Prologue
December 6th, 1816
“Reid, are you coming?”
Jason Rose-Reid, heir to the earldom of Ashgate looked up from his brandy, pulled himself from his wool-gathering and looked at Isaac Waterstone.
“Coming where?”
“Cedric Onslow’s betrothal ball.” Jason scrunched up his nose and looked around. Most of his friends were on their feet and looked as if they were getting ready to leave.
“Cedric Onslow? Really? The man’s an arse.”
“True, but we all wish to see this poor chit that shall be leg-shackled to him.”
Christ, men were as bad as women when it came to gossip in the ton. Damned poor girl. Imagine being leg-shackled to that dandy. Jason shuddered. Seeing the chit accepting her fate felt as if he would be attending an execution complete with blood-splattered knitting. He did not have the stomach for it. Not tonight.
“I think I am for home.”
“Are you sure? Should be a grand squeeze and Cedric will make sure the betting at the card tables are high stakes.”
“Yes, just what I need. To see my friends end up in debtor’s prison. No, I shall pass. But thank you for the kind offer.”
“Are you well, old chap? You seem rather down in the mouth.”
Jason waved him away. “Fine. Probably just need some beauty sleep.”
“Well you always were an ugly bastard, Reid,” said Waterstone, guffawing at his own joke. That was rather rich, given that Waterstone was the illegitimate son of an earl and was lucky to be accepted into society. Jason smiled at him indulgently though.
When the masses wandered out of Brooks’ gentlemen’s club, Jason turned to Sanders, who was the only one left.
“Pay no heed to Waterstone, Reid. He has been here since this morning and has drunk nothing but wine. He must be completely foxed.”
“I seldom pay heed to anyone. Honestly, I am struggling with a bad case of melancholy, I think. I suspect the weather this year has not helped. I should like to get out of town. The Christmas Season holds no pull.”
“Not even for the fillies?”
“They are probably a good reason to leave.”
“What happened with Lady Caroline? Should you and she not be leg-shackled by now? I heard she married that Indian fellow.”
“She did. The ton was scandalised. But they had a love match, and I was merely her cover while she and this chap embarked on a torrid affair.”
“So you and she never…” He let that hang in the air.
“I assumed she was an innocent. I do not debauch innocents.”
“That is very honourable.”
“So I am told. But I am the one left having been cuckolded and looking a fool and she… well, I do not suppose she will be seen in many Mayfair drawing rooms any time soon.”
“I cannot imagine she will be, Reid. You had a lucky escape. And no one is judging you for her misbehaviour.”
No one except him. He should have seen what was going on. Should he not? He felt like a damned fool. This was why he needed to get away from London—to lick his wounds.
He did not want to go home. He hated home. His mother would not let him do anything—though he should be doing it all—and as for his father… Good God. The man was fading away to a shadow.
“Reid, I asked where you would go?”
Jason looked at his acquaintance. “I am not sure. Maybe I shall head for Cumberland and visit Whitsnow. I have not seen him since last year. The terrible weather over the summer meant he stayed at his family seat. So I may just head north.”
“It sounds boring as hell.”
So did another soiree where he had to make polite conversation with some debutante’s mother. At least he and Whitsnow could go out riding if the weather was not too bad. Of course, they could ride in Hyde Park but it really was rather small and once you had galloped along Rotten Row once or twice, there was not much thrill left.
No, heading to Cumberland seemed like a perfectly sensible idea to him now that he thought on it.
“It sounds like my best plan in a long time. Riding, fresh air, and perhaps the odd village assembly. I might even try fishing again.”
“Not in the winter.”
“Ah yes, good point. Perhaps not. No matter, the country is bracing and good for the soul.”
“I doubt that very much.”
“Well, we shall have to agree to differ. I shall go tomorrow.”
Now he had decided, he was rather excited about the plan. Shame it would take six or seven days in a carriage to get there. He could ride of course, but that would require taking only a small bag. The other option was to ride and have a carriage with his belongings and his valet brought behind him. He would consider the matter on his way home.
He downed the rest of his brandy, thanked Sanders for his company and left with a spring in his step he had not had for months. The country air was just what he required.