Chapter 1

The day was just beginning, but David Walford, the Duke of Wiltshire, already wished it would end. Isolated in his silent study, he slumped in his chair behind the large mahogany desk, lost in thought. Dusty books lined the large shelves that encircled the room. It was a wall of knowledge that David rarely delved into. He already knew too many things that he would rather have never known at all.

Brushing his fingers over the thick stubble that coated his chin, David leaned his head back against the chair and sighed. Though it was not yet midday, he was certain that it was not too early for a drink. For David, it was rarely too early for a drink. Just as he was about to rise from his seat, he heard thundering footsteps pounding in the hallway outside.

The door flew open, banging loudly against the wall, and David snapped his gaze to the intruder, stunned and startled. It was his mother, Judith, and her expression was furious as she shook her head at him. His mother’s hair was pinned back, and she wore a light cap to cover the graying curls. Her dark brown dress rustled as she marched into the room.

“Mother,” he greeted her flatly, instinctively sensing that someone was wrong. Or, as it was more likely, that he had done something wrong. This was often the case when it came to his interactions with her. For a moment, he stared up at her gaunt face, wondering what his indiscretion had been on this occasion.

Huffing a heavy sigh, she tossed a newspaper down onto the desk in front of him and planted her hands onto her hips.

“Have you seen this, David?” she exclaimed, ire dripping from her words as she gestured at the paper.

David raised his azure eyes to meet his mother’s and shook his head. “That would be most impossible, considering that you have only just brought it to me.”

Frustration oozed from Judith’s pores, and she clenched her jaw. “I’m in no mood for whatever passes as your sense of humor, David,” she snapped in annoyance. “Your name is on the scandal sheets once again! How many times must we go through this same trauma before you learn how to behave yourself? Not only is it bad enough that you act like a scoundrel, but do you have no respect for yourself or your family to use a little discretion?”

Balking slightly at her words, David felt his cheeks heated up in embarrassment. Abject disappointment was etched into her face, and he loathed knowing that he was the one who had put that expression there. It was not the first time he had witnessed it, and he sorely doubted it would be the last.

However, the harder she glared at him, the more defensive he felt. It was not fair of his mother to judge him, not after everything he had endured in his life.

“I assure you that no slight was meant toward you, Mother,” he told her firmly, his shoulders stiff and tense. “After all, you mentioned yourself how many times I have appeared on the scandal sheets. It should be no additional hardship for you to reuse one of the multitudes of excuses that you have cultivated over time to defend our honor.”

Judith scowled hard at him, and David felt instantly guilty. “I should not have expected you to take this seriously.” She sighed, deflating. “You refuse to take anything seriously. Most worryingly, your duties as a duke. Why can you not understand how important your responsibilities are?”

Softening, David ducked his head, averting his eyes from her penetrating stare. “I’m sorry, Mother,” he answered her honestly. Exhaling wearily, he shrugged. “You know how difficult I find my responsibilities. I have never become accustomed to them, no matter how hard I have tried.”

David swallowed hard as she shook her head in dismay at his confession and he wished more than anything that things were different. He had allowed his past to wholly define him, and now he was a shell filled with the pain of everything that had passed before. He couldn’t escape reality. The responsibilities that he was destined to fulfill were simply beyond his capabilities. He possessed neither the will nor the self-control to perform them as he should have. Regret overwhelmed him at that thought because he was well aware that it made him less of a man than society expected him to be. It hurt his mother as well, the last person in the world he wished to injure.

Moistening her lips, Judith perched on the edge of his desk, desperately trying to meet his eyes. “You are not a child any longer, my son,” she reminded him, her voice warmer than before. “I understand that you have been through a lot in your life, far more than you deserved, but you need to hold yourself to account. We cannot withstand another scandal on your part. I can barely take tea with a single lady from the ton without them calling you a rogue.”

A new wave of guilt crashed over him, and he rose to his feet, pacing the floor. “What would you have me do then?” he asked, agitated. “I cannot change who I am.”

“Nonsense!” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You have allowed yourself to fall into a dark rut, but you can climb out of it and prosper. You do not have to spend your life in the gutter like you have chosen to do. You’re the Duke of Wiltshire, not a common scoundrel!”

David shook his head once again. There was no way he could ever make his mother understand. She couldn’t see the darkness in his soul. “It is not as easy as you believe,” he countered, turning away from her, and reached for the crystal decanter on the shelf.

