Chapter 1

Elesmere Estate, England, 1813

“What do you mean it’s all gone, Father?”

“I mean, my dear, all of the money, the un-entailed lands, the horses, the carriage, the servants, it is all gone.” Emma watched in horror as her father, the Earl of Elesmere, a man she had always revered as a giant among men, hung his head in shame.

She looked around his study where they now sat, a room that as a child she had always felt was magical. She had spent hours contemplating if the fox escaped the hunters in the painting of the English countryside that hung on the wall behind her father’s desk, or how it was the fire always seemed to be stoked in the hearth when she had never seen a servant in the room.

She had sat under his large mahogany desk and listened as he conducted business with his man of affairs or tenants on their land. When the men left, she would pop out and ask her father what it meant that the wheat crop was weak one year. Or how many bales of hay were needed to keep the horses in the stables fed. The Earl would smile and answer each of her questions no matter how complicated, or how busy he was. Yet, that was a long time ago, Emma thought. That was before mother…

“How could it all be gone father? What happened?” She sank into the oversized leather chair that sat opposite the hearth and faced her father at his desk. Papers that were usually piled high waiting for her father’s review or signature, were scattered along the top, some dropping carelessly to the floor.

“Oh Emma, my sweet girl. I have been so reckless,” he said still unable to look her in the eye. “I’ve made a horrible mess of things, and I’m afraid you will be made to suffer for my mistakes.”

“What do you mean, father?” She asked. “How will I be made to suffer? You are speaking in riddles.”

“I fell into a deep despair, when your mother died,” he said.

“I know, Father,” Emma replied with condolence.

“I made foolish decisions, gave up so much. I gambled with our funds, not for any true love of sport, but rather thinking I would make our little corner of England so grand. I would make your mother proud.”

“But Father, everything in our little corner of England is fine just the way it is.”

“Yes, it was indeed,” he said, rising and walking over to Emma, taking her hands in his own. He looked at her as if she were a ghost, and not the flesh and blood daughter that sat right before him. “And it will be again soon,” he said. “Were your mother alive, she would have not allowed me to do what I have done. I know, however, that she would be pleased with how I have been able to fix it. You too should be very pleased, though knowing you as I do daughter, it will take you some time to see how good this is for you, as well as for our family.”

“Father, please tell me what is going on,” she replied. It was unlike him to be so affectionate with her. It was far more common for her father to treat her with a cool aloof air. Emma thought hard for the last time her father had comforted her. It was certainly not often in the five years since her mother’s death.

“It would have been so much worse were I forced into a debtor’s prison. Our name and status lost with no one to care for you. But I have fixed it. I hope you will see it was my only option.” He was speaking rapidly and in riddles, repeating himself over and over with no true explanation. If Emma did not know it was her father in front of her, she would have thought she was speaking to a crazed man, daft, and perhaps under the influence of some unknown substance.

“Now you truly are terrifying me.” Emma searched her father’s face for some clue as to what he was talking about. It was hard enough to accept that he had gambled away the family money and properties. Although Emma was sure there was a bad investment or two in his ledger as well. Since losing her mother she knew her father’s despair had been great, and Emma had long feared that he kept company with an unsavory gentleman or two from time to time. Yet, until this moment she never thought her father foolish enough to squander their living.

Even though her father was an Earl, they did not have much in way of funds that were not entailed as part of the Earldom. Emma did not know the exact amount. As a lady it never occurred to her to ask. They lived comfortably enough, if simply.

Of course, Emma had new gowns from time to time, in order to stay fashionable, but only for their country entertaining. Since she rarely went to town, and never had a Season, clothing wasn’t her highest priority. She had even forgone spending her pin money on ribbons and other adornments, opting instead to use her time and resources to help those in need in the neighboring farms and villages.

They had lands to keep up and a few tenants, but nothing as grand as her father’s closest friend, the Duke of Drysdale who had more land, tenants, and investment than Emma thought decent for one family.

“Emma, darling, there is no need to be terrified,” he said. “All will be well. We will have the funds we need to keep the creditors at bay, and you will be positioned to be one of the most influential women in all of England. Wasn’t that always your dream, Emma, to enrapture the ton with your charms, marry well, and be a woman of means and substance?”

