When Michael looked down at the phone buzzing incessantly in his pocket, he sighed, shaking his head. It had already been an extraordinarily long day and he could only think of one person who would be calling him at near on eleven PM to speak with him – and he was too tired to deal with her.

When the light before him turned green, he put his phone aside and continued on his way home. The streets were deserted at this hour on the edge of the city, but he didn’t want to take any chances. He’d seen more people in the emergency ward because they thought they were situationally aware while driving to know better. If he was going to call his mother back, and only if, he’d do it when he got back to his flat.

Truth be told, he didn’t really think that he was going to.

Unlike many physicians he knew, Michael liked working the late shift. The long drive home gave him time to mull over things his otherwise hectic life wouldn’t allow. The surgeries he had planned for the coming week, how many hours he was going to spend at the hospital. How on earth he was going to survive another summer at his parents’ estate when his mother was hell bent on bending him to her will.

If he’d thought his obligation to pleasing his parents had ended with his getting his medical degree and becoming a successful doctor in his own right, he’d been wrong. His mother was still intent on him being true to his “noble” English roots, when Michael had far more important things on the brain. Saving lives, for instance. Or making sure that his best friend and one of the UK’s greatest sources of interest, world-renowned architect Elias Johnson, wasn’t doing something that he’d regret.

Though, Michael had to admit that since Elias had married, he’d mellowed out somewhat. He didn’t jump into decisions so quickly, and on some occasions, he could even be enticed into pretending that he gave a damn about people – a detail he’d had trouble with before. Overall, in the past year, he’d become much more personable.

At least, in Michael’ opinion. He had known Elias before all the pomp and circumstance and the man had always been a bit narcissistic and slightly neurotic. But, then again, Mike was a surgeon, not a psychiatrist. That job now fell on Elias’ wife, Cat, and Mike could only pray for her.

That said, he liked Cat. She was an architect, like her husband, and a damn good one. In fact, with what he was teaching her, she might be on the way to surpassing her husband in the next five years or so – which would be an interesting thing to see.  Cat and Elias made quite the couple – and whenever Mike argued to his mother that he wasn’t particularly interested in marrying, Elias’ case was the first she brought up.

Elias didn’t think he would marry either, and look what happened to him! He found a nice girl, exactly his match, and you see how happy they are, Michael.

The memory alone was enough to make the Doctor groan as he pulled into the gated drive of his apartment complex. When he flashed his card, the guard let him in – and for the first time since he’d left the hospital, a small smile formed on his face.

At least he’d be free in his flat. He could set his phone to silent, have a glass of scotch, and shut out the world around him. It wouldn’t be difficult at this hour of the night. When he eased onto his leather sofa and turned the news on the telly, he wasn’t “Esteemed Earl and Doctor Michael W. Tate III.” He was just a man – an exhausted man who wanted a few hours to himself until he had to deal with life all over again the following morning.

Michael slipped from his Tesla – a car his father berated him for getting over a Rolls Royce – and locked it before heading into the posh building behind the parking lot. His flat was on the sixth floor, and he was relieved not to run into any of his neighbors on the way. Despite the fact that he had lived here for a good five years, he still found himself assaulted by his neighbors on a daily basis. They wanted to be friends. They wanted to hobnob with nobility when, in all honestly, Michael wanted little more than to escape his title.

It was why he’d chosen to become a doctor rather than to go into the military or politics or some other such ridiculousness. There were plenty of modern-day nobles in England to sling their titles around carelessly without his adding to the fray. If it were up to him, he’d live a quiet life out of the media spotlight, doing what he loved: Helping people. But so far, that had proved to be impossible. The paparazzi would hide in trash cans to get a glimpse of him – and that was outside of the functions that he had to attend every year because of his title. There was a photograph of him with William, Kate and their family that everyone flaunted, asking him if the royal family really were as royal as people thought.

They were fine people, in his opinion, but being asked about them daily wore on his nerves. Just as his mother’s constant harping on him about finding a wife.

Exhaling hotly, Mike entered his apartment, locking the door behind him and tossing his coat onto the nearest armchair. Though he liked to throw his money around about as much as his nobility, the fact was that he could match his best friend on almost any expenditure that he cared to make. The difference between them was that Elias liked to splurge while Michael chose what he spent on wisely.

His flat was a perfect example.

In a quiet, well-landscaped neighborhood in Northern London, the two-bedroom flat was in a new building, with mahogany floors throughout and a gorgeous view of the park across the street. Even Elias, who was reluctant to give compliments where architecture was involved, had to admit that the place was a damned good fit for him. Of course, the price had been something outlandish, but on this particular occasion, it was something that Michael was willing to pay. For his comfort, his solitude, and his peace of mind.

After all, one day, he would inherit the family manor and he would be forced to live in the monstrosity of a house by himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate his family history, or that he took his noble name for granted – it was simply that Michael was a man of simple pleasures, and by definition, most nobles tended to go in the opposite direction.

He was happiest while he was in surgery, saving lives, not being seen at some singular function meant to raise money for people in places no one had ever really been. With a low groan, Mike undid the first few buttons of his shirt before making his way to the expansive open kitchen. He always kept two or three bottles of his favorite scotch so he could have his nightcaps – but to his surprise, when Mike flicked on the kitchen light, there was no scotch on the counter.

He immediately scowled.

He wanted to be alone tonight.

“Elias, where the hell is my scotch?”

Almost immediately, his friend Elias Johnson popped up from Mike’s leather couch and smiled. “That is bloody uncanny. How’d you know it was me?”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Only a few people have keys to my flat and I assume my parents wouldn’t just pop in at midnight. That narrows the prospects quite a bit.” He ran a hand through his thick auburn hair before fixing Elias with an accusatory stare. “I know you didn’t drink all three bottles of Scotch, so what have you done with it?”

