Stephanie James Read online

  The journey to Philip’s old bedchamber was an exhausting expedition which contained several more falls to the floor, one nearly down the stairs, and the breaking of a rather ill-placed vase in the upstairs hallway.

  “Shall you be requiring anything else, my lord?” Rivers asked, thoroughly winded after finally completing the task of putting a drunken man to bed.

  “No,” Philip grunted and flung away the green coverlet. “Just make certain I’m not disturbed.”

  “As you wish,” Rivers said, and then left the room.

  By the time the door clicked closed, Philip was already in a deep sleep.

  • • •

  “Rise and shine, my son!”

  “Oh, Christ,” Philip moaned as he slapped his hands over his eyes. His father had pulled open the heavy drapes that hung in front of the windows, allowing the light of the morning sun to burst into the room. Philip pulled his hands away from his face and tried to open his eyes, but the bright rays attacked them like needles. He covered his eyes again quickly. Why did his room have to face east?

  The duke chuckled at his son’s struggle. “Suffering deservedly, I see.”

  “I deserve this?” asked Philip, eyes still covered.

  “Indeed,” said the duke, and clasped his hands together behind his back. “I surveyed the damage you inflicted upon my library. One crystal decanter and glass broken to bits, a few rare books destroyed, and the wall will need repairing as well. Not to mention the obliteration of one of your mother’s vases in the north hallway. Good God, Philip,” the duke scolded. “If you’re going to get roaring drunk and break everything in your path, at least do it in your own lodgings. It’ll cost me less.”

  “Sorry, Papa.”

  “Oh yes, I had almost forgotten,” the duke amended. “You also destroyed a particularly disturbing portrait of my father, but for that one I shall issue thanks.”

  Philip peered through his fingers to see his father smiling. He dropped his hands, but kept his eyes squinted. “Have you come to my chamber solely to irritate me, or have you some other purpose?”

  “The latter,” the duke confirmed and sat down in the blue upholstered chair next to Philip’s bed. It was the same chair he used to sit in and tell his son stories before bed. “Though the former would be fun,” he added. “Your mother learned of your drinking this morning and has sent me to ascertain your condition. And given the way you are grimacing, I am fairly certain I can say you are miserable.”

  “Even if my head were clear of pain, I’d still be miserable.”

  The duke nodded knowingly. “Then I take it my mother’s ring has resumed its position among the other family jewels.”

  Philip sat up and leaned against the headboard of the bed. “Yes, it has.”

  “I’m sorry. I know you cared for her.”

  “I’m glad to be rid of her.”

  One of the duke’s eyebrows rose questioningly. “Have I missed something? I thought you wanted to marry her.”

  “I did,” Philip explained, “but as it turns out, she wants to marry the Earl Norland instead. They’re recently engaged.”

  A look of disgust came over the duke’s face. “Norland?” he asked.

  Philip nodded. “Norland.”

  “Their children will be hideous.”

  “I know,” Philip agreed.

  “I am sorry she rejected you, but I cannot tell you how relieved I am that she did,” the duke confessed. “You are far too young to worry about marriage.”

  “Yes, that’s another epiphany I’ve had.”

  “You need to enjoy your youth. Run around with a woman or two.” The duke chuckled. “Or three or four. You can have as many as you want. I did before I married your mother.”

  “That’s a very attractive idea, father, but what else will I do with myself? Surely the greatness of freedom cannot simply amount to having multiple women as a lone incentive … though that does sound quite nice.”

  The duke shrugged his shoulders. “Society would expect you to become a clergyman, but I say do as you like. Travel, paint, or write. Dabble with business ventures. Enter into the military and enjoy a career as an officer. If Spencer ever grows up and returns from his travels, you’ll very likely never have to worry about the responsibilities your brother will, Philip. You can do anything that pleases you … within limits, of course.”

  “Of course,” Philip agreed halfheartedly.

  The duke nodded his head in approval. “Well, I’ll leave you to dress now. Breakfast has been set out and your mother is eager to assess your condition for herself.”

