Edward’s valet stared at him in shock, the two proffered clothing items suspended from his frozen hands. Edward chuckled. It was not wholly unexpected that he would choose to forgo a brightly colored waistcoat for the evening, even though he hadn’t made such a choice in nearly three years. He’d given it a great deal of thought, and tempering his wardrobe seemed the best option to accomplish his plans for the Season. Plans that were now much more settled than when he’d attempted them at the end of last Season.
“Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord.” Barton turned for the requested waistcoat.
Edward scoffed. “Enough with the bowing and scraping. You know I do not condone it. Tell me, how is your mother faring these days?”
With quick, brusque movements, Barton brushed out the black waistcoat, his back to Edward. “Not well, my lord. My sister writes that our mother continues to have failing strength, and her headaches have increased in intensity. They feel they must call for a doctor, but the village’s physician retired last year, and a new one has not replaced him. I do not know how she will recover in such a situation.”
Edward watched his friend attempting nonchalance. Both men were without fathers, and now Barton stood to lose his mother as well.
For a moment, Edward thought of the death of his own mother—but only a moment.
“You must go to her,” Edward said as his valet helped him into the waistcoat.
“Lord Norwich, you know I cannot. My position—”
“Will still be here when you return. I can make do with a footman in the interim. Go. I will not sway in this, Barton. You ought to see your mother. Really, I should have sent you earlier. Take all the time you need.” Edward took the proffered cravat, to tie it himself as always. “And the coach. Take my traveling coach; I’ve no need for it at the start of the Season. I don’t plan to go anywhere.”
Barton watched him with a furrowed brow, his inner battle clear. The man was unfailingly loyal to Edward, but he also dearly loved his mother, and her health had been struggling for some time.
“Very well, my lord. I thank you. But I will take the mail coach.”
“You will not. You will take my coach and be gone as long as you need. You may write when you have an idea of your return. And that’s an order.”
Barton fought a smile—the first he’d shown in this conversation. “Well, I certainly cannot disobey a direct order. Wouldn’t want to lose my job.”
“The devil you wouldn’t. I imagine you’d be far happier as a farmer with not a person in sight to bother you with idle talk.”
His valet looked affronted. “I am perfectly happy with my position, my lord.”
Edward clapped him on the shoulder. “I know, man. One day you will learn to recognize a jest. Now, go prepare for your travels. If you leave immediately, you may get as far as Chelmsford tonight. I will see you when you return.” He turned to the mirror, then began to tie his neck cloth.
The fact that Barton did not put up any more of a fight was a mark of how dire the situation must be. “Would you like me to order your phaeton before I depart?”
Edward waved his elbow distractedly, his hands busy attempting to polish off the cravat. “The Haddingtons’ home is not far. I will walk.” At seeing Barton’s widened eyes, he chuckled.
The man paused in the doorway. “Are you certain you are feeling well, my lord?”
“Better than ever, Barton. Now off with you. And take the better of the two carriages or I shall dock your wages!”
Finally alone, Edward stared at his reflection in the mirror, ignoring the emptiness that filled the room with only him there. His shoulders sagged. He had no desire to attend a dinner and ball this evening. He had no desire to evade theton’s games any longer. Which was rich, coming from him; Edward had, after all, created many of the games himself. Yet now instead of wagers, his mind was full of plans. Three years spent mocking the institution of Society had proved distracting, but it had left him with a horrible reputation.
He sighed and was pulled to the door only by the amusing thought that Society would find his transformation shocking. Being perceived as a rake and a scoundrel had lost its entertainment. It was time to face his future onhisterms. Should he be successful—hemustbe successful—then perhaps he could shake this blasted loneliness.
He rolled his shoulders, stepping out of his bedchamber. This Season, London would be getting a surprise of the sort it reveled in. Lord Norwich—infamous flirt and indisputable bachelor—planned to return to the marriage mart as a changed man.
And for the first time in his adult life, he was in honest pursuit of a wife.
Chapter Two
Amelia Kennington crept up theservants’ staircase, avoiding that one squeaky step she’d found within a day of being in her family’s London home. Now, two weeks later, she was able to successfully navigate the home undetected, despite never having visited in all of her nineteen years.
She reached the first floor, about to turn to the right to take the servants’ stairs all the way up to her bedchamber, but voices in the drawing room froze her foot in midair.
Conversations with her sisters were sparse. She hardly knew Edith and Henrietta in all honesty... but occasionally, nostalgia for their childhood together washed over her in that unwelcome and unannounced way that memories tended to enjoy. Like now, in that moment, when she really should be taking herself up to her room to change and clean the grime off her hands from playing marbles with little Bess in the kitchen so her mother could finish the sweeping in peace. But instead, a strange desire to—what? Stand outside the door and eavesdrop on her sisters? Pretend they were still under four feet high, playing imagination and running amuck of their country estate together?
Distracted, she set her foot down... on a corner of the landing that squeaked horribly. The sound whined out from the floorboards, echoing down the spacious hall and into the open doors of the drawing room.
Oh no.