Pouring a small measure of scotch into a glass, he held it in his hands, drawing circles around the rim. His mother watched him with annoyance glinting in her eyes, but she evidently refused to comment on the alcohol in his hands. In some ways, he was hoping to send her onto a tangent and distract her from the subject at hand.

However, when his mother found a focus, she would not be deterred from it. Glowering at him, Judith set her mouth into a hard, sharp line. “You make mountains out of molehills,” she told him determinedly. “If you wanted to straighten yourself out, I have no doubt that you would succeed. Your lack of will is the problem and it must be corrected.”

“How?” he asked, a hint of genuine curiosity creeping into his voice. He really wanted to know. He wished that there was something that could help bring him out of the mire he had made of his life.

“A good woman will sort you out in no time,” she responded heatedly, scowling at his eye roll. “I am quite serious, David. You need to marry and produce an heir for your own sake and mine, not to mention your late father’s sake, too. He would have wanted that for you.”

The moment her final words hit the air, his mouth filled with a foul taste. Reminders of his father always elicited a physical ache in the cavity of his chest, making his heart pound. The image of his father’s face floated before his eyes, and he screwed them shut to ward it off, but it could not be erased from his mind. Overwhelmed by the thoughts, he couldn’t help but recall the last promise he had ever made to his father.

The bedchamber was cool and dimly lit, and too quiet for David’s liking. No sunlight entered because the drapes had been shut for weeks. A large bed stood in the center of the room with a pallid figure laying motionlessly beneath the covers. David hated to see his father like that. In the twelve years of his life, his father had always been animated and vibrant but now he was ashen and nothing but a shell of his former self.

David bit down on his lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood as he entered the bedchamber at his mother’s behest. In truth, he would have preferred never to see his father in such a state, but his mother constantly reminded him that he would regret it if he were to miss the opportunity to say goodbye.

What did goodbye even mean?

Breathlessly, his father heaved himself to a sitting position and fixed dull eyes on his son. A wry smile touched his lips before it quickly disappeared. “Come closer, my son,” he panted, clearing his throat. “I have not seen you in so long that I wish to take a proper look at you.”

Hesitating briefly, David reluctantly edged closer. Trepidation rushed through his veins as he got a clearer look at his father’s haggard face. His strong jaw seemed to sag, and his normally bright blue eyes had lost their sheen.

“I do not like seeing you like this, Papa,” he admitted, his voice rough with unshed tears. “When will you be well again?”

His father chuckled humorlessly. “Oh, David, I cannot recover from this. Your mother has brought the best physicians in all of England to my bedside and the one thing on which they are all in accordance is that my time on this earth is over. I am dying.”

A gasp escaped David’s lips. “Dying?”

“‘For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil?’” quoted his father.

“Hamlet,” David whispered, feeling a tear trickle down his cheek. “Our favorite play. We must have watched it at the playhouse four or five times.”

Nodding, his father reached out and clasped his hand. “I do not fear death, David. I have led a rich life and produced a wonderful son, and I have no regrets. My only fear is for those I leave behind. You are so young, not yet thirteen, and you have your whole life ahead of you, but you must live it without me to guide you.”

Scrubbing a hand over his eyes, David turned his tortured gaze to meet his father’s. “I do not know how, Papa,” he confessed, sniffling miserably.

“Ah, but you will,” the Duke countered, groaning from a spasm of pain as he shifted in the bed. “I want you to make me a promise right here and now. You must vow to me that you will grow up to be a great man someday.”

Instantly, David reeled back, unable to believe that his father would demand such a monumental promise from him at that moment. However, as he soaked in the determination and hope in the Duke’s face, he could not refuse.

“I promise,” he breathed, feeling like his words were a terrible lie.

Shaking himself out of the memory, David exhaled a trembling sigh. He raked a hand through his mop of brown curls and stared at his mother’s continually disappointed face. If his father could have seen what he had turned into, he would have been just as dismayed as his mother.

David inhaled a sharp breath and nodded. “I will try to take life more seriously if it makes you happy, Mother,” he promised her, lost in the knowledge of how important it was to honor his late father’s memory.

Softening, she smiled at him gratefully. “I know that life hasn’t come easy to you, David. Losing your father so young was a terrible tragedy that none of us anticipated. I remember when you were just a few years old, and you always longed to be just like him. You loved each other so dearly. But I love you, too, and all I have ever wished for you is the greatest happiness. You can find that if you try.”

