by his fastidious valet, Pickens. The two were in disagreement over the necessity of packing a tawny velvet jacket when the knock came on Tom’s dressing room door.

         “Come,” Tom said, making a great show of holding up two different pairs of gloves to study them.

         Jack’s coppery-head poked into the room. “Oh good,” he said, sighing in evident relief. “I had half-expected to come up here and find you back in bed.”

         “The thought did cross my mind,” Tom admitted, waving his brother inward. “Do you like the green or the grey gloves better? I personally favour the green, but there may be occasion for shooting, which will make the grey the better choice.”

         Jack simply stared for a moment. “Well, and here I was thinking you were taking this seriously.”

         Tom straightened and met his brother’s level blue gaze. “I am taking this with all the seriousness it is due,” he said, turning away quickly and tucking both pairs of gloves into an open trunk.

         “Are you?” Jack said, taking Tom by the shoulder and peering into his face.

         Tom sighed, closed the lid of the trunk, and sat on it. “The old man will come out of his rage in a couple weeks. I’ll be bored to tears until then, but nothing I can’t manage.”

         Jack shifted, his eyes widening a little. “I’m not entirely sure you understand the gravity of the situation here, Tom. Father received a note from Lady Stanton at the crack of dawn, and nearly turned purple when he read it.”

         “Lady Stanton?” Tom’s brow furrowed as he thought hard, memories of the night before flashing dimly through his mind. Suddenly his face fell and the colour drained from it. “Oh Lord, Lady Stanton,” he repeated, dropping his head into his hands.

         Jack watched all of this happen, only frowning a little severely at Tom’s choice of words. “So, you begin to understand what you have done?”

         “A little,” Tom admitted. “I must confess to being rather in my cups last night, and don’t entirely remember what transpired.”

         “Well, you had best recollect quick-like, and find a way to get yourself out of this fix—I’ve no interest in being the heir, especially not an earl,” Jack said firmly, sitting next to Tom on the trunk.

         Despite his turmoil, Tom couldn’t help but regard his younger brother with amusement. “None at all? Still longing for the life of a quiet country parish, then?”

         “Every time you come home and tell me of one of your capers, I only become more convinced that I have chosen the right vocation,” Jack replied dryly.

         Tom barked out a laugh. “Well, I do have that effect on people, I suppose.” He sighed, watching Pickens walk back and forth with stacks of shirts and cravats. “Well, at least the Season is already over.” Tom stood, straightening his cream and burgundy striped waistcoat, and reaching for his dark green jacket. Pickens, ever the particular valet, darted forward and helped Tom shrug into it effortlessly, smoothing invisible wrinkles.

         “Tom, I really must ask,” Jack said, also rising and eyeing all the accumulated luggage, “how on Earth are you going to manage all these cases?”

         “What do you mean?” Tom asked distractedly, trying to choose between a dove grey and a caramel top hat.

         “What I mean is, how do you expect it to travel with you? You can’t possibly fit it all in a hack,” Jack said slowly.

         “A hack?” Tom repeated, confused. “Why would I—oh. Oh, that’s just petty,” he groaned.

         “Father did say that you were cut off,” Jack said simply with a shrug. “That means the carriage.”

         Tom cast a despairing look about him at the assembled trunk, cases, and hat boxes. “I can’t possibly fit it all in a hack. Wait a moment,” he said, another terrible realisation donning on him. “I’m not even sure I have the notes to hire a hack.”

         “Down to your last bob, mm?” Jack said. With a grin, he withdrew a stack of banknotes from the inner pocket of his plain, dark blue jacket. “I thought you might be.”

         “Jack, no,” Tom said, remembering that he was, in fact, the older brother. He gently pushed the stack away, shaking his head.

         “Tom, yes,” Jack countered, thrusting the notes at him again.

         “I’ll be fine, I can—” Tom paused to swallow distastefully “—take the stage.”

         “Well, at least let me pay for a seat on the inside for you; wouldn’t want to ruin that lovely new hat of yours, mm?” Jack said, playfully thumping Tom on the arm.

         Sighing, Tom accepted a portion of the notes. “Banished from London, cut off, sent out to a dreary cousin’s country estate in the middle of nowhere,” he groused. “What else could possibly go wrong?”

         The worst part of all, was that he still wasn’t entirely sure what he had done. A different man might have reflected on that, but Tom was not that sort of man.

Chapter 2

     Patience Carnegie pressed her face right up against the carriage window, her breath fogging the glass. Though the view outside could not really be called “scenic” by any stretch of the imagination, the flat, rolling fields were as new and exciting to Patience as if they had been an exotic landscape. Though the destination was two-days’ travel from London, for Patience, it may as well have been a trip around the world. The day was cool and dotted with grey clouds, but this did not dampen Patience’s enthusiasm in the slightest.

