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P eregrine Beaumont accepted the reins from the groom and mounted his horse.

He rode the length of his father’s estate and then crossed onto the lands owned by Lord Tilsbury, his closest friend.

The widowed viscount had served as an adviser of sorts to Perry ever since he had returned from university over a year ago.

The two men both had a deep love of the land and military history, and Perry usually called upon Tilsbury twice a week and took tea with him.

He believed he was at a crossroads. He wanted to do more at Beauville, but his father, the Earl of Martindale, held all the power and authority over the country estate.

Perry worked daily alongside their steward, Mr. Rankin, but he wished he could do more.

Any suggestion he made to his father regarding the land or tenants was met with either silence or a quick refusal to change anything.

Once he arrived at Tilsbury Manor, a groom took his horse, and Perry cut through the kitchens, being so frequent a visitor that the practice was accepted.

Cook smiled brightly at him. “I’ve made that apple tart that you favor, my lord. I’ll send tea up to you and his lordship soon.”

“Thank you, Cook. When I become the Earl of Martindale someday, I may try to steal you away from Viscount Tilsbury.”

She laughed heartily. “There’ll be no stealing, my young lord. Now, behave yourself and go upstairs.”

He came across the butler and greeted him before heading to the study, where he knew he would find his friend. Rapping upon the door, he heard, “Come.”

Perry entered the study and found Lord Tilsbury behind his desk, poring over a newspaper.

He took a seat in front of the desk, and asked, “What is the news today, my lord?”

Tilsbury looked grim. “Since we recently entered this war with Bonaparte, I fear the news will grow far worse before it ever gets better. The Little Corporal has a vision to dominate Europe. The papers report that he is preparing to invade England.”

A tiny bit of alarm rippled through him. “You do not think Bonaparte would succeed with such an invasion, do you?”

“I certainly hope not. However, Britain will expend a plethora of resources and lose many good men in this upcoming fight. I see the storm raging across Europe, Perry. This war will last for many years. The cost we pay will be high.”

Deciding it was time to test the waters and tell his friend what was on his mind, Perry cleared his throat. “I am toying with the idea of enlisting,” he revealed.

Tilsbury cocked an eyebrow. “Enlisting? My boy, you are the only son to an earl. Your father would not grant you permission to go off to war.”

Anger filled him. “I am of legal age, my lord. My father could not stop me even if he wanted to. Besides, what else am I going to do with my time?”

“Martindale will never pay for your commission.”

Frustrated, he raked a hand through his hair.

“I feel useless at Beauville. Mr. Rankin does a fine job running the estate without my help. In truth, I am floundering. I want to take a more active role in Beauville’s management, but that is not something my father is eager for me to do.

He may not care about Beauville and its tenants, but he refuses to relinquish any power to me.

It forces me to be in a state of limbo.”

“Are you truly that unhappy, Perry? So much that you would risk your life?”

Resolve filled him. “I am, my lord. And I do have a great sense of duty and loyalty to my country. England will need good men in this fight against Bonaparte. I might as well offer up and be one of them.”

Tilsbury studied him a moment. “Promise me that you will not enlist. That if you truly believe that you are destined for the military, you will come to me. I will purchase your commission.”

Knowing how expensive commissions could be, Perry shook his head. “I cannot ask for you to do that for me, my lord.”

“You are a gentleman, Perry. The son of a peer. If you decide to go into the army, you should enter as an officer. I will provide the necessary funds if that is your final decision.”

When he started to protest, Tilsbury said, “We shall call it a loan. Your father will not last forever. You will be the Earl of Martindale one day, and you could repay the loan when you come into your title.”

Astonishment filled him, followed by a tenderness he felt for this man, who had just turned sixty years of age. In the past year, Lord Tilsbury had been more a father to him than his own had.

“Let me think on it, and then I will give you my answer.”

“Swear to me that you will not act rashly. That you will speak to your father before you make any kind of commitment.”

He snorted. “That will mean a trip to town. My parents are so rarely at Beauville. I will take heed and let you know of my decision, my lord.”

Tilsbury rose. “Then let us go into tea. I hear Cook has made your favorite today.”

Perry accompanied his friend to the drawing room, where the teacart was rolled in.

They enjoyed an hour together, discussing the Battle of Thermopylae.

It seemed every time they came together, they talked of some battle from history.

He had always been a fine student, excelling in history and mathematics, and these afternoons spent in the older man’s company meant a great deal to him.

He bid the viscount farewell and rode the three miles back to Beauville.

When he entered the house, Foster came toward him. By the look on the butler’s face, Perry knew it could only mean one thing.

His father had returned unexpectedly to his country seat.

“My lord, Lord Martindale is in his study. He asked to see you as soon as you arrived.”

“Thank you, Foster. He didn’t happen to mention why he has made a trip to the country, did he? After all, the Season is in full swing.”

Foster looked apologetically at him. “He did not, my lord.”

Making his way to his father’s study, Perry tried to prepare himself for their encounter. It seemed each time he and his father spoke, the words grew harsh, and they parted on uncertain terms. Most likely, this time would not be an exception.

He knocked on the study’s door and heard his father call for him to come in. Perry entered the room, one which he never went into out of respect. Not that his father had ever shown him any respect in return, but Perry tried to remain a dutiful son all the same.

“Sit,” his father commanded.

He did as asked, waiting patiently to see what the topic of conversation might be.

His father continued writing on paper for the next several minutes, acting as if his son were not present.

It was a ploy his father often used, summoning his son and then making him wait, as if everything else in the world were more important.

