Once Upon A Countess

Genres: Historical Romance; Regency Romance

Synopsis

Best laid plans.



Lady Clare MacDougal, the sharp-tongued daughter of the Duke of Renfrew has been sent to spend the summer in London with her cousin, the Duke of Clevedon. Her father's heartfelt wish is for her to marry well. Lady Clare has other plans . . .



Forbidden love.



Milton Parr, the Earl of Wexford has no plans for marriage. Widowed from a previous, unhappy marriage, Wexford's only plans are to finish raising his younger siblings. But Lady Clare's tart tongue and love of life intrigue him.



Can he convince her they belong together, or will her secret love keep them apart?



Contains mature themes.

Release date: April 20, 2021

Publisher: Oliver Heber Books

Print pages: 220

Content advisory: Sizzling scenes

Sample

Chapter One

The carriage, pulled by four perfectly matched white horses, drew up outside the towering classical façade of Clevedon House, the London residence of the Duke of Clevedon. If it weren’t for the fact that the duke was a close friend from their days at Eaton and Cambridge, Parr would have declined the invitation. This evening, however, was important to Clevedon. It was the first dinner party held by the recently married duke and duchess, and Parr could never refuse Clevedon. The duke had assured him the affair would be small, knowing Parr disliked large, crowded events.

His own sister, Alexandria, reminded him he needed to host some sort of social event as well. As the Earl of Wexford, Parr needed to expand his social horizons beyond White’s. Alexandria was of the opinion that he needed a new wife and promised him she would put together a tasteful affair. He’d escaped a lengthy discussion over whom he should invite for the time being. That had proved easy enough. He’d merely promised her he would give the matter serious consideration.

Clevedon and his charming wife, Savannah, Her Grace the Duchess of Clevedon, were waiting inside the door, in the grand hall. His friend the duke had fallen head over heels in love with the charming American and her young son. A tale to be savored another time. Wexford needed to focus his attention on his hosts.

“Clevedon,” he murmured before turning his attention to the duchess. He bowed slightly. “You look as beautiful as ever, Your Grace.”

“Thank you, dear Wexford, and thank you for accepting our invitation. My husband says you’re not fond of large social events.”

He smiled. “He would be correct. I find I dislike the crush of the endless balls and soirees.”

“May I tell you a secret?” she asked with her prominent American accent. “I’m not fond of them either, so your secret is safe with me.”

Clevedon cut in. “I believe you’ll be fine, Parr. There are several guests you know, and my wife managed to keep the affair small.”

Parr nodded and again gave the duchess a slight bow before he walked off in the direction of the drawing room. Champagne was being served, and he took a flute from the tray of a passing footman. Taking a long sip, he walked through the doors.

He found there were, by his count, ten couples in total, plus one young woman who appeared to be on her own, without an escort. Perhaps one of the duchess’s friends or some distant relation of the duke’s. In either case, he was intrigued. The young woman obviously had a season or two behind her. She seemed comfortable conversing with those around her.

She was an exquisite creature. Her ginger hair was swept up off her neck. A long, luxurious neck, one that was made for kissing. Pearls adorned that beautiful neck, and she wore a deep-sapphire-colored silk gown. She looked like a queen or, in his case, a countess. That was absurd. He wasn’t looking for a wife, even though everyone told him it was past time. He’d been in mourning for his late wife, Matilda, for over a year, and until this evening had never given the matter any thought.

Clevedon came to his side, observing the festivities. The candlelight caught the reddish highlights that shimmered through his golden-brown hair. His muscular frame made him stand out from other men, showing he wasn't afraid of hard work, something his fellow peers avoided. “I see you’ve found Lady Clare.”

“Lady Clare?”

“Yes, the beauty in the dark blue gown.”

Parr finished his champagne and took another from one of many footmen. “Who accompanied her?”

“No one. She’s my cousin on my mother’s side. She was raised in Scotland and France.”

“Really? That’s fascinating. So she’s not betrothed?”

“No, which is why my aunt sent her to London.”

Parr arched a brow and smiled. “Tell me about her, and yes, you must introduce us.”

“Don’t worry, I will. I believe my wife has seated the two of you together for dinner.”

“Excellent. I knew there was a reason I liked the duchess.”

“Come. I want to acquaint you with a few gentlemen I don’t believe you know, and I’ll make sure you are introduced to Lady Clare before we go in to dinner.”

“Excellent. What else can you tell me about her before we’re introduced? You said she was your cousin.”

Clevedon finished the remainder of his champagne and placed the flute on a nearby table. “As I said, she’s my cousin and was raised in Scotland and France. Her father, my uncle, is the Duke of Renfrew. Clare is proficient in French, Gaelic, and Italian, she can ride better than most men I know, she paints, and is far more proficient than most other young ladies on pianoforte.”

Parr nodded as he listened. “What of her temperament?”

His friend smiled ever so slightly. “She is a delight to be around so long as you don’t rile her. She’s known for her fierce Scottish temper and a tart tongue.”

“Lady Clare sounds quite interesting. I look forward to getting to know her better.”

“Let me introduce you before we get bogged down in some political discussion with the men.”

They walked across the drawing room to where Lady Clare stood between Viscount Newton’s wife, Lady Newton, and Countess Taylor. Her husband, the Earl of Taylor, was well known as a successful land baron with property throughout England and Wales.

