Prologue

Brook’s, London

April 1816

“Now, Francis,” Matthew Denning raised his whiskey to his lips, a sly grin playing on his features, “do you agree that the benefits of being a younger son of a gentleman are better than that of an heir?”

“I did not share my woes with you so you can make a point.” His dearest friend, Francis Langley, Viscount Lyndhurst, rolled his eyes and tossed back the contents of his own glass.

The other man in their trio, Richard Winchester, laughed before saying. “Come now, the season has barely begun. If you are this sullen at its start, I shudder to think of what you would become at the end of it.”

“Likely married and miserable,” Francis grumbled, shaking his blonde head.

“Have you already found a wife?” Matthew cocked a brow.

Society might value heirs more than the other sons in a family, but Matthew found freedom in such a convention. Unlike his brother and Francis, he was not pressured to marry to continue the family line, and he had the liberty to follow whichever path suited him.

“If only it were that simple. Every lady I have met thus far has not a clever head on her shoulders. I cannot harm the children I am yet to sire in my choice of a wife.” Francis raised his chin to call the waiter to refill their glasses.

“I agree with you,” Matthew said, “and you have my sympathies.”

Francis inclined his head and smiled. “I seem to recall you and Richard laughing at me.”

“To cheer you up,” Richard inserted. “Now, tell us what you seek in a wife. Perhaps we might be able to help.”

Francis picked up his refilled glass and took a sip before setting it back down. “Intelligence is important. She also needs to be from an excellent family and decent-looking.”

That drew another sly grin from Matthew. “I see we don’t want bedding her to become a chore.”

“Precisely!” Francis returned his grin.

Matthew had never imagined himself married. He quite loved his life as it was, and if at all he was going to marry, then it would likely be much later in his life.

“Such a woman is not impossible to find.” He clapped Francis on the shoulder. “You only have to attend more balls and ride in Hyde Park more often.”

“You rascal!” Richard laughed.

Matthew remembered the news he had to share with his friends and smiled.

It caught Francis’ attention, and he asked, “What are you so jolly about, Matthew?”

“I am glad you asked.” He sat straighter in his chair. “I shall conclude my pupillage in four months and after that…” He paused, watching their anticipation with satisfaction before finishing with, “I shall be a barrister in the Head Office.”

“Surely, you jest!” Francis clapped his hands together. “You got the position?”

“Yes, I did. My new position at the Head Office was confirmed this morning.” Joy swelled in his chest even more as he spoke. He had worked tirelessly for years to become a barrister, and he was very close now. He could almost taste the victory.

His friends raised their glasses in unison, and Francis spoke first. “You deserve this, Matthew, and I am thrilled for you. To getting justice for the disadvantaged and to a lifetime of friendship.”

Richard echoed the toast, and they clinked their glasses. They’d been with him on his journey to become a barrister, thus, if anyone could understand and appreciate the effort that led to this victory, it was them.

They cheered and teased each other for a while before parting ways for the night. Matthew hailed a hackney in front of the club and was conveyed to his bachelor lodgings in Bloomsbury.

The smile on his face and the spring in his step never once wavered that night, for he felt almost complete. His life was going as expected, and while he sympathized with his brother, Arthur, who was burdened with being the heir to the Earldom of Dorchester, he relished his freedom.

“This arrived while you were out, my lord.” Tanner, his valet of several years, gave him a missive, and Matthew immediately recognized the seal.

Only his father used the Dorchester crest on the seals of his missives, and the man seldom wrote to him. Something turned in his stomach, and he swallowed, his finger poised to break the sealing wax.

His heartbeat quickened as he opened the letter, and his world began to fall apart with the first words he read:

Dear Matthew,

It is with a broken heart that I write you this letter. Arthur died yesterday from wounds caused by a carriage accident. He will be interred in the family tomb today.

His responsibilities are now upon your shoulders, and I wish for you to return to Dorset at the earliest opportunity.

I pray that you are well.

Sincerely,

J. Denning

“My lord?” Tanner called, and Matthew blinked.