Elias stood with a sigh. At just over six feet with dark hair, vivid blue eyes and a devil-may-care attitude, he had been quite the lady’s man before he got married. Now, Cat kept him on a short leash – one he willingly adhered to. Elias’ womanizing days were far behind him, which meant that now, more than ever, he brought his woes to lay at Mike’s feet. “I put them in the bloody cabinet, where they belong. D’ you know how many people might be tempted to steal your cheap liquor?”

The doctor merely smirked. “People like you?”

Elias made a face. “I’ve only had a single nip and I’m convinced you’re off your rocker. That stuff is foul.”

Michael chuckled at his assessment. “All the better for you not to drink it, then.” With that, he crossed the room to the simple, elegantly carved liquor cabinet that his sister had bought him for his thirtieth birthday and retrieved a bottle of scotch. When he offered Elias a glass, the architect merely made a face and Michael proceeded to pour himself a generous tot on the rocks. That done, he settled down on the sofa that Elias had so recently vacated. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Elias?”

Elias leaned over the kitchen counter, exhaling hotly against the marble before he turned back to face his long-time friend.

“Cat is pregnant.”

Michael immediately bolted upright, choking on his scotch. “She’s what?”

“Pregnant.” Elias repeated almost immediately. “As in we’re going to have a baby.”

“I’m a bloody doctor. I know what pregnant means.” Michael returned, before the burning in his throat soothed and he took another, more cautionary sip of scotch. As he did so, he tried to read Elias’ face. After years of friendship, he was well aware that Elias wore his emotions on his sleeve – but just now, he couldn’t quite discern what his friend was feeling. Elias wouldn’t have come to see him at midnight if he was elated as hell that Cat was pregnant, so there had to be something else behind his impromptu pop-up. “And you’re…upset?”

“Not upset.” Elias snapped back almost defensively. Mike let it slide – Elias wasn’t known to be the most courteous of men, especially when his wife wasn’t around. “I just…hell, Mike, I’m going to be a bloody father!”

“Right.” Mike replied succinctly. “Raising another architecture prodigy. What do you have to worry about?” He took another sip of his drink, trusting the liquor to help him deal with Elias at such a crucial juncture in his life.

“Catherine’s amazing. She’ll be a wonderful mother.”

“Not worried about Cat.” Elias grunted, shaking his head slowly. “She’s not the problem.”

And there it hung between them – unspoken out of fear: Elias was scared that he was going to be a shit father, and it was up to Michael to convince him otherwise. The doctor sighed, rising only reluctantly from his position on the couch to retrieve another glass from the kitchen. He poured a second glass of scotch and, this time, when he offered it to Elias, his friend didn’t refuse. Elias took the glass, downing half the scotch in one gulp before wincing.

“Yuck, did I say that was foul?  Terrible!”

“And yet you still drink it.” Michael shook his head, leaning against the counter. “Ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous as worrying about your kid.” Elias’ head jerked up as he eyed his friend skeptically.  Michael shrugged. “Way I see it, the little one will have your drive and stubbornness, Cat’s heart of gold and the innate talent of both its parents, which is to say, far too much. I can’t very well see you having too much difficulty with a wee thing that’s basically just a mash up of you and the woman you adore.”

Elias expression turned contemplative. He drank the rest of his scotch more slowly, and by the time his glass was empty, his body was markedly more relaxed. He pushed the glass away with a single finger before finally looking to Michael again. “You make it sound so bloody easy.”

“Easier than you think, or so I’m told.” The doctor poured himself another glass. “If ever I knew a man who followed his instincts, Elias, it’s you. And in my humble opinion, parenting is eighty percent instinct.”

“And the other twenty percent?”

Michael’s mouth kicked up at the corners in an amused smile. “Fucking luck, mate.”

That drew a smile from Elias. The architect chuckled before retrieving his glass and presenting it to Mike once more. “Maybe drinking more of this horse shite will give me your outlook on all of this.”

“Hey.” Michael growled in warning. “This horse shite is three hundred quid a bottle, so don’t you go sucking it down like the alcoholic we both know you are.”

“Takes one to know one, my friend.”

Once Mike presented Elias with his second drink, they both retired to the living room once more, drinking in companionable silence. Outside, the dreary weather that had threatened for most of the previous day finally broke as thunder rumbled in the distance. Rain fell first in singular drops against the immaculate windowpanes, and ultimately became a torrential downpour. Mike exhaled contentedly, glad to have made it home before the storm – and similarly glad, despite the intrusion, that Elias trusted him with matters of such import.

He was going to be a father – no small thing by any stretch of the imagination. It was somewhat outlandish, when Michael really thought about it; not so much the idea that Elias was going to have a baby so much as that he was willing. A few years ago, the architect had been one of the foremost proponents of a singleton’s life. He was rich, attractive and without ties, and he used his status to shag his way through the ranks of some of the world’s most influential women.

Until Catherine had tamed his wayward heart.

Elias and she were something together, Mike had to admit. They were a wonder that almost made him believe in the merits of true and abiding love. Certainly, he himself had been with his fair share of women. He wasn’t bad looking, and whether they knew of his title or not, when his body expressed a need, it wasn’t hard to get a woman to assuage it. Unlike Elias, however, he made sure that they knew on no uncertain terms that he wanted no attachments. He was polite, if curt, for Michael was a man that liked his solitude.

It was something he’d longed for after years of being brought up in the media spotlight – of being paraded around by his mother and father and forced to the forefront of Britain’s moneyed upper crust for as long as he can remember. While his sister seemed to thrive under the attention, Mike only wanted to escape.

With the advent of his medical degree, for a brief moment, he thought he had. Being known in the medical community for one’s skill was completely different than being known as an earl, and Mike wanted badly enough to make his mark there. Instead, he became the “Earl Doctor”. He couldn’t count how many times his skills had come under question because of his title – to the point where only in the later years of his seven-year residency did those who worked with him realize his true level of skill.

