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CHAPTER ONE

Vivienne, the Countess of Harlow, stepped into the small sitting room of the Harlow Manor House, needing a break from the crush of people arriving. They were all descending on the country estate to celebrate the betrothal between her daughter, Penelope, and Viscount Marston.

William was an incredible young man whom Penelope had instantly become smitten with.

Vivienne was so happy they’d found each other.

While she and her late husband’s union hadn’t been a forever type of love match, she suspected Penelope’s would be.

She and her betrothed, William, seemed to truly enjoy each other’s company.

A frown marred her face as she contemplated her own union.

Her late husband, Henry, had passed a few years ago, but they’d lived separately since giving up on trying to conceive the heir.

Instead, the title went to his brother. Vivienne was grateful that Henry had made sure that she and Penelope were provided for before his passing.

He was thoughtful that way even though they decided they didn’t suit. There had never been any anger or friction between them; they’d simply grown apart. In truth, if Penelope had been a boy, they’d probably have separated sooner.

Vivienne, early on, discovered how passions can cool just as fast as they ignite. While the first year of marriage had been blissful and exciting, it all quickly changed after that. Henry’s interest in her had disappeared; if she was truthful, hers for him had also.

Over the years, she often pondered the first man who proposed to her, the Earl of Delmar. She smiled, thinking of her childhood friend. She and Michael had spent their entire childhood together as their family’s country estates bordered each other.

The upward tilt of her mouth turned down as the nerves in her stomach flared.

He was William’s uncle and would be at her home with the other guests for the house party.

Of course, they’d seen each other over the last twenty years, but it was always in passing.

After her marriage, their closeness had ceased to exist. She didn’t blame him.

When they were younger, he’d thought they would wed.

Her melancholy thoughts were interrupted by Penelope rushing into the room. “Mother, what are you doing in here? William and his family are en route.”

Her beautiful daughter grinned, euphoric that her betrothed would be there soon to celebrate their upcoming union. When William first asked for Penelope’s hand, Vivienne hesitated to say yes. Her daughter was only eighteen. She’d hoped that Penelope would enjoy a few seasons first.

“Is something amiss?” Penelope asked, frowning at her.

She laughed. “Yes, my daughter is getting married. I suddenly feel very ancient.”

Her daughter studied her. “Thirty-eight isn’t so old.”

Penelope sat in a wingback chair and then pointed to the sofa. Vivienne looked at her, amused. She felt as if she was on the cusp of receiving a lecture. “Didn’t you say we must be outside waiting for them?”

“We have a few minutes.”

Vivienne sat, watching Penelope fidget until she could take no more. “What is it?”

“Did you love Father?”

Her eyes shot up in surprise at her daughter’s question. “Yes. In my own way.”

Her daughter frowned, pondering her response. Vivienne reached across and squeezed her hand. “It is perfectly fine to want something different than what your father and I had.”

“I don’t want to live separately from William ever.”

Vivienne smiled. “You and William are so different from your father and me. We may not have been a great love match, but I considered him a dear friend.”

Her daughter chewed on her lower lip as if she were holding back something. Vivienne prodded, “What else?”

“Are you lonely? Father has been gone for three years.”

There was no way Vivienne could explain to her daughter that she’d been lonely way before the death of Henry.

They’d been separated for almost ten years when he passed.

Still, she couldn’t complain too much. Henry had always been around, doting on Penelope.

It was only the two of them who didn’t seem to fit.

At the beginning of their separation, she and Henry agreed they could take lovers. Vivienne had tried her hand at such interludes, but it never felt right. While she missed human touch, she craved an emotional connection with another person more.

Sighing, Vivienne hated that she was thinking such thoughts. She stood up and held out her hand, pulling Penelope up. “Enough about this. The next two weeks is about celebrating your betrothal.”

Penelope frowned again because Vivienne hadn’t answered her question, but didn’t push her. Instead, she smiled excitedly. “He should be here soon.”

