Chapter 1

Louisa wished she could dump the entire kettle of water onto the gentleman before her.

A smile was frozen on her face as she sipped the lukewarm tea that she had long ago lost her taste for. A cool wind wafted in from the open windows of the drawing room, making bumps rise on her skin. Before her, the white marble fireplace shone under the glow of the sunlight, the pianoforte that stood next to it begging to be played. Louisa lifted her gaze from the table laden with cakes and tea to look at the gentleman who had not stopped talking since he’d arrived.

He is quite handsome, she thought, widening her smile just a tad. He caught the movement and seemed to take it as encouragement. Though, it would be nice if I could at least remember his name.

His dark brown hair fell around his head in the Brutus style, accentuating his strong jaw. He had a very wide smile, one that filled his entire face with happiness. He was certainly the type to have ladies yearning for his attention, but that seemed to be his downfall. It was very clear that he was used to being handed the world because of his good looks, but Louisa was not in the mood to entertain this nonsense any longer.

“Forgive me,” she said, refraining from using any titles. She couldn’t remember if he was a duke, or an earl, or even a baron. She’d only met him two days ago at a ball and his name was quite gone from her memory. “I am afraid I will have to ask you to leave.”

His smile fell. His eyes, a glorious shade of brown, were filled with bemusement. “Pardon me?”

Louisa waved her hand carelessly toward the doors of the drawing room. “Would you like for me to accompany you to the door? I do not mind doing so.”

His bemusement deepened. Louisa resisted the urge to sigh. It seems he was not very smart either. “But, my Lady…why? I had believed that you were enjoying yourself with me.”

“No,” she said with a shake of her head, looking him directly in his eyes. “You were enjoying yourself. I was merely sitting here while you talked on and on. I am in no mood for it any longer.”

“Would you like for us to go for a walk along the river tomorrow instead?” he asked, leaning a bit closer.

“So that you may only talk even more?” Louisa shook her head. “I would rather not.” And because she could already hear her mother’s voice in her head, she plastered another smile onto her face, trying to sweeten her voice. “I am only feeling a bit unwell. I wish to retire to my room, as I’m afraid I will not be good company.”

He sat back in his chair, blinking. Louisa wondered if he was trying to ascertain the truth in her words, but his easy smile came back with full force. “Is that so? For a moment there, I was afraid I might have offended you in some manner.”

“You? Oh, heavens no.”

Her idle, uninterested tone did not seem to raise his suspicions in the slightest. “Very well, my Lady,” he continued, still wearing that broad smile. “I will bid you goodbye. I do not want to be the reason for your malady.”

“How very kind of you.” Louisa rose, and her lady’s maid, Valerie, who had been sitting nearby, rose as well. The gentleman also came to his feet, taking a step closer to her. Louisa thought he might have intended to walk alongside her, but she turned and stalked away before he could. To her slight annoyance, he hurried to catch up.

“I would love to write to you, my Lady,” the gentleman said as they left the drawing room. Emerging from the shadows, Louisa saw the butler, Henry, trailing shortly behind. He was a silent man in both words and actions—and she supposed that was why she was so fond of him.

“I suppose you would,” she responded noncommittally.

“I would also love to go riding with you,” he went on. “I have quite the habit of riding at dawn. I do hope that is not an issue for you.”

“I do not enjoy riding,” she lied. She did enjoy it from time to time, reveling in the escape she found within the act—but he didn’t need to know that.

To her disappointment, he was unhindered. “Ah, is that so? Well, I suppose we all prefer different hobbies. That is what makes us all different as humans, after all. It is like what I said to a dear friend of mind, the Duke of Forester, while we were fencing together—”

“I bid you goodbye,” Louisa cut in. They’d barely made it through the foyer, the grand front doors directly in sight. Her annoyance was growing by the minute, but she kept that small smile on her face even as she curtsied. Anyone with a lick of common sense would be able to tell that her smile was fake.

But this gentleman only looked slightly confused. Throwing him out in the middle of his story might have befuddled him a bit, she supposed.