Michael hard worked hard to get where he was, and despite the fact that he was very masculine, he didn’t find himself terribly attracted to very many women. He was more comfortable in scrubs than in a pub, and dragging himself through the functions of high society was something akin to torture.

He’d rather stay away from it all – and he certainly was in no mood to marry, despite his harassing mother.

As if he’d read his thoughts, Elias spoke suddenly. “I suppose you haven’t stumbled across any interesting ladies lately?”

Michael grimaced. “If you’re asking if I’ve been laid, yes, Elias. I’ve been in bed with women.”

The architect snorted. “Discussing the weather, no doubt.”

“Hilarious.” Mike returned scathingly. “Forgive me if my interest in women doesn’t run as deeply as yours.”

Elias leaned back in his leather armchair with a chuckle. “My interests are now centered on only one woman, Mike. For both our sakes, you’ve got to cut a swathe of broken hearts through London.”

“I don’t want to break any hearts.” Mike shot back almost immediately. “I’d rather fix them. In a surgeon’s theater.”

Elias groaned. “How are we friends? You are the antithesis of me.”

That was enough to bring Michael back into good humor. “I think that’s why we’re friends. That, and no one else can put up with your high maintenance bullshit.”

Elias merely sighed, swirling his scotch in his glass before nodding in agreement. “Point taken.”

At that particular moment, the doctor’s phone buzzed against the glass coffee table that separated the two men. Frowning, Mike eyed it skeptically. It was close to one am. If his parents were, indeed, calling, they were up terribly late. He reluctantly reached forward to cheek the number scrolling across the screen and cursed lowly. Elias arched a brow.

“The Countess, I presume?”

Michael groaned. “Don’t call her that. Call her Angela. She knows you.”

Elias merely grinned. He liked to tease Michael about escaping his titles at every opportunity – though, to his merit, he did grant his friend this particular jab. “And I know her, my Lord.”

“Fuck off.” At that point, Michael was willing to answer the phone just to shut him up, and hurried to do so. “Mum? What’s going on? It’s late.”

“Hello, my darling.” Michael sighed as she immediately gushed into his ear. He was in his mid-thirties and an accomplished doctor and his mother still tried to coddle him like he was a pre-pubescent teenager. “How’ve you been? I haven’t heard from you in weeks!”

“Busy, Mum.” He replied with succinct politeness. “Three surgeries every day and a residency. Why aren’t you in bed at this hour?”

“Well, darling, I have some exciting news and I just wanted to make sure I caught you. I know you’ll be home for the summer in a few weeks.”

Bloody hell. She’d done something. She wouldn’t be so happy unless she’d done something to his goddamned summer. Mike had been trying to escape returning to his family estate every summer since he’d moved out, and as of yet, he’d been unsuccessful. His dramatic mother always managed to guilt trip him into coming back, and if he was lucky, his time at home only consisted of her showing him off to all her upper echelon friends.

“What is it?”

She squealed. A sixty-seven year old woman squealed, and Michael knew he was in a world of trouble.

“Darling, we’re to have a guest this summer! And I just know you’re going to love her!”

**

“Smile!”

“Over here, Lady Lithgall!”

“Yes, let’s see his face as well! Give us a good one!”

Rose did her best to keep herself from internally combusting before the light of what seemed like a thousand flashing cameras. She was attending a charity benefit to raise money for children in Africa’s undersupplied Congo region, and for the event, they had even flown a Congolese child all the way from Africa to spend a week in London.

After which they would presumably send her back into poverty without a second thought.

When she’d learned of the stunt, the only thing that kept Rose from marching into the coordinator’s office and insulting him seven ways to Sunday was her mother’s gentle dissuasion.

“Darling, you know it won’t really do you any good. You’ll just make a scene, and that will be good for neither the child nor yourself, right?”

Though Rose knew perfectly well that her mother had begged her to refrain from losing her temper to save the family reputation more than of concern for a child she didn’t know, in this case, she had been the voice of reason. It wouldn’t do Rose any good to show her temper when money was being raised for this little girl and her village. The best she could do was make sure that she was taken advantage of as little as possible while she was in the UK.

And in order to do that, she made sure the child was in her care for the next week.

But that came with its own set of concerns.

Rose was dressed to the nines in a pale pink gown that clung to her tall, slender figure, her hair swept up into an intricate chignon. She’d spent half the day on her hair and makeup at her family’s insistence, knowing full well that she was meant to be seen as much as heard at the charity event.

Unfortunately, she was used to being in the spotlight. As the daughter of a Duke, even in modern day Britain, pomp and circumstance reigned supreme. She was forced to make appearances at tea functions and parties that bored her to tears when she would much rather be doing work that really mattered.

And then you had poor Elisée.

The dark-skinned little girl was seven – a beautiful seven with large brown eyes and a thatch of raven, curly hair. She’d never left the Congo in her life, and now, here she was, in Rose’s arms, dressed up in a frilly gold frock and clinging to her for dear life.

The poor thing was terrified – and no one here gave a flying frig because they were too concerned about their publicity opportunities.

And so, Rose fought to maintain her cool, rubbing over Elisée’s back soothingly and whispering to her in her native French in an attempt to calm her down. It seemed to take forever to make it down the carpet and into the actual venue, and then, a fresh burst of photographers met them at the entrance.

“Mon dieu,” Rose cursed lowly, completely out of patience. Dipping the tiniest of curtseys, she pushed through the crowd, heading with intention for the bathrooms and she didn’t stop until she and Elisée were safely inside.

Taking a deep breath, Rose did her best to compose herself as she gently pried the trembling girl’s fingertips from her and set her on the bathroom counter. Her pretty little face was tear-streaked and Rose’s heart went to her as she reached for a tissue to wipe the moisture away. “It’s alright mon petite,” she reassured the child in a low, soothing voice. “We’re fine. They won’t harm you, I promise. They just want to help you.”