Her words reminded him of more joyful times, but now, happiness seemed just out of reach. Even now, the nightmares of his uncle’s arrival in the days after his father’s passing haunted him, and he wasn’t sure they would ever wane. It was the most terrible time in his life, and he was a broken and pathetic husk of a man because of it. His mother knew nothing of what had happened.

David’s mother was sure that he would find a wife and produce an heir, but how could any woman ever love such a man as him? If any lady in society gained even the slightest insight into whom he truly was and the terrible things he had done, they would be surely disgusted.

Pain welled up in his throat, but David washed it away with a swig of scotch and forced a reassuring smile onto his face. He had already disillusioned his mother enough for one day and he did not wish to worsen things. It was easier to lie to himself and pretend that everything was all right, even when nothing was all right at all.

Chapter 2

The sun streamed through the large window panes of Arabella’s drawing room as she ran the needle through her embroidery. Shrouded in silence, she couldn’t fight the shreds of trepidation as they wound themselves around her, frustrating her to no end. Her heart was a wasteland of pain, and she didn’t think it could ever be anything but barren again.

Setting her embroidery down onto her lap, she smoothed out the folds of her black dress. Glancing up, she looked at her mother. The Dowager Viscountess Martha Snowley was lost in a book but still looked as upset as she had for so long now. Arabella wished that she could erase the perpetual frown from her mother’s brow. These past few months, life had been hard for them, and she feared that it was set to become even more difficult.

“Are you all right, Mama?” Arabella asked, startling her mother.

Her mother flashed her a watery smile and nodded. “Of course, my dear,” she reassured her, tucking a blonde curl behind her ear with a visible tremble rocking through her fingers. “Why do you ask?”

“You know why,” Arabella responded, moistening her lips. “I see you endure the same agony every day, and you try to conceal it from me.”

Tensing, she shook her head. “You should not have to feel this pain, Arabella,” her mother reminded her, creasing her brow more deeply. “I will not worsen it with my own. I shall not speak of the worst until it happens.”

Before Arabella could respond, a knock sounded at the door. “Enter!” called her mother, scowling when she saw her nephew lurking behind the young servant girl at the entrance. Arabella was no more joyful to lay eyes on her cousin for she knew that he wouldn’t come bearing good news.

“Lord William Snowley to see you, ma’am,” the young redheaded maid announced.

Pushing past the servant, William leered as he sauntered into the room. He was a short, portly man with sandy brown hair and small eyes that made him look even more untrustworthy than the twisted smirk that was a permanent feature on his face.

“My, my, ladies, what a pleasure it is to see you both,” he simpered, plunking himself into a chair next to Arabella without invitation. Relaxed, he slung one arm over the chair’s back. “I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

Narrowing her eyes, her mother glanced at Arabella before turning back to her nephew. “I’m afraid I cannot say that I do,” she retorted dryly, adjusting the hem of her ebony gown. “I must ask you to enlighten us.”

William clapped his hands together firmly and grinned. “The period of mourning for the last Viscount Snowley is over, dear aunt. Your husband’s death was a tragic event, of course, but we must move on now.”

Arabella felt a stab of pain pierce her heart. Apparently, her cousin was not in possession of a heart at all, considering the way that he spoke of her father’s passing. Turning her haunted green eyes to him, she swallowed hard.

“Is that why you paid us this visit?” she hissed, ignoring the contradictorily disapproving, yet proud, glance from her mother.

A sardonic smile crossed William’s face. “Ah, that is only one of the reasons why I have come, dearest cousin,” he replied fawningly. “I wanted to inform you that I have some final business to take care of and then I will be taking over my duties as the newly appointed Viscount Snowley.”

Shuddering at the thought, Arabella ducked her head. This was the ominous news that she had known was coming but had never wanted to accept. Her fear was reflected on her mother’s pale, devastated face.

“How long do you expect the business to take?” her mother asked hoarsely.

With a shrug, William crossed one leg over the other. “We shall see. I hope to have it concluded shortly, but one can never tell in these instances.”

Arabella suppressed a scoff. She was more than convinced that whatever this business was, it wouldn’t be legal. Her cousin’s reputation preceded him in every societal circle when it came to his dealings, and it was widely acknowledged that the man engaged in some unsavory business. Many of her friends had mentioned her cousin’s name and involvement in some of the darker dealings that were common in town. A part of her wished that she could grumble at him, but she knew that it would be more prudent to hold her tongue as the man had the keys to her and her mother’s futures.