         Across the carriage, her mother’s abigail did not even bother to stifle a sigh. She had told Patience at least a dozen times to sit back in her seat and be still, as befits the daughter of a duchess. She could not help it though—she had never been allowed to take a journey of this length before. Well, granted, it was only a couple hours, and it was to her older sister’s new home, but this was a taste of freedom that she had never experienced before.

         As the carriage passed beneath the grand stone and iron gatehouse, it was all Patience could do to keep from bouncing in the finely upholstered seat. The maid sighed again. “Please, my Lady, I beg you please sit still—this carriage bounces quite enough on its own.”

         “Oh, but look, we are here now!” Patience said, pressing her face even closer to the window.

         And indeed they had arrived, the carriage pulling into the circular drive. The house rested proudly at the end of a tree-lined lane, with a fountain at the centre of the drive. It rose above perfectly manicured lawns, its edifice supported by columns. It was a study in perfect symmetry and proportion, a part of the landscape rather than merely a feature.

         Patience inhaled appreciatively, allowing herself to be awed for a moment. This feeling was short-lived, however, for standing at the top of the stairs that led to the grand front entrance, was a tall, familiar figure. The carriage had barely pulled to a stop before Patience had flung the door open, not bothering to wait for the footman that darted forward. She nearly tumbled out in her excitement, righting herself and dashing forward to the waiting arms of her sister.

         “Annabella!” she squealed, arms thrown out wide.

         Annabella, the newly minted Duchess of Brandon, was a little more tempered in her excitement, but no less enthusiastic. Though they were relatively new at this whole sisterhood thing, having only just discovered each other within the last year, both had embraced the notion whole-heartedly

Patience smiled openly at Annabella, who grinned down at her, holding her shoulders so that she might fully inspect her. Though Patience was shorter than Annabella, they had similar bronze-hued hair, though Patience’s was straight where Annabella’s waved. Patience did not have the stately grace and features of her older sister, but her face was undeniably sweet and heart-shaped with round cheeks and a delicate pink mouth.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Annabella said, tucking Patience’s hand into her the crook of her elbow and leading her into the grand house. “I’ve been longing for company—this big house feels so terribly empty sometimes!”

Patience tilted her head upward, craning so that she might see the ceiling of the grand entrance. It was painted in a geometric pattern, with a massive glass lantern hung directly in the centre.

“I can see why,” she murmured, mindlessly reaching up to untie the ribbon that held her bonnet in place.

“Now, I’ve nothing planned for this evening, so you may rest and recover from your journey as you please,” Annabella said, gesturing forward a waiting maid to assist in removing Patience’s travelling cloak. “We shall have a quiet dinner, just the three of us—you, me, and the Duke.”

“Oh,” Patience said, her face falling just a bit.

“Don’t you worry,” Annabella said, smiling and playfully pinching Patience’s arm. “I simply wish you to be rested for the activities we’ve planned for the rest of your stay. There shall be riding and playing at bowls and shooting—”

“Shooting? Me?” Patience asked, pausing in the act of removing her mauve-coloured gloves.

“I suspect we both need the practise before we are invited to any shooting parties,” Annabella said pragmatically. “We are safe to humiliate ourselves in front of each other, rather in front of the ton.” 

Patience grinned in reply. It was a very fine thing indeed to have a big sister.

Annabella guided her up the stairs and through the winding halls, letting Patience take it all in. More than once, Patience caught Annabella smiling gently, indulgently at her. At last, they arrived at a sturdy wooden door, richly carved and painted white. Annabella bestowed an airy kiss on Patience’s cheek, and promised to see her before dinner.

The rooms that Patience were shown to, that would serve as her private apartment for the duration of her stay, were bright and airy. They faced the rear of the house, with a fine view of the gardens and rolling fields crossed with stone fences beyond. She had been provided with a maid, a girl with bright eyes and a round figure that seemed generally well-pleased to be waiting on the daughter of a duchess.

Patience sat patiently, letting the maid chatter on as she unpacked the trunks, not really listening but enjoying the humming of her voice. Patience was settled in a cushioned window seat, her shoes kicked off and stockinged feet tucked up under her. Her mother would never have approved of her sitting in such a manner, but then, that was rather the point of this whole trip.

It was not long before that a trip of this nature would have been entirely out of the question, unheard of, even. Patience had lost her father and older sister before she was even born, and as a result, her mother, the Duchess of Carnegie, had developed an overzealous protective streak for her surviving daughter. And then, like a miracle, there was Annabella—alive, so clever and capable, and ready to love Patience as if they had never been apart.