And themselves – she couldn’t help the bitter thought that popped into her mind as soon as the statement left her lips.

“I miss momma and poppa.” Elisée replied plaintively, sniffling even as Rose wiped her tears away. “I want to go home.”

“And you will, my darling. With lots of nice things to eat for Mum and Dad, won’t that be nice?”

The child appeared skeptical, but her cheeks remained dry. Slowly, she nodded her head in assent. Rose cast her a winning smile. “That’s a good girl. You can be brave for your mummy, can’t you?”

This time, Elisée smiled, answering prettily. “Oui!”

Of course, Rose’s mother chose that instant to burst into the bathroom, startling the child against Rose’s breast once more so the young woman sighed in exasperation. “Hello, Mother.”

“Rose, darling, why aren’t you out there?” The Duchess of Heatherton wasted no time on pleasantries. “The patrons won’t donate unless they can see the child! And the child is in the washroom.”

Rose scowled. “The child has a name, mother. It’s Elisée, and she’s currently scared witless.” She scooped the girl from the sink to set her gently on the floor, where she clung to Rose’s skirts, staring up at the Duchess with wide eyes. “I’m trying to give her a moment without cameras in her face. She’s only seven, for heaven’s sake.”

Usually, this would be the point where her mother would try to argue with her. They’d butted heads frequently since Rose was a child, and the Duchess was always convinced that her way was the right way. Rose fully expected an argument – but, for whatever reason, her mother, instead of puffing herself up, backed down. With a sigh, she merely shook her head, still magnificent even in her mid-fifties.

“Very well, darling…but can we please try to keep this interlude under ten minutes?”

Rose knew she would have been suspicious. Very rarely did her mother give anything up without a fight – but she was too pre-occupied with Elisée to think of much else. She only flashed her mother a grateful smile. “We’ll be out in a few moments, mother. I promise. Thank you.”

The Duchess nodded with a tight smile before sweeping back out of the bathroom, leaving Rose alone with her charge once more. No sooner had the imposing woman left than Elisée pointed after her and murmured a single word. “Paon.”

Peacock.

Rose had to stifle her laughter. How amusing that children always had the courage to say what adults couldn’t – it was one rule that seemed to stand the test of time.

Though there were several more moments during the function where Rose found herself itching to throttle people, but on the whole, they made it through the function without incident. She hobnobbed with all the important people she was expected to – Elisée clinging to her skirt through the entire affair. Whenever someone sought to touch her, the little girl immediately hid her face bashfully and clung to Rose even harder. Ultimately, she was able to dissuade most of the guests from trying, citing that the little girl was tired and hungry.

Of course, by the time dinner actually rolled around, Elisée was fast asleep against Rose’s shoulder, completely exhausted from her evening. All the better, in Rose’s humble opinion. She probably would have wanted little to do with the rich foods on the evening’s menu. Rose herself had little taste for them. She would much have preferred a little fish and chip shop that she knew on the West End, close to a soup kitchen she volunteered.

One her mother implied that she would be better not to be seen at.

But Rose didn’t care.

She would endure the high-maintenance of tonight’s function because, ultimately, it would mean that Elisée’s village got food, fresh water, and a measure of monetary support. That was, if they could take advantage of it before the warlords in the region got hold of it.

The very thought made her wince.

As she made a go at her liver pate, the young woman gazed around at the people circling the table. Celebrities, lord and ladies all of them, but few of them knew anything of the actual plight children like Elisée faced every single day. They meant well, but when push came to shove, they liked to keep a fair distance between them and their “charitable” causes.

But to make a scene tonight – or any other night, frankly, would be ill-mannered. While she had contemplated action several times, this was something the young woman simply wasn’t willing to trade. Not if it meant people in the Democratic Republic of Congo, or anywhere else for that matter, could get help. No matter how small.

And so, the young woman endured. She endured the dinner, the speeches and the titles. She endured the small talk, smiling until her cheeks ached and dancing until her feet were sore – but she didn’t truly relax until she was in the car on the way home. Elisée curled in her lap, sound asleep, and she herself was nodding off until her mother spoke.

“You were a vision tonight, dearest.”

The blonde woman’s eyes popped open and she straightened slightly to meet the gaze of the woman sitting across from her. Duchess Emily Lithgall was still very much awake, re-applying her lipstick even though they had left the event for the evening.

“Thank you, mother.”

“And we raised over one hundred thousand pounds for your friends. Isn’t that lovely?”

Rose repressed a groan. She found it slightly infuriating that her mother constantly referred to the people she tried to help as “her friends”. It was ridiculously condescending. “Yes, mother, quite.”

“I’m sure that when the girl wakes up, she’ll be happy to hear it.” As the Duchess beamed at her, Rose exhaled slowly. For the rest of Elisée’s time here, she hardly wanted to concern the girl with matters of money and survival. She would do her best to keep the child out of the spotlight, with a full belly and lots of toys to play with.

“I’m sure she will, mother.”

After her reply, a companionable silence fell between them and Rose was silly enough to take it as a sign that she had been let off the hook. She began to drift off again, jerking to attention at her mother’s low tone.

“You don’t seem very happy, dear.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake. “I’m fine, mother. Just a bit tired.”

“Lord Benjamin commented that you seemed a little irritated when his wife asked to hold the child.”

“Elisée,” Rose replied through gritted teeth, her gray eyes flashing dangerously. “Her name is Elisée.”

“Whoever she is,” The Duchess made a superfluous motion with her hand. “You must understand how important these events are for her and her kind. Interacting with people in the civilized world can only reflect well for her, and-”

“Civilized?” Rose burst, unable to remain quiet any longer. “You treat a lone child, thousands of miles away from her home like an attraction in a zoo and you have the nerve to label it civility?”

