Prologue

Northumberland, Late January 1818

           James, the seventh Duke of Avondale, had intended to pledge his life to a woman he barely knew at half past nine that morning. If Elsbeth had not come to him a month prior and begged to be released from the betrothal agreement crafted by their fathers, he would be making his way to the parish church at that very moment.

           More relieved that he wasn’t marrying than he cared to admit, he had spent the weeks since considering his future. The opportunity to select his own wife beckoned, and even though he knew his mother would disapprove, he had decided to go to London for the season.

           When he’d risen that morning, he’d received word that a townhouse had been secured, and in turn, he had informed his valet of his intention to depart in a fortnight. There were many things he needed to settle on the estate before he left, so after glancing at his pocket watch, he accepted the reins of his stallion from a stable boy and led the horse out of the relative warmth of the barn and into the frigid winter air. His steward had only preceded him by a minute, but because the other man’s horse was temperamental and needed to stretch its legs immediately, he had already ridden out.

            Before James could follow, a bellow filled the space, and the Dowager Duchess of Avondale stormed into view.

            “You cannot go to London,” she declared with a vigorous shake of her fist.

            He paused, dropped his foot back onto the ground, and reluctantly pivoted to face his mother. He couldn’t help wishing that she’d waited two more minutes before chasing him down. If she had, he’d already have been on his way to inspect a leaky roof, thus postponing the inevitable argument by several hours.

            “I can go to London,” he countered. Clasping the reins of his horse in his left hand and calming the skittish stallion with his right one, he reminded himself that he was a grown man and therefore did not require permission to leave the estate. “In a fortnight, I am going to London.”

            “No,” she hissed, coming to a halt in front of him, still shaking her fist. “I will not allow it.”

            “You do not have a say in the matter.” He hated himself a little for ignoring her wishes but nevertheless was unwilling to concede. “I want to go to London for the season.”

            “Please don’t,” she whispered, her earlier ferociousness flipping to quiet desperation.

            “Why not?” he asked, trying to ignore the wave of guilt that threatened.

            Her gaze dropped to the ground, and when she shivered, he handed the reins to the gawking stable boy and ushered her into a patch of sunlight. The air was startlingly cold that morning, and although her gown was crafted with winter in mind, she was not properly dressed to be outdoors for any length of time.

           “Because…because…your father hated London.”

            James was fairly sure that it wasn’t hate that had kept his father away. “If father were here, he would understand why I’m going.”

            “That is not true.” She shook her head rapidly. “When your father died, he expected that you would marry Elsbeth and remain at Bramblewood forever.”

            James had expected the same, but things were different now. “Elsbeth married another,” he reminded her.

            “With your blessing.” She tugged at the edge of her glove, smoothing it with her thumb even though it already lay flat. “You could have insisted she marry you.”

            It was a point of contention they couldn’t seem to move past.

            “I was not in love with Elsbeth, nor she with me,” he stated calmly. “When she asked for my blessing to marry the man she actually loves, it would have been heartless of me to refuse to release her from our betrothal.”

            “Heartless.” His mother scoffed. “You would have married her if she hadn’t jilted you.”

            “I would have done my duty,” he admitted, not particularly proud that he would have married the woman his father selected for no reason other than an agreement that had been made decades earlier. “But since I am no longer betrothed, I require a wife.”

            “You don’t have to go to London to find a wife,” she cried. “We’ll host a house party. Invite every eligible maiden in the region. If that doesn’t work, we will host another and another until you have located the woman you want to be your duchess.”

            “It will be easier and far less work if I go to London.” Not to mention how much he wanted to get away from the place that had once nurtured him and now did nothing but stifle him.

            “James,” she wailed. “Please don’t go.”

            It was on the tip of his tongue to demand the real reason she didn’t want him to leave the estate, but his steward trotted back into the stable yard, interrupting them before he could muster the courage.

            “Your Grace,” he called, “should I inspect the roof on my own?” The other man’s eyes widened when he spotted the dowager. “Apologies, Your Grace. I didn’t realize…should I go on without you?”

            “Please wait. I’ll be just another moment,” James replied before turning back to his mother. “I have tenants who require my assistance. I am sorry that you do not want me to go, but this discussion is over. I will not change my mind. You are welcome to remain here—”

            “I’m coming with you,” she interjected.

            “In that case, it would behoove you to cease arguing and start preparing.” Even though she had not been to London since before he was born, she had vastly more experience than he did, and he would be grateful for her company. “My solicitor has secured a townhouse for the season.”

            She raised her chin and nodded stoically.

            He probably should have assured her that all would be well, but he had no idea what the future held and couldn’t bring himself to lie, so he mounted his horse with nothing more than a stiff smile. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

            She nodded again and then slowly turned toward the house.

            As he trotted away, he couldn’t help wondering when he’d finally have the wherewithal to demand the truth about the past. He might already know far more than he wanted to, but he suspected the time would come when he would need to know the rest. It was too much to hope that he could remain ignorant forever.