“A-ah, yes.” He bowed jerkily. “It was truly a pleasure, Lady Louisa. Though I would have greatly liked to have more time with you.”

Because the words that had come to her head were things she should never say to a gentleman, she only widened her smile a little further.

He didn’t seem to know what to do with that, and so he bowed again. It seems I have baffled him again. He is not quite smart, is he?

A twinge of humor pricked her as Henry took the lead from her and proceeded to escort the gentleman out of the manor. Louisa watched him go, tilting her head to the side when he glanced over his shoulder at her. There was a hint of longing in his eyes, a yearning to stay. It gave her that much more pleasure to see him leave.

Perhaps I should have been a little more impolite. He will not wish to court me if I have hurt his feelings.

Louisa sighed once he was gone. She flashed a genuine smile at Henry, who bowed silently and went off for his own duties. The smile fell as she stared at the nowclosed doors. Now that he was gone, she had a bad feeling that he would return. It was very likely that he had not realized the extent of her disinterest in him. If he did call upon her again, Louisa would have no choice but to be a little more discourteous, her mother’s opinion be damned.

Turning, intending to return to the gardens where she had been before the gentleman’s arrival, she came face to face with her parents.

Lord Anders King, the Earl of Warwick wore a tired expression. His brown hair stuck up around his head in an unruly fashion, though bits of it seemed to have been desperately smoothed down. He shook his head disappointedly at Louisa, his green eyes shifting over to his wife.

Lady Liliana King, the Countess of Warwick was a fearsome sight, even though she was shortest lady in the manor. She stood with her arms crossed, a fierce scowl on her face. Her golden blond hair had been set loose around her shoulders, simply because she tended to get migraines when it was done up. A few times, Louisa had contemplated using that same excuse, but she knew her mother would see right through her.

“What do you think you are doing?” asked the countess in a low, eerily calm voice.

Louisa pulled her shoulders back. She’d always had the power to handle her mother whenever she angered her, but right now, she was unsure of whether she had the energy. “I was bidding a young gentleman goodbye,” Louisa responded.

“That is not what you were doing,” her mother pressed. Liliana always lost her composure when handling her eldest daughter. “You were trying to chase him away. Just like how you chase away all your other suitors.”

“Potential suitors,” Louisa corrected. “They have never gotten that far.”

“Louisa,” her father warned. He always stood as peacemaker between them. Just as how no one else could anger Liliana like Louisa could, no one else could calm her like her husband. Louisa was happy he was here.

“None will ever truly make it that far if you continue to act in such an abhorrent manner,” Liliana hissed. Then, she took a deep breath, visibly reining herself back in. “What was wrong with this one?”

“He talks too much about himself,” Louisa asked. This was not a conversation that she would like the servants overhearing, so she turned in the direction of the drawing room. Her parents fell into step behind her.

“Don’t they all?” Anders mused aloud. “I am yet to meet a gentleman who does not go on and on about himself. They only wish to impress you.”

Louisa hid her smile. “I am happy you noticed it, Father. Surely, you cannot expect me to court someone like that.”

“Oh, heavens, Louisa, we all know that is not the reason for your actions,” Liliana cut in. When they arrived at the drawing room, her mother stayed at the door while Louisa reclaimed her seat by the window. “And I am certain you understand that you do not have the luxury to act in such a manner any longer.”

“Truly, Mother, you need not worry,” Louisa said calmly.

“Why should I not worry?” Liliana demanded. Anders sank into a plush, violet sofa with a sigh. “You have not given any indication that you wish to be married.”

“Because I do not,” Louisa stated. How could she when the very thought of a man touching her made her tremble? A marriage could never thrive with such a fear.

“And I should not worry?” her mother nearly screeched.

Louisa looked at her. She understood why her mother was so upset. It was necessary for her to marry, a fact of her birth. She was the eldest daughter of an earl and she was fast approaching spinster age. In order to secure her future, Louisa knew she needed to find a decent husband. Liliana had every reason in the world to be concerned that her daughter showed such little regard for her own future.