For all her excitement, one might have thought she was taking the Grand Tour instead of merely visiting her sister and new brother-in-law. It was a small, tenuous step into freedom, but Patience was glad of it nonetheless. If she were being completely forthright, it was also a little frightening; she had a strange, exhilarated feeling in her chest. She was not usually one given to flights of fancy, but she had the strangest feeling that something new and wholly unexpected awaited her.

* * *

         Naturally, Patience was not expecting the wholly unexpected thing to occur as soon as dinner was begun. The duke, her new brother-in-law, had escorted both herself and Annabella into dinner, and they had passed a companionable hour all together at the table. Patience liked the easy, teasing way that Annabella and the duke had about each other, and she couldn’t help but sigh a little each time they grinned knowingly at each other. Though rain lashed harshly at the grand windows, the dining room was warm and surprisingly cosy, with a grand fire burning in the fireplace.

         The conversation, and the excellent meal, was interrupted by the arrival of the butler, Stowe. “Forgive the interruption, Your Grace,” he began, bowing slightly.

         “Yes? What is it, Stowe?” the duke asked, clearly more focused on gazing warmly at his wife. Patience ducked her head, suppressing a giggle.

         “There is a man that has come calling,” the butler replied. This caused all heads at the table to swivel as one to look on him in surprise.

         “A man? What man?” the duke replied, his handsome brow beetling slightly.

         “He claims that he is Lord Tom Norman, son of the Earl of Chester,” the butler explained. “But he has arrived with neither case nor a man,” he continued, lifting his nose and sniffing at the indignity of such a prospect.

         “My cousin?” the duke said, glancing at Annabella. “What on Earth can he mean coming here? This had better not be a lark of some sort.”

         “You’d best show him in, Stowe,” Annabella said after only a moment’s hesitation. The butler took a fraction of a second to compose himself, and withdrew to admit the interloper.

         “I feel I should warn both of you, my cousin is… Well, he’s a bit of a…” the duke said, searching for the right word. He glanced at Annabella, and then at Patience. “Not to put too fine of a point on it, but he has a bit of a reputation,” he finally concluded, with a significant look at Annabella, who glanced at Patience.

         “Ah,” Annabella said, with a knowing nod.

         “What?” Patience demanded, looking from one to the other.

         The duke looked to his wife again. “Cousin Tom is a pink of the first order,” the duke explained carefully. “He’s known about London as something of a dandified rake.”

Patience was just at the point of answering when Stowe returned, a young man in tow. The butler walked with his nose so far in the air that Patience was not entirely sure how he could see where he was going.

         “Lord Thomas Norman,” the butler announced, stepping aside and allowing a full view of the young man.

         There must be some confusion, Patience thought immediately, as this fellow resembles a drowned kitten, not some society dandy.

         Lord Tom did indeed have the aspect of a creature half-drowned, his brown hair plastered down on his head and greatcoat weighed down from the water. Still, Patience could not help but favourably note a chiselled profile, with sharp cheekbones and a dimpled chin. His hat and gloves were clutched in his hand, dripping, much like his hair.

         “Tom!” the duke said, rising from his seat. “Good Lord, man, did you walk here? Why on Earth didn’t you send a note?”

         To his credit, Tom did not appear to note his somewhat bedraggled appearance. To Patience’s eye, he appeared to swagger forward to take the duke’s hand with as much ease as if he were dressed in a king’s robes. His limbs were long, and though he moved gracefully, it was an ambling, unmindful sort of movement, as if he were completely unconcerned about the state of his natural bearing.

“Hello, Allan,” Tom said in a light, pleasant voice. “I do apologise for catching you at table, and especially to the ladies for my somewhat lacking appearance,” he added with a bow in the general direction of the women. “I found it necessary to travel by the mail coach, and walked up from the village.”

“Why didn’t you send a note? You must be chilled to the bone!” Annabella said, rising and taking Tom’s arm to guide him closer to the fire.

         For his part, Tom watched Annabella’s solicitous concern with a somewhat bemused expression. “Ah, you must be the charming new duchess I have heard so much about,” he said smoothly. “Cousin, I congratulate you on your excellent choice.”

         Patience frowned. Though his words were all politeness, he bent his words strangely, as if there were a hidden meaning to them. It was like he was used to speaking for an audience, hoping to win approval. The duke was rushing to make the proper introductions, which were a bit tight due to the circumstances. When he got to Patience, Tom bowed prettily enough, but his eyes passed over her in such a way that she felt as if she had been assessed rather than introduced.