“Ladies, I would like to present Parr, the Earl of Wexford,” Clevedon said. “Wexford, I believe you already know Countess Taylor and Lady Newton.”

“I do. Ladies, nice to see you this evening.”

“Wexford, may I present my cousin, Lady Clare.”

Parr nodded and took the hand Lady Clare offered. “Lady Clare, I’m pleased to meet you.”

She studied him for a moment, her dark green eyes sizing him up. “I’m sure you are, Lord Wexford. Everyone is.”

Wexford arched a brow. “I beg pardon, my lady?”

Did she actually roll her eyes at him? Clevedon hadn’t mentioned her being a snob.

Lady Clare opened her fan, then closed it. “My father, the Duke of Renfrew, is quite wealthy, and unfortunately, I find most men use me as a way to get into my father’s good graces.”

“I can assure you I live quite comfortably, and what your father has or may not have is not my concern.”

“How refreshing, Lord Wexford. A man with no interest in my father’s money.”

“If you ladies will excuse us,” Clevedon said. “Lord Hemsley is beckoning us.”

Wexford bowed. “Ladies, a pleasure as always. Lady Clare, it has been good to meet one of Clevedon’s Scottish relations.”

The two men strode across the room toward a small group of gentlemen, Lord Hemsley among them.

“So that’s your cousin.”

The edge of Clevedon’s mouth curved up. “I warned you. She thinks any man who shows interest in her simply wants to get close to the duke.”

“Her tongue is enough to scare off most men.”

“Indeed. She’s had two proposals, both of which she refused, and her father didn’t approve of one in any case. He allowed her the other refusal. And yet, as I said, her father wishes her wed.”

Wexford snorted. “I do believe I’ve heard of your cousin. Her dowry’s reportedly the largest in all England and Scotland.”

“Her name and dowry precede her. I’m afraid it’s worn on my cousin.”

“I can see where it might.”

They neared the group of men, stopping just short of joining them. “You’ll get to know her better at dinner,” Clevedonsaid. “Just don’t bring up money, and you should be safe from her wrath.”

“I’ll try to remember that.” Parr glanced across the room and saw the duchess had joined the group. Unfortunately, Lady Clare’s back was to him, and he couldn’t see her face. Dinner would commence shortly, and he would have his chance to get to know the lady better then.

* * *

As this was the duchess’s fist official dinner party, the meal would be a long-drawn-out affair. Dinner began with a delicate turtle soup.

From the moment he sat down next to Lady Clare, Parr knew his evening would be anything but dull. She didn’t look at all surprised that they had been paired together. She sat quietly for a moment before speaking after he’d acknowledged her as he settled himself in his chair

“Lord Wexford. Imagine that, the only two unmarried people at this dinner party being seated together. How curious.”

“I’m sure Her Grace thought you’d rather be seated with me rather than, say, Lord Hemsley.”

She picked up her wineglass, which had just been filled. “Touché.”

“Something we agree on, though he thinks he’s still quite the ladies’ man.”

“Old ladies, perhaps,” she replied with a smug look.

She took a sip of wine, and he did the same as he pondered his next topic. “How long are you in London?”

Smiling, she set the glass down. “Until my parents return from Paris. We have a townhouse there,” she said. “I wasn’t invited to accompany them, and I certainly didn’t feel like spending my time in Scotland. My cousin obliged when asked by my father.”

He shook his head. “I can’t imagine a young woman like you not wanting to visit Paris.”

“I never said I didn’t want to visit Paris. My family lived in France for a time. I’ve been to Paris on many occasions. Right now, I find it boring.”

“Perhaps you need to change your social acquaintances in Paris. Seek out those who are more suited to whatever it is you like to do.”

She arched a brow and picked up her spoon. “Perhaps.”

They ate their soup without another word. She was going to make sure they both had a miserable time. Why? He picked up his wineglass as the footman took away the first course and another brought broiled salmon with capers along with perch in cream sauce. He observed her wrinkling her nose, but pretended he hadn’t seen. It was actually quite cute how she did that.

She turned away from him to answer a question her other dinner partner asked. Of all men to place her next to, the flamboyant Viscount Newton was the worst possible choice. Marriage had never stopped the viscount from shamelessly flirting with young, unattached women such as Lady Clare. Even the man’s manner of dress was offensive. He looked like a peacock with all the colors he wore.

Parr took a forkful of the creamed fish and gazed down the table to where Clevedon sat. The two made eye contact, and the duke had the audacity to smile and raise his glass of wine in his direction. Smug bastard. He was having fun with this. Parr suddenly felt as though he was in the lion’s den, and no one was going to rescue him. He shook his head. His other dinner partner was engaged in conversation with another, so he set his fork aside and downed his wine.

By the time the crisp-skinned roast duck was served, Parr was more than ready to leave. Lady Clare was still engaged in conversation with the peacock, and the lady to his left, Lady Hemsley, regrettably had little to say beyond remarking upon the weather or inquiring about his siblings.