But Louisa had already come to terms with it. She did not expect her mother to. So, she said, “I am a strong lady. You raised me to be that way. I will be just fine on my own, I assure you.”

This time, it was Liliana’s turn to sink into the sofa next to her husband. As if by instinct, Anders reached out and took her hand. “Oh, heavens, she will be the death of me,” Liliana murmured.

Louisa nearly laughed. “Oh, Mother, do not be so dramatic. Charlotte is already married, and Selina is out—in her second Season now, in fact. Within a couple of years, Tereza will be as well. Even if I do not marry, you have three other daughters to make up for my shortcomings.”

“You must think that will make me feel better,” her mother mumbled. “But it does not.”

“You must understand our concern, Louisa,” her father spoke up. “You will become a spinster in a matter of years. You must marry before then. It is not as if you are short of any potential suitors. You may very well marry any gentleman in London.”

Louisa said nothing to that. It was true that she was quite a beauty, that she did not have to worry about attracting a suitor—because they basically lined themselves up for her, wanting her hand in marriage. But because of that, Louisa felt a heavy burden. She did not like that she was beautiful. Had she been plain, her life would have been much easier.

“You are talking to a wall, my dear,” her mother spoke up with a sigh. “It will take a miracle to move her mind.”

Louisa smiled warmly at her mother. “Does this mean you will no longer pressure me to accept the gentlemen who come my way?”

“It means quite the opposite,” Liliana maintained. “I will not allow such a fate to befall you. Perhaps we will find someone suitable at Charlotte’s ball tomorrow.”

Louisa nearly sighed. She turned her attention to the window as her parents rose to make their way to the door. But just before they left, her father asked, “Louisa, I wonder. Do you happen to know the name of the gentleman who left just now?”

Louisa felt a little pleasure in sending an innocent smile over her shoulder. “Why, Father, it is funny that you should ask, because I hadn’t a single clue.”

Liliana groaned.

Chapter 2

“Are you certain he has returned?” The moment Jerome asked the question, the butler, the housekeeper, and the valet looked at each other. When he’d posed that same question ten minutes earlier, the valet, Jackson, had responded with ease and confidence. But now, as they stood in the center of the ornately decorated foyer of Leinster Manor, they seemed unsure of themselves.

Jerome rested his gaze on the butler, the one of the three who should know the answer to this question. “Has he left the manor?” he asked.

The butler stiffened, lifting his chin. “No, sir.”

“Then where is he?”

“I believe he is still in his bedchamber, sir.”

Jerome cocked his head to the side. Standing before him in the foyer were the only people in the manor who were aware of his true status. The rest of servants only saw him as a close partner to the Duke of Leinster.

“His bedchamber,” Jerome repeated, looking the butler in the eye. It didn’t make sense. The Duke of Leinster was not the sort of man who spent all his day in his bedchamber. “Is he ill?”

“I believe that—”

The fact that he hadn’t received an instantaneous denial made him tense. “What has become of him?”

Even though Jerome’s voice was calm, the butler flinched. “Would you like me to inform him of your visit—?”

“There is no need,” Jerome clipped. “I will see him myself.” He looked at the aging woman who stood silently next to the butler, the housekeeper. She was a familiar face, as he’d known her ever since he was young. She was the only one of the three who didn’t seem intimidated by his presence. She said nothing to him.

Jerome looked away from her. He set off toward the grand staircase spread out before him, listening to the echo of his footsteps in the silent manor. The moment he’d walked in, he knew something was wrong. The manor was never silent. The air was oddly still as well, as if all the servants were tiptoeing around and not wanting to be heard.

Jerome’s hands clenched into fists at his side. He was hardly aware of Jackson following behind, but he almost held his up a hand, a silent command for him to leave him be. Jackson’s own footsteps came to a stop as Jerome continued on.

It did not take him long to arrive at the duke’s bedchamber. He paused before the door, letting that annoying tremor of nervousness drift through him before he raised his hand to knock.