The one thing Perry had sworn to himself was when he had sons of his own one day, he would never ignore them, or make them feel small and insignificant.

He would show them love, something he himself had never received.

Finally, the earl set down the quill. “I hear you have been visiting with Tilsbury this afternoon. What is the old goat up to?”

He wanted to point out that there were only a handful of years difference in the two men’s ages, but he thought his father baited him—and he refused to bite.

“Yes, I had tea with our neighbor. Lord Tilsbury is in good health and was in good spirits when I left him.”

“Why do you bother to spend so much time with him, Peregrine? Oh, I know the two of you yammer about history, but you should be with those your own age.”

Here it came. Another lecture about him coming to town.

“You are a young man of one and twenty. You should be at the Season with your friends. Sowing your wild oats. Having the time of your life.”

His father had never understood his son’s nature.

How Perry was a quiet man who enjoyed solitude.

The earl did not share his son’s love of the country nor his connection with the tenants at Beauville.

His father had begun drinking and wenching his way through life during his university years—and had never stopped.

Not even marriage had quelled his voracious appetite for women and drink.

And apparently, he did not even recall how old his own son was, since Perry was three and twenty.

“I know that you and Mother enjoy the social whirl of the Season,” he began. “I prefer life in the country, however.”

“What the bloody hell do you do here all day, Peregrine?” his father demanded.

“In town, you could be at White’s with your friends.

You could go to parties and balls. Attend the theater and the opera.

There are numerous gaming halls. Why, you could even have a mistress.

Or at least enjoy the sexual favors of a few women, if you do not want to be bound to one woman. ”

He was interested in none of those things. No matter what he said, though, his father would never understand that.

Perry decided the time had come and said, “You know Britain is at war now. They declared last month.”

His father looked puzzled by the sudden turn of their conversation. “What of it?”

Summoning every bit of courage he possessed, he said, “I intend to enter the army to fight for king and country.”

The earl gasped. “You will do no such thing!” he shouted. “You are my only son. My heir apparent. And what would your mother think of such nonsense?”

“Let me see,” he mused. “What would Mother think? First, she would have to even remember that she has a son, much less one old enough to go away to war. Do you know I cannot even recall the last time I laid eyes on her? And when she is in residence at Beauville for brief spells, she never asks to see me. We never speak. Why, it has been years since we have held even the barest of conversations. You do not get to bring up Mother as a valid reason for me to remain in England.”

His father snorted. “It is madness for you, my heir, to enter the army, Peregrine. Have you even considered that you might be killed?”

This was his chance. His father stood before him now. He would plead his case—and hope he was truly heard.

“Then help me to stay here, Father. Give me more responsibility at Beauville. I have lived here over a year since I graduated from university, and I still feel as if I have no purpose. Mr. Rankin does a fine job as our steward, but you hold all the cards. I have no authority. Relinquish some of it to me. Let me run Beauville as I see fit, especially since it will be mine one day. It should not matter to you. You are so rarely here, as it is.”

“No,” his father said emphatically. “That is simply not how things are done in this family. Why can’t you be like I was and go to town?

Enjoy your youth, Peregrine. Do not waste it, either buried in the country or fighting in some god-awful war.

I came into my earldom at thirty years of age.

I will continue to exercise full control until I am gone, just as my father and his father did before him. ”

His father’s words let him know the only course of action available to him.

“Then I will return from war once you are dead and buried,” he said bluntly. “I have no desire to tup every woman in the ton as you have done. You have been a terrible husband and an even worse father.”

“How dare you speak to me in such a manner! You cannot buy yourself a commission, you fool. They are far more expensive than you might believe.”

With full confidence, he replied, “I already have the funds to do so. Our conversation now has helped me to make up my mind, Father. I will be leaving Beauville tomorrow. I would tell you that I would write to you and Mother, but neither of you have ever answered a single letter I have written to you over the years.”

Perry rose, assured that he was making the right decision. “This is the last time we will speak, Father. The last time that we will ever see one another. I wish you the best.”

Turning, he started toward the door, the earl berating him the entire way.

“You bloody ingrate!” his father shouted. “Go and get yourself killed. See if I care. You have always been such an odd duck. I have often wondered if you are even my blood since your mother has coupled with more men than I could ever count.”

He shut the door behind him, the earl continuing to rage.

Going upstairs to his bedchamber, he wrote a note to Lord Tilsbury, telling him that he had spoken with his father and decided leaving Beauville to serve in His Majesty’s army was best for his future.

He wrote that he would come to tell the viscount farewell tomorrow morning, and hopefully collect the promised funds he would need to purchase his commission.

Ringing for his valet, Perry waited until Grilley appeared, eyeing him with concern. All the servants must have heard the earl’s tirade, and Grilley smiled sympathetically at Perry.

“Take this note to Lord Tilsbury at once.” He paused.

“I am leaving Beauville, Grilley. I will be purchasing a commission in the army. I can write a recommendation for you before I depart, though. You are incredibly good at what you do. It should be easy for you to obtain a position in another household.”

The valet looked at him steadily. “I won’t need one, my lord. I’ll be coming with you. You’ll need a batman.” With that, the servant took the letter and left the room.

Perry took a seat in the chair by the window, looking out over the Beauville gardens.

He would miss the serenity of this place terribly, but he could not languish any longer without a purpose in life.

He would do his duty and serve England, hopefully contributing to ending the threat Bonaparte posed to its citizens.

He couldn’t help but wonder, however, if he would ever see Beauville again.