“Father, I was a child. Certainly, you don’t think I still crave those childish dreams.” Emma knew where the conversation was headed, and dread filled her, realizing her father had done the unthinkable.

“Those dreams are not childish at all. It’s what all women should want for themselves, what all fathers want for their daughters, and the match I have made for you will be the success to rival all other successes.”

“The match?”

“The Duke of Drysdale and I have spoken in great length about the matter. His son is in need of a wife. A wife who is accomplished and able to move in the right political circles.”

No, he could not possibly mean…

“Father, you wouldn’t—”

“Darling, you and Blackmoor were friends in childhood, there is a reasonable expectation that you will make a superb match. The Duke is prepared to pay off all of the debt. Of course, some of the property will not be able to be reclaimed, but the estate can go on. It really is what is best for everyone involved.”

Emma’s head began to spin. She got up and moved to the sideboard where she knew her father kept the good French brandy. She needed some kind of fortification.

She then recalled the last time she had seen him, Lord Blackmoor. So long ago now, and then she remembered that he had annoyed her.

She shuddered as the memory came rushing back to her. No. Not him.

“I won’t do it,” she said pouring herself what she thought might be just enough brandy to make their conversation more palatable. “You can’t mean to sell me off to the highest bidder as if I were chattel. And to Lord Henry Blackmoor of all people. I refuse.”

“I’m afraid you cannot refuse my dear. The paperwork is signed, and the money has changed hands. As we speak the Duke is in London to secure a special license.”

“A special license? Why must this rush if it has to happen at all?”

“The Duke is eager to see his only son secured and married—”

“And you needed the funds,” she finished. Her father moved toward her and took the brandy from her hand finishing the drink in one swallow.

Emma opened her mouth, willing an argument that would sway her father to come out, but there was nothing. He was in dire straits and she was the solution. She would have to marry the one man in England she swore she would never. If she were not so upset, she was sure she would find a divine humor in their situation.

“So that’s it then,” she said. “It has been decided and I have no say?”

“You and Blackmoor will be married at the end of the week. It is your duty, daughter, and I’m sure you will make the best of it.”

Chapter 2

Blackmoor Townhouse, Mayfair, England 1813

 If there was anything that Lord Henry Blackmoor, the Marquess of Dunberry, despised above all else, it was a lack of discipline and order. He kept his life and his home in town in perfect functioning order, with his servants chosen specifically based on their reputation and ability to keep his home in the exact order and position he preferred. His valet, Cecil, while a little more outspoken and jolly than Henry would like, understood that Henry wanted his dress to be impeccable, and for him to execute his position flawlessly. Henry often thought that Cecil Agar may be the single best valet in all of England.

His cook, Mrs. Treacher, understood dinner was always to be served precisely at eight, it was to be five courses, and pudding was only for holiday occasions. His butler, Charleston, understood that guests were only to be admitted during fashionable hours, with the proper card and announcement. Everything in his life was planned, ordered, and that was exactly how he liked it.

Shaking off the rain as he came in from a meeting with his solicitor to go over an investment that his good friend Westfield recommended, Henry pulled off his Beaver hat and his long blue great coat.

“Charleston, how goes the afternoon?” He looked at his watch, as Charleston took the offered items. Three p.m., exactly one hour until tea. Henry was peckish, but not so much that he could not wait until the proper tea time.

“Very good, sir,” Charleston replied. “Except your father is here, My Lord, waiting for you in the study.”

He gave his butler a quizzical look.

In the study? Charleston knew that Henry always received guests in the main parlor.

“Yes, sir, I tried to move him into the parlor, but His Grace insisted he would be more comfortable in your study.”

Henry nodded, as much as it perturbed him, he understood there was no way the butler could argue with the Duke. He made his way toward the study, wondering what in the world could draw his father away from his country estate to Mayfair. Surely, he was not on his way to London already. Parliament was not scheduled to begin for another two weeks, therefore the Season was not yet in full swing. Knowing his father’s desire to see and be seen, he would have expected him at the beginning of April – and not a moment earlier.

“And to what, pray tell, do I owe this honor, Father?” Seeing his father sitting at his desk, going through his ledgers, without any notice of him, was unsettling to say the least.