Having lost his parents in a violent carriage accident, Wexford had been left with three sisters and two brothers living at home. After a reasonable mourning period, he sent Gregory and George off to Eton. His younger sisters, Violet and Jenny, would be ready for their coming out over the next two years. Perhaps they’d each find a suitable husband. Their older sister, Alexandria, certainly had. Hers had been an arranged marriage, the couple having met only two days prior to their wedding. Somehow, she and Viscount Sansbury had accepted their fate. In fact, now they seemed to adore each other. If it were a farce, they kept it well hidden, and since they were staying here in London with him, he was certain he would know if there were marital discord between the two.

“My cousin says you’re quite the horseman,” he heard Lady Clare say, bringing him out of his brooding and back to the dinner party.

“I enjoy riding as much as the next man.”

“Come, my lord. Don’t be so modest. I understand you ride a magnificent black stallion.”

“Hercules is quite handsome. He has more stamina than any of my other horses,” he replied.

Dessert would be served next, and if he were going to make a move and invite her for a walk or carriage ride, it would have to be soon. Once dinner was over, the ladies would retire to the drawing room for tea, and he would be locked in here to enjoy port, cigars, and politics with the men.

“Perhaps I’ll see you riding him through the park.”

Was she playing with him, or did she hope he would invite her to ride with him?

“Would you care to accompany me for a ride through the park? I could call on you tomorrow afternoon. I have a nice gray mare I think you’d find much to your liking.”

She let the footman take her plate before replying, then looked Parr directly in the eyes. Hers were the darkest green he thought he’d ever seen. Like deep-hued emeralds.

“Regrettably, my lord, I must decline. Her Grace made previous arrangements for us to visit her modiste.”

“Surely that won’t take all day.”

“It’ll take most of the day. Perhaps another time?”

He wasn’t sure if she were setting him up only to let him down again. He would take that chance.

“Yes, perhaps another time,” he replied.

Parr was relieved when dessert was served. His friend’s bride had made sure to serve almond cheesecake, one of his favorites. At least a piece of this delectable cake wouldn’t unsettle him the way Lady Clare did.

Time came when dinner was over, and the gentlemen rose as the ladies quietly left the dining room. The peacock beat him to speaking with Lady Clare before they retired to the drawing room. Parr simply nodded in her direction. She met his nod with a smirk and quickly turned away from him.

He sat brooding through a lively discussion about some controversy in Parliament. He barely heard a word being said around him. Instead, he found he couldn’t stop thinking about his dinner partner and how she’d deliberately set out to toy with him. One thing was certain, Clevedon was correct: his cousin did have a tart tongue. Problem was, he actually found it to be a breath of fresh air compared to the simpering demeanors of the usual ladies of the ton.

Lady Clare was quite pleasing in appearance. She’d make some lucky man a wonderful wife. Just not him. It was evident by the manner in which she spoke with him and the fact that she refused his offer of a ride in the park that she wasn’t interested in him.

When the gentlemen rose to join the ladies, Parr glanced at his old friend. He needed to take his leave. Now.

“I take it my cousin was unkind?” Clevedon inquired.

“No, not at all. From the little time I spoke with her, I can see she’s a complicated young woman.”

“Yes, she is,” he replied.

Parr finished off his port. “I need to go. Please pass on my thanks to your lovely bride for such a delightful evening.”

“You can tell her yourself,” Clevedon said. “You’ll not give my cousin the satisfaction of thinking she’s thwarted any so-called attempt to set her up with a respectable man.”

“Really, I don’t wish to have her humiliate me in front of your friends, and I fear that may be her next move.”

“She won’t,” the duke replied as he poured them both another glass of port. “Her father sent her to me to find her a suitable match.”

“I thought they went to Paris.” He took the glass from Clevedon and swirled the dark amber liquid.

“They did. She’s chased away every eligible man in Edinburgh. Her parents thought allowing her to stay here without them might be what she needs.”

Parr drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “She seems quite intelligent. More than most.”

“She is. Perhaps if you ask her to go on a carriage ride, you’d see that. You’d be surprised by the subjects she’s interested in, many of which are not topics you’d normally converse with your dinner partner about.”

“I already asked her, and she declined, politely, of course. Something about her and the duchess having previous plans to visit the duchess’s modiste.”

Clevedon nodded. “She is correct. I remember my wife mentioning something about acquiring ball gowns for the Duke of Liverpool’s annual summer ball.”

“Perhaps I need not press her.”

The duke snorted. “Write her a note, send it with flowers in the morning. Tell her you’ll call on her to accompany you on a carriage ride at three.”

“I tried to suggest just such a thing.”

“My wife told me the appointment was late morning. Send the flowers early enough.”

Parr shook his head and downed the remaining port. “Do you really think she’ll accept?”

“It would be rude not to. I’ll also apprise my bride of your dilemma. She seems to have my cousin’s ear.”

“You’re really sure about her?”

Clevedon smiled. “If I didn’t think the two of you wouldn’t be a perfect match, you wouldn’t have been invited this evening. I’d have suggested someone else, when in fact the only person I can see as a match for her is you. It’s time for you to move on, my friend.”

He wasn't sure if he wanted Clevedon setting him up with his cousin. He was in mourning, or at least he told himself he was. Gentlemen officially mourned far less than women. They had to be able to go back to their businesses. His friend was right though, it was time he moved on. “Very well, I’ll do as you suggest.”

“Women love flowers. If you want to make a strong impression on her, send her pink roses. A huge vase full of pink roses.”