  “I’ll be down in a while. Oh, and father,” Philip said hesitantly before the duke made his exit. “I don’t want mother to know about Charlotte. She’ll make too much of a fuss and I don’t want the pity.”

  “It is your business to tell, Philip, if you so choose. But I daresay she will ask you about the girl at some point. You courted her for three months, after all.”

  “I know, I know. I’ll think of something.”

  • • •

  Half an hour later, Philip walked into the breakfast room.

  “Philip!”

  “Christ, Mama,” Philip said gruffly and covered his ears. “Don’t speak so loudly. Please.”

  “Philip George Lewis Ravenshaw, you will not use such blasphemous language in this house, especially not around guests.”

  “What guests?” Philip looked at the people seated around the table.

  “Your sister’s friend, Lady Lillian Charlesworth, of course,” she said, indicating the girl.

  “She’s not a guest,” Philip stated simply and went to the buffet table to pour himself a cup of tea. He didn’t think he would be able to handle sausages or bacon just yet. In truth, he didn’t think he would be able to handle the tea, but he was going to try.

  “Of course she is!”

  Philip winced at his mother’s high pitch.

  “Mama,” he said as he sat down and began massaging his temples. “Lillian and Amelia have been friends since they were both five years-old. She’s hardly a guest anymore.”

  Philip looked across the table at Lady Lillian and winked. The girl blushed. At seventeen, Lillian was considered of age, like his sister, but Philip thought of her as just that, another sister. Her blond hair, rosy skin, and green eyes would attract many a suitor when she finally made her debut in society. Men could rarely ignore such exquisite beauty, but Philip was fraternally immune.

  Amelia in comparison looked nothing like her friend. Oh, she was beautiful in her own right, but certainly not in a traditional sense. Like the rest of the family, Amelia had a full head of dark brown hair. But unlike the rest of the family, her dark brown hair curled wildly.

  Her eyes were so brown they were nearly black, like Spencer’s and their father’s. Such ominous-looking eyes had always served both men well in situations when intimidation was necessary. Amelia, however, had been able to use her dark eyes to charm others since birth. Even Philip (whose own eyes were a bright, happy blue, like his mother’s) was susceptible. She had never failed in getting what she wanted from him. Philip felt sorry for the poor fool who was destined to be her husband. He would likely spend the whole of his life doing her bidding.

  “Father says we’re to be quiet because you have a headache,” said Amelia in an unnaturally loud tone.

  Philip nearly dropped his teacup. Tea sloshed over the rim and scalded his hand. So much for his sister being charming this morning. He could hear his father stifling a laugh from behind his newspaper, and Lillian was doing her best to hide her smile with a tightened mouth and a napkin.

  “Amelia,” the duchess chided from the foot of the table. “You should have a little more compassion for your brother.”

  “Why?” Amelia asked, again speaking very loudly. Then she allowed her teacup to clatter noisily with its saucer. That was the last straw.

  “Christ above,” Philip hissed at her. “I will hang you from the rafters by the strings o
f your corset if you make another sound.”

  “Philip!” his mother shrieked, which caused Philip to experience another wave of pain. He grabbed his head and tried to massage away the throbbing. Didn’t they realize what they were doing to him? There was no mistaking Amelia did.

  “Vivian,” the duke said softly with a smile. “Your volume is not doing much to help his condition.”

  “Well, he deserved it that time, Geoffrey. Corset strings indeed!” She reached for the marmalade just beyond her plate. “I tried to rear perfectly well-mannered children and what did I get? A couple of surly creatures whose behavior is dangerously close to that of baboons!”

  Philip could see Lillian pressing her lips together to hide another smile. His father, however, made no attempt to hide his amusement and was smiling broadly. Then, after a scolding look from his wife, his sense of parental duty got the better of him. “Amelia,” he began, and cleared his throat. “No more torturing your brother with loud sounds of any kind. No matter how tempting it might be.”

  “Yes, Papa,” she complied.

  He looked over at Philip. “And there will be no more talk of hanging anyone by their corset strings. Is that quite understood?”

  “Yes, Papa,” Philip mumbled.