“Enter,” came the duke’s voice. Jerome hesitated. He doesn’t sound good.

After a moment, Jerome entered the duke’s oversized bedchamber. He instantly spotted the duke standing on the balcony, the curtains by the doors drifting into the room. Jerome drew nearer, tentative.

“Is all well?” he asked. No greeting, because it was not welcomed. No announcement of his return, because it was not necessary. The duke preferred when he got straight to the point.

With a low grunt, His Grace, Francis Nelson of Leinster, turned to face Jerome. Wrinkles lined his face, his thin lips turned down in constant disapproval. His hair had gone entirely white, but Jerome had not forgotten the thick head of brown hair he’d once possessed. The duke had put on a bit of weight over the years, but he was still every bit the strong, domineering man Jerome had known since the day Jerome learned he was his father.

“You have returned,” Francis pointed out.

Jerome frowned slightly. For as long as he’d known the duke, he’d always spent his time in his office. He was a man who lived through his work, managing his business and the dukedom with ease. He gave little time to other aspects of his life and, as such, failed miserably in social settings. Many knew the name of the wealthy Duke of Leinster, but not many knew who he truly was, unless they happened to be in business with him.

It was odd seeing him in here. Standing on his balcony, his voice calm.

“Yes,” Jerome said, venturing closer. They were about the same tall height, with a very muscular build. “Are you well?” he repeated.

Francis said nothing to that. He turned to face the overlook from the balcony, the bit of the Leinster gardens that had been dedicated to the late Duchess of Leinster. “Tell me how it fared,” he ordered.

Jerome’s frown deepened. Despite himself, he felt a pinch of unease. But he could not very well go against what his father had asked him to do. “I have successfully established a route with Belman Company. They will now be using our ships to facilitate their trade between America and the Far East.”

It was simple and to the point. Jerome knew his father didn’t want to hear him talk about the specific details of his trip. The duke only wanted results, and results he would give him.

“Good,” was all his father said. Jerome had long ago learned how to live with that stab of disappointment.

Jerome joined his father in facing the gardens. The roses that were now growing there had been planted in memory of the late duchess, but Jerome could never look at them without thinking of his own mother. A simple servant girl she had been before she’d fallen for the duke. And a hardened mother she had become when she had been tossed aside. Jerome hadn’t learned of his lineage until he was a teenager and the duke, perhaps because of his wife’s childless status, had welcomed him. Now, Jerome’s mother was gone, the duke’s wife had passed, and all that remained was a strained relationship between father and son.

Though it seemed Jerome was the only one being affected by it. He looked at his father, feeling at odds with the soulful expression on his face. “Has something happened?” he asked him. “Why are you not in your office?”

“I do not wish to be,” was the duke’s only reply.

But Jerome would not leave it at that. “It seems the servants are all tense. There was an air of unease in the manor when I arrived.”

Francis grunted. “What would you have me do, address them regarding my wellbeing?”

“No,” Jerome responded easily. “But at least put my mind at ease. Are you unwell?” He thought back on what the butler had said and felt his uneasiness growing.

To make matters worse, Francis did not respond right away. He continued to gaze out before him, and Jerome wondered if he was thinking about his words. Finally, he spoke, “Yes. I am not well. I believe I will die soon.”

“Father…”

“I am an old man,” Francis went on. “I have spent all my life working hard without giving myself much time to rest. I have done all that I should as the Duke of Leinster. And still, I have failed.”

Alarmed, Jerome faced his father. “I find it hard to believe that the gentleman who has achieved so much wealth and prestige for his dukedom could say such a thing.”

Then, the unthinkable happened. Francis smiled. “We are but humans, Jerome. We may strive for one thing and fail terribly in another. In my case, I have neglected my health.”

Jerome tightened his grip on the railing. “What did the physician say? Did he tell you what might be the cause of your illness? Why are you not in bed?”

“I am an old man, Jerome,” Francis repeated. “It would do me no good to fight it.”