“Something to impress her. Trust me, by the time I arrive to collect her for our carriage drive, Lady Clare will be most impressed.”

Clevedon smiled broadly and rose from his chair. “Knowing you I’m sure my cousin will be speechless. That’s saying quite a bit, as Lady Clare is not often without an opinion.”

“So I gather.”

“You’ll be fine. Trust me. Let’s rejoin the others.”

Parr arched a brow. “Very well. For a while, I suppose, but I can’t stay long.” Perhaps he should just trust Clevedon. Lady Clare might not like it if she thought she was being manipulated, but he was sure with his charm he could easily win her over.

 

 

Chapter Two

Lady Clare awoke the next morning and dressed in a simple dark blue muslin day dress. She’d brought her lady’s maid, Agnes, from Scotland. She barely heard whatever the older woman was going on about because she’d simply learned not to pay attention. Agnes had at one time been her mother’s lady’s maid. A misunderstanding had occurred between the two women, thus ending Agnes’s position with her mother. Clare wasn’t sure what had happened, exactly, but her mother quickly found the maid another position within the house as Clare’s lady’s maid.

She thought of the Earl of Wexford. He was more than pleasing to look at, with his blond hair that curled at the ends and which he wore tied back in a queue. His blue eyes were as dark as the waters of the Mediterranean, but they had a haunted appearance to them if one dared look closely enough. He had a square chin and high cheekbones. His nose was slightly off, making her wonder if it’d been broken in a fight, yet it lent him an air of indefinable masculinity. His tall stature ensured he had a most commanding presence.

She smiled, remembering being seated next to him at dinner. She’d done her best to appear aloof, though she’d kept her tongue in check as her cousin asked. She wasn’t going to fall into the arms of the first gentleman who paid her attention while she was in London. Clare knew her parents had left her behind because they hoped her cousin might know of a peer willing to marry her.

Then Wexford had to ask her to join him for a carriage ride through the park. She had to refuse, no matter how much she’d wanted to accept or wanted him to show her his horses. Being that Parr was the first of many suitors with whom she’d need to contend with it was easy enough to nip this in the bud. When her cousin asked her what had transpired between them, she could tell him she thought she and the earl would be ill-suited. That would take care of that.

Regardless, she felt bad for using the man. He had been a decent enough dinner companion, at least when she wasn’t ignoring him by paying attention to the gentleman seated to her right. That one had been annoying.

“My gloves and reticule, please, Agnes. Then I’m off to shop with Her Grace. Be sure the pale green gown is ready for this evening.”

The maid handed the items to Clare with a smile. “That gown is one of my favorites, milady.”

Clare nodded and left the room. As she neared the bottom of the stairs, she noted a large vase of pink roses in two shades sitting on a table in the middle of the entrance hall. Their beauty almost took her breath away. Never had she seen the two hues combined like this, and there had to be at least three dozen blooms.

“These came for you a while ago. There’s a card on the table,” the duchess said, entering from the drawing room door.

“For me? Who would be sending me such gorgeous roses?” She smiled and opened the card.

“Who are they from?”

She tried to hide her disappointment. She had been hoping they were from someone else. “The Earl of Wexford. He’s going to call this afternoon. He wishes to take me for a drive.”

“You shouldn’t look so crestfallen. The earl keeps his feelings close to his heart, or at least that’s what my husband tells me. Especially since his wife died. You should be happy, Clare, that Wexford may be interested.”

“I am,” she lied. “They were simply unexpected, that’s all.” She leaned over and inhaled the fragrance while trying to control her true feelings.

“If you’re ready, we should be on our way,” Her Grace said.

Clare smiled. “Come, let’s go indulge ourselves, shall we?”

The sights and sounds of London passed them by as the carriage made its way through the heavy traffic. Clare wasn’t paying attention as she knew she should be. If she were going to find Francois, she knew she’d have to sneak out of the house, or when the duke and duchess had business elsewhere together. She’d sent word to his last known place of residence as soon as she’d arrived, but had not heard back from him. This meant one of two things: either Francois had moved on, or he didn’t want her any longer. Or her cousin had intercepted her letters.

She had met Francois Bernas three years ago on a family holiday to France. They were staying at a chateau her father had rented for the summer. Francois’s father was a merchant and had business dealings with her father. His father brought him along as his apprentice. Though it was an impossible, complicated friendship, the two became lovestruck.

Once her father realized what was going on, having been told by Mr. Bernas himself, the duke sent his headstrong daughter back to Scotland, forbidding any further correspondence with the young man. The pair still managed to write each other. His father had been equally as unforgiving as her own. He sent his disgraced son to stay with relatives in the north of France.

Francois had managed to put aside money and fled his relations for London. He vowed his love to her and promised the two of them would start anew in America. All they had to do was find each other and flee.

Interestingly enough, her cousin had married an American and was more than happy to share details of her life in the new country with Clare. Clare had feigned an interest in America, hoping to figure where Francois may have gone. So far, she had no clear answers. He simply had to be in London still, working to have enough money for passage and a new life. She would find him, of that she was sure.

The earl might be a more valuable ally than she first realized. Surely he knew London well. If she accepted his offer to show her around London, she might be able to find Francois. Perhaps this afternoon, she would innocently ask him about the area of London where Francois had last been living. If her cousin had indeed had her correspondence intercepted, then Francois could still be residing at the address she had.