         “I must apologise for my débraillé appearance, and beg your hospitality,” Tom said, clearly missing the blank way that Patience stared at him. “My trunk is still in the village, and I have only what I stand before you in.”

         “Of course, let us get you some dry things at once. My husband’s valet shall see to you,” Annabella said immediately, all warmth and genial manners. “Would you like some dinner on a tray? You must be exhausted.”

         Once again, Tom seemed somewhat perplexed by this generous and genuine speech. He took Annabella’s hand and patted it quickly. “Thank you, fair Cousin—may I call you Cousin? You are a rare treasure indeed.”

         Patience was not particularly well-versed in the ways of the world, nor society at all, really, so she could not really place the strange feeling she had. Annabella herself was showing Tom to his rooms, and he seemed induced to treat her civilly. Despite the polite phrases that fell readily from his mouth, something in his manner made Patience uneasy. Though it was an irrational thought, the image of a cat sprang unbidden into her mind: all soft fur and pretty purring until the claws came out and took a swipe.

Chapter 3

         After wringing himself out in a series of drying cloths and finding himself in dry (but borrowed) clothing, Tom was feeling much more the thing. The clothing was not to his particular taste, but well-made with little embellishments that added a sort of country charm to them. He was very much amused to find a tiny green butterfly embroidered into the lining of his waistcoat, right where the duke’s heart would be.

         Tom had just finished an excellent, if someone cold, repast on a tray when there was a knock on the door and a footman entered. “His Grace requests an audience with you in the library presently,” he announced.

         With a sigh, Tom stood and threaded his arms into the grey jacket that had been left for him; he imagined that his cousin would not be particularly impressed by his arriving in only shirtsleeves before the ladies. To his surprise, and then apprehension, the library he was shown into was only occupied by the duke himself. Tom was not much of a reader, so he did not fully appreciate the scope of the shelves, stacked floor-to-ceiling with books. There was such a collection that there was a ladder set on wheels to reach the upper shelves.

         What Tom did appreciate was the thick Persian rug before the fireplace in shades of red and purple. Situated just right to take advantage of the warmth and light of the fire were two thickly stuffed chairs in a dark polished leather. There was the customary desk and some lecterns holding open volumes, but these weren’t particularly noteworthy, as far as Tom was concerned.

         The most pressing thing in the room, however, was the duke. He waited for Tom with impeccable posture, looking every bit the country nobleman in his tawny-coloured breeches and polished black boots. He stood with one fist on his hip, his fair head tilted as he observed Tom’s entrance.

         “Apologies for keeping you waiting, Cousin,” Tom said immediately. He had a policy of always apologising for something small right out of the gate when it was clear a disagreement was incoming. It disarmed the other party more often than not, and set a more genial tone.

         “Not to worry,” the duke said easily, gesturing to the chairs before the fire. “I trust my valet found you something comfortable to wear?”

         “It’s dry and warm, which is the greatest possible compliment right now,” Tom said, settling himself carefully in one of the chairs. “If a bit roomy,” he added, just a little bitterly—he could not boast the same broad-shouldered physique as the duke.

         “I shall send someone to the village for your trunk at first light,” the duke promised, settling himself into the chair opposite. Very much at ease, he crossed one of his legs over the other, stretching his boots toward the fire. “Do you remember that time we climbed the cherry trees and ate ourselves sick?”

         Tom started, his dark eyebrows rising. “How could I forget? Your father made us help with the harvesting as punishment.”

         The duke laughed softly. “Not much of a punishment, really, since I believe we ate our fill all over again.”

         Tom hummed noncommittally, unsure where this was leading. The duke seemed inclined to let him stew however, and Tom wasn’t going to dissuade him from this tack. Tom wasn’t some deb in her first season; he had navigated more drawing room intrigues than he could remember. As it was, the duke was content to stare into the fire, reminiscing if the wistful look on his face was anything to judge by.

         “I believe that was the last time you were here before my father’s funeral,” the duke said conversationally.

         “Was it? It may have been, yes.”

         “It was,” the duke confirmed. “As I recall it, that was also the occasion when you claimed that you would rather walk over hot coals than return to a place so boring and inconvenient to socialising.”

         “Well, I’m not sure I meant—” Tom began.

         “I believe your exact words were, ‘I’ve had more fun in a mausoleum,’” the duke countered dryly. “I can’t help but wonder now what it is that brings you here? I have to assume it is because your father has chased you to me.”

         Tom could feel his temper rile up against his cool façade. That had ever been one of his faults, and he had worked hard over the years to become a man of composure and coolness. The problem was that it was entirely true, and it was impossible to outright refute it. So, he decided to settle on honesty.