“It is all a sad business with my uncle dying unexpectedly. I thought the old fellow would live forever. I suppose death comes to everyone in the end,” he continued, entirely unaware of Arabella’s dark thoughts. “This is why I will extend my generosity to you.”

“Your generosity, my Lord?” inquired her mother. “Whatever do you mean?”

Grinning proudly, he glanced between the two women with a shimmer of self-satisfaction. “I have ruminated on the matter at length, and I have decided to set the time limit for your departure from this house at the end of the Season. This will give you ample time to find alternative accommodation. Now, you must understand that I am only doing so because I have a good heart, but I cannot allow you to stay forever. You must be out of here once the Season has passed.”

Gulping hard, Arabella leveled desperate eyes at her mother. “That is only a few months away,” she breathed out in shock.

“Yes,” William agreed with a nod. “You will find few men on this earth who would be so kind to you.”

Evidently swallowing her pride, her mother forced a smile onto her face and bobbed her head. “Thank you, William. You are too kind to us.”

“Oh, I am. I am.” William cocked his head to the side in a manner of faux pity. “I know this must be a difficult time for you both. I always believed it was a shame that you never birthed your husband an heir, dear aunt. It must be a terrible humiliation for a man to have only a daughter.”

Bristling, Arabella would have loved to contradict him, but unfortunately, his words grated against her rawest nerves. A memory drifted back to her from only a few years earlier. It was one of the most devastating moments of her life when she discovered the truth of her parent’s marriage and realized how cold her father’s heart truly was.

If only I hadn’t passed the study, I would never have known how he’d really felt about me. Why did I have to hear that he didn’t care for me all because I was a girl? It is just as William says. Father thought I was useless because he could not entail the estate upon me, and Mother’s health did not allow her to have more children.  

But she wouldn’t give William the satisfaction that his words struck true, sending her pangs of pain. Her father’s every word and glance over the years had been filled with the deepest loathing, and she understood that men could not be trusted.

It is just as well I have pledged not to trust any man, for they are all like this. William has the blood of my father in him.

She had been forced by society to show grief, to wear black, and to hide herself away, but it was sickening. She grieved only for her mother’s pain. Her father might have loathed her, but she despised him more than words could ever tell.

Arabella sighed as she liberated herself from the excruciating memory. Throughout her first two Seasons in society, she had stuck to the resolution that she had made almost a decade earlier not to marry herself off. The smirking man at her side was doing nothing to redeem the reputation of the male sex.

Hackles raised, she glared scathingly at William. “I do not think there is anything wrong with having a daughter,” she said, biting back her vitriol. “Do you think a woman is so incapable in this world? Would you be ashamed of only having a daughter?”

Taken aback by her fierce tone, William frowned. “Unlike your father, I expect my wife to birth me a son.”

Her mother balked at her nephew’s words, but she visibly steeled herself. Sympathy pooled in Arabella’s eyes as she watched her mother quickly hide the flash of hurt on her face. “Well, William,” she said cordially, though her expression belied her tone. “I’m sure that you must be eager to return to your business. A man who is as busy as you are cannot afford to take too much time away from your work.”

“Indeed,” he replied with a nod, climbing to his feet. “I’m afraid I must bid you good day.”

Good day and good riddance, Arabella thought.

Rising to her feet, Arabella felt nothing but the purest relief to be rid of him. “You do not need to hurry your business, be assured,” she whispered coldly. “I’m sure things will be just fine here until your return.”

Chuckling wryly, William smirked. “I doubt it. Two women cannot be entrusted with the running of an estate like this alone. Regardless, it won’t be long until you enjoy the pleasure of my company once again.”

Exchanging a dread-filled glance with her mother, Arabella swallowed down the bile in her throat. “I see.”

William clasped her hand with cool, clammy fingers and lifted it to his mouth, brushing a moist kiss against the back. Nausea rose in her, and she was sure that her disgust was reflected in her eyes, though he didn’t seem to notice.

“You know, Arabella,” he whispered, too quietly for her mother to hear, “if you wish to remain in your home, you could always marry me.” He flashed her a lascivious smile. “I would make sure that we always have fun.”

A sarcastic giggle escaped Arabella’s lips, her face twisting into a scowl. “That will never happen, my Lord,” she assured him, making no more attempts to hide her abhorrence of him.

With a shrug, he remained unmoved. “Well, then I bid you goodbye,” he said harshly. “The next time we meet, I shall call this townhouse my own home.”

