Page 73

Ember Hall, Northumberland

“W ill you please stop waving that infernal invitation in my face?”

Sebastian Shawcross, Duke of Alnwick, glared at Knowles, his longtime valet, unable to quell the frustration surging inside him.

Knowles laid the carefully penned invitation on the polished mahogany side table, but his expression was as unrepentant as his master’s.

“It is the second to arrive this week, my lord. Ever since your encounter at Alnwick, the countess has been most desirous of your company. And Rossfarne Castle is but two hours from here.” He reached up to fasten Sebastian’s cravat.

“I would not care if it were two minutes from here.” Sebastian gritted his teeth.

It had been a mistake to return to his seat at Alnwick, even for the day.

But he had needed to collect vital paperwork and could not entrust anyone, not even Knowles, to the task.

“The countess no doubt wishes to parade her daughters before me. And I have made my intentions on that front very clear.” He bade himself stand still whilst Knowles completed his task, even whilst every muscle in his body twitched with impatience.

“You will never marry,” Knowles intoned solemnly.

Being a man of usual height, he stood a good two inches shorter than Sebastian and was obliged to rise onto his tiptoes to better inspect his handiwork.

As his blue eyes came into closer view, Sebastian fancied he saw a flicker of amusement pass through their depths.

“Exactly so.” He nodded emphatically, making Knowles tut as the cravat slipped out of his hands.

“All society mamas are motivated solely by money and title. All debutantes are scheming and insincere.” Knowles brushed an imaginary speck of dust from the shoulders of Sebastian’s beautifully tailored shirt.

Sebastian made a noncommittal sound. “Most of them anyway.”

His beloved sister Elin was one of this year’s debutantes and he would never lay those charges at her door.

Elin had no marriage-minded mama to steer her on a predetermined course through this season’s balls and routs, since both of their parents had died before Sebastian—the eldest of the five Shawcross siblings—had celebrated his twenty-first birthday.

Elin’s good friend Lady Rose was another whom he would excuse from all such charges. Although Sebastian did his best to avert his thoughts from Lady Rose.

It was safer that way.

He gave his head a little shake and cast a downward glance at Knowles. “Has there been any word of my sister, Elin?”

“Not since her letter last week, my lord. But of course, most of society does not know you are in residence at Ember Hall. You receive no news from your friends still in London. And Lady Elin is no doubt too busy to write overly often to a brother who has turned his back on the ton .”

Sebastian pursed his lips. The looking glass showed him a smartly dressed man, long in the leg and broad across the shoulder, with a shock of unruly dark curls and brown eyes set in a perpetual glower.

With his father’s final illness taking hold before he left the school room, Sebastian had been obliged to bear the mantle of responsibility at an early age.

Whilst his siblings ran wild and free on the beach at Alnwick, he sat in the library, poring over accounts and giving up his dreams of Oxford to instead manage his family’s estate.

But despite this, he had not always glowered so.

There once was a time when he laughed, albeit sparingly, and danced, albeit cautiously.

When he sought a wife and family, he would never have dreamed of abandoning his sister just two balls into her first season.

He shifted uncomfortably in the warm bedchamber and tugged at the cravat which Knowles had so recently tied.

“It’s blasted hot.”

“Shall I have a cooling beverage sent to your study?” Knowles paused by the door.

It was Sebastian’s custom to spend each morning pouring over ledgers in his study.

His ducal duties persisted whether he was present in society or not.

And Sebastian was determined that neither his tenants nor the estate at large should suffer from his decisions.

He would never sire an heir, but he would go to his grave having ensured that his brother, Thomas, received a wealthy and secure inheritance.

Today, however, the sky outside the latticed window was simply too blue, the rolling hills just too enticing to ignore.

“Later perhaps, Knowles. I fancy a walk this morning.”

“Very good, my lord.”

Sebastian waited until his valet’s heavy footsteps had descended the wooden stairs before pulling off the cravat altogether.

Why should he suffer when the only living soul likely to see him was a curious sheep?

Duly, unencumbered, he took the stairs two at a time, ducking through a side passage and emerging into the brightness of a summer’s day.

He inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of pink roses which bloomed prettily around the arched doorway.

From here, he had an uninterrupted view of undulating paddocks dipping down to the glistening blue of the calm sea.

At times like this, he could not help but congratulate himself on the charm of his hiding place.

Ember Hall was the country retreat of his good friend Charles, Earl of Wolvesley.

The ancient homestead had stood empty for several years with some parts falling victim to the ravages of time.

Weeds flourished amongst the flower beds and ivy clung to the barns, but the honey-hued stone exuded a welcome that no neglect could diminish.

In the evenings, when the smooth wooden paneling glowed with reflected light from the oil lamps, Sebastian reflected that if any place could sooth his soul—and his temper—it was this one.

“Make yourself at home, my good man. Hide away until you’re old and doddery, and the debutantes run in the opposite direction.”

Charles had made his generous offer whilst Sebastian took refuge at Wolvesley Castle in the fraught days immediately after the incident .

Not even Arabella Evermore was brazen enough to storm that mighty keep.

And as Charles had been the sole witness to the incident , he knew that Sebastian was right to be unrepentant in the face of such clucking and clamor.

As Charles had loudly announced to anyone who would listen, Sebastian had been first to walk into the maze. Indeed, he had done so to get away from Lady Arabella, certainly not in a bid to entice her from the public gaze. It was not his fault that she had followed him into the towering hedges.

Sebastian could only send up thanks that Charles had swiftly gone after her, thereby saving him from an unavoidable betrothal to a woman more vapid than a bowl of clear soup.

The only time Lady Arabella showed any tenacity was in her pursuit of Sebastian.

Not that she had interest in him personally.

On that, Sebastian was willing to wager the entire Alnwick estate.

No.

Lady Arabella and the other simpering debutantes wanted him only for his title. And Sebastian had grown sick and tired of the whole charade.

Pain struck his temples, heralding the headache which always came upon him when he reflected upon these events.

Only a walk in the fresh air would restore him.

He struck a rapid pace, startling a rabbit as he rounded the corner to the paddocks.

Just three horses grazed beyond the wooden fence: his hunter and the two carriage horses that had brought him from Wolvesley.

They lifted their heads and watched his progress up the cliffs to where he had full view of the endless, sparkling sea.

Here he paused, resting his hands on his hips as he breathed in the salty air and listened to the waves running up the shingle beach. Gulls cried overhead and a slight wind ruffled his hair.

Beautiful.

He had experienced the grandeur of London, the elegance of Rotten Row, and the manicured perfection of Kensington Gardens, but nothing could compare to the wild magnificence of natural England. Untamed. Unspoiled . His and his alone.

At this thought, his smile began to fade.

For he had discovered, during his long months of isolation, that being alone had its limitations.

There were times when, despite his strong resolutions to the contrary, Sebastian couldn’t help but think that it would be nice to have someone to share moments like this with.

*

“Where on earth are we going?” Rose eyed her friend speculatively. “You do have a destination in mind, don’t you Elin? We’re not just going to ride northwards in this carriage forever?”

“I do believe we shall arrive within the hour.” Elin put her elbow on the edge of the open carriage and sighed with contentment. “Isn’t this countryside just delightful?”

The scent of meadow grass filled the warm air, and Rose could not deny the beauty of their verdant surroundings.

But the sense of daring adventure that had borne her from her stepfather’s London dwelling yesterday morning had long since faded.

Her stomach rumbled and she folded her hands over her creased traveling dress.

“We must be headed to some place I would disapprove of. Otherwise, you would have confessed all by now.”

“You will have to wait and see.” Elin raised a dark eyebrow, still managing to appear poised and unruffled, despite the heat of the day and their cramped positions. Her long hair remained neatly pinned beneath her bonnet and her porcelain cheeks were hardly even flushed.

Rose, however, could feel her blonde curls bursting free of their restraints to gather, damply, around her shoulders. Her lawn-green dress had been tightly—and inexpertly—laced by Elin that morning, and her narrow dancing pumps were crushing her toes.

These were the downsides to packing in a hurry and leaving without a maid.

“You aren’t regretting this, are you?” Elin grasped her hand and squeezed.