* * *

Wexford arrived back at Clevedon’s home the following afternoon to fulfill his invitation to Lady Clare. Though he’d met her only the night before, he found himself drawn to her. She wasn’t the demure, quiet young woman one usually found in the ballrooms, each looking for a well-to-do husband. No, Lady Clare had a fire about her that appealed to him.

He was waiting for her in the grand hall, admiring the roses he’d had delivered, when Clevedon strode in.

“Wexford, Lady Clare will be a few minutes. While you’re waiting, why don’t we go to my study for a chat.”

“Sounds ominous.”

Clevedon chuckled and led the way. As they entered, he motioned Wexford to a leather chair in front of his desk while he poured two glasses of whiskey.

“I needed to speak with you,” Clevedon started.

“About Lady Clare?”

He nodded. “Yes. Please, don’t misunderstand me. I don’t wish you to spy on her, I simply need to know if she asks questions a woman wouldn’t normally ask, such as how to get to certain parts of London.”

Wexford accepted the glass and took a contemplative swallow. “May I ask why?”

“Of course. It seems there’s a young man here in London for whom she is searching. She met the boy in France. One of those unfortunate incidents where a young high-bred woman meets and falls in love with an improper, untitled gentleman. I have it on good authority the young man is indeed here in Town.”

“That explains a great deal, actually,” Wexford replied thoughtfully.

“I’ve been intercepting correspondence that she has been sending the young man. Apparently, they intended to flee to America.”

Wexford cocked a brow. “And he’s unacceptable to her father?”

“Very. He’s the son of a merchant with whom the duke works. His father banished him to Northern France, but apparently, the two have been corresponding anyway. He’s here in London, and in the meantime, I have a man following him to discover where he lives and if he works. Moving to America would require money.”

“Yes, it would,” Wexford replied and finished his whiskey. “I’ll keep an eye on her. I’m sure she’ll slip up.”

“Depends. She’s an intelligent woman.”

“I am surprised the duke didn’t arranged a marriage for her. That would be a certain way to ensure she forgot about this young man.”

“He’s looking for a suitable prospect. He'd rather not force her into an arranged marriage.”

Wexford studied his friend for a moment. “And that’s why you’re trying to find a man with whom she might strike a spark?”

“A man such as you, my friend.” The duke smiled.

Wexford felt a bit cornered. “It’s too soon. I’m still in mourning.”

Clevedon shook his head. “Think it over. In the meantime, I’m sure Clare will try to sneak her questions in, thinking you won’t be aware of what’s going on.”

He rose and set down his glass. “I will, but it’s likely moot as the lady seems reluctant to spend time with me. However, I don’t mind doing you this favor and shall report back with any information I can glean from her.”

“Thank you. Now you best get back to the hall. I’m sure my cousin is looking everywhere for you, and she hates to be kept waiting.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He walked back to the grand hall and found Lady Clare pacing the floor. She indeed did not look amused.

“I apologize. Clevedon had a matter requiring both our attention.”

She raised an imperious brow and lifted her chin. “Don’t bother apologizing. It doesn’t become you. I know that my cousin, being a duke, believes the world revolves around him. My father is the same way. You were merely doing his bidding.”

Wexford bit back a laugh. Lady Clare was most observant, but also rebellious when it came to the aristocracy. She stretched every rule written or unwritten. It made him wonder if it might perhaps be because of this Frenchman she was supposedly in love with.

“If you’re ready?” He took his hat from the nearby butler and placed it neatly onto his head.

“Yes, let’s go. I need to be free of my prison for a few hours.”

He shook his head as he followed her out of the house. As he helped her into his phaeton, he couldn’t help but notice how the sun shone off her glorious copper-red hair.

“I thought we might go to the park.” He settled beside her and gathered the pair’s reins. “Your cousin’s man and your lady’s maid will follow us.”

“I’d rather see some of the sights the town has to offer. The park is the socially acceptable place to take me, but I wish to see something different.”

“But…”

“Do you know where Simmons Street is? Take me there.”

He shook his head. “Absolutely not. Simmons is near the docks and in a very dangerous neighborhood. Why on earth would you want to go there?”

“A friend told me about it, and you must be mistaken. It couldn’t be anywhere near the docks.”

He fisted the reins and set them in his lap, turning to face her. “No, it is near the docks, and I will not take you there. It is your friend who is mistaken.”

She began to pout, but evidently thought better of it. Wexford braced for her wrath. She was clearly a spoiled brat and used to getting her own way.

“Lord Wexford, you do know who my father is. My cousin as well. I’m sure I could make your life miserable if I so chose. A mere mention to either of them will put you in your place.”

Wexford turned his eyes to the traffic in front of him, knowing he might burst out laughing if he even looked at her. “Yes, your father and cousin are two very powerful dukes. Your cousin is also a dear friend of mine. Do you really think I wasn’t forewarned of your spoiled ways?” he said. “I’m surprised your father hasn’t arranged a marriage for you.”

“He wouldn’t dare.”

“Perhaps, but again, I understand your dowry to be one of the largest in all Great Britain. Why wouldn’t he try to arrange a match?”

“He’s tried and failed. Now take me to Simmons Street. I command you.”