Gaping at his audacity, Arabella couldn’t muster a word of reply as he swaggered from the room, leaving her alone with her mother. The moment the door had shut behind him, she burst into tears, sobs wracking her slender frame.

Instantly, Arabella rushed to her mother’s side, cradling her in her arms. “Mama, do not trouble yourself in such a way,” she begged her, feeling tears gathering behind her own eyes. “I promise that it will all work out.”

Pulling back from Arabella, her mother struggled to compose herself. “I cannot see how,” she said desperately, her cheeks flushed from crying. “I always knew this day would come, but I never knew what a cruel oaf my nephew was until now.”

Arabella could not help but agree. When her father had been alive, the house would have been a cold, loveless place to live if not for her mother’s kindness. However, she had always believed that things would change for the better once he was gone. Sadly, fate seemed to have different ideas. Now, she knew that she only possessed one option to save them.

Gulping harshly, Arabella raised determined eyes to her mother. “I will find a suitor, Mama. If I can be married, we won’t have to worry about William or anybody else. A husband will support us.”

The Viscountess smiled softly. “Oh Arabella, I would love nothing more than to see you married to a man that adores you, but how will you even meet a suitable husband? We do not have enough money to prepare you for the Season. Without the right dresses and the latest fashions, none of the men in society will be accessible. We are in a quandary, and I fear that all is already lost.”

Arabella sighed, turning away from her mother’s desolate face. This was supposed to be her third Season, and finding a suitor was the only hope they had. Despite the poverty that would soon be her curse, Arabella knew that she was an attractive young woman. Her golden hair, emerald eyes, and slender frame were often admired by the men of the ton.

Unfortunately, regardless of her beauty, the men of the ton would not want a destitute wife. Even though she’d no interest in marriage, she suddenly regretted all the ones she had rejected in the past when she could have boasted an ample dowry. Perhaps she could have been happy with one of them, but she had never been able to swallow her pride in her attempts to spite her father.

With everything that had happened since, the errors she had made loomed in front of her, taunting her. This all felt like her fault, and she had no idea how to set things right. What if there was no solution for her at all?

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Chapter One

Scarlett sat down on the sofa after greeting her friends. As soon as she sat, she hunched her shoulders a little. It was something she had learned to do as a child, for she was taller than most girls. At least this way, her height appeared to be less than it really was.

She knew that she had to act on her best self so she smiled at her guests and greeted them with as much civility as she could conquer. There was no doubt in her mind that the topic of today’s gathering would shift to the upcoming London Season.

For Scarlett, it was a subject that she heartily wished to avoid, much to the dismay of her mother, who smiled at her knowingly.

“How are you, Lady Weston? I heard you caught a cold last week. I called on you once, but the butler told me you were resting, and I did not want to disturb you.” Scarlett addressed her guest.

“Oh dear, yes, I was informed later that day. It was very kind of you, I must say.” Lady Weston replied with a smile. “Dear Scarlett, are you excited about the Season?”, she added with meaning in her voice.

The maid served them with tea while Scarlett considered how to reply. She was a girl of one and twenty, with two failed Seasons behind her, and there was not a worse comment that could be made to her.

Her guest was the widower of the late Lord Weston. The family in question was a friend of the Peytons’ for many years now and calling at each other houses was to be expected once every week. However, it was always more Lady Weston who visited them.

And Scarlett was now prepared for her remark. After her failures — which she could only blame her tall figure for them— she knew that this was bound to happen eventually. Lady Weston was one of the many women who were more than eager to pass on such comments.

Lady Weston lived a few miles away from the Peridgedale Manor, and she was a close friend to Lady Peyton. The friendship between the two families dated back to when Lord Weston and Lord Peyton had both been bachelors. With each one having a respective marriage, they decided to buy the nearest estates, in hopes that their children would form an engagement in the future.

This, however, could not be achieved, much to the dismay of Lord Weston for his wife could not bear him any son —and only a few years after his marriage, when Scarlett had been only ten, he fell sick to an uncurable disease.

Lady Weston only had one daughter, who was already engaged to a fine man, as the gossips were saying these days. So, it was usual of hers to visit them quite often, sometimes even more than once a week. She was often lonely in her own home and quite enjoyed the company of Scarlett and her mother.

There was no relation between them except for them being neighbors, and it was a fact that Lady Weston exploited most.