         “I…may have gotten myself into a bit of a fix,” Tom admitted. The duke said nothing, but arched an eyebrow at his cousin. “I myself do not even have the full facts. I only have the vaguest recollections…” He trailed off, looking down at his hands. He was not sure why, but away from the crowds of London, in the home of his honourable cousin and his sweet wife, Tom’s actions felt a little unsavoury.

         “I imagine there was a quantity of wine involved,” the duke supplied.

         Tom nodded, sheepish. “Well, punch more like, but I suppose that is not the point. More importantly, Lady Stanton has a very charming daughter. There was a ball a few nights ago, sort of a send-off for the ton, and Lady Eve Stanton and I, we are old friends you see, and it—we—”

         “Let me guess,” the duke broke in, “you were found in a dark room, alone with Lady Eve, in a compromising situation?”

         Tom winced, but nodded. “That seems about the size of it. Her mother began yelling down the heavens, but I don’t remember any of it. I know that I was in my cups, that much is true, and we were alone, but… Beyond that, I could not tell you.”

         “Well, that is a fix indeed,” the duke murmured, shaking his head. “I assume you are prepared to safeguard the lady’s reputation?”

         “I certainly do not intend to spread it about town, if that’s what you mean!”

         “No,” the duke said slowly, leaning forward. “You intend to marry her, in order to protect her good name?”

         Tom couldn’t help but splutter out a laugh. “Good God man, no!”

         The duke reared back at this, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and anger. “Well. That is about the answer I expected,” he said lowly, “but I can’t say I am not disappointed. I understand why your father has driven you out now.”

         “Now, that’s not entirely fair,” Tom protested. “I have no way of knowing that I have damaged this girl’s relationship! It’s no secret that her darling mama is on the make, doing her best to reel in a fellow with a title before the blush is off the rose.”

         The duke simply stared for a moment, weighing Tom’s words. Tom hoped that his cousin, so recently married, could remember what it felt like, being a bachelor with good expectations and a title. Who needs hunting safaris when the London Season is on? Tom thought sardonically.

         At last, the duke spoke, leaning back in his chair again. “Very well. You may remain here for the time being, until the truth of the matter is sorted out. I would urge you to be on your best behaviour—you’ve no other cousins to run to.”

         Tom stared, feeling the weight of that true statement. Feeling well and truly caught, he at last nodded, his brown hair flopping into his face. Unfortunately for him, the effect was quite lost on the duke, who had zero patience or regard for his boyish charms.

         The duke rose, offering his hand to Tom, which he took eagerly. However, the duke pulled Tom a little closer, and staring at him directly in the face said, “If I find that you are lying and taking advantage of my good name, I will be very, very disappointed.” 

         Though Tom was a grown man, only a couple years younger than the duke, he swallowed reflexively. Whatever his bravado and fashionable manners might indicate, he was in truth a very sensitive person; he did not care to disappoint others, or have them think less of him.

         “Now, how about we join the ladies? I’m sure they are desirous of our company,” the duke said, jovially thumping Tom on the back.

         Inwardly, Tom groaned. Oh, will the joys never cease—I shall now have to pay court to a pair of dowdy country rubes.

* * *

         “Do you mean he is notorious?” Patience said lowly to her sister, trying to keep her voice down lest they be interrupted. They were seated quite close together, their heads nearly touching as they looked at fashion plates from Paris. Before them, a fire was crackling merrily in the salon in defiance of the cold rain that still pelted the windows.

         “I’m not sure I would go that far, but the whole family is apparently in despair over him lately,” Annabella replied, deftly turning a page. “I cannot say what has brought him here, but I know Allan, and he was surprised to see him here.”

         Patience considered this. “Well, it could be he hopes to get up a shooting party, as the Season is concluded now,” she remarked.

         “Mm,” Annabella hummed in agreement. “Maybe. He does not strike me as a man familiar with country pursuits though.”

         “He really does not,” Patience agreed with a giggle. “Did you see the cut of his jacket? It’s a wonder he could breathe!”

         Annabella laughed softly. “Perhaps it’s best he left his trunk behind, then. Oh, look at this one—so many flounces at the hem! Oh, made from a shot silk too! You’d look a dream in it, like you were floating on a cloud.”

         Patience could feel her face growing warm, the old shyness taking root again. “Oh, no, not me,” she stammered. “I was the centre of attention enough already at that ball I made you attend with me.”

         “Don’t worry darling, no one will ever put you on the spot like that again,” Annabella said with a reassuring pat of Patience’s hand. “But… Well, I can’t help but think that maybe you might like to make some friends? Not many, just a couple so that you don’t only have me. After all, I’m an old married woman now, and not much on the town.”