His entire body was numb, and his mind could not process what he’d just read. No! This couldn’t be happening! He was only five-and-twenty, too young to suffer such a fate.

“My lord?” Tanner called again. “Did something happen?”

“Arthur is dead,” he said, his voice coming as if through a tunnel. His life as he knew it would now be changed forever, his dreams shattered.

Chapter One

“Bloody hell!” Matthew cursed and quickly lifted the toppled inkpot before all of the ink could run out and ruin his work. Then he lifted the papers from the path of the ink with his other hand. “Tanner!”

“Yes, my lord?” Tanner appeared in the doorway almost immediately, and once he registered Matthew’s needs, he came to help him, taking the papers from his hand and placing them on a side table near a bookshelf.

Matthew pushed his chair back and rose, striding out of the sitting room to his bedchamber to allow Tanner to clean the table while he washed the ink off his hands.

The last months had been surreal, and he had moved through each day as though he were in a trance. He looked up at himself in the mirror, barely recognizing the man looking back at him with shadowed eyes.

“We should tend to that shirt, my lord,” Tanner said quietly from the doorway. Matthew straightened, looking down at himself and noticing the ink stain on his shirtsleeve for the first time.

There was no telling how long he had been standing in front of his washbasin, staring at himself in the mirror. “Right,” he murmured, his hands going up to undo the buttons of his waistcoat.

After changing into a clean shirt, he returned to the living room, and something caught his eye on his way to his desk: a small stack of letters—all from his father—on the side table that he had been avoiding. One part of him knew that it was time to face them, while the other continued to deny his loss and his new responsibilities.

Giving into reason, he walked over and picked them up before sitting down behind his desk. Some had been opened and read, and some had not.

He opened the most recent one and read it. The earl wanted him to return to their ancestral seat in Dorset. He set it aside and read the next one. It had the same content with only different wording. He passed a hand over his brow as grief washed over him anew.

Six months should have eased the pain, but it appeared as though time was not inclined to heal him… if it would heal him at all. His father had called him home in the first letter that announced Arthur’s death, and many more had followed. But Matthew had been unable to bring himself to go back. It would make his loss real. Besides, he would not have been able to see him because he was buried the day after he died.

He and Arthur had been more than brothers. They had been friends and done everything together when they were children. Their lives had taken different paths, but their bond had remained strong.

Setting the letters down and leaning his head back, he closed his eyes, a thousand thoughts fighting for dominance in his mind. His plans were no longer plans because he was expected to fill Arthur’s shoes. He was Viscount Shaftesbury now.

“Dinner is served.” Tanner’s voice broke into his thoughts some time later.

“I shall be right over,” he said, rubbing his eyes. Tanner turned to leave but stopped when Matthew called him. “Send word to Dunstowe Manor. We journey to Dorset in two days.”

The only indication of his surprise was a slight rise of his brows. “Of course, my lord. I shall begin the preparations.” He bowed.

It was time to bid Arthur a proper farewell.

*****

Matthew gave his gelding a pat on its crest before dismounting and handing the reins to a waiting groom. The servants were gathered in front of the manor to greet him while his father stood at the top of the marble steps, his shoulders straight and his jaw firm like the proud lord that he was.

He gazed up at the imposing Dunstowe Manor. It did not feel like home anymore. Not without Arthur.

Matthew acknowledged the servants’ bows and curtsies with a nod, then stepped up to meet his father.

“Father,” he said, bowing slightly and not allowing his gaze to linger on his face. There would be immeasurable grief in them, and he was not ready to see it just yet.

Jasper Denning laid a hand on his shoulder. “Welcome home, son.”

His voice caught in his throat, and he could only nod.

“Come,” Jasper said, leading him into the manor, “we have much to discuss.”

They entered his father’s private salon, and Matthew sat down in the chair closest to the fireplace. The air was cold, and he had ridden for the most part of the three-day journey; thus, some warmth was most welcome.

“Port will warm you faster than that fire,” Jasper said as he went to a liquor service on a table on one side of the room. On Matthew’s nod, he began to pour him a glass. “I trust your journey was fair.”