“Ahh, Blackmoor, I thought you would be back just before tea. Shall we have that man of yours bring us refreshments?” His father made no move to stand, and Henry knew he would be sitting in one of the fine leather chairs that faced his desk rather than behind the mahogany himself. He ran a hand through his jet-black hair in frustration.

“Tea is served at four, father. Charleston will bring it then and not a moment earlier.”

“Always so punctual,” his father replied, shaking his head.

Henry had to bite his tongue to hold back sharp words for the man. Instead, he simply nodded. There was no room for spontaneity in his life, and that was how he preferred it.

His parents were the exact opposite. Growing up at the country manse was a nightmare of never-ending excess for Henry. There were hunting parties, soirees, country balls, with endless guests and talks over drinks. His mother loved sherry, claret, and brandy and was never one to stop at overindulgence. His father enjoyed his port, cigars, and political maneuvering with other peers of the realm. There was never a quiet space or moment for Henry to pursue his own interests or passions. He was frequently paraded out on display, as the heir to the Dukedom.

He had had enough of that life as a child. Now, at nearly thirty, he was in charge of how he lived his life and there was no way he would allow chaos to rule. Except as the heir, and without a legitimate younger brother to act as the spare, his father was still very much in control of Henry. He was able to forget most of time as he stayed in town. But, seeing his father sitting at his desk, confident in his own authority, served as a sobering reminder.

“Why are you here, Father? Parliament does not sit for another two weeks. Surely you don’t have business in town before Season. Most of the ton is still quite ensconced in the country.”

“Actually, I’m not here for Parliament,” Drysdale replied. “I am here for you.” His father smiled in a way that made Henry scowl.

“For me? Whatever for?” There was something in his father’s eyes, an emotion Henry could not name, and he did not trust it, not one bit.

“My boy, it’s high time you married—” He held up a hand to stop Henry before he had an opportunity to object. “Before you say a single word, you need to understand we are in a politically precarious position. Loringham is in position to oppose every bill I put before the House of Lords this session, and with that fresh new young wife of his, he is sure to be the most sought after invitation of Season. And, with your mother gone, God rest her soul, and no one to host, you have a duty to secure a match not only for the success of our family line, but for the success of your future position as the Duke of Drysdale.”

“So, what is it you propose, Your Grace? That I spend the Season sorting through the new, young debutantes to select a proper bride?” Henry let out a long breath. He hated when his father spoke of honor and duty.

“No, no, no, my boy,” his father laughed. “We don’t have time for you to make the rounds among the young beauties and wallflowers. You need to be wed before the Season begins.”

Before the Season? That was less than two weeks. What on earth was his father thinking? He knew he would have to marry eventually. Still he was shocked by the urgency of his father’s pronouncement.

“Father there is no way. Why the devil are you in such a sudden rush?”

“Rush? It is well past time. I have let you dally in town long enough, not that you have used it to your advantage. You spend all of your time with that boring and overly studious Baron Westfield, the two of you playing with your trains. It’s a waste.”

“It’s not a waste father. And we don’t play. If Westfield’s inventor friend from America is right, the development of his new, more efficient steam engine will change travel as we know it throughout England. There can be much money to be made by getting in on the investment early.”

“Yes, yes, but you are rarely at White’s and I have it on good authority that you have not visited the theater, or the actresses of Covent Garden, not once the whole of this year? You are not living for enjoyment at all. So, it is indeed a waste. The ton is not interested in steam engines. There is no influence in that. You need a wife, and a life, one that makes our friends and rivals envious.”

Henry rolled his eyes. Of course, his father’s idea of success would be based in gambling, and pleasure palaces. It wasn’t that Henry didn’t enjoy the finer pleasures, it was just that he saw securing the future of his legacy, as well as the benefits to England as a whole, as a much more important priority. He had no need of his father’s club, or the theater.

“Father, clearly we see things differently. If you don’t want me to meet a potential bride during the season, what is it exactly that you have in mind?”

