Prologue
London, 1828
Freezing rain peltedthe windows of the Earl of Emerson’s London home in Grosvenor Square, hitting the glass in a never-ending icy spray. The sun hadn’t even bothered to peek through the clouds today, leaving everything a murky gray. Appropriate weather given the somber mood of the occupants seated in the drawing room following the burial of a peer. An earl who was much loved and would be greatly missed, at least by the six figures crowding the midnight blue damask settee.
The mourners gathered were divided into two distinct camps. The first family of Lord Emerson consisted of his oldest son and heir, Bentley Sinclair; Bentley’s maternal aunt, Lady Longwood, and her husband stood next to the couple’s three obnoxious, overly-indulged children. Lord Longwood, nearly as wide as he was tall, had already availed himself of the table in one corner, which held an enormous number of finger sandwiches, cakes, biscuits, fruit, and cheese. A plate piled high with food was balanced on Longwood’s protruding stomach, his disinterest in the proceedings clear.
Across the drawing room, far enough from the massive fireplace centered on one wall so that the chill of the room was much more apparent, sat the earl’s secondfar less prestigiousfamily. Lady Emerson, a pale trembling wraith wrapped all in black, was reviled in London for having been first an actress, then mistress, and finally wife of the deceased. Next to the widowed Lady Emerson sat her children, Jordan, Tamsin, Andrew, Malcolm, and little Aurora. The children’s reputations, unfortunately, were little better than their mother’s. The Sinclairs were said, mostly by Lady Longwood, to be ill-bred given their mother’s origins. Considered uncivilized by most, the Sinclair children did nothing to dissuade society’s expectations with their behavior, which lacked the most basic of manners.
Lady Emerson sobbed into a handkerchief, the grief at the death of her husband visible to everyone present, especially her eldest son.
“Had he only stayed home at River Crest,” she wept. “He would be with us today. Or at least he would have perished in his own bed. I’m not sure why Adam was so determined to come to town.”
The earl had died, mercifully, in his sleep. Peacefully, the physician noted. A sudden attack of the heart.
“Madam.” The newly minted Lord Emerson, title merely days old, addressed his stepmother in an imperious, condescending tone. One far too smug for a young man who had spent the last two years roaming the Continent while bleeding through the generous allowance provided him. “I beg you to cease your weeping if only for the sake of your children.” Lord Emerson’s hostile gaze slid over his five half-siblings huddled on the settee.
“My lord,” sobbed Lady Emerson, reaching for his hand. “Bentley.”
Lord Emerson snatched his fingers away as if her touch would taint him. “You overstep.”
Jordan Sinclair, eldest of the dead earl’ssecondfamily, gave his older half-brother a baleful look. The affection between Jordan and the new earl was nonexistent. Their dislike of each other had stirred into near loathing over the last several years as Jordan learned how to manage their father’s estates while Bentley chose to indulge himself. Barely six years apart in age, the two were miles apart in everything else.
“Don’t speak to her like that.” Jordan’s calm tone belied the rage simmering beneath his skin. There was not as much as a hint of grief in his older brother or shred of empathy for their father’s widow. “You will treat my mother with the respect she deserves as Lady Emerson.”
“Do not allow him into goading you, Jordy,” Tamsin, Jordan’s sister, murmured softly from beside him. “Bentley wishes you to lose your temper so that he can be proven right.”
Jordan could be something of a hothead. His reputation as a brawler was well-earned. But he was determined to control his temper. He stayed silent, the flexing of his fists the only sign Bentley had managed to get under his skin.
“Iam the earl now,” Bentley sneered, puffing out his chest. “Head of the family, such as it is. I have leave to speak to Lady Emerson in any way I see fit.”
“Toad,” Tamsin hissed under her breath, forgetting the advice she’d just given Jordan.
“You will not,” Jordan challenged in a calm tone. “Regardless of your personal feelings, Bent, my motherisLady Emerson. Father would want you to show her the respect she is due.”
Jordan’s mother, who he loved dearly, was still in a state of shock from the death of their father. Long a force of nature, Lady Emerson had been a fierce mother, teaching her children to be free and follow their hearts. She’d never cared overmuch for society’s rules, having lived outside them for so long. But Mother had been dealt a terrible blow. One which Jordan was beginning to realize the former Sarah Fitzsimmons may not recover from. Mother had barely eaten or slept since a messenger arrived bearing the news of Father’s sudden death. She’d collapsed at the front door of River Crest and had to be carried upstairs.
“Respect?” Lady Longwood snorted in derision. She sailed forward, skirts floating above the floor with ill-concealed malice. “As she gave my sister? Flaunting her rounded form as Pauline lay dying? Is that what you would call respect, Sinclair?”
Mother shrank back from Lady Longwood like a whipped dog. Once strong and forthright, she was now a shell of her former self. “I never meant to hurt Pauline.” Her voice was small. “Never. She was bedridden for years after Bentley’s birth, well before I made the acquaintance of Lord Emerson.” Mother dabbed at her eyes. “Nor did I intentionally present myself to her. Adam and I were walking in the park. How was I to know she was well enough for a carriage ride, let alone could leave her bed—”
“I don’t wish to hear your lies.” Lady Longwood dismissed Jordan’s mother with an insolent flick of one gloved hand. “My poor Pauline was finally strong enough to leave this house only to see her beloved husband.” She took a ragged breath. “Withyou. Your hands on the mound of your protruding stomach. It wasn’t enough you’d taken her husband’s affections, but you chose to get yourself with child.” A scathing gaze ran over Jordan as he had been the child sired. “Pauline lost her will to live, hastening an already painful demise. You weren’t even discreet. Brazenly flaunting the one thing my sister could no longer give—”
Mother burst into a fresh spate of tears. “I did not. I would not.”
“Aunt Clarice.” Bentley interrupted Lady Longwood’s tirade. “The past is unpleasant to visit. I think we are all aware of what transpired.”
Everyone in London knew of the scandal caused by the Earl of Emerson and the actress he kept as his mistress. Marrying so soon after the death of his first wife, barely in time to keep Jordan from becoming a bastard, Adam Sinclair had taken his new bride and retired to the country. The gossips, he’d been sure, would relent in time. Or at least forget. Another scandal would soon eclipse their own.
Unfortunately, the memory of thetonwas lengthy. That of Lady Longwood, infinite.
Years passed before Lord and Lady Emerson attempted to return to London with their two eldest children in tow. The results were disastrous, to say the least. While Lord Emerson was received, Lady Emerson was not. It was made clear that, regardless of her title, she would never be. Jordan engaged in a series of fistfights, beating the snot out of two sneering lordlings who dared to compare his mother to one of the unfortunate women plying their trade in the rookery. Tamsin, not to be left out, assisted her brother by leaping on one of the boys and punching him in the stomach.
The Sinclairs retired once more to the country.
Mother put her face between her hands, sobbing uncontrollably, slender shoulders trembling as she struggled for composure. “I never wished Pauline ill.Never.”
“What a dramatic show, now that you are no longer under the protection of your husband.” Lady Longwood paced behind Bentley, thin fingers twisting in the folds of her skirts. “Save your tears. You’ll need them for yourself.” Her eyes skittered over Jordan and his siblings as if they were nothing more than a pile of refuse. “Tell them, my lord.” Lady Longwood stopped directly in front of Jordan’s mother. “I wish to see her face.”
