“There will be much to do. We need to figure out who to invite. And what to do. Where to meet…”
Simon laughed. “Well, first you have a fish on your line. So catch that andthenwe’ll talk.”
James lunged for the jerking pole and began to drag his fish in. But he didn’t care about the wriggling beast. He only cared about what plans he and his friends had set in motion.
Chapter One
1810
One of the most exclusive and expensive parties that had ever opened a London Season was going on around James Rylon, Duke of Abernathe. There was a lively orchestra, and entertainers who floated through the halls, performing magic and other feats of fantasy. There were fine partners to be had in dancing, and for once the wine wasn’t watered down.
And he was utterly, completely and unbearablybored. Oh, he smiled and chatted, and everyone had always called him the life of any gathering.
But he wasbored.
He shifted as a group of ladies approached, smiling behind their fans, the mamas pushing to get a good position for their eligible daughters. He forced a pleasant smile onto his face.
“Good evening, ladies,” he drawled, searching his mind for names to go with the faces. He would find them, he had no doubt. Surface politeness and perfection were his specialties. What lay beneath was another story, and one he shared with very few others.
They were all talking at once now, tittering every time he said anything even remotely amusing, and he held back a sigh. He only smiled with something close to authenticity when he saw his best friends, Simon, the Duke of Crestwood, and Graham, the Duke of Northfield, approaching through the crowd. Both had an amused expression at finding him so besieged. Expressions that fell when the ladies caught sight of them and they were drawn into the trap just as he had been.
“There are so many dukes in your generation,” cooed one of the young ladies, who batted her eyelashes first at James, then at the other two. “And you’re all such good friends.”
Simon shrugged. “It is the time of the young duke, I suppose.”
“And yet none of you have chosen to marry,” one of the mamas said, her lip pushing out in a pout.
“That isn’t true,” James said, grabbing Graham’s arm and all but shoving him into the fray. “Northfield here will marry my sister Margaret. That has been arranged for years.”
He could see his words didn’t appease the small crowd of ladies, even as they offered a round of half-hearted felicitations nonetheless.
“Perhaps you will excuse us, ladies,” Simon said, his voice suddenly a little tight. “We have a bit of business to discuss before we all begin dancing.”
The carrot of future dances dangled before them, the ladies smiled and backed away, but James could still feel their stares on him from across the room. He let out a long sigh.
“Are you well?” Simon asked, tilting his head and examining James more closely.
James pressed his lips together. Trust Simon and Graham to see through to the truth. But it wasn’t a truth he as yet wanted to discuss. “Of course,” he said with a wide smile. “Though I can tell it’s going to be a challenging Season if the first night is already so intense.”
Simon shrugged as he looked off into the crowd, his expression now as serious as James, himself, felt. “We are of an age, I suppose. The expectations are upon us to wed and produce our heirs. It makes us lambs to a slaughter in rooms like these.”
James nodded. Oh yes, he knew of those expectations all too well. They rested heavily on his shoulders, weighing him down even when he was so practiced at pretending to be light and carefree.
“Well, I’ve no plans to be leg shackled any time soon,” he said with a laugh that felt very false. He turned to Graham in the hopes he could change the subject. “I’ll leave it to Graham to do the marrying first.”
Now his smile was real. When his father died eight years ago, his first act as duke was to arrange a union between Graham and his beloved younger sister, Margaret. He did it to solidify her future, but also so that Graham would be his brother in reality, as much as he was in spirit.
He expected Graham to smile at the talk of his future marriage, but both his friends looked strangely grim. Simon, especially, was now pale and almost looked sick.
“Excuse me, gentlemen, I need a drink,” Simon muttered, nodding to them both before he left without waiting for a response.
James stared after him. “What is wrong with him?”
“I don’t know,” Graham said softly. “He’s been out of sorts lately. He refuses to talk to me about it, though.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed the same,” James mused.
“See if one of the others can get it out of him,” Graham suggested.