“More civil than where she came from.” The Duchess’ expression immediately turned severe, her green eyes narrowing in warning. “Hopefully, she’ll take more than food and our hard-earned money back with her.”

“Oh yes”, Rose hissed, clutching the child in her arm closer to her reflexively. “Heaven forbid that our illustrious funds should go to people who actually need them instead of your brand name obsession. Mother, the people at these functions only attend to be seen and you know it.” All at once, her tone turned pleading. “If people could just understand what they go through…if they would make an effort to see what it’s really like-”

“Enough, Rose.” The Duchess’ clear, high tone rang through the back of the car and her daughter immediately bristled, turning red.  “Isn’t it enough that I put up with your flights of fancy? That I allow all of your shenanigans when there are other things you’re neglecting?”

Her daughter groaned, exasperated. “Like what, mother? What makeup to wear in the morning? What dress I should wear to tea? Who I should be seen with?”

“Rose,” Two high spots of pink appeared high on her mother’s cheeks. “I only mention it because I care about you. I can’t bear the thought of you growing old alone!”

Rose stared at her, completely flummoxed. She was a few weeks away from her twenty-seventh birthday. Where was all this “dying along” idiocy coming from? Slowly, she shook her head.

“Mother, what on earth are you on about?”

But it was too late. The Duchess had turned on the waterworks and began to sob, much to her daughter’s dismay. Rose swallowed a groan of consternation. If her mother couldn’t get her way by demanding that something is done, the next stage was dissolving into hysterics. 

“Darling, all you ever do is work for other people. People in places I’ve never gone, in cities I can’t even pronounce…and I just want to know you’re happy. For you to be able to settle down with someone who understands you like I do!”

It was on the tip of Rose’s tongue to tell her mother that she could pronounce Thailand and India perfectly well, and even closer to home, she could go visit the soup kitchen in the West end and make a difference there. But that clearly wasn’t the course of conversation that her mother wanted to pursue. She was talking about something completely different.

“Mum…I’m perfectly happy. Alone.”

The statement was mostly true. It wasn’t as if Rose didn’t want a family someday, but right now, settling down simply wasn’t at the top of her list. She wanted to go places, see things, and most of all, she wanted to help people. Very few men seemed to understand that passion. They looked at her and they saw the rich, privileged daughter of a Duke and wondered why she wasn’t out buying up the high street and throwing extravagant parties.

From the beginning, however, Rose had been different than most girls in her situation. She didn’t want extravagant birthday parties every year, and when her parents offered her trips abroad for good behavior, she used them to go to third world countries and explore. She’d always been obsessed with the idea of helping people – of making a difference in some small way. For Rose, material things had never mattered much. She gave most of her childhood toys away in donation for needy children at Christmastime. She sold the Audi her father bought her for her eighteenth birthday, bought a hybrid, and sent the rest of the money to war-torn regions in Africa. After she graduated from one of London’s premier finishing schools, she’d gone to University to major in International Studies – and the moment she graduated, much to her parents’ dismay, she signed on with the Peace Corps for two years

Thankfully, neither her mother nor her father had tried to keep her from going – not once they found the papers already signed. What they did do, however, was try to turn their daughter’s two-year tenure into a publicity stunt, splashing all the images they sent her all over the papers and the internet. She was the selfish one, the “angel” – and of course, by the time she returned, everyone wanted her for a charity or a benefit. Her face became synonymous with giving – even for those who could care less about the plights of others.

It suited her parents just fine, of course. Any action that ultimately painted the family name in a good light worked for them – as long as they got their daughter back in the end. In years of playing along with their machinations, Rose found that she truly didn’t have time to date, and when she did, men were shocked to find out that she was actually as earnest about her causes as people said.

Rose wasn’t playing a role. She never has – and the fact that her parents had built themselves from her goodwill continued to annoy her. It was something she told herself she could live with – as long as they never tried to restrict her. She was a grown woman after all – capable of making her own decisions.

And executing them.

And her current plans didn’t involve settling down.

“Mother, in a few years, perhaps.” She tried to be as gentle as she could. Rose was never comfortable with her mother’s emotional outbursts. “I don’t think that now is the time-”

“Oh, darling, just tell me you’ll go. I need to know you’re at least giving this a chance.”

Giving what a chance? Maybe it was the day’s exhaustion, but Rose was entirely confused. “Giving what a chance, mother?”

The Duchess sighed, reaching into her handbag for a tissue to dry her tears. Rose watched her dab, forcing her face into a semblance of understanding. On her lap, Elisée shifted slightly in her sleep, clutching her more tightly.

“Rose, I’ve arranged for you to spend the summer at the manor of some of our oldest family friends.” The blonde woman immediately bristled. Her mother knew that she planned to leave for Thailand in a few weeks’ time. She intended to spend a year there, helping educate children in remote villages.

“Mother,” She began, intent on reigning in her temper, “I’m not staying in England this summer. We’ve already had this discussion.”

“But sweetheart, just meet him.”

Bloody hell. The plot grew thicker with every word that came from her mother’s mouth.  “Meet who, Mum?”

“Why, Lord Tate, dear. Earl Johnathan Tate’s son. He’s a very successful surgeon, and quite an attractive man from what I’ve heard.”

For a long moment, Rose just stared at her mother in disbelief. She could barely process what she was hearing. Her mother had promised someone that she would spend the summer at a manor she’d never visited in her life in a shady attempt to hook her up with their son? The sheer meddling alone was enough to make her want to mutter enough filthy epithets that one would wonder how she’d ever become a lady in the first place. But, somehow, she refrained.

For a long, silent moment, Rose weighed her options.

She could fight her mother on this – while they were both tired, knowing that the woman would probably wake Elisée in the process and pull out every stop that she possibly could in order to get her daughter to cooperate with her.

Or, she could give in.