He barked a laugh. In front of her this time. “You command me? Lady Clare, I’m not one of your servants you can order about. You’d best remember that. We will not be going anywhere near Simmons Street.”

She slumped back in her seat, obviously disappointed. Her plump bottom lip protruded. She was pouting. Lady Clare wasn’t used to not getting her way.

With a shake of his head, Wexford maneuvered the carriage into the park and found a place where he could pull to the side. If he wanted to help Clevedon, he needed to win her over. Wait! Did he really want to do that? Whatever or whoever was on Simmons Street was important to her. The young Frenchman, he’d bet. Perhaps if he made her an offer…

“Lady Clare, I’m sorry you’re upset with me for not taking you where you asked, but as I told you, it’s simply not a safe place for a high-born lady such as yourself. Your cousin would never forgive me if anything happened to you.”

She flashed her dark green eyes at him, then turned away as though she was thinking of how to answer him without being harsh.

“If you tell me the address and whom it is you’re looking for, I’ll do it for you.”

She turned her head, and her eyes narrowed slyly. “Why?”

“Because the docks…”

“Yes, yes, I know. The docks are not a safe place for women like me,” she interrupted.

“They’re not safe for any woman.”

She cocked her head and sat up a bit straighter. “Why would you want to do this for me? What’s in it for you?”

“I want nothing in return, I assure you. I simply wish to help you out. If this person you seek is still living there, I could arrange a meeting.”

Her eyes brightened. “You’d do that?”

He nodded. “Yes, I would.”

“How do I know you won’t return to Clevedon and tell him everything? He’d lock me in my room for the remainder of my time in London.”

She wasn’t going to make this easy, but Wexford had anticipated she was going to be difficult. He shrugged. “You’re going to have to trust me on this.”

“Very well, I’ll accept your generous offer. Just remember, you’ve offered to do this without anything expected in return.”

“I accept,” he replied.

She poured out the entire story of the young man she’d fallen in love with in France, how her father and his had conspired to send each of them away, refusing to allow the friendship to continue. The pair had obviously made some pact to meet up in London. Her plans, she said, were uncertain. Was she lying or telling the truth?

Wexford paid close attention, watching her every move, the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke of her young paramour, the way her delicate hands fluttered, then closed when she described the fathers convening to keep them apart. “I’ll go there first thing in the morning. I’ll call on you late morning and offer to take you riding in the park.”

She gave him a brilliant smile that quite made his breath catch. “Thank you, my lord.”

He picked up the reins to guide his team of high-stepping bays back out into the heavy traffic in the park. “You’re welcome. I pray I return with the answers you anticipate.”

“I’m sure you will.”

The conversation about her Frenchman ended, and instead, she turned to asking him questions about the park. She seemed truly interested in the history of the area, or at least that was the façade she was allowing him to see.

“How did you come to be so interested in English history?” he asked.

A hint of a smile appeared on her lovely lips. “It’s always been intertwined with Scottish history, you know.”

“Sometimes not in good ways.”

“I’m afraid you’re right, my lord.”

“Would you like to stop and walk for a while?”

“No, I’m enjoying this much better. Another time.”

He nodded, unsurprised by her reply. “Another time.”

“Could I ask you a personal question, my lord?”

She had his curiosity. He arched a brow. “Ask away.”

“Why aren’t you betrothed or married? You’re certainly well thought of, educated, and handsome enough.”

He pondered how to answer, and how detailed his answer should be. Finally, he said, “I am a widower. My wife died in a senseless accident involving my phaeton about a year ago. Therefore, I have no interest in a marriage at this time.”

“My condolences on the loss of your wife. Are you sure you’re not at least looking for another?”

“No.”

She peered at him with that probing, intelligent gaze. “And why is that?”

“I’m not ready. Besides, I haven’t met anyone suitable even if I were. I don’t wish for a young, innocent debutant as my bride. I require someone more worldly.”

“Yes, I can understand. There’s only so far conversation about the weather can go.”

“Exactly.” He chuckled. “I can’t imagine you ever being at a loss for words or giggling at any inane topic.”

She flashed him a warm smile. “I never have, my lord.”

“Then that makes you a very rare bloom indeed.”

She didn’t blush, but instead turned the conversation to him once more. “I understand your family seat is located in West Sussex.”

“It is. Wexford Castle is exactly that. A castle.”

“And is it as cold and drafty as the ones in Scotland?”

“It is, though I will admit to having had certain aspects of it updated.”

His eye caught on a few people he knew. No one he wanted to stop and introduce Lady Clare to at the moment, however. He wanted this first outing to be theirs alone, especially since she was beginning to let him see another side of herself. He kept the phaeton rolling and simply acknowledged them with a passing nod.

“What of siblings?” she pressed.

“I have many. A sister who is older, then four who are younger. And you?”

“Only my brother, Charles, but he’s in the spice trade and in India.”

“India? That’s the other side of the world.”

She nodded. “Yes. My father doesn’t approve of his decision either. He believes Charles should be preparing himself to run the dukedom’s estates. That sort of thing.”

“I’m sure he’ll come around. Sometimes a young man needs one grand adventure before he settles.”

“I’m sure you’re right, my lord, though I’m not certain how my parents are going to take to the news that his bride is of Indian descent.”

Wexford quickly closed his mouth. She’d shared a secret with him. “He’s married, in secret? How is it you know?”

