Chapter 1: In which our hero arrives
The most interesting thing that had ever happened to Lady Serena Cavendish was being jilted by Horace Breckenridge Church, the Duke of Frye, to whom she’d been betrothed since birth, practically.
By all accounts, she was an excellent match: a classic English beauty of rank and wealth, exquisitely mannered, a sterling reputation, talented in all the ladylike arts, and essentially born and bred to be a duchess. It was a known fact that ladies of such qualifications got married, not jilted.
But as a jilted woman, Serena now had an aura of tragedy, an air of mystery, and a whiff of scandal. As such, she had finally become interesting.
This was according to one Mr. Greyson Jones, a close personal friend of the Duke of Frye. Mr. Jones was widely reported to have remarked, “If you ask me, Frye dodged a bullet by avoiding a match to Lady Serena. I know, she’s a perfect lady, but she’s a little too perfect. This will make her more intriguing, now, don’t you think?”
Serena longed to point out that no one had asked him, least of all her. For that matter, she had not aspired to be interesting, she had aspired to be married.
And now she was still unwed and less of an excellent match.
Time passed in which Serena entertained no suitors.
It was between London seasons, and eligible gentlemen were not exactly thick on the ground at Kingstag and its neighboring counties.
Her mother, the dowager Duchess of Wessex, decided that such high-quality bridal potential ought not languish on the metaphorical shelf. Her daughter appeared a touch too pale, as the spark of excitement in the young girl’s heart had been extinguished by the duke’s shocking end to the betrothal. Something had to be done to restore a blush to Lady Serena’s cheeks, a sparkle to her eye.
Something like a suitor.
Something like a romance.
Something like a wedding.
Waiting for the next season to start in a few months’ time was too risky, as too much precious time could elapse. Thus, Serena’s mother decided a Christmas house party was the perfect occasion upon which to invite some eligible bachelors, along with family and friends who could be counted on to bring spirit and joy to the holidays and to Serena.
The guest list also included Horace Breckinridge Church, the jilting Duke of Frye, in the event that he had a change of heart and wished to honor the agreement his father had long ago made with Serena’s dearly departed father—a marriage between their children to unite their two families.
Really, they would have made an excellent match.
And yet for some reason an otherwise honorable and upstanding gentleman like Frye broke off the betrothal.
Something had to be done.
And so the house was decorated with boughs of holly and garlands of greenery, the guest rooms were readied, the menus planned and everything was prepared to host a splendid Christmas house party. The fires were roaring, and a soft snow started falling, leaving a light dusting along the fields and drive.
Then Serena’s mother had taken ill and her sister-in-law Cleo's secretary, Viola, was left in charge. But it was up to Serena to assume most of the hosting duties and to demonstrate to their guests—their unwed, eligible gentlemen guests—what an excellent wife and hostess she would be.
Guests who, at this moment, were arriving.
Serena sat in the drawing room serenely, waiting.
She heard the crunch of wheels on pea gravel, followed by the sound of the butler opening the door, footmen crossing the foyer to wait in attendance, a hearty hello from a male voice she did not quite recognize.
Eventually, the first guest was shown into the drawing room where she waited, seated elegantly by the fire where it was warm and where the light of the fire cast a flattering warm glow on her complexion.
Serena rose to greet him; her smile faltered when she saw the youngish man with sandy-colored hair, grayish eyes, and wide shoulders, which were lightly dusted in white snowflakes.
The words good afternoon died on her lips.
“Oh. It’s you,” she muttered in a rare lapse of manners. She refused to give much thought to the who and why and how this particular person could step into a room and make her forget years of ingrained etiquette. Recovering, she forced a smile and said most graciously, “Good day, Mr. Jones. Welcome to Kingstag. I trust you had a pleasant journey.”
“Lady Serena. A pleasure. As always.” His voice was low and he spoke as if savoring the words. Serena. Pleasure. Always. His eyes had the audacity to sparkle as he spoke.
“Is it really, Mr. Jones?”
She was not convinced.
He gave her a wolfish smile.
“Whyever would you think it was not?”
“Oh, just visiting a dull country mouse out at her remote country home doesn’t seem like the sort of thing to captivate a dashing man about town such as yourself.” Then she added, pointedly, “Although I suppose I am slightly more intriguing now.”
“I see you are up to date on the London gossip rags. ”
“Yes, they arrive out here. Surely not at the speed with which you are accustomed, but nevertheless we do manage to keep informed. When we’re not dodging bullets, that is.”
“As it happens, your gracious mother invited me, along with Frye, when she learned that I hadn’t a place to go for Christmas.”
This was news to Serena.
Most unpleasant and decidedly unwelcome news.
“She invited the two of you...”
Serena knit her brow and pursed her lips. Her mother had casually mentioned that she was inviting Frye—she did have hopes that they might rekindle their courtship and that her daughter would become a duchess after all.
But to invite Mr. Greyson Jones after what he said about her?
Well, she never.
“Yes. As I said, it was very gracious of her, considering...” He paused anxiously. She did not let him finish.
“If you’ll excuse me a moment.”
Serena stormed past him and quit the room.