         “No such thing!” Patience protested. “But that’s just it, I’m not sure I should like to be ‘on the town’, either,” Patience said, biting her lip. “It all seems so complicated and big and…loud.”

         “Patience, you can’t stay locked in the library forever,” Annabella admonished gently.

         “Why ever not?” she demanded.

         Annabella looked up, pursed her lips playfully in mimicry of their mother that never failed to make Patience laugh. “Because, young lady, you will wilt without sunshine!”

         It was just as Patience was dissolving into a fit of undignified giggles that the door to the salon was opened and the duke and his cousin were admitted. Her head instantly turned, and beholding the gentlemen, she blushed thoroughly and snapped her mouth closed audibly. Automatically, she averted her gaze, looking down at her hands.

         “I am glad to see you in high spirits, dear Patience,” the duke said gently. She glanced up long enough to see him smiling kindly at her, having crossed the room to sit in his favourite chair of blue damask.

         The cousin, Tom, however, chose to remain standing, resting one arm on the marble mantlepiece and the other on his hip. His leg was turned out elegantly, and if his clothing were not ill-fitted and borrowed, he would have cut quite the figure. Secretly, Patience suspected that this posture was the product of many evenings of study. As it was, he stared openly at Patience, an inscrutable look on his face.

         She could feel her blush deepening, and was tempted to hide it with a scowl. Beside her, she could feel Annabella shift slightly, pushing herself forward so that Patience might be partially hidden. Patience was instantly relieved, and felt a rush of affection for her sister, and for her ability to understand her.

         “Good gracious, Patience, look here! Have you seen the shocking haircuts the women in Paris are wearing?” Annabella said, pointing down at another fashion plate. The illustration showed a young lady with close-cropped hair, as if she had been suffering from a fever.

         “Oh my,” Patience breathed. “That is quite…something.”

         “Well, they’re French,” the duke said with a shrug and a lop-sided smile.

         From his perch at the fireplace, Tom barked out a laugh. All eyes turned to regard him, and he quickly composed himself. “Please, forgive me, I just—it is refreshing to see what passes for shocking in the countryside,” he said in chummy tones.

         “Cousin Tom, do you really mean to tell me that you would not find this shocking to see in a Mayfair ballroom?” Annabella asked, holding the illustration up.

         “I should think not particularly, no,” Tom said with an elegant shrug. “Some of the fashionable ladies are considering adopting it. Do you all know the story behind it? No? I shall tell you, then: It’s all down to the Robespierre and the guillo—”

         “That’s enough,” the duke said firmly.

         Tom, looking about himself as if he had forgotten that he did not, in fact, have his usual rapt audience, quickly changed his route. “In any event,” he continued, inspecting his nails, “one does see far more shocking things in ballrooms.” This last phrase was spoken with such emphasis that it was impossible to mistake his meaning, especially when he pinned his gaze on Annabella.

         To Patience’s great surprise, Annabella looked down for just a brief moment; if one did not know her, the look would surely have passed unnoticed. However, Patience did know her, and she could tell that the remark stung. It was no secret that Annabella’s origins were not the usual for a duchess, regardless of her bloodline. It was also no secret that her engagement had come about as the result of a scandalous and most public evening. Though the ton was willing to overlook these faults for a rich and beautiful duchess, they clearly would not be forgotten anytime soon.

         The duke, making a low rumbling sound of disapproval, uncrossed his legs and was preparing to stand when the most curious thing happened. Somehow, without her even meaning to, Patience found herself on her feet, her light green eyes boring hotly into Tom’s. She was not entirely sure what she meant to do; she knew only that her dearest, best, most beloved sister had been wounded, and this fact was enough to overcome her innate shyness.

         Everyone waited silently as Patience stood, a strange kind of rushing sound in her ears. Tom stared directly back at her, and to her very great credit, Patience was not cowed. She lifted her chin a fraction of an inch, and something in the tone of Tom’s stare changed. Satisfied, Patience, without a word, simply swept from the room, head held high. It was an exit so grand that her mother, the Duchess of Carnegie, would have been jealous.

         That man, Patience thought, climbing the stairs to her room with her heart pounding. That man!

Chapter 4

         Patience was thoroughly tucked into the large, four-poster bed that had been provided for her when a knock came at her door. She had her nose buried deep in Mrs. Radcliffe’s latest offering with a single candle lit, so naturally she was inclined to jump a little at the sound. Her mind, still half-in the book, raced, wondering who could be knocking at such an hour.

         Her curiosity was quickly answered, however, by a quiet voice saying, “It’s me, Patience.”

