Chapter 1
April 1819
One hour. That was how long it took Lucy, the widowed Lady Mansfield, to become uncomfortable with her surroundings.
It wasn’t the event exactly. A dinner with her brother, the Duke of Clarington, and his wife Charlotte, who was also her closest friend. But the intimate dinner party the Claringtons held annually on the evening before their ball had increased in size since the last time she’d attended, two years ago.
Lucy had remained in the country last year after her husband of eleven years died. Looking back, she supposed his death had been inevitable. It was only a matter of time before he’d be challenged to a duel by one of the many men he’d cuckolded over the years.
She’d avoided London because she couldn’t face the scandal that had swept through the ton after gossip about the duel had spread. Her humiliation had been sufficient without having to deal with the pitying looks and whispers from everyone she knew.
She’d married for love after her first season. But that love quickly turned to hate when the man who’d wooed her relentlessly tired of her company after just one year of marriage.
The pain that overwhelmed her when she first discovered his infidelity faded over the years. Of course her husband had blamed her when she’d failed to bear him an heir. Or any child.
Mansfield had been angry, and he’d thrown his affairs in her face, telling her that if she couldn’t give him children, perhaps another woman would. It had been a move calculated to cause her pain, something at which her husband seemed to excel. But when he failed to father even one bastard—despite his diligent efforts to do just that over the years—he’d finally stopped berating her for her inability to fall pregnant.
She’d stayed out of his way, and he’d left her alone.
Lucy didn’t miss her husband. The man with whom she’d fallen in love had been a fiction. When her husband died, she realized she’d already mourned the passing of the man she loved many years ago.
She settled more comfortably into an armchair in a corner of her brother’s luxuriously appointed drawing room and observed all the guests. Aside from herself, every person present was happily married.
She didn’t begrudge them their bliss. But watching the way each couple gazed at their spouse with affection, if not barely concealed adoration, made her feel anxious. And with every loving smile and touch she witnessed, Lucy grew increasingly uncomfortable.
She couldn’t help but wonder if something was wrong with her. Why had her love match turned horribly wrong while these people were able to secure happily-ever-afters? It was impossible to believe that true love didn’t exist when surrounded by such evidence to the contrary. Apparently love did exist. Just not for her.
She dreaded the dinner that would be starting soon. If her sister-in-law hadn’t been her closest friend since childhood, Lucy would have pleaded a headache to escape the suffocating bliss. Since she was staying with Alex and Charlotte during the season, it would be easy to slip upstairs and seek solace in her bedchamber.
But Charlotte would know she was lying.
So Lucy smiled and engaged in small talk with the other guests. Above all, she tried to ignore the sensation that she didn’t belong with these people. Dinner had yet to be served, and a very real headache was beginning to form, but she ignored it.
And then he walked into the room.
Viscount Holbrook.
She’d met the man only briefly before tonight. He was tall with dark brown hair that was kept fashionably short, and his eyes were a deep blue that seemed unnatural.
It was almost unfair how handsome she found him, and in another lifetime she would have gone out of her way to seek his attention. But experience had taught her such men would never be faithful.
She watched as he made his way around the room, greeting all the guests as though they were lifelong friends. She couldn’t help but wonder how he’d made it into her brother’s inner circle. And watching the way Alex greeted him warmly, it was evident her brother liked him a great deal more than he’d ever liked Lucy’s husband.
In the beginning, Alex had tolerated Mansfield because Lucy loved him. After that first year, when it became clear that her husband was intent on bedding every willing woman of the ton, Alex’s indifference to Mansfield had turned to something much darker. Her brother wouldn’t welcome someone else into their group who behaved in a similar manner.
Perhaps Holbrook limited his love affairs to widows.
A zing of awareness went through her at the thought. She was a widow. There was nothing to stop her from also taking a lover. She might not have love, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t find enjoyment with a man. Or many.
Distaste soured her mood at that last thought. No, not many men. But perhaps one man. This man. If she could find the courage within herself.
She rose to her feet when he made his way over to where she was sitting.
“Lady Mansfield.” He took the hand she held out to him and bowed over it. “It is a pleasure to see you here tonight.”
He was too polite to say anything about her husband—had he known Mansfield?—but his cautious expression made it clear he was curious. He probably assumed she was still mourning his death.
She clasped her hands at her waist as she replied, but she couldn’t remember what she said because all her thoughts were centered on the fact that her hand was tingling from where he’d held it.