Upstairs
Serena did not bother with knocking as she burst into the bedchamber of the dowager duchess. She found her mother abed, looking wan and pale as she sat up and took very small sips of tea.
“Mother, how are you feeling?”
“Well enough. What is the matter, dear?”
“I know you intended to invite Frye against my wishes, but to extend an invitation to Mr. Greyson Jones as well? I am shocked. Simply shocked.”
“Oh, have they arrived? I do hope everyone arrives shortly. If this snowfall keeps up at this pace, the drive might become impassable. I should hate for our little party to have uneven numbers.”
Uneven numbers of ladies and gentlemen was every hostess’s nightmare. One was tempted to keep spare cousins lying around in the event a seat needed to be filled.
“Just Mr. Jones has arrived. The Mr. Jones who, if you’ll recall, was heard to publicly say that Frye dodged a bullet by avoiding marriage to me and that being jilted was the only thing that made me interesting.”
“The gossip rags are always misquoting people, Serena. You mustn’t take them as gospel.”
“I just don’t understand why Frye and Mr. Jones were invited. Especially given how upsetting I find both of them.”
No one had ever disliked her or spoken ill of her before this and Serena found the whole business very unsettling. She was not used to feeling unsettled, either, which disturbed her equilibrium further.
“I had already mentioned spending Christmas together before...” her mother said, voice trailing off, not wanting to say the words before he jilted you. “It seemed rude not to issue the invitation and I confess, dear, that I had hoped that some time together might provide an opportunity for you two to renew your courtship.”
“And as for Mr. Jones?”
“When I learned he had nowhere else to go, I simply had to extend an invitation. Besides, uneven numbers, Serena. Uneven numbers.”
Her mother coughed.
“What am I to do with him? I have left him in the drawing room, even though I would really like to stuff him back in his carriage and send him off to London.”
“You left him in the drawing room?” Her mother gasped, and this set off another round of coughing. “Serena, I raised you better than that. Put him in the blue room in the guest wing and endeavor to be the gracious hostess I taught you to be.”
“Fine.” She gritted her teeth. She thought he seemed hearty enough to survive a carriage ride back to London in a snowstorm. But she was a (mostly) perfect young lady, so she would banish him to a guest room instead. “But I still cannot fathom why you issued an invitation to him.”
“Well, someone has to cast all the other eligible suitors in a better light.” Then her mother fell back against the pillows and closed her eyes.
“Now that is a reason that makes sense.”
Downstairs
Mr. Jones was right where she’d left him: standing near the fire for warmth and appearing to admire some porcelain figurines on the mantel.
Perhaps he was thinking about how she’d been rude to leave him abruptly, without refreshment. It was something no perfect woman would ever do.
Or perhaps he was reconsidering how rude his own words had been and he was mentally penning a retraction to be printed in all the London papers. Which she would read about a week or two after publication.
“Mr. Jones. Please accept my apologies for my brief absence. I had to confer with my mother with regard to which guest bedroom she had intended for you.”
“It is no trouble, Lady Serena. I understand perfectly.” He smiled devilishly at her. “You had to go have a heated conversation with your mother and to demand an explanation of my presence in your drawing room for a Christmas house party after I reportedly insulted you in the papers when I said you were too perfect, implying that perfection is a defect of your character.”
Serena scowled. “That is the right of it.”
“How is your mother, by the way? Or shall I say where is your mother?”
“She is abed. She has taken ill.”
“I wish her a speedy a recovery.”
“I as well.”
“Though this does afford you the opportunity to act as a supremely gracious hostess, all the better with which to impress the bevy of eligible suitors your mother has undoubtedly invited.”
“Precisely. You know the ways of marriage-minded mamas quite well.”
“It’s how I have managed to stay unwed.”
“That’s the only reason?” Serena replied coolly.
Mr. Jones gave no indication that her insult had landed. Instead, his lips tipped into a smile.
“You’re not doing very well at this whole gracious hostessing business.”
“It is ungentlemanly of you to point that out.”
“And it is unladylike of you to point out my lapse in manners. You see, I can tell my presence infuriates you, which it logically should, given that I am taking too much fun in needling you and given what I was reported to have said about the untimely demise of your betrothal.”
The untimely demise of her betrothal.
If it weren’t for that, she wouldn’t be stuck in her drawing room, with a fake smile plastered on her face, endeavoring to be a perfectly gracious hostess to a man whom she wished to bash over the head with a porcelain figurine. Then again, Mr. Jones was Frye’s best friend, so this moment might have been inevitable after all.
“But you look rather fetching when you are angry,” Greyson continued, once again giving her that wolfish smile that was probably all the rage among the ladies in London. She was completely and utterly immune to it.
“And you look like you would enjoy some time to rest after your journey.” Serena moved quickly toward the drawing room doors and called for the butler, Withers, who was but a few steps away.
“Our butler will show to your room. Withers, take our guest to the blue room in the guest wing, please. Do come down at seven for dinner. Hopefully some others will join us.”
By hopefully she meant dear lord above please ensure other guests arrived. Serena glanced out the window—the snow was still falling and showed no sign of abating. The last thing she needed was to be stuck alone with the awful Mr. Jones.