         “Annabella? Come in!” Patience pushed herself up on the bed a little, reaching down for a blanket and wrapping it about her shoulders.

         Her sister entered, likewise dressed in a white night trail with a long jacquard shawl wrapped about herself. Like a much younger girl, she quickly toed across the cool floor, and sprang into Patience’s bed with her. “Move over, my feet are freezing!” she declared, all knees and ankles.

         Patience, laughing, pushed right back until she felt the ice blocks that she could only assume were Annabella’s feet. Upon this, she squealed and retreated. “Oh for heaven’s sake, where are your stockings? The grave is warm compared to those things!”

         “Well, thank you kindly,” Annabella grumped playfully, scooting into the bed and obligingly tucking her feet in. She spotted the book Patience had been reading and lifted it, reading the cover. “The Italian?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “I suppose this is another that Mother wouldn’t approve of.”

         “Definitely not,” Patience agreed. “I’ve got such a collection of Gothics under my mattress that it’s a wonder my spine is still straight.”

Annabella chuckled softly, flipping through a couple pages. “Is it very improper?” Patience nodded, biting her lip a little, worried that her sister may not approve; she was, after all, a duchess now. “Excellent—you must let me borrow it before you leave.”

Patience snorted out a most undignified laugh, which only made Annabella laugh too. “Well, since you’ve not come to chastise me for my choice of reading, what brings you to me? Has the duke chased you from your bed for those horrible cold feet?”

Playfully, Annabella swatted Patience with the book before tossing it down gently. “No, you mercenary thing. I came to tell you that I am so very proud of you, first of all.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. I believe you put the fear into Lord Tom earlier; it was a magnificent showing.”

“Oh Annabella, I cannot believe I did that,” Patience said in a rush, curling her hands into the bedding. “I don’t know what came over me; I just—I just couldn’t—he—”

“I know, and you did splendidly,” Annabella said, gently taking Patience’s curled hands. “Honestly, he looked like a schoolboy about to be scolded, and rightly so.”

Patience laughed breathily. “I suppose he did. I can’t believe he would say that, it was so unnecessary.”

Annabella shrugged, causing her long bronze-coloured braid to fall behind her shoulder. “It was not the worst thing that has been said to me since I married, and it will not be the last thing, either.”

“Have people been horrid to you?”

“A little,” Annabella admitted. “Of course, they fear Mother a bit too much to be too overt. I was worried about the county out here, but the neighbours have all been cautiously congenial. I suppose it’s because they’ve known Allan’s family for centuries.” Annabella sat up a little and nudged Patience with her elbow. “That brings me to the second part of my errand.”

“Oh?”

“I am giving a dinner two nights hence,” Annabella explained. “It shall only be a few neighbours, but I thought you might like to know in advance.”

Patience resisted the urge to worry her bottom lip with her teeth again. “I shall do my best to be…to be…” She faltered, not even entirely sure of what she was trying to say. She knew that she had been a disappointment to her mother in this regard; she did not know how to make conversation at dinners, she did not know how to be a wit in drawing rooms.

Gently, Annabella laid a hand on Patience’s arm. “I don’t expect you to be anything other than yourself. I didn’t tell you so that you might alter yourself, merely so that you would not be surprised. ‘Forewarned is forearmed,’ as my dear husband would say.”

Patience nodded, not meeting Annabella’s eyes. “I just get so nervous about people, and I don’t even know why. I’m not sure I have it in me to be very brave.”

Annabella’s light, scoffing laugh surprised Patience, who looked up with raised brows. “You are not brave? You?” Annabella demanded. “When it is you who organised the entire scheme last spring?”

Patience couldn’t help but smile and blush a little when she thought of it. “I supposed that is true,” she allowed. “I still can’t believe I did all of that.”

“In any event, you shouldn’t worry: It will only be a few neighbours, not the Prince of Wales,” Annabella said, patting Patience’s arm reassuringly again. “Now, please do not use all the candles in the house staying up to read all night.”

Taking a deep breath to steal her feet for the undoubtedly freezing floor, Annabella swung her legs out of Patience’s bed and leaned back to press a kiss to her little sister’s head all in one motion. Patience giggled a little at the mincing, nearly-running gait Annabella used to get to the door so that her feet touched the bare wood as little as possible.

She knew that Annabella had meant to be reassuring, but her mind wasn’t quiet about the notion of attending a dinner. As she settled back into the propped pillows behind her, she could not help but replay scenes from the last dinners she had attended. Not to point too fine of a point on it, but they had not gone well by anyone’s estimation. With a sigh, she picked her book up again; compared to the scenes of social humiliation that played in her head, Mrs. Radcliffe was rather tame.