“I have already secured a match,” his father said, smiling broadly in a manner Henry thought would be best suited on a cat that had caught a mouse – and was thrilled with the idea of toying with it before he made it his dinner. “A completely charming girl, you are lucky you have a father like me who knows what is best for you, at least in a wife. She is lovely, blond and fair, a true English rose. She has not been out in society, and so a marriage would certainly set the ton’s tongues wagging, thus securing an invite to any event. The two of you would be the talk of London.”

“And who is this paragon of a bride, Father?”

Henry searched his brain but could not fathom where his father would have found such a girl. He feared that any woman his father thought of as a perfect match would be the worst kind of match for him.

“Why, who else, but our dear Lady Emma Thornton, the Earl of Elesmere’s beautiful, unwed, and accomplished daughter.”

Henry thought he must have misheard.

“Lady Emma Thornton? Surely you jest—” Henry tried to keep his tone even as he got up and paced the room. It would do no good for him to lose his temper with his father, but surely the old man was daft. “You mean to have me marry someone who I’ve known my whole life to be nothing but a flighty, vapid, girl? How is that anything close to a good match?”. An image of Lady Emma the last time he saw her flashed through his mind. A gangly sort of girl, who did not like to take direction and who had no respect at all for order. They would not suit at all. Clearly his father could see that. Besides he had not even been in the same room as Lady Emma in almost ten years. They had never spoken as adults, not danced, nor taken walks in the gardens. He would be marrying a complete stranger.

“I do not jest! And you will marry the Thornton chit. She is perfect for our purposes, and there is no need to discuss this further!”

Henry flinched. His father’s forceful tone put him on edge. He rarely heard his father issue an edict, but this was different. He had to come up with a way not to marry the Thornton girl. Yet, Henry was not accustomed to shirking his responsibilities.

Perhaps she will refuse me? Yes, surely the girl had not desired to be forced into a marriage, even if it was to a Marquess who was heir to a Dukedom?

“And what if Lady Emma says no?”

“She will not say no,” the Earl said, clasping his hands in front of himself and gently clapping them together, reminding Henry very much of one of the villains in the horribly dramatic gothic novels Cecil was forever reading and laying about. Not that Henry read the dreadful things, much anyway. “It was the Earl who came to me. It seems my good friend had lost a great deal of money, all of it in fact, and needed some assistance. That was when I caught a glimpse of Lady Emma and my plan…er… idea, yes, my idea began to take shape. You are in want of an accomplished wife, and she is an accomplished lady in need of a husband.”

“So, you bought her? Bloody hell, father.” This time Henry did not even try to keep the shock from his tone. His father had bought him a bride, unbelievable.

“Henry, really, such language. I did not buy her. I merely helped a friend out of an untenable situation, and he offered to make an advantageous match by way of thanking me.”

“This is really the edge of reason, father. I cannot be party to…to whatever it is you are planning.”

“I have already secured a special license,” the Duke replied. “Think of Lady Emma, should you refuse to do your duty and marry her, the scandal sheets would find out about the license and she will be ruined. You know our society is much harsher on women, and it will be thought that she did something to earn your disfavor. You will marry her. You must marry her. We will ride to the manse first thing in the morning.”

As if on cue, the clock in the corner of Henry’s study chimed the four o’clock hour and Charleston entered the room carrying a tray laden with afternoon tea. Henry could not move, nor could he muster the strength to say another word.

His father was right, it was too late. If he refused to marry Lady Emma he did not doubt the Duke would release the information about the special license to the scandal sheets himself, as a means of punishment for Henry’s defiance. He could not allow the girl to be ruined. He would do his duty and ride out for the country after tea as his father commanded.

He looked over at his loyal butler and nodded his thanks for the tea.

“Charleston, please tell Cecil to prepare a valise. We are leaving for the country at first light.”

Henry could have sworn he saw the old butler’s eyebrows raise in question, but as quick as the look arrived it was gone, and Charleston was once again the very face of propriety.

“Yes, My Lord,” he said as he nodded and left the room. Henry turned to his father. Wishing there were any way he could avoid the trap the old man had set.

“I will marry the girl, but mark my words, it will be under duress,” he said.

“My boy, by the end of the Season you will be thanking me for making such a fortuitous match,” his father replied. “Now, I’m famished, let’s eat.”

Henry found that despite the hour, his appetite had left him completely.

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