“It was.” Matthew accepted the glass with a murmur of thanks. One sip, and warmth swirled in his stomach. This part of the country was much colder than the one in the town, and the proximity to the sea only made it much more so.

“See? It works better than the fire, does it not?” Jasper settled in the chair opposite him.

“Yes…” A question hung between and with a deep breath, Matthew began to answer it. “I grew up in this manor with Arthur. I couldn’t come… it was too much.”

“Every man is allowed the liberty to mourn, and everyone mourns differently,” his father said sagely. The last time Matthew had seen him had been at Christmas time, and he had aged considerably since then. He was much thinner, too.

That response surprised him. He thought he would be reproached for not leaving London since Arthur’s death. He appreciated his father’s understanding.

“Thank you, Father.” He took another warming sip of his port, and it fortified him for the question he was going to ask. “Where was Arthur going when he had the accident?”

Jasper sighed, and his shoulders slightly slumped. His blue eyes, which were very much like Arthur’s, met Matthew’s, and the grief he had been avoiding was shown to him.

When he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. “He was on his way to visit Lady Anne Farbridge. Coachman John survived, but with severe injuries that nearly cost him his life. According to him, the horses were spooked by a deer and bolted, overturning the carriage. Arthur died within minutes of the accident.”

Lady Anne Farbridge had been Arthur’s betrothed, and there had been talks of a wedding happening toward the end of the year.

Matthew’s heart twisted with that revelation. None of them had been given the chance to bid each other farewell. How cruel of fate to bring upon them such pain, he thought.

“Arthur injured his head,” his father continued. “I cannot tell you of my shock when he was brought to me.” He took a long draught of his drink and followed it with a heavy sigh. “You must understand why we had to bury him quickly.”

Matthew closed his eyes and wondered how he would survive his stay here. He was yet to give up his bachelor lodgings in London, but he would have to do that eventually, for he had come back to Dunstowe Manor to stay.

“I hear you work at the Head Office now.” Jasper’s voice broke into his thoughts.

When Matthew had received the news of his position at the Head Office, Arthur was the first person he had written to, but he never got the chance to read it. He was already gone when the letter arrived.

“You read the letter I sent Arthur?”

“Yes. I had to read all of his missives after the incident.” He leaned forward in his chair, and his expression grew very serious. “I hope you understand that you have to give up your career. You are the heir to Dorchester now.”

Matthew winced at his father’s words. Was that all he was to him? An heir?

“I gave my notice to the office,” he said, drinking the last of his wine in one gulp.

“You should not have begun work with them,” Jasper said, his tone criticizing. “Concluding your pupillage was a waste of time.”

“It was not a waste of my time, Father,” he defended. “I worked too hard to quit in the final stages.” And he needed to keep himself occupied while he mourned.

Jasper shrugged. “That is no longer any concern of yours. My strength wanes by the day, and the earldom will be yours when I die. You are the last remaining heir in our family, and you must continue the bloodline. You must marry as soon as possible.”

Matthew’s eyes widened with disbelief. “My brother is not dead a year and you wish for me to wed?”

“You have a responsibility to Dorchester, and it comes above your sensibilities. I loved Arthur, and would give anything to have him back, but I must ensure the continuity of our line.”

“Why don’t you marry, then?” Matthew snapped, bolting to his feet and walking to the window that overlooked the gardens.

Jasper’s face grew red, and he stood slowly from his chair. “You would disrespect your mother’s memory?”

“You want me to marry before I am reconciled to my loss.”

“I lost Arthur, too.”

“Then why can’t you allow me more time?” Matthew ran his hand through his hair, releasing a strained breath.

His father had not married since his mother’s death twenty-three years ago. He loved her that much.

“I am an old man, and there is no certainty in my ability to sire another heir,” Jasper said in a calmer tone. “Arthur lived up to his responsibilities. You are in his shoes now, and the same is expected of you.”

He had been compared to Arthur his entire life, but it had never wounded him as it did now. Cursing under his breath, he stormed out of the room. He needed to be anywhere but in the same room with his father.