* * *

Through darkened hallways Annabella tripped along lightly on her toes, hurrying in a way that she was sure was highly undignified for a duchess. She found it hard to care, however, as she had a loathing for cold feet, and the thought of her warm bed drove her onwards. Though it was only September, the weather had turned cool and a steady rain had fallen all day. That same rain still lashed at the windows, which made Annabella pull her shawl tighter about herself. Though the duke’s estate was grand and beautiful, it was rather more prone to draughts and cold spots than Annabella had expected.

Reaching the door to her private chambers, all outlined with warm light and the promise of a crackling fire, Annabella turned the doorhandle quickly and slipped through. She tried to close the door as quietly as possible behind her, but as it was a grand and old door, this was in vain, and she winced at the sound.

“And here I was about to come in search of you,” the duke said, tucked up in bed with papers scattered about him, a pile of feather-down pillows behind him.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Annabella said, hustling to the richly carved and upholstered bed on a small platform in the centre of the room. She whipped her shawl off and draped it over the chair near the bed. “The floors are like ice!”

“Best come and warm yourself then,” the duke said, looking bemused and flipping the covers down on her side of the bed invitingly.

Annabella eagerly slipped into the bed, immediately cosying up to Allan’s warmth. Resting her head in the sheltering place between his heart and his arm, she could feel his light chuckle. She, too, grinned a little, musing on the fact that if the ton knew that she slept in the same bed as her husband every night, that would surely be another black mark against her. Neither of them saw the point in the convention that the duke should sleep in his own chambers, and neither of them preferred that in the least.

Especially on nights like tonight, Annabella thought, burying her cold nose against the warm, solid form of her husband.

“It is unseasonably cold tonight, that I’ll grant you,” the duke said, as if he had been reading her thoughts. With one hand, he tucked the blanket tightly against Annabella’s back, then shuffled the papers he had been looking at into a loose pile with the other. Shifting slightly, he placed them on the table next to the bed and snuffed the candle before settling back into bed with a comfortable sigh.

Annabella hummed an agreement, listening to the driving rain tapping against the window. In the dark and cold, Annabella was grateful for her husband’s encircling arm, and the soothing rhythm of his heart through the thin cotton of his nightshirt. Still, her mind was not easy, and she had trouble willing herself to sleep.

“What is it?” the duke murmured against her hair, his voice rumbling in his chest and under her ear.

“I don’t know, really,” Annabella sighed. “I suppose I am uneasy about this dinner, and… Well, I had planned it all so carefully, with the greatest possible concern for Patience, and your cousin is an unknown factor in my plans.”

Allan grunted in agreement. “That is certainly one turn of phrase for him.”

“You don’t think he’d do anything to spoil things, do you?”

Annabella could feel rather than see Allan shaking his head. “I don’t believe so, no. He isn’t a bad person, just…” The duke hesitated. “Just a thoughtless one, sometimes. He was a great friend when we were younger; he caused more mischief than you’d think one boy could, but he’d always find a way out of it, too.”

A small grin spread across Annabella’s face, as it always did when she contemplated the grand and proud duke as a stripling running wild across the estate. “Well, hopefully things will go well and he will be well-behaved then.” The duke hummed in agreement again. “Do you know what has brought him here?”

“Only partially,” Allan admitted. “I intend to write to my uncle to find the particulars. I only hope he hasn’t brought some London scandal trailing after him.”

Annabella said nothing, for she knew how important the family’s honour and his duties were to the duke. “I’m sure we can manage him,” she said gently, stifling a yawn.

“I’m sure we can manage anything, the two of us together,” he replied with such quiet confidence that Annabella smiled again. She burrowed closer to him, sighing happily. “We can bear anything, so long as we do it together.” He paused, holding his breath a little for a moment. “Anything, but one,” he amended.

“Oh?” Annabella asked, turning her neck so that she could look up at the duke, his profile barely visible. “What’s that?”

“Anything but those frozen toes of yours,” the duke said with a delicate shudder that made Annabella laugh. “I’ll thank you kindly to keep them to yourself.”

With a mock gasp of outrage, Annabella reached up for one of the pillows and promptly swatted the duke with it. This only led to more laughing, and the duke wrapped Annabella up tight in his arms. She was only mollified when he pressed a dozen kisses to her face, which was perfectly fine with both of them.

Thus pacified, Annabella listened as the duke’s breathing settled and became even, until he was lightly snuffling as he slept. She had not always been a grand lady, and much of her life she had to rely on her ability to read people. Her time living on her wits had taught her to trust her instincts, especially regarding her fellow man. She could not really justify why, but something about Lord Tom had unsettled her.

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