“Let’s wait outside. It’s a lovely day.”

Her daughter placed her hand on her arm. “I just want you to know, I hope you find someone else.”

Vivienne pulled her daughter into her arms. “Stop worrying about me. I’m happy.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, I am,” she said, determined that saying the words aloud would make it so.

The butler opened the door, and a servant raced in. “Viscount Marston and his family are approaching the manor, Lady Harlow.”

Michael, the Earl of Delmar, smiled at his excited nephew. The boy had lost his head over Vivienne’s daughter and could barely contain his excitement. He wasn’t sure how the two of them would make it through a whole year before being allowed to marry.

“She is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met,” William declared of Penelope.

He smirked at him. “You are all of twenty-three.”

Michael’s sister snorted. “Twenty-three is a respectable age to marry. Perhaps his marriage will encourage you, Brother, to do the same. Even an elusive rake can change his wayward behavior.”

William laughed at his mother's chiding. His sister, Ester, was never one to mince words. She’d been on him for years to find a bride. Ester glanced at him slyly. “It will be wonderful to see Lady Harlow again. When was the last time you spoke with her?”

“Just this season, I greeted her at a ball recently.”

She rolled her eyes. “I mean truly spoken to her. The two of you were as thick as thieves when we were all children.”

They had been. As neighbors and the same age, they were often thrown together at events and spent many leisurely hours playing in the fields.

Michael had thought himself in love with her, but when they were eighteen, she’d fallen hard for her husband, marrying Harlow only after knowing him for two months.

The marriage eventually became one in name only, with both taking lovers until the Earl of Harlow passed. Michael had been tempted to seek her out but hesitated whenever he had an opportunity. There was something about becoming Vivienne’s secret lover that he found distasteful.

It wasn’t because he was a saint. He’d not focused on marriage at all since Vivienne became Lady Harlow, much to Ester’s frustration.

His nephew would inherit his title if he never found a bride, and that was fine by him.

His sister didn’t see it that way. Her son had his own title, and Michael was expected to wed.

Still, the mention of Vivienne was interesting. She wasn’t one of the normal marriage mart ladies Ester pushed him towards. He lifted a black brow. “Are you attempting to play matchmaker?”

William laughed as if that was the most hilarious thing. “You can’t marry Lady Harlow.”

“Why can’t he?” his sister said, frowning.

His nephew blushed. “She is in her late thirties. I imagine Lady Harlow is unable to have children.”

“Lady Nettles just had a child at forty-one, and what does it matter? Your Uncle Michael has you as his heir.”

Michael frowned at her. “You hate that I haven’t married and had children.”

Ester shrugged. “She and you always seemed to suit. I want you to be happy.”

“I am.”

She fixed him with a glare. “Being a rake does not make a man happy.”

William wistfully said, “I think if I hadn’t found my love, Penelope, I would have liked to emulate your activities for a bit.”

“Nonsense,” Ester snapped.

William grinned as the carriage slowed, indicating they were approaching the Harlows’ manor house. He didn’t say anything about Vivienne and instead said, “Thank goodness love derailed your plans, William.”

“I hope you and Vivienne can reconnect,” Ester said.

He smiled but said nothing. Vivienne had chosen someone else, and while it no longer hurt, it had taught him that marriage and love weren’t for him. The carriage stopped, and a servant opened the door, taking him away from his thoughts.

Michael stepped out of the carriage last, and immediately, his eyes connected with Vivienne’s blue ones.

They would spend two weeks together celebrating his nephew and her daughter’s betrothal.

His eyes perused her. She was still beautiful, not that he was surprised. He saw her often at events in London.

Her brown hair was still thick, and little wisps of curls escaped her delicate bun at her nape.

Gone was the slender figure she had at eighteen, and in its place were lush curves that he’d admired at a distance more than once.

His body began to hum, and Michael tried to tamp it down.

She wasn’t for him and had decided that long ago.