And then he coughed. The wheezing sound felt like a punch to Jerome’s chest. He stood there, watching as the man he’d looked up to half his life, the man he’d worked so hard to make proud, shank under the weight of his cough.

This…this just does not make sense.

“There is something I want you to do, Jerome,” his father said once the coughing fit ended.

Jerome stood a bit straighter. “Yes, Father. Anything.”

“You must inherit the dukedom.”

Jerome went still. For so long he’d wished to hear those words. To hear them now felt like a dream. He was an illegitimate son, one that had been hidden away from the world to prevent a scandal. It felt like a fool’s dream to yearn for the title.

“Are you certain, Father?” Jerome asked, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart.

Francis nodded. “You are not the son of my wife, but you are my son, nonetheless. If you do not inherit the title, it will become extinct.”

And that was a worse fate than having an illegitimate child inherit an entire dukedom.

Jerome hardly knew the words to say. “Thank you, Fa—”

“Do not get ahead of yourself,” his father said in a gruff voice. “You must first marry a woman of noble birth. If you do not, then I will not ask the Prince Regent to smooth your way to inheriting the dukedom.”

Jerome glanced down at his father’s hands to see him gripping the railing so tightly, his knuckles turned white. He was quite adept at masking his feelings, something Jerome had both loathed and marveled at. To see the duke turn to him, his eyes narrowing into slits, Jerome instantly went on edge.

“Do you hear me, boy?” he growled. “You cannot inherit the title if you do not find a fitting wife. A wife that I will approve of.”

“Yes, Father,” Jerome said with a stiff nod. He tried to ignore the roaring in his head at the duke’s insistence. “I am an illegitimate son. I understand that you will not name me as your heir unless I find a woman of noble birth.”

The duke ran his eyes up and down Jerome, as if gauging if he understood the seriousness of the situation. And he did. How could he not? For half his life, he’d known that he would never have a place in his world, despite being so close to it. Even though his father was a duke, his mother was nothing but a commoner. And it seemed commoner blood ran strong in situations like this.

A noble lady would help greatly. Perhaps the daughter of a duke, or even an earl. Someone who was more than fitting to stand as a duchess.

Jerome wasn’t hindered by his father’s condition. If he became the new duke, he would have to marry. It would not be so difficult, he believed, to find a suitable wife to please his father. He’d been doing very well pleasing him thus far, even if he would not say it. “Yes, Father,” he said.

Francis turned to him. He was leaning rather heavily on the railing, Jerome noticed, but he said nothing about it. “I hope you understand the severity of this situation,” Francis told him.

“I reckon no one else would understand as much as I do. You will not be disappointed.”

“I hope not.” With that said, Francis turned away, heading back into the bedroom. Now that he was no longer resting his weight on the railing, he stumbled a bit as he walked. Jerome trailed closely behind, but he didn’t dare to lend his aid. He knew that his father would not appreciate that in the slightest.

Somehow, Francis made it to the bed without collapsing. A faint sheen of sweat covered his forehead as he laid down, pulling the sheets over him. “Fetch my valet,” he ordered, his eyes fluttering close.

Jerome, even though Francis wouldn’t see it, nodded. Then, without a word, he left. Jackson was already making his way into the bedchamber the moment the door opened.

Jerome paused on the other side of the door for a few seconds, trying to process all that he had been told. It felt surreal to have the dukedom right at the tips of his fingers when for so long it had felt out of reach. Francis had no son, no close relative that could stand in place as a male heir. If necessary, Jerome would have been his only choice, and yet he had convinced himself that he would never be considered.

His face grim, he set off down the hallway. A fierce wave of determination came over him. His mind was whirring, his chaotic thoughts already fleshing out into a plan. Tomorrow night, there would be a ball at Rutherford Manor. Considering he was already acquainted with the family, he should take advantage of his invitation. Once he was in attendance, it should be a simple matter to find a decent lady who may serve as his future wife.

That grim expression gave way into a smile. He was being given a chance at the life he had always wanted. Jerome was not going to allow that chance to slip away.

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