Perhaps the cold air outside would show him more mercy than the man that sired him. He had a horse saddled, and he rode out without any destination in mind, losing himself in his thoughts.

*****

“Letter for you, Miss Henley!”

Bridget smiled when she heard the voice of the boy that delivered messages to her, and she rose from her chair to open the door for him.

“Good morning, Miss Henley!” He beamed up at her, holding out a letter.

“Good morning, Simon.” She returned his smile as she accepted the letter from him, then fished in her pocket for a sweetmeat that she gave to him as a reward.

She would have given him money if she had enough to give, but some sugar would suffice. Besides, the boy loved them.

“Oh, thank you, Miss Henley! And do have a lovely day!” He waved as he ran.

“You, too, Simon,” she called after him.

Bridget looked down to find the letter was from her dearest friend, Eloise Gardner. She was rather surprised to receive her letter because they had seen each other only yesterday, and she wondered what it contained. She closed the door and went to sit in the chair beside the bed her mother was lying on.

“Who is it from?” Emma Henley asked, then raised a handkerchief to her mouth, coughing.

Bridget shoved the letter into her pocket and went to help her mother, lifting her back so she could be more comfortable. It seemed to ease her coughs, too.

“Better now?” she asked, tucking a small pillow behind her.

“Yes, my dear,” she replied weakly. “Thank you.”

Bridget sat down and pressed a hand to her mother’s forehead. She had had a fever last night.

“You worry too much, Bridget.” Emma smiled.

“It is my responsibility to worry and take care of you, Mama.” A small sigh punctuated her statement. She was failing at caring for her ailing mother now that she had no employment and almost no savings left.

If she did not find work soon, she might lose the only parent she had.

“But you worry too much. You have not been yourself since you were relieved of your work.”

No matter how much Bridget tried to hide her emotions from her mother, the woman always found a way to perceive them. She knew her very well. And it was only a matter of time before she discovered how little they had left. They had been well when she worked as a maid at the home of Baron Hamilton, but after his wife’s death, she had been dismissed because her services were no longer required.

Emma’s health was worsening by the day, and she could not lose her. She had helplessly watched her father lose his life to a long illness. To have history repeat would destroy her. She had not been able to afford a physician for him, and at that time, her mother’s health was already failing. Being the only healthy person in the family, she blamed herself for her inability to afford their treatment.

She recalled the pain of her father’s death and winced. She had loved him so much, and she could have cared for him. If only she had accepted that gentleman’s offer…

“Finding work is more difficult than I anticipated, Mama,” she said, gently brushing her mother’s hair away from her face.

“I know, but I have faith that you will succeed. You have a good reference from him, and you are a great girl.”

Bridget chuckled. “You flatter me, Mama.”

“No, my dear. You have taken care of me since I fell ill, and you never once complained.”

To complain was to be ungrateful, she thought. And what manner of person would she be if she did?

“Who is the letter from?” Emma asked, curiosity shining through the dullness in her eyes.

She retrieved the letter from her pocket. “Oh, it’s from Eloise. I wonder why she wrote.”

“Well, read it and find out.” Emma smiled.

Bridget opened the letter and read it aloud. When she reached the part where Eloise apprised her of a vacant position in the home of the Earl of Dorchester, she gasped.

“Mama, they are looking for a maid!” she exclaimed, hope beginning to swell in her chest. “Eloise has always spoken well about the earl. Perhaps I should go and inquire.”

Emma beamed and encouraged her. “You should, Bridget.”

When she was certain her mother was comfortable in the early afternoon, she set out to Dunstowe Manor with her reference letter in hand. She was hopeful.

Her jaw nearly dropped when she beheld the grand manor. It was at least thrice the size of Lord Hamilton’s, and she had never seen such well-tended grounds in her life. The hope she had felt earlier began to falter. An estate this large and grand would have very high expectations, and she was not certain she was qualified.

Still, she pushed on, locating the servants’ entrance on the side of the building and knocking. A maid about her age, around twenty years old, opened the door with a kind smile on her face.

“I am here to inquire about the position of a maid,” Bridget said.