There were actually a few merits when one looked at the latter choice. The first of which was that she’d be away from her mother’s direct influence for the entire summer. She’d be giving into her wishes certainly, but as far as Rose knew, the Tates’ estate was a fair way outside of London, which lessened any chance of her parents intruding.  Another good thing about the trip was that it would give her a break from the limelight. She assumed that when she was with the Tates, she would be expected to accompany their son on his social calls. If that were the case, she could easily beg off. She’d had plenty of practice with her own parents. And, thirdly, no one could make her like Lord Tate….whatever his name was. Rose doubted she’d be impressed with  any military time he’d served or hunting trips he’d been on. This was the modern age, and she would not be played like a bloody pawn.

She might be going, but she was going under her own set of rules.

“Fine, mother. I’ll go.”

The Duchess’ shock showed on her face, and Rose hid a crafty smile. “On one condition.”

“What’s that, dear?” The elder woman answered almost immediately and Rose knew she had her on the hook. She shifted the child in her arms into a more comfortable position before meeting her mother’s gaze directly.

“Should Lord Tate and I not get along as famously as you anticipate, at the end of the summer, you allow me to go to Thailand. For two years. No questions asked.”

The Duchess’ face paled. She swallowed visibly, her gaze still meeting her daughters, a moment before her smile turned saccharine sweet.

“Very well, my darling. If that’s really what you want.”

“It is.” Rose returned succinctly, her expression softening as she gazed down at the sleeping girl in her arms with a fond expression. “It is.”

 

**

He was not looking forward to this trip. Michael hadn’t been looking forward to it for the past two months, and now that the summer had finally arrived, he found himself despising the manipulative ways of his parents more and more.

He didn’t have to go, he reminded himself. He could turn his car around, return to his flat and tell Jaclyn, the head administrator of Worthington Medical, that he’d changed his mind. He wasn’t taking the summer off and he would be on hand for all of the surgeries he’d passed off.

But then he’d never hear the end of it from his parents.

She made this summer sound like it was going to be three months of unadulterated delight, but Michael knew better. Just because his mother had agreed to let him work at the local hospital didn’t mean that she was offering him any allowances. He’d been trapped into this, and nothing would make him believe any different.

As he drove out of London, the city suburbs gave way to green countryside. Villages and trees that took over the skyline and, inexplicably, the dreary weather of London seemed to fade further and further with each kilometer that passed. It was a good two hours or so to the family estate, and so, he had time to mull things over.

Like what the hell he was going to do to stave off this girl.

Michael wasn’t stupid. He knew that his mother full intended him to be engaged by the end of the summer, just as he intended to thwart her. Michael had no intention of letting a woman weigh him down at this point in his life – especially one as absorbed with marriage and titles as his parents were. In this day and age, there was nothing the Doctor considered more old-fashioned than the slinging of titles in London. It was garish and uncalled for – and the quickest path to earn his disdain.

And here he was, playing into his mother’s machinations.

When it came to why, Michael wasn’t sure himself. To appease his mother? To ensure that he didn’t spent the rest of the year with his parents harassing him? Because some part of him, deep down, longed to prove to them that he simply wasn’t as marriageable as they assumed? He wasn’t certain.

What was certain, however, was sheer ridiculousness of the idea that he’d like a young woman simply because she was attractive and had titles. If one was really going to nitpick about the type of women that Michael liked, he didn’t think he would ever label them “genteel”. He was a man for adventurous women who weren’t afraid to take chances and stand up for themselves, not delicate wilting wallflowers who flirted louder than they did anything else.

His mother hadn’t told him very much about Lady Rose Lithgall, and for that, Michael was grateful. He preferred to make his own interpretations when he met her –and on that note, he was almost certain that he would be disappointed. If his mother had chosen her, then it only further indicated to him that spending a summer with her would be something akin to a nightmare. He’d be expected to entertain her between his hospital shifts, to wine and dine her and at least pretend he was interested…

Mike made a face. It seemed the world was intent on torturing him when all he wanted to do was to practice in peace.

When his phone rang, Mike set it on the cradle he used to charge the device and used the car’s system to answer the call. “Hello?”

“I can’t believe you’re going through with this.” Mike sighed the moment his sister’s miffed, cultured tones drifted through the car’s speakers. “I would have told Mum to stuff it.”

Groaning, the doctor merely shook his head incrementally before taking his next exit. “Well, you’re certifiably off your rocker.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny, Michael.” Sarcasm dried her tone. “Just because I’m not an illustrious doctor at one of London’s best hospitals-”

“You know bloody well I’m not talking about your job, Alice.” Michael replied drily. His sister was a fashion designer – and a damn good one. She had kept more to the expectations befitting a Lady of her station and lived the high life that their parents so enjoyed. Mike didn’t resent her for it – unlike most of the British aristocracy, his sister worked hard for her money, earning almost as much as was in her trust fund. But this freedom made her a thorn in their parents’ side, and at the tender age of twenty-five, she was in the tabloids almost every other day with her grandiose parties and morning after debauchery.

Michael and his sister had always been close, and, in truth, he admired her refusal to be tamed. Out of the two of them, he supposed, one had to be the wild child – and that was most certainly Alice.

“Well, I’m talking about your freedom. Tell me you’re not taking this seriously.”

“Please, Alice.” Michael grunted in half amusement. “You know me better than that.”

“I’m glad to say I do. So I’m sure you’re going to explain to me why you’re entertaining this flight of fancy.”

Michael exhaled a long breath, his concentration fixed on the road before him. How was he supposed to explain to his sister that he didn’t intend to go through with their parents’ flights of fancy? That he was only going home for the summer to play the part of dutiful son with the hope that once they realized how unmarriageable he was, they would let him go? The entire plan sounded more and more far-fetched the more he mulled it over.