“Duncan made me promise not to tell our parents. When he comes home, he’ll present her to the family.”

“Seems you’re not the only one in your family who has secrets.”

“Yes, you’re right, of course. I suppose we’re both rebellious in that regard.”

He smiled. “Nothing wrong with that, and I’m sure your parents will come to accept your brother’s choice in a wife.”

“But you don’t think they will approve of my choice. Nor do you. Am I correct, my lord?”

“If that’s the choice you make, I’m sure eventually they will come to accept him once they see how happy he makes you,” he replied. “My feelings on the matter are of no consequence.”

She glanced aside, looking out at couples walking along a well-manicured pathway. “Of course they’re not,” she choked out. For a quick moment, Wexford thought he saw tears pooling at the corners of her eyes.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She shook her head and dabbed her lashes with her gloved fingers. “You didn’t. I find myself in unusual circumstances.”

He nodded. He hoped he hadn't ruined their afternoon by mentioning this young man. He would honor his word and find out for her if the young man was still living at the address. He always kept his word. Something about the entire situation niggled at him. And something else was bothering him even more than looking in on her young paramour. Could he possibly be opening his cold heart to her? And was she, despite the wall she’d placed around her heart, also thawing toward him?

 

 

 

 

Chapter Three

Wexford found himself more confused than ever by the time he returned home late that afternoon. Spending the afternoon with Lady Clare had released a whirlwind of emotions. Emotions he hadn’t allowed out of the locked box within his heart since Matilda had died so suddenly.

She kept him engaged and intrigued, unlike any other young woman he’d been introduced to since coming out of mourning. In spite of her sometimes acerbic tongue, he found her witty candor refreshing. He could talk to her about a vast range of topics. She never giggled or did any of the other silly things debutants often did.

He would find out about this young Frenchman, not only for Clevedon’s sake, but for Lady Clare’s as well. But if the young man was indeed living near the docks, did he want to risk her safety by letting her know his findings? Would she rush to the young man’s side, would she try once again to slip a message to him, or would the young man have fled already?

Wexford sent a man down to Simmons Street to see whether this young man was indeed living there or if he’d moved on. If his man found the Frenchman had departed, Wexford instructed him to make discreet inquiries.

He walked into the comfortable sitting room in his townhome, poured himself a glass of whiskey, then stood by the fire, contemplating his next move.

As he had no social engagements this evening, he’d decided to have dinner at White’s. That would be much easier than having his cook prepare a dinner for one, and he wouldn’t be left alone with his thoughts. He’d spent far too many nights looking into the bottom of a bottle of whiskey in an attempt to allay his guilt over the death of his wife.

If only he’d stopped her that fateful afternoon, she might still be alive. She’d goaded him into letting her drive a new phaeton he had just that day taken possession of. Matilda had been drinking, as she did most days, starting early in the afternoon.

Rather than take the phaeton around to the stables, he’d parked it outside the front door of his country home, wanting to show it off to his wife by taking her for a quick drive. But when she first spotted the vehicle, she became belligerent because she wanted to try it out. After finally allowing him to assist her into the vehicle, she picked up the reins, let off the brake, and goaded the pair of high-spirited mares into a frenzy. The rest was a nightmare of the worst making. Her abuse of the carriage horses had been abominable. Her drinking had become a daily ritual. She was unpredictable, going from one emotion to another in the blink of an eye. And yet he had loved her, or he thought he had, which was why he tolerated her behavior.

Since that fateful day, Wexford spoke neither of her nor the accident. If someone inquired or gave their condolences, his responses were short and clipped.

After that, he spent the better part of three months drunk and unkempt, rarely tending to business matters or leaving his estate. He was mourning the death of his young wife, and he took advantage of the situation.

That was until Clevedon and Littleton, Marquess of Dover, intervened. Both were friends from their days at Eton who checked in on him on a regular basis. They’d left instructions with his valet and butler to send word if matters got worse. When word reached them of his dissolution, both flew to Wexford’s side to help sober him up and bring him back to the land of the living.

Now, Wexford found himself in a similar situation. Already, he was having feelings for Clevedon’s cousin, Lady Clare. He must find out about her young Frenchman and nothing more. His heart simply wouldn’t survive being broken again, and he knew he couldn’t return to that dark place.

So to keep his thoughts from drifting to the past, he would simply head upstairs, bathe, dress, and head to White’s for an evening out. Hopefully, one or more of his friends who were unattached might be there, or else he would simply enjoy a good steak and afterward, a brandy and cigar before returning home.

Tomorrow, his sister, Alexandria, was due to visit, though Wexford truly thought she was there to check in on him before she and her husband departed for the Continent. His other siblings were either visiting their aunt Beth in Brighton or, in the case of the twins, George and Gregory, were off visiting their mother’s uncle Thomas for a month. Alexandria had agreed with him when he presented his proposal of what to do with their brothers and sisters. At least for a while.

Wexford downed his glass of whiskey, refilled it, and climbed the stairs to his chambers to bathe and change. Tonight was his, because tomorrow, his solitude would be intruded upon, and hopefully his man would find some sign of this Francois Bernas.

