Prologue
London, England, March 1817
* * *
“Angelo, you must promise me that you will wed before the Season ends,” his mother demanded.
He stared at her as if she had gone mad. He would make no such promise.
“Come along.” She turned and marched up the stairs without waiting to see if he followed.
Angelo stood there for a moment, then did as she asked. Mother was not herself and had not been these past few days.
She paused at the door that led to his parents’ set of rooms, then entered.
Angelo did the same but was brought up short when he saw his father still in bed and Dr. Valentine by his side.
Angelo’s stomach knotted.
“What is wrong?”
“Your father suffers from a heart ailment,” the doctor answered.
Angelo always knew that one day he would need to do his duty, he just hadn’t expected it to be so soon.
“You will also turn thirty this year,” his mother reminded him. “Past the age of when you should have settled and produced an heir. It is time that you do your duty.”
“By the end of the Season?” he asked as his throat began to tighten, threatening to close off his breathing.
“Yes,” his mother answered. “The Season is soon to begin. With it comes the perfect opportunity to find a bride. The sooner you do so, the easier it will be for your