“Are you Bridget, Eloise’s friend?” the maid asked.

“Er… yes, I am.”

“Oh, she has been full of praises for you and recommended you to the housekeeper, Mrs. Foster. Please come in.” She stepped aside to allow Bridget to enter.

It appeared as though she was expected. This was a good sign, she supposed. She was led to a small room to wait for the housekeeper, and her foot tapped against the wooden floor, growing more anxious as the minutes ticked by.

At last, a tall, slender woman walked in. Bridget began to rise, but the woman stayed her with a small gesture.

“There is no need to stand,” she said, her eyes sharp and assessing. “I am Mrs. Foster. Eloise speaks highly of you.”

“I hope I can live up to your expectations,” Bridget said with reservation.

Mrs. Foster sat down in a chair opposite hers. “Do you have any references?”

“Yes, from Lord Hamilton’s estate.” She proffered the letter she was putting a lot of faith in to vouch for her.

Mrs. Foster took it and perused it with a critical eye before handing it back to her, seeming satisfied with what she saw. “This is a large household, and sometimes we work well into the late hours of the night. Things have been quiet recently, but I have it on good authority that we are going to be very busy again.” She waited for Bridget to speak.

“I don’t mind work no matter how much it is.”

“Good.” She asked her a few more questions, and when she was satisfied, she said, “You will be taking the place of the girl that left us recently. You may begin work tomorrow, and Eloise will show you around.” She rose. “I shall better acquaint myself with you at another time. I must return to work.”

Bridget trembled slightly as she rose to her feet. She could not believe how fortunate she had been. She had employment now, and she would begin work as early as tomorrow. Her mother would be pleased.

“Thank you very much, Mrs. Foster.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You will need to prove yourself despite the very good reference you have. Mary will show you out.”

Mary was the maid who had admitted her into the manor, and she showed her to one of the manor’s exits. Bridget thought she would see Eloise, but she supposed she was occupied. She was certain Eloise would be informed of her employment at the earliest opportunity.

Once outside, a broad smile split across her face, and she looked up at the overcast sky, sending up a silent prayer of appreciation. Her fortune was turning around. She almost skipped as she walked. Such was the extent of her joy.

She was walking down the dirt road back to her village of Belwick when the sound of hooves beating the ground startled her. She turned around to see the rider heading toward her without slowing.

Every fiber in her body screamed for her to move out of the way, but she was paralyzed by fear. Bridget was about to be trampled.

Chapter Two

“Easy, there!” the rider called, reining his horse.

Bridget blinked, recovering from her momentary paralysis, and she quickly stumbled out of the way. Her heart pounded frantically in her chest.

The rider dismounted and approached her. Cautiously, she pulled the lapels of her cloak together and took a retreating step.

“Please forgive me,” he said, his voice strong yet calm and kind. “I did not see you there, I swear it.”

“You should be paying more attention when you ride,” she reprimanded him, taking another step back. “You could have killed me.”

“Wait.” He took off his hat, and her breath caught. The man that was revealed to her had the most startling green eyes she had ever seen; yet, they were only one part that made up his handsome face. Bridget quickly dismissed the admiration she was having for his appearance. He had nearly knocked her over.

She shook her head. “I must remove myself from harm’s way. If you are not clever enough to pay attention to where you are going, then it falls upon me to think for the two of us.”

His brows rose at her curt reply, but then his features smoothened. “Are you injured?” he asked, approaching her again. There was sincere concern in his eyes, and she stopped.

“No, I am not, but you gave me quite the fright.”

“And I profoundly apologize.”

Bridget’s shoulders relaxed a little, and she felt as though she could believe he was truly remorseful. “I accept your apology.” Then she turned to leave.

“Will you allow me to escort you to where you are going?” he called after her.

She looked at him over her shoulder. “Certainly not.”

“You sound as though you have not forgiven me.”

“I have.” She quickened her pace to get away from him.

“Viscount Shaftesbury!” someone called.

This made no difference to Bridget until she heard the rider answer, “What is it? Why are you following me?”