Even if he found the young man, a match with Lady Clare was still out of the question. Her father wouldn’t allow her to marry a commoner, and Clevedon would honor his uncle’s wishes. Clevedon was going to have his hands full with his cousin if Bernas was found. Lady Clare was a spirited young woman, and not one to necessarily do as she was told. If she put her mind to it, Wexford felt sure she would disappear with the young man, and he wasn’t about to let that happen. She was pulling hard on his heartstrings. So hard, Wexford found himself unnerved.

* * *

Thoughts of the Earl of Wexford had consumed far too much of her time. Clare was uncomfortable with how this handsome, titled English gentleman occupied her mind. Today, he’d let his guard down and told her about his late wife and her tragic accident, not in great detail, but the man had shared what was clearly a sensitive memory with her.

She wondered why her cousin hadn’t mentioned it to her. Clevedon’s wife, Savannah, hadn’t even mentioned Lord Wexford was widowed. Looking back, Clare assumed everyone was protecting him from having to discuss the matter. He’d only recently come out of mourning and resumed his life. What was it about his late wife that kept Wexford in the protective circle of those closest to him?

She’d heard no gossip at the balls and soirees she’d attended thus far. Even most of the mothers respected him, not pushing their young daughters in front of him.

He was a handsome man who cut a dashing figure. He would make any woman a fine husband, but right now wasn’t the time. His heart was still healing.

Which led her to another oddity: why was he so interested in inquiring about Francois? Was he acting on her cousin’s behalf or did he truly see how much she loved Francois and was sincere in his offer to help her find him?

“Clare?”

She found Her Grace watching her, an amused smile on her lips. How long had Savannah sat here in the drawing room thinking about her afternoon?

“I apologize. My mind was elsewhere, I’m afraid.”

“So I can see. It wouldn’t have anything to do with Lord Wexford, would it?” Savannah stirred a cup of tea she’d just poured herself.

Instinctively, Clare picked up her own cup and observed her cousin-in-law over the rim. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“He was a gentleman, wasn’t he? No, of course he was. Wexford is always a proper gentleman.”

Clare worked on an embroidery piece. Clevedon had excused himself after dinner, citing a business meeting in the morning for which he needed to prepare.

“He spoke briefly about the loss of his wife. Matilda, I believe was her name?”

“He did?”

“He told me she died in a freak accident involving a phaeton.”

Savannah nodded. “Yes, she did. She was reckless at times. If Wexford told her no, she would forge ahead nevertheless. I believe he blames himself in part for the accident, as he’d just purchased the vehicle.”

“That doesn’t surprise me, from what I know of him,” Clare said, then paused, biting her lip. “Did he love her?”

“He was devastated by her death.”

Clare shook her head. “You’re avoiding my question.”

“Because it’s not something I should be discussing with you. The details should come from Wexford and not me. It’s his place to decide what he feels comfortable sharing with the world. I’ll leave it at that.”

“Is that why you and my cousin have been pushing us together? He needs to begin to socialize, and I need to find a suitable husband?”

Savannah smiled demurely. “I will admit, Clevedon thought you would be someone Wexford might be interested in. You’re everything Matilda never was.” Clare was as headstrong as Matilda had been, but that’s where the similarities ended.

“I don’t even want to know what that means,” Clare replied. “I still have no interest in any man, especially if they’re chosen for me. My heart knows what it wants, and when the right man comes along, I will know.”

“Very well,” the duchess murmured.

Clare changed the subject. “So tell me about the Duke and Duchess of Liverpool’s ball. You’ve said an invitation is highly coveted.”

“It is. Everyone who’s anyone will be there.”

“So I understand.”

“The ball is quite extravagant, from what I understand. This will be my first as well.”

Clare smiled. “Are you terrified? I ask only because America cannot compete as they have no peerage.”

“True, though my American friends and family might disagree with you.”

“I’m sure. Have you and Clevedon given any thought about hosting your own ball?”

She smiled again. “He mentioned it. I was hoping our first such party could be held at our estate in Scotland.”

“The dowager could be of great assistance. She loves extravagant parties, and from what I understand from my mother, her and Clevedon’s soirees would rival any held in London.”

“That’s good to know,” she replied. “Clevedon has alluded to the fact that his mother would be a huge asset in helping me plan for a ball on such a grand scale.”

“Your dinner party was a smashing success, you know.”

“True, though I’m sure most of our guests were more curious about the duke’s American wife.” She threaded a needle, close to finishing off the delicate pattern.

Clare laughed subtly. “Then use it to your advantage.”

Her cousin’s bride might well be her ally. She seemed to side with women who were different, such as herself. The duchess was American and looked upon as an oddity by the ton. Perhaps, once she found out what Wexford discoveredabout Francois, she could take the duchess into her confidence.

“May I ask you something personal,” the duchess inquired.

“Of course.” Here it comes, she’s about to inquire of my affections for someone common like Francois.

“If you find your young Frenchman, what are you plans? What sort of life could the two of you have?”

“I don’t know. Francois came here to find employment in order to put aside enough money for us to marry and start anew elsewhere. Though my life would be nothing like it is now, I am certain I could adjust to anything.”

“I only ask because you know your father will never give him your dowry. That’s part of the reason the duke is so against any sort of relationship. He believes the young man is after your dowry.”

“Yes, my father has made that abundantly clear. Francois and I may not have much, but we’ll have each other.”

The duchess smiled. “Spoken like a true romantic.”