Prologue
Kent, England
Winter, 1821
One might say Heath Whitworth, the Marquess of Mulgrave, knew better than anyone when his mother, the Duchess of Sutton, was up to something.
For there could be no doubting…she was up to something.
And it was all because of that note she’d held in her fingers since he’d entered his father’s office. Folding the page she’d just read to him along its pointed crease, she neatly rested it on her husband’s immaculate desk. “Married. Our son is married.”
“Your youngest son,” Heath felt inclined to point out. He had decidedly married no one, and for that matter, had no intentions of doing so any time soon.
His droll announcement was swiftly ignored by his parents.
“Say it’s the Aberdeen girl,” his father gritted out.
The Aberdeen girl. Heath’s back went up, as it always did with any mention or sight of his mother’s goddaughter. Even a mention of Lady Emilia Aberdeen could never be good.
“Oh, come, Samuel. That does not make sense. Lady Emilia arrived earlier this afternoon with her parents and occupied the second chair from yours not even five hours ago. It could hardly be Emilia.”
And through it, the lady had looked as hopelessly bored as Heath himself. Who’d have imagined the two of them would have anything in common.
“Are you making light of… of… this?” his father was saying.
Now, this was much safer talk—mention of his brother Sheldon’s hasty marriage to a young widow with three children. Nonetheless, Heath cast a quick glance over his shoulder, considering the best path to escape. After all, there’d been talk of Emilia Aberdeen and that never proved good…in any way.
“Hardly, Samuel. I’d never dare jest about Emilia’s unwed state or our son’s recently wedded one.”
A vein bulged at the corner of his father’s right eye. The duke’s cheeks had gone red with angry color. His father fought for control of his temper.
This was the time for Heath to make his escape.
Heath shoved back his chair. “I’m not entirely certain my being here—”
“Sit,” his mother ordered, ending his hope of flight.
Bloody hell. Heath resettled himself back into his seat.
“Now,” she went on in her attempt at more measured tones, as she smoothed her skirts, “this requires attention from each of us. Whether you approve or not, Samuel, your son has married by special license.” The duke growled. “And the world is already abuzz with that news.”
“How can the world be abuzz?” Samuel waved the fast-wrinkling scrap about. “By the accounts of this, he’s been married just three days.”
Once more his parents launched into a debate about their just-married, younger son. Waiting…waiting, and then finding his window, he pounced. “Perhaps I should allow you both—”
His parents spoke in unison. “Sit.”
Yanking at his cravat, Heath fell back in his seat. “Damned younger brothers.” And damned responsibilities that went with being a ducal heir. One’s life was not one’s own. No part of it. His presence in the midst of one of his parents’ rows was proof enough of that.
His mother turned a frown on him. “I beg your pardon?”
This time, he was wise enough to fall silent, and thankfully she redirected her ire and energies back to her husband.
Through it, Heath’s guard remained up. He’d been summoned here…for a reason. And no summons from his mother could ever be a good one.
Not when Emilia Aberdeen’s name was mentioned.
“Now, for the second reason behind this family meeting…” His muscles tensed. It was coming… “There is the awkwardly uncomfortable matter of Lady Emilia Aberdeen.”
Heath snapped his brows together. And there it was. Emilia Aberdeen. She proved the reason Heath was here. It was inevitable. After all, Heath’s mother, best friend to Emilia’s mother, had been trying to marry the chit off since she’d been thrown over…by Heath’s best friend.
“What about her?” his father was asking impatiently.
“Well, all the guests have already suspected and whispered about our trying to coordinate a match between Emilia and Sheldon.”
Because that is precisely what his mother had been doing: trying to marry off her younger, more affable, son to her beloved goddaughter. Only to have been thwarted by Sheldon’s marrying another.
“We’ve inadvertently made Emilia the gossip of the house party.”
“Which will all be forgotten when Sheldon and his bride arrive,” he quickly put in, grasping at any out available to him.
His mother turned a stare on him.
He resisted the urge to squirm. Too obvious. He’d been too forceful with his previous assurance.
“Nonetheless, it stands to reason that none should suspect that she was here intending to be matched with Sheldon. After all, she’s already suffered a scandal no lady ought.” Betrothed to the Duke of Renaud; and Heath’s only friend in the world. The other man had broken it off with Lady Emilia years ago.
Emilia had paid the price in gossip ever since.
His stomach muscles clenched. I will not feel badly. I will not feel badly… That was after all, what his mother wished.
“I’d simply ask that you give Emilia some attention,” his mother said evenly, and he started, having failed to realize he’d been thinking aloud.
“Attention,” he echoed dumbly. Oh, this was bad. Nay, worse than he’d feared.
“Some indication that mayhap it was you we’d intended for her to make a match with, and then…”
Heath choked, the strangled cough cutting off his reply. His mother crossed over and thumped him between the shoulder blades.
“You want me to court her?” he managed between wheezes.
“I want you to simply act as though she is… someone you want to be around.” Never. “It’s the least you can do.”
That brought him up short. What in blazes was that supposed to mean? “What in blazes did I do?” he shouted.
“Your best friend is, after all, the one who jilted her.”
Damned Renaud. On the heel of that came a flood of guilt for the friend who’d had to break it off for reasons the world didn’t know. Not even Lady Emilia. Be that as it may… “I didn’t jilt the lady.” Heath spoke through gritted teeth. “I hardly know the lady.” Liar. You know she’s spirited and witty and—
“All this I-I-I, Heath. Really. Furthermore,” she continued, “it speaks a good deal to your snobbishness. We’ve been family friends with the Duke of Gayle since before your birth. You’ve known Emilia since she was in Leading strings. The least you can do is be friendly to the girl.”
Emilia wasn’t a girl. Not any longer. She was a woman more vibrant than the sunny creature she’d been as a child. “The girl is nearly thirty.”
“All I’m asking is that you be friendly with her. If she’s alone… see that she has company. Take the gossip off of Sheldon’s desertion and make Society question whether you, in fact, are the one with intentions towards her.”
His cravat was choking at him. Nay, his mother’s request was. He made a desperate appeal to the only one to make her see reason. “Mad, Father. Tell her she’s gone utterly insane.”
His father would choose that moment to go silent.
So there would be no help coming from that quarter. Or it would appear any…
“You both have your instructions,” Heath’s mother said, snapping her skirts. “Kindness… towards your son and his new family,” she directed at her husband. “And you towards Lady Emilia,” she said to Heath.
As she exited, Heath fell back in his chair.
His mother could hand out all the directives she wished. The last thing he wished to do was spend the holiday or any day, for that matter, entertaining Lady Emilia Aberdeen—his mother’s wishes be damned.