Scarlett was not troubled by the statement. It was understandable, but her mother Letitia Peyton was, and it showed in how her demeanor stiffened. The Countess of Peridgeralde, who until this very moment was more than happy to attend to her guests for the evening, was beginning to lose her countenance, and Scarlett could sense the uneasiness in her mother. It was for this reason, perhaps, that the mother chose to answer for her daughter.

“Yes, my dear Scarlett is more than excited, and we have every reason to believe her to be successful this Season. We have our Lord Peyton’s old acquaintances coming to London. You might have heard of the Mountbatten’s, I presume?” And the whole conversation took to the direction of the family, the connections and scandals, if any of them have actually occurred.

The women went on and on, and soon the whole attention, which was previously on Scarlett, was now diverted. She was, in that moment, very thankful to her mother because decorum dictated that she should always remain polite and kind to her guests, and Scarlett wished only to tell them what she really had in mind.

The truth, which would not be taken very likely and in the best of light, because Scarlett Peyton was not in the least interested in the upcoming Season and was waiting for the right moment to tell her parents of her plan.

Being the only child and, too, a daughter to the Earl and Countess of Peridgeralde should have been in her favor. All her life, Scarlett had been blessed with the best that money could buy and was in the light of many of the most accomplished ladies in all of London — of her age.

Scarlett had been unfortunate as her two prior Seasons were fruitless. She had not been able to procure any match or form any courtship by any of the fine gentlemen who were more than eager to find their future wives. Scarlett knew that she was pretty — yes, she was not one of the most beautiful ladies of her acquaintance but was still considered a beauty. She had sharp features and a kind face. Her disposition was also gentle. But was in her favour the most was that she had a large fortune in her name. However, her height hindered her and her potential matrimonial matches.

In each ball that she had made an appearance, Scarlett was taller than her partners, and it served as the most awkward moment of the evening. To save themselves the embarrassment, the gentleman began to stop asking her for the dances, and Scarlett was usually left alone for most of the evening.

Her parents knew this and understood the situation, but they were always trying to appear supportive and hopeful. It was their strongest desire to have their only daughter marry a suitable gentleman belonging to a powerful family. After all, it was what society demanded of them, and that’s why Scarlett was trying to abide by her parents’ wishes.

The conversation in the room was beginning to take the turn of the much-awaited ball of Lady Mabelle when Letitia turned to her daughter and asked for her to play them all a piece on the pianoforte.

Scarlett obliged and went in the direction of the instrument. A part of her wished that her mother would stop boasting her skills so much, for she didn’t really like playing in front of large audiences. She knew that people who listened tended to always find something fault in her.

Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she began to play her favorite piece, the Moonlight Sonata, and soon she was lost in the melody. For Scarlett, this piece held a lot of importance because it gave her a sense of liberty, which she would not feel otherwise.

Or perhaps it had to do with the fact that she knew the composition by heart and was confident in her performance. It gave her a sense of power, one that indicated that she could win the hearts of others.

Once she finished playing, she looked up and saw her mother clapping for her with tears in her eyes. The others, too, clapped, and Scarlett, feeling always shy around people, blushed, and thanked them all. It was then Lady Weston’s niece’s turn to play, and Scarlett stayed on the bench, assisting her.

Lady Weston’s niece was certainly a lucky woman, for she had found what it seemed the love of her life in her very first Season and was now awaiting the days for her married life to begin. From the other side, Scarlett was condemned. She knew that their acquaintances and most of the ton would be waiting to scrutinize her and her parents about the failure of their daughter.

It was soon afterward that the women left, and Scarlett excused herself, wanting to be alone. She took to the gardens and strolled down the path, knowing that her mother was watching her from a distance.

It was not that Scarlett pitied herself, for she had learned that her height would be of a certain disadvantage to her at an early age. She also did not care much about what people thought of her.

But her parents, as parents are often like, wanted nothing more than for their daughter to be happy.

It was her parents’ anxiousness that troubled Scarlett and it was because of their desire that she wished to marry. But she knew that the upcoming Season would be a disaster once again. She had no doubt about it.

In order to save herself and her parents from the embarrassment of another failed Season, Scarlett had decided to avoid it altogether. She was planning to go to the prestigious ladies’ seminary school in Bath for the term of the Season. She would only return when all the fine gentlemen went to the countryside to enjoy the hunting period.

This had been her plan for some time now, but she was looking for the right moment to announce her upcoming travel to her parents. If only her mother had been able to bear more children so that she wouldn’t carry alone the burden of making her family proud.

Scarlett knew that they would not deny her this wish of going to Bath and study, but in their hearts, they just wanted to see their daughter settled.

