PROLOGUE
February 1820—Northamptonshire, East Midlands, England
Out of the corner of his eye, West could see his brother’s shoulders visibly relax, moving an inch further away from his ears as the first mound of dirt hit the coffin with a resounding thud, piercing the crisp air around them. It comforted him to know that he wasn’t alone in his growing ease now that he was the new head of the family.
More than anything, though, West felt numb as he watched the coffin descend into the ground. It’s not that he wasn’t grieving for his father—he was. A man has only one father after all, no matter how stifling or stilted the relationship.
But ever since the former marquess had drawn his last breath a few days prior, two emotions had battled for dominance within West, taking precedence over the grief and blankness that currently enveloped him.
The first was immense relief.
That was quickly followed, however, by guilt. Guilt for feeling so much lighter—finally released from his father’s firm grip on their lives.
Wrenching his eyes from the hole in the semi-frozen ground, West realized he’d been staring without focus, his mind still actively trying to grasp the fact that he was now the third Marquess of Hampton. Though holding the title lent him a freedom he’d never before known, hence his increasing ease, becoming comfortable in the role was another matter entirely.
The crowd thinned as mourners started to depart, and West briefly made eye contact with a middle-aged man across the burial plot, now visible toward the back of those gathered.
A small smile graced the gentleman’s lips as he gave a nod of recognition, and West realized with a start that it was his Uncle John. Though softer about the middle and with more gray running through his hair, even after twenty years, not enough had changed to make him unrecognizable as the man he had so loved growing up.
Seeing the resemblance in the blond man standing next to his uncle, he knew it must be his cousin Ethan, a boy of eight when he’d last seen him. A sigh escaped West as he shook his head at the relationships that had been lost. At the sound, his brother, John, looked at him quizzically.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“I was just looking at the man you were named for and mourning all that has been missed due to our father’s stubborn pride.”
“Uncle John is here?” his brother inquired, tracing West’s gaze back to the remaining attendees. A look of wonder passed over John’s face as he took in their long-lost family members.
Fury, overriding his guilt, began building within West as he thought about the mess his father left behind for which he was now in charge. The former marquess’ pride had led to amismanaged and financially deficient estate, an embarrassing family legacy, and estranged relations. It was enough to make his head spin.
Yes, West thought with resolve. It was a new day for the Beaumont clan, and as the man taking the helm, many things were about to change.
CHAPTER 1
March 1821—Hampton House, Northamptonshire, England
Leaning against the mantel, West closed his eyes to the growing cacophony in the room and took off his spectacles to rub the tense spot above the bridge of his nose. An exasperated sigh escaped him as he attempted to ease a knot in his neck that had formed over the past few days while preparing for the family meeting he’d called, stretching it to the side, but to no avail.
Listening to the agitated voices around him, he knew definitively that time of preparation was over and he had moved the family into chaos. While he’d mentally braced himself for opposition to his plans, West hadn’t anticipated how difficult it would be to restart the relationship between the two halves of the family after his father’s death.
Now a year since the funeral, though he’d reached out to many of his estranged family members to begin the work of repair, this was the first time the entire group had been together in one room. West approached the event with excitement as well as a bit of trepidation, but he hadn’t realized just how bruisedsome still felt due to the rift caused by their former patriarch, leading to high emotion in the room. Two decades was a long time to let resentments fester, and the tension was palpable.
Opening his eyes, he took in the reddening face of his brother-in-law, the Earl of Haven, who was furious at being berated by a woman, and an unmarried one at that.
“You know what West has proposed is the morally right thing to do,” his cousin Lizzy threw in Haven’s direction. She was impassioned in a way that only the young and unjaded could be. West smiled hearing her certainty, remembering how knowledgeable and justified in his views he had felt at the age of twenty-three. His smile faltered, however, when he realized many of those views had been shaped purely in opposition to his father’s beliefs.
“I fully understand the morals of the situation, Miss Beaumont,” Haven gritted out. “But it’s simply not practical to disinvest entirely until the estate is on more solid ground financially.”
And that was the crux of the situation West had been left with. As the new marquess, he needed to find a way to right the financial woes of his family, making sure the estate was profitable enough to support the tenants who relied on the Hampton land and patronage. The only problem was that their most reliable form of income at present came from his grandfather’s initial investment in a shipping company, which shipped more than just goods. But West refused to be connected to the transport and trade of humans any longer. The slave trade was a moral abomination. And though England had outlawed the practice in 1807, slavery was still permitted in the colonies, where many Englishmen were still making a pretty penny in the business of selling their fellow humans.
“Enough,” West roared, startling the room into quiet. Stepping away from the mantle, he took a moment to composehimself before speaking. Looking up, he noticed more than one face was looking at him hesitantly as it was uncharacteristic for him to lose his composure so completely. But it was past time for him to fully step into his role and establish once and for all that he was the new patriarch of the family by making his position clear.
“I didn’t bring this up so it could be a topic of debate. I’m telling you that I will be fully divesting the family of the final shares we still hold in this detestable business. I know this means we will need to be more careful with funds for a while, but there are other ways to bring money into the estate. We’ll hardly be destitute.” Looking around the room, West made eye contact with everyone, trying to gauge reactions.
“No one’s saying we should not divest,” his brother-in-law spoke up, once again eager to make his opinion known. “It’s simply about the timing in which you chose to do so.”
Frustrated, West turned and braced himself against the mantle, absently rubbing the small scar that dissected his left eyebrow. Looking at his family in the mirror perched on the mantle before him, he took in their surroundings.
A niggling feeling of doubt about his plans started to creep in as he saw the silk covering of the settee starting to fray, and a corner of the Aubusson rug was nearly threadbare. While trinkets of wealth were on display, silver candlesticks on the mantle and snuff boxes on the side table, signs of faded gentility were also present. The blue and white Delft porcelain vase, a symbol of status, stood empty of flowers. The garden at the estate had gone wild as they were unable to maintain a gardener.
