Prologue
Ten years later…
Dear Jasper,
Thank you for the invitation to Holbrook and the trouble I know you have put yourself to on my behalf. My efforts to reintroduce myself to society have met with mixed results. I regret to discover I have become so anxious at the thought of making another disastrous marriage that I find fault with most every young lady I meet. It’s monstrously unfair when I am far from perfect, but I have become gun shy and can find nothing to tempt me into risking such a dreadful mistake again. Yet I must marry. You know as well as I that I must sire an heir and, in truth, I am lonely. I am sick of my own company and I long for a companion. I can only envy you and Harriet and thank you for your help in aiding me to meet a suitable young woman.
I think my demands are not unreasonable. I do not seek a great beauty or a vast fortune, only good humour, good sense, and someone who would be a friend to me.
Keep your fingers crossed that I may discover such a treasure under your roof.
―Excerpt of a letter to The Right Hon’ble Jasper Cadogan, The Earl of St Clair, from The Right Hon’ble Maximillian Carmichael, The Earl of Ellisborough.
8th March 1826, Holbrooke House. Sussex.
“I take it this week has so far not produced the results we had hoped for?” Jasper asked as they walked back from his workshop.
Jasper was a craftsman of considerable skill, though few but his closest friends knew it.
Max shrugged and gave a rueful smile. “What’s wrong with me, Jasper? I know all the young women here are amiable and kind, or you’d not have invited them for me. I thought all I wanted was that: someone to be a friend to me.”
Jasper laughed and shook his head. “Good God, man! You might be a widower, but you’re not in your dotage yet. Do you really not think to fall in love?”
“I am not averse to the idea,” Max replied, frowning. “I’m just a realist. It’s never happened to me before, so why should it now? Perhaps I am not suited to such emotions?”
“What rot,” Jasper said in disgust. “You were trapped in a miserable marriage at far too young an age, then you were in mourning. When exactly have you given yourself the chance for such a thing?”
Max snorted. “I’ve been back in society for some time now, Jasper, and I’ve not been shy about my intentions.”
“No, there’s a veritable hornet’s nest of interest buzzing about who will be the next Lady Ellisborough and, from what I hear, there’s plenty of offers for the position of mistress, too. You’re a popular chap.”
“Hmmm,” Max replied, deciding not to answer that.
“Father!”
Jasper looked up as his son, Cassius, ran pell mell towards them.
“Phoebe is here!” the boy exclaimed, his excitement palpable.
“Oh, she made it. Your mama will be pleased.”
“And you should see her, Papa,” Cassius added, his eyes wide and grave. “She’s in prime twig.”
Jasper cleared his throat as his son ran off again.
“A chip off the old block, eh?” Max murmured, laughing.
“My son has an eye for beautiful things,” Jasper replied with a quirk of his lips.
“It will be good to see Lucian again. It’s been an age since I was last at Dern.”
“Indeed,” Jasper said with a nod, a slight smile flickering at his lips. “You’ve not seen Phoebe for a while, then?”
“No, it must be over a year. Longer, even. Not that I saw much of her when I visited. I never knew girl less able to sit still for five minutes together,” Max said with a laugh, remembering the vivacious young woman. She must be nineteen by now.
“Well, come along, then. If Phoebe is here, the house is bound to be in chaos.”
Jasper’s words were well-founded. By the time they had returned to the house, Lady Helena was playing the piano and an impromptu dance had begun. A few of the ladies invited to meet Max were exchanging rather scandalised glances at such an event in the middle of the afternoon, but the children were delighted and crowing with laughter as Phoebe took her turn dancing with them. Apparently, she was teaching them a new dance that was all the rage this year, and she was laughing as uproariously as the children while she did so.
Max smiled to see it, even though it did all seem rather outrageous for a grey Monday afternoon.
“Phoebe, dear,” Jasper’s wife, Harriet, called.