As much as she tried to be approachable at balls, no suitors had shown their interest to her. Many of the gentlemen had not even asked her for a dance because they did not favor her appearance. These kinds of events hurt Scarlett, but not as much as she knew they hurt her parents.

Scarlett only wished to find a gentleman who would love her for who she was, but with each passing day, her hope was diminishing, and she feared she just might end up alone forever.

Chapter Two

Trent Mountbatten sat down with his mother in the parlor, wondering how to approach the topic. His father knew he liked to spend this time of the year in the countryside with his mother, but the Duke of Molenwood had sent his son a letter requesting his return.

It was no secret to anyone that the great Duke and Duchess of Molenwood no longer lived together. The cover-up was simple — the Duchess preferred the countryside while the Duke desired to employ his time in his London estate. The matters were resolved, and Trent began to spend his time with both his parents equally.

His initial plan had been to stay with his mother for the Season, while he wished to avoid to be a subject of the lingering eyes of mothers who wanted nothing more than to tie their daughters to him. He hated it when daughters smiled fake at him and gushed when he looked in their direction.

It was tiresome for Trent, and it was increasing to get more worrisome with each passing year. He had told both his parents of his wish: Trent Mountbatten did not wish to marry anyone. He had no desire to be subject to conjugal relations at any point in his life, and his decision was firm. Yet still, it seemed to always fall onto deaf ears.

Trent was six and twenty, and he knew the essence of his age. Many women had often told him that he had handsome features and that any lady of merit would be happy to marry him. But more than that, being the Marquess of Maleswood required that he marry soon. As it was often said, a single man with a large fortune must be in want of a wife — but he was not, even if it was his duty to wed and continue his line.

“What are you thinking about so intently, Trent dear?” Johanne Mountbatten, the once Duchess of Molenwood, asked her son as she settled herself on the sofa, looking at him worriedly.

“Mother, I must go to London and see Father. His letter requested immediate arrival, and I fear something must be amiss for him to ask for me at this time of the year.” Trent said with a tone of urgency in his voice.

“Did he not disclose the affairs he wished to discuss?” His mother flapped her linen napkin as she somehow managed to dance a jig while sitting in her chair.

“No, I’m afraid not, Mother, and this is what worries me the most. You know I would not wish to go and leave you alone, but I feel the matter might be grave indeed. I must go. I will make haste and come back once I know better on the subject for which Father has called me to London.”

Trent set his teacup on the saucer with an air of somber resignation. Guilt shrouded him like a ghostly fog reminding him of his mother’s existing unhappiness at his refusal to marry. Now, he would have to leave her alone and this didn’t sit well with him either.

The Duchess rose from the table. “I know. You must leave soon if you intend to make it before day’s end.”

He stared at his mother and thought of her resolve at the life she was living. “Yes, mother.” He rose and kissed his mother’ hand.

He summoned his valet, Crawley, the most trusted servant he had, and instructed him of the change in his plan. How Trent wished he could escape the London Season, which was soon to begin. In recent years and so, Trent had been coming up with ways to avoid London at this time of the year.

It was not that Trent thought anything bad at the idea of marriage. No, he respected the wishes of those who wanted to follow the etiquette and make themselves happy. He even wished them the best and all the happiness their circumstances could bring — but his case was different.

Like most young men of large fortunes, he knew it was his duty to marry, but after seeing his parents’ failed marriage, he could not bring himself to follow the same path. The idea of a matrimonial union scared him. Trent’s personal views on the wedding matter were cautious, and he believed that something as sacred as marriage should be upheld for a lifetime. But he did not know if he could trust someone enough to devote himself forever to them.

There was not a woman in all of England he wished to marry and, therefore, would stay away from the course. Yes, there were the questions of his inheritance and the responsibility of procuring an heir to strengthen the family legacy. Still, Trent was confident in his self to be able to find a legitimate solution.

“Everything is ready, my lord. Her Grace has ordered for and requested that you take the carriage,” Crawley announced Crawley and broke Trent out of his reverie.

Trent nodded his head, knowing it was futile to argue with his mother at such a time and walked out of the manor.

He took long steps, which were still of great confidence for a man of his average height and sat into the carriage. He would have protested his mother’s wishes on a typical day and chose his horse instead of a carriage ride, but he had not the energy to fight her now.

As plush as a coach was, the road was very bumpy. Trent, with all gentlemanly solicitousness, settled himself for the rough patch ahead.