  The duke turned his gaze again, this time to his wife. “There you are, my love. Perfectly well-mannered children.”

  The duchess looked at her husband disapprovingly. “If only they would obey me in the same manner.”

  “If only, my dear,” said the duke wistfully and turned his attention back to his newspaper.

  Despite herself, Vivian smiled before calling for Rivers.

  The butler appeared suddenly as if by magic. “Yes, your grace?”

  “Have we received any letters from Spencer this morning?”

  “No, you grace. None this morning,” Rivers answered, “but perhaps this afternoon.”

  “Yes, perhaps. Thank you, Rivers.”

  The old man bowed and left the room.

  “Oh, I do wish he would write more often,” said the duchess. “Better yet, I wish he would just come home. He’s been gone nearly three years.”

  “As do I, Vivian,” said the duke, his temper beginning to flare in the way that only the subject of Spencer could always manage. “But he has gone and will apparently come back on his own time. If you ask me, he’s being entirely selfish, and if he ever does stop being a coward and returns home to resume his responsibilities, I’ll see to it that he never — ”

  “When are you going to ask Charlotte to marry you?”

  Amelia’s question (though spoken at a blessedly normal volume) cut through the duke’s tirade about his eldest son and created an expectant silence in the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Philip could see his father looking at him, apparently curious as to how Philip would answer Amelia’s question.

  “Yes, Philip,” said his mother, eager to change the subject as much as Amelia, “when are you going to marry the girl? You’ve been courting her for some time. Marriage would be the proper advancement at this juncture.”

  Philip remained silent. He cowered over his tea and blew on the hot liquid. “I’m not going to ask her,” he said finally.

  “Why ever not?” his mother asked. “She’s such a lovely girl and would be a perfect wife. You should propose.”

  Philip shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve changed my mind, Mama. Lately, I’ve found Charlotte to be incredibly irritating.”

  Amelia and Lillian giggled.

  “Oh, this is disgraceful!” said the duchess. “The poor girl has probably been waiting for you to propose. She’ll be devastated when she figures out you won’t.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be fine, Mama,” said Philip before sipping his tea. His stomach churned in response. “Beautiful women are rarely without admirers.”

  “Philip, this is nonsense,” his mother continued. “I thought you lov — ”

  “Are you going to visit your solicitor today, Papa?” Philip asked suddenly, deliberately ignoring his mother.

  “Yes, I am,” said the duke, following his son’s lead. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’ve decided to take your advice.”

  Chapter Two

  I am pleased to inform you I have secured an investor for your new business venture …

  Excerpt from a letter to Mr. Edward Winter from his solicitor

  Spring 1808

  “Who is the man?”

  “Sorry?” Mr. Winter looked up from his letter, his eyes blinking.

  “Does the letter give the identity of the new investor, Papa?” asked Olivia. They had just finished lunch and were seated in the parlor. The letter, various parts of which Mr. Winter had been reading to his daughter while she tended to her needlework, had arrived only moments after they had settled in front of the fire.

  “Oh, ah … let’s see.” Mr. Winter scanned the letter. “Yes, here it is. My new partner in business is to be Lord Philip Ravenshaw.”

  “Lord?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Winter confirmed. “He is the son of the Duke of Willingham.”

  “Wonderful,” Olivia muttered grimly.

  “It says here he’s decided to take up residence in Dorset in order to have an active role in the breeding and training of the horses.”

  “More likely he’s moving here to assume command,” Olivia mumbled.

  Mr. Winter looked up from his letter a second time. “Did you say something, dear?”

  “No, Papa.”

  Mr. Winter turned back to his letter. “I say, I am impressed by Lord Philip thus far. He could have merely invested and then consented to visit a few times a year. To move here shows he is as serious as I about breeding horses. He must be a man of outstanding character.”

  Olivia instantly doubted her father’s opinion. In her experience, limited though it was, she had noticed people of elevated rank often thought they were living gods. And if a person were not granted a position in their glamorous society by birth, then such a person was beneath them.