He was the oldest male in the Tate family. Lineage demanded that he provide a son or daughter to carry on the name –as archaic as the notion was. Of course, Alice would marry in her own right, but her children might not be Tates. Especially if she followed the current pattern she set for herself and married outside of the gentry entirely. Maybe she’d fall in love with a tattoo artist, or a chef. Alice tended to like artistic types.

“I don’t really know.” He finally admitted gruffly, taking the exit that would lead him along the cliffs and afford him a breathtaking view of the ocean beyond. “I’m hoping this will be the last time. That they’ll give up and let me live my own life.”

In response, Alice merely delivered a scathing laugh. “Come on, Michael. Dream on. You’re a Tate. The eldest Tate. They’ll be harping you until the day you die.”

“And I’ll die single and childless just to spite them,” he growled in annoyance. “I may play the dutiful child, Alice, but I like obeying no more than you.”

“Good to hear it!” His sister’s voice perked up at his profession which, strangely enough, made Michael feel better as well. “You’ll keep my updated, won’t you?”

“Of course,” he replied with a small smile. “It’ll be the closest thing to hell I’ve ever wrought, so I assume you’ll want to hear all about it.”

“Indeed I will! You’d better call me, Michael. I adore you.”

“Love you too. Now, hang up the phone before I crash.”

His sister took the opportunity he provided to blow him a very wet and unladylike raspberry. “Shut it, you cheeky bastard.”

In the silence that followed the click of the connection ending, Mike found his hopes bolstered. Alice was right. He would make sure that his mother knew that he was participating in her flights of fancy not out of genuine interest in marriage, but because he was merely trying to do his civic duty. Of course, he had other duties than to his parents. He was a doctor, a member of the medical community, a friend and an advisor – but of course, his esteemed parents didn’t think much of any of that.

He was a Tate, first and foremost – however he might feel about the subject.

So, he would be a Tate. He would be polite and gentlemanly – the picture of refinement. And then the first moment he found himself alone with Lady Lithgall, he would tell them exactly how he had ended up in this predicament, and that he had no intention whatsoever of being wedded to her.

Yes, that sounded like a lovely plan.

As he pulled up into the long, gated drive of the estate, Michael was even smiling – for the first time since his mother had laid out the plans for his dreaded summer. It was going to be more interesting than any he’d had in a long while.

He’d make sure of it.

 

The Tate Manor was one of the oldest and most prestigious in England. Constructed sometime in the late seventeen hundreds, it towered over the surrounding landscape, all turrets, bay windows and impressive, solid brick. When he was a boy, Mike had loved to play hide and seek with his nurses. There were so many nooks and crannies one could lose oneself in – so many that, ultimately, his parents had forbid him from further games of hide and seek after he became stuck in the kitchen chimney one afternoon. Alice had laughed herself sick at the soot that had covered him, and he’d earned a stern lecture from his father.

It had been absolutely worth it.

Now, when he approached the imposing house, Michael no longer eyed it with a sense of childlike wonder – now it seemed to him a show of excess. It wasn’t that he didn’t like beautiful buildings. His best mate was one of the foremost architects in the world for God’s sake. It was simply that his parents had no need to maintain such an enormous house – it cost them a fortune. The manor contained a ballroom, shuffleboard courts, and indoor steam room and God knew what other plethora of excess that needed an entire staff on twenty-four seven call.

As he exited the car, the first evidence of this staff made itself known. Edgar had been their family butler for years, and even now, at the tottering age of seventy, he had yet to retire.

“Lord Michael,” The aged man’s voice was as soft and dignified as ever. He hadn’t shown the slightest sign of senility and, as far as Michael knew, Edgar was sharper than he himself was. “Lovely to see you again. May I take your luggage?”

“Let me give you a hand with them, Edgar.” The tall man rounded his car to the trunk, taking several bags from the butler, even when the older man shot him a sharp look askance. “I’ve got them, Edgar.” He winked at the butler to soften the blow to his pride. “Can’t say I took all those years of martial arts for nothing.”

“As you say, sir.”

Mike didn’t look back. He could feel Edgar staring a reproachful wound into his back as he made his way towards the front foyer.

Despite any misgivings he may have about the manor, the smell that wafted from it was that of home. He had grown up here – hadn’t left until he was eighteen. He’d been coddled here by his mother, his nurses, and even his little sister, who loved to cook for him at any opportunity. Fond memories of his childhood were almost enough to blot out his premonition for the summer to come.

He could only hope that Lady Lithgall hadn’t arrived yet. He needed a moment to gather himself before he started battling his mother’s matchmaking instincts.

“There you are darling.” And there she was, beautifully coiffed and proper as ever – his mother. Countess Angela Tate was dressed in a beautifully tailored cream suit, though Mike would guess that she hadn’t left the manor all day. She had allowed her hair to go gray years ago, but not a single strand was out of place, and her makeup was impeccable. She was the picture of a modern-day English Aristocrat. She glided over to him on Ferragamo pumps, kissing the air on either side of his face warmly before hugging him to her. Though Michael had long outgrown his mother by more than a foot, she managed to make the gesture remain somehow sheltering, and Michael pat her a few times on the back before releasing her.

“Hello, mother.”

“I’m so happy to see you, darling. How was the drive up? Not too frightful, I hope?”

“Clear since I got out of London.” Mike let Edgar take his coat. It was the least he could do when the man was probably after his blood for taking half of the luggage.

“How lovely – though I do wish you’d listen to your father and hire a Rolls to drive you. People get into so many accidents these days, my dear.” Her voice lowered conspiratorially. “Cell phones and messaging…it’s no wonder so many of our young people are killed.”

Michael merely sighed at his mother’s dramatics. His father had, over a decade and a half ago, brought shares in Apple before it reached its advent and the family made out like kings. Of course, his mother conveniently forgot that whenever she criticized modern technology. Strange that she never criticized apple when it allowed her to reach him in the middle of the night and make outlandish demands.