It was one of his greatest surmises to have to divide his time between both of his parents. When Trent was of age, and his father told him of the unfortunate event that had befallen them, he — as any son should — had excused himself and explained that he would refrain from choosing either one of his parents and would try to spend time with both. This situation had brought him in the greatest discomfort.

He chose to divert his course of thought, for his parents’ failed marriage always brought him unhappy memories. Instead, he employed his time thinking of the reason his father had asked for his attendance to London.

His father knew of the importance of spending time with his mother and had never before made such a request. This had to be a significant matter, Trent knew.

He was lost in his thoughts when the sudden halt of the coach threw him out of his stance. Before Trent had a chance to inquire on the matter, he heard a gunshot. Pulling out his own gun, Trent stepped out of the coach and was struck with horror.

Crawley, his most loyal servant, was lying on the ground with blood surrounding him. The impact of the shot had killed him instantly. Trent stood there looking at the man, feeling a surge of emotions.

He felt an aching pain in his chest for the loss of his most trusted man. His heart felt like it would explode, and he knew he needed to bring justice to the men responsible for such a heinous crime. Trent bent at his knees and, with his right hand, closed Crawley’s eyes. It was all that he could do given that the threat was still there, and he would not do Crawley any good by wasting his life as well.

It was then he heard something.

Trent stood up and looked at the source of what had caused a commotion.  “What in God’s name!?” He shouted and pulled out his pistol, only to see a highwayman pointing his gun at Trent’s head.

The road was deserted with no one but the two of them, and Trent was beyond angry at the circumstances. Crawley had worked for Trent for many years and was the only person, except his parents, that he could trust.

“Put your gun down if you know what is good for you.” Trent said to the man pointing the gun at him.

“I ain’t scared of the lot of you. You filthy noblemen.” The man spoke but could not say another word, for Trent tackled him to the ground. The two men fought on the dirt, and Trent felt the hard fist of the man hitting him just below his left eye.

He knew this would cause undoubtedly a bruise.

The other man pinned Trent to the ground and held his gun at him. At that moment, Trent’s entire life flashed before his eyes, and he was at a loss. There was no hope for him, and the only thing that worried him was the knowledge that his very father was awaiting his arrival any minute.

He closed his eyes, praying his last wish. He heard the gun firing and waited to feel that pain. He expected the impact of the gun on him, but he never felt anything. Trent opened his eyes and saw the man holding the gun at him to the ground.

In his stead now stood another man. “Are you okay, sir?”

Trent took in a breath, unable to utter a word. This afternoon had been worse than he had imagined. First, his valet was shot dead, and now he had seen his own death so close. He nodded his head but stayed on the ground. The crippling fear of death was consuming him, and Trent needed a shot of brandy.

Slowly, he stood with shaking legs. In all his life, he had seen men killed before his eyes, but never something as close to feeling it himself. He brushed the dirt off his coat and thanked the man who had saved his life. His eyes went to the lying corpse of Crawley. He was still angry, more so than he had ever.

He looked around and saw the man who had saved him. He tried to compose himself and stand from the ground.

“Thank you. How can I repay the favor, Sir?” Trent asked still shocked.

“Tis was a pleasure that I could be of your service. I require nothing else, Sir.” The stranger said.

“There must be something, lad. What is your name?”, Trent could not believe his luck. He knew he had to return the favor to the man somehow.

“Gerard Fitzroy at your service, Sir.” The young man replied with confidence.

“What is your employment, Gerard?” Trent was curious to learn how he ended up there at the right time.

“Nay, Sir. I was on my way to London to find me some work.” Gerard said with sincerity in his eyes.

Sudden gratitude hit Trent, as well as an idea. “Well, Gerard, I must urge you to come with me. I am sure I can find you some work.”

“Thank you, Sir.” He said with gratitude.

“Nonsense, it is the least I can do for you for saving my life, pal.” Trent knew it was true and that he owed a lot more to him.

He sent Gerard to summon the constable to take account of the events that had happened. He wanted to make sure that Crawley’s death would be looked into. He had been a loyal servant and a good friend, and he had always provided Trent with good advice when asked.

The constable took Gerard and Trent’s statement, and once done, the two men continued on their journey to London. All throughout the way, all that Trent could think was why those men would kill Crawley? It seemed too much to be an accident. Could it be that it was planned —but why?

With uncertainty clouding his thoughts, Trent promised to get to the bottom of the matter.

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