Her body grew rigid at the realization of whom she had spoken to without regard for his rank. This man was her employer, and if he knew who she was, she was likely to lose her job. She had to leave.

Pulling her cloak tighter about her shoulders, she began to run.

“Miss!” the viscount called after her.

She did not stop until she was near the village and her lungs were threatening to fail her. She breathed in loud gasps and bent over to catch her breath.

Lord! What have I done?

Some moments later, she walked to the tiny house she shared with her mother. She was awake when she entered.

“Did you have any luck, dear?” Emma asked.

She did, and she did not. “I did,” she announced, her voice uneven. “I am going to begin work at the manor tomorrow.”

“Oh, that is wonderful, Bridget!” She held her hand out to her. “There is something else though, isn’t there?”

“I…” Bridget paused, contemplating whether or not to tell her about her encounter with the viscount. She took Emma’s outstretched hand and sat down beside her. “I met the earl’s son on my way back. His horse nearly knocked me over, and I spoke harshly to him before I knew who he was.”

“Was he offended?”

“No.”

Emma gave her a gentle smile. “Then I don’t think you have anything to worry about. You have employment now, and this is a fortunate thing, indeed.”

Bridged smiled, deciding to put aside her worry for now. “Indeed, Mama.”

Her wages were meager, and she still could not afford a physician, but she could buy medicine for her.

“I shall be living at the manor, but I will see you every Sunday,” she told her mother. “Lizzy will stay with you while I am gone.”

Lizzy was their neighbor’s teenage daughter, and she was happy to take care of Emma for a pay. She cared for her when Bridget worked at Lord Hamilton’s manor.

“I shall miss you, and I hate that you have to do this.”

Bridget wrapped her arms around Emma’s frail shoulder. “Please don’t say that, Mama. I shall miss you, too, but you will be well again in no time.” She gave her a gentle squeeze.

“All shall be well again,” Bridget murmured, more to convince herself than anything.

*****

Matthew ate his breakfast alone the following day in his bedchamber instead of in the breakfast room, disinclined to be in his father’s company. They had not spoken again since he stormed out, and he was certain the man would have a word or two to say about it.

Scooping a generous amount of jam, he slathered it on his toast and took a big bite. As he chewed, an image began to shimmer in his mind. The image of a lovely woman with vivid blue eyes and a stubborn set to her chin. He smiled.

He still had not been able to comprehend why she had run away from him or what she was doing close to the estate. He certainly had never seen her before, and her modest attire marked her as a commoner. Still, she was lovely, like a woodland sprite. And she had been unafraid as she spoke her mind.

“My lord,” Tanner spoke, and Matthew’s thoughts were interrupted.

“Yes?” He looked up from his breakfast.

“His Lordship has requested that you join him in the stables.”

Matthew groaned. “Am I, at least, allowed to finish my breakfast?”

“I believe so, my lord,” Tanner replied, straightening his crisp cravat.

Matthew felt some regret about storming off the way he had. He was not naturally predisposed to strong displays of emotion, but he had been pushed to it. The turn of events in his life had shattered his plans and his dreams. The whole reason he had worked diligently to become a barrister was to fight for justice for the disadvantaged.

The law was unfair sometimes, and he wanted to ensure innocent people did not suffer. It gave his life meaning.

He finished his meal and strode through the house. It bustled with activity as the servants milled about to carry out their tasks. He wished to walk about and reacquaint himself with his childhood home, but that would have to be at another time. Still, he poked his head into his favorite drawing room and found two maids working there. Without paying them any mind, he looked about the room with a smile on his face before continuing on.

He found his father in the stables, mounting a bay stallion. Another one was saddled alongside it.

“Good morning, Father,” he greeted.

“Yes, good morning. It is good to see your spirits have improved.” He motioned to the horse beside him. “Now, get on the horse, and let’s go.”

“Where are we going?”

“Come along, and you shall find out,” his father replied, a smile dancing at the corners of his mouth.

If you want to stay updated on my next book, and want to know about secret deals, please click the button below!

If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here

If you want to be always up to date with my new releases, click and...
Follow me on BookBub