  Out of a general sense of self-preservation, Olivia was not at all looking forward to Lord Philip’s arrival in Dorset. The other local young ladies and their desperate mamas would doubtless rush to parade around before him, as they were met with so few marriage-worthy options these days.

  But Olivia would not be one of them. She would as soon spit on his boots than behave so desperately for his attention. The country was her safe haven away from people of standing. She did not want it to be invaded.

  “Does the letter say when he is to arrive?” Olivia inquired neutrally. Secretly, she was trying to calculate how many more weeks of freedom she had left.

  “A fortnight,” replied Mr. Winter. “My God, he’s purchased Tyndall Hall. He must be very wealthy indeed to endeavor such a project as that old place.”

  Olivia nearly groaned allowed. She was growing quite tired of her father’s praises of Lord Philip. To know he was so wealthy was further distressing. She’d rather hoped he was an impoverished aristocrat on his last leg of survival and retreating to the country in response to horrific public shame. Apparently such was not the case, but no matter … .

  He most certainly had other faults. Nobles often did. And Olivia would delight in finding and then amplifying each and every one of them. The man was undoubtedly an unpleasant, miserly old codger whose only purpose in settling in Dorset was to make certain her father did not waste his money. Perhaps he had a few warts, a balding head, yellowed teeth, and long nasal hairs as well. Yes … she was sure he would have. Olivia settled back into the sofa, comforted by the grotesque image of Lord Philip.

  “How very lucky Mr. Smith was able to find Lord Philip,” said Mr. Winter as he refolded the letter. “We must ready the Manor at once. Olivia, have Mrs. Stanley make certain that the interior is in pristine condition.”

  “Yes, Papa,” Olivia answered. “Would you like me to have her prepare something special for dinner the night he is expected to arrive?” It annoyed her bey
ond description to suggest extending such hospitality to Lord Philip, but the wretched man’s money was unavoidably important to her father’s business and subsequently her own survival.

  Mr. Winter’s eyes lit up at the idea. “Yes,” he said with a smile. “That would be an excellent idea, my dear. Very good. Spare no expense.” Mr. Winter began pacing around the room, nibbling on his thumb as he thought.

  “Perhaps you should prepare the exterior of the Manor as well,” Olivia suggested.

  “Oh, yes certainly. I had already thought of that, my dear,” he clarified. “I’ll have Mr. Newton manicure the lawns and the hedges. Oh, and all the horses will have to be groomed to perfection. I will not have Lord Philip believing Whistler Manor or its facilities are second-rate. I must say, Mr. Smith’s letter implies that Lord Philip is a most agreeable gentleman. He must be met with perfection at every turn. Indeed, I believe Lord Philip and I will work together quite well.”

  • • •

  Papa has found an investor. The letter arrived this afternoon. His name is Lord Philip Ravenshaw. He is the second son of the Duke of Willingham and very wealthy in his own right. By now, dear brother, I imagine you have realized precisely how indifferent I am about our father’s new partner. I am glad Papa has found an investor, to be sure, but I cannot help but think the worst. You know as well as I how cruel and short-tempered people of standing can be. Papa knows as well, but he is often much too positive about things and people in general. I only hope that when the esteemed Lord Philip grows bored with horse breeding and quits Dorset, a much more amiable gentleman will come along, preferably one without such grand connections.

  Olivia’s letter to her brother, Richard Winter

  Spring 1808

  Philip was glad to be out of London. He enjoyed the culture that could be found within the boundaries of the city, but he did not enjoy crowded streets, tall buildings, or the sooty rain and its awful smells. He liked to see the landscapes and miles beyond them. He liked to breathe in deeply and feel his body filling with the pure air of the open country. Yes, his new position in Dorset suited him much better than London. He also quite enjoyed the fact that he had managed to escape being in town for the Season. He did not think he could endure being cut directly by another silly little female, even if only for a single dance set. Conversely, he did not believe he could stand to be pursued by a silly female either. The well-seasoned spinsters and their equally desperate mamas, bereft of grander marital options, would doubtless chase after him as sort of a last-ditch effort. No, Philip had grown quite tired of society on the whole.