December 21, 1815
Marsden Hall
North Steyne
Brighton, England
Among the Marquess of Tain’s peers, marriage was a contract based on money, status and bloodlines. This rule was one they’d been taught from birth. If Theo didn’t like it, it didn’t mean he hadn’t abided by it.
So as he gazed upon the woman whom he’d dismissed years ago in favor of this rule, he understood the importance of what he had lost and the significance of what he now would attempt to regain.
As a lord of the Realm with more than four hundred tenants to look after and three times as many acres of land to administer, Theo understood the value of taking care of the people and property for whom he was responsible. His minions tended his land, his animals, and grew the grains and vegetables that sustained them all. He ran his investments in iron smelting with a diligent hand. His sacred duty, some might say it was to be fair and dedicated. His practical duty, he would declare it was in fact. If man did not survive on bread alone, he prospered well by having more than the essentials of a good life. But after the death of his second wife more than a year ago, Theo had examined the ramifications of his marital choices. His marriages had been the ilk society blessed. If his existences with both ladies had not been idyllic, he accepted that with a cool maturity that put the lie to youthful naïveté. Just as he had devoted himself to his tenants, so too would he devote himself to his own happiness. To that end, he had sworn off a third marriage. His choice had been firm and he was not a man to change his mind quickly or without forethought. He was committed. Then he began to read of another death, another marriage ended. And he changed his mind. Altered his plan: He would not make any decisions to care for anyone else unless they cared for him in an equal and full measure.
The beauty he gazed upon had been one such person. He’d met her briefly at a house party like this one. He talked with her, enjoyed laughing with her, discussed farming of all things—and after more than twelve years, had never found her equal in any other woman.
To admit that to himself was an honest declaration. He was not in the habit of lying to himself. Never had been. To admit that aloud to anyone else of course would be blasphemy. It would be misinterpreted because, by many measures, he had loved his two wives. He certainly loved his two daughters who survived each woman in turn.
But this lady with her jovial manner and her lively enjoyment of others no matter their titles or riches had always been the one by whom he’d measured all others. If he would still do that after these next few days, he’d call himself fortunate, if not farsighted.
With an assurance—or perhaps arrogance—borne of training from the nursery to the rigors of dealing with his indomitable father, he strode toward her. With a bland smile on his face, he would continue the lie she and he had created that they had only ever been blithe acquaintances. To others at this party, his greeting would appear to be a beginning for them both. Whether she still cared for him, whether he saw in her all he found in her when he was a callow nineteen, it was still vital that he discover her character once again and learn if she might ever regard him with the passion that was once theirs twelve long years ago.
“Allow me to present the Marquess of Tain, Lady Goddard?” Their hostess for this Christmas house party was the venerable Countess of Marsden. A lady of social standing, she was a lioness among the haute ton. Her parties were legendary for the variety of attendees and the joy each guest proclaimed they enjoyed afterward. Though the lady had not opened her home to such a grand affair as this in more than a year, she did so now with the intention to brighten this Christmas season to celebrate the end of the wars. A friend of this lady whom he’d favored above all others, the Countess also knew what few ever had. He and the lady he stood before were once deeply in love.
Tain would help her with the ruse, by Jove. As he did himself. He smiled broadly, taking the hand of the lady he’d once adored the moment she’d laughed with him.
“I am honored, my lord.” Lady Penelope Goddard sank in a gracious curtsy. Did she cast her dark brown eyes downward in demure courtesy—or did she hide her surprise at his presence?
“As am I, my lady.” He pressed his lips to her gloved hand. Her cold gloved hand. Desire to warm her all over ran through him like hot brandy. He wanted the rest of her supple body beneath his mouth. His hips. His skin.
She rose and locked her gaze on his in shock and curiosity. “We did not know you would attend.”
Was that true? The Countess had not taken the opportunity to inform Penn that he had invited himself? He could have kissed their hostess then and there! “I had no idea myself until a few days ago.”
“You were free?” she asked, her head tilting, long ringlets of dark blonde caramel hair dancing around her rosy cheeks.
“Free.” He savored the word that denoted why he was here at this party. Why he was in such a rush. Why he had done the unthinkable, the unacceptable, and sent a letter to the Countess of Marsden to ask—hell, he would have begged if necessary—to be invited to her eight-day Christmas revels here in her house. “Yes, more free of any engagements than I have ever been.” Since last I wished to be engaged to you.
“How wonderful for us all,” said Penn with that little lisp between the girlish gap in her front teeth.
She was thirty years old, a year younger than he, but she could still lure him with her happy charm and her mellifluous contralto. My God. What an exquisite creature she was. As finely boned as when he’d first met her, she had fuller cheeks and a disconcerting wisdom to her fathomless dark eyes. She was very fashionably dressed, too. The gold gown she wore gave a sheen to her skin that reminded him of a Greek goddess. In the drape of her gown, she moved like water. He allowed his wayward eyes to skim, but briefly, the line of her décolleté. Her bosom was definitely fuller than when she’d been eighteen. His blood heated. Her breasts were lovely orbs he’d pay grand homage to, if only she’d permit him.
“I assure you,” he told her, “the honor is mine.”
The Countess moved aside as another of her house guests came forward to greet her.
He offered Penn his arm. “Perhaps you could introduce me to others?”
She laid her hand on his forearm with an assurance she’d not possessed at age eighteen. “Of course. Then you will excuse me as I promised the Countess I’d help her with the introductions among so many here.”
“Certainly. When you’re done taking me around, you may leave me with Lord Riverdale. I do know him well.” He gazed down at her, his heart clutching at her confusion at seeing him here. But when at last she had finished her introductions and they strolled toward Riverdale, he felt relief wing though her body.
“Penn—” he appealed to her before she let go of his arm. “Please talk with me. Later in the—”
“No.” She stepped nearer his friend and smiled at that man. “Lord Riverdale, I do believe you are acquainted with this good gentleman?”
“Tain!” Riverdale clapped him on the back as she murmured excuses and fled him all too soon. “Good to see you! Or is it?” his friend and neighbor asked on a sour note. “A problem with the lady?”
A bigger one than I anticipated. “Certainly not, Riverdale. How are you?”