“I don’t want a Rolls, Mum. I’m a very safe driver. I enjoy driving.” Michael sidled up to one of the floor length mirrors in the foyer, assessing his reflection. For the hundredth time in the last decade, he realized just how little he favored either of his parents.

In her youth, his mother had been small and fair-haired. Her eyes were a bright blue and her slender figure had been the envy of many women of her time. While Michael’s father was indeed tall, he didn’t quite reach Michael’s lofty height of almost six and a half feet. Nor did his carefully groomed blonde beard match the ruddy auburn of his son’s. Michael’s eyes were a vivid color of hazel, and the first thing many noticed about him. He was prone to wearing sweaters and slacks, as he found them the most comfortable uniform both in and out of the hospital. But his sister would attest to the fact that his well-built physique could put many others to shame in a suit.

Even if he wasn’t always the most enthusiastic about wearing one.

He wasn’t bad looking, Michael knew – but looks mattered less to him in the grand scheme of things. His confidence came from his skill – everything else he considered secondary.

“I assume you’re changing for dinner, darling?” His mother’s words made him jerk to attention, and Mike swallowed a groan. He hadn’t bought enough of a wardrobe to change for every bloody meal. This wasn’t the eighteenth century, for God’s sake.

“I’ll change my shirt, mother.” It was all he could think of to appease her, though that, apparently, was enough for Angela. She clapped her hands together in delight, bright eyes gleaming. “Wonderful. Lady Lithgall should be here in time for supper. Hopefully, you two will be acquainted by then.”

The thought made his stomach churn.

“Hopefully,” he echoed with false enthusiasm, before following Edgar upstairs towards his suite of rooms. This summer, he decided, was going to be quite the disaster, and there was little he could do about it.

Intentions be damned.

**

The house was enormous.

But, of course, Rose had expected nothing less. For the past eight weeks, all her mother had been jabbering about was the Tates. The Tates and their wealth. The Tates and their station – how much she might benefit from marrying a Tate. It had been on the tip of Rose’s tongue to suggest marrying her to Lady Alice, Lord Michael’s younger and more controversial sister, but she hardly needed her mother to go into hysterics.

Not when Rose was so certain that she’d already won.

Certainly, she’d have to spend the summer among the opulent and affluent Tates, but she could give a flying frig about their son. There was nothing in the world he could do to charm her into liking him – except perhaps take a vow of poverty.

The thought made Rose smile. Her mother would have a conniption for the ages.

But there would be none of that.

As she slid from the back of the gleaming Mercedes to look up at the imposing manor before her, she straightened her spine. She would be polite, she reminded herself, but firm. She was a worldly woman and she wouldn’t be wooed by infantile gestures and the whims of those who saw her as a pawn. She’d rather shuffle off the mortal coil.

“Welcome to Tate Manor, My Lady.” The blonde woman jumped, whirling to see an elderly man standing ramrod straight just behind her. He had to be at least seventy, but somehow, he’d snuck up on her. “May I take your luggage?”

Trying to calm her racing heart, she took a calming breath. “Of-of course!” She managed, nodding in his direction in gratitude. “Thank you.”

“The Countess and Lord Tate will be waiting for you in the sitting room, just beyond the foyer. Anne is the housekeeper. She’ll show you the way.”

“Thank you very much...?” Rose left off inquisitively, arching a brow in question.

“Edgar.” The butler filled in the blank, bending into an Elizabethan bow that made Rose wince. It couldn’t be easy for a man of his age. “Pleasure to serve you, my lady.”

“Oh, do stand up.” Rose waved away his words quickly. “Don’t stand on such formalities. I really don’t abide by them.”

“Don’t you? Well, that will make this summer all the more pleasant, won’t it?”

A deep baritone thrummed through her, and Rose tore her attention from the perplexed butler, turning to find her feet rooted in place. She stare upward, her lips slightly parted in shock, at the statuesque man that stood before her. Though she knew him from pictures, Rose had to admit that photographs did little justice to a man like Michael Tate.

He was enormous by the standards of any man – at least six and a half feet tall – with well-groomed auburn hair combed back from his brow and a close-shaved beard that covered one of the handsomest jaws she’d ever seen. He was dressed in a pressed white dress shirt and tie, though Rose didn’t think the clothing quite did him justice. Perhaps it was the way it strained at the muscles of his arms or hugged the slim lines of his waist. It was altogether far too distracting for her taste.

In fact, Rose found, to her mortification, that Lord Michael presented quite the devastatingly attractive package. Attractive enough to render her momentarily speechless as she gaped at him in his shirt and trousers, her body heating in places she could have sworn long forgotten. This man was a Lord? He’d be more at home in a boxing ring or astride a sixth-century war horse. He was intimidating, broad…

And altogether mouthwatering.

“My Lord!” Dimly, Rose realized Edgar was speaking, and fought her way out of the haze that enveloped her. “You and the Countess aren’t taking brandy?”

Lord Michael’s full mouth quirked slightly in a gesture of amusement that made Rose oddly weak at the knees. “I thought I’d come and help you with the luggage, Edgar. And greet Lady Lithgall of course.” Stepping forward, the gargantuan man extended a hand to her as he inclined his head in respect. “My lady. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

To Rose’s mortification, she hesitated before allowing him to take her hand – and in that moment of hesitation, she divested the man of every stitch of clothing in her mind, the image making her toes curl and her heart race.

She was very much in trouble if this were the man she was supposed to be resisting. If he could awaken her dormant desires with a single look, what on earth would he do with three months of unfettered time?

She expected him to shake her hand. That would have been perfectly acceptable. Instead, the man bent to brush his lips against her knuckles, sending gooseflesh up the entirety of her arm so she inhaled sharply. His whiskers tickled, and, instantly, she imagined what they might feel like elsewhere.

Bloody hell.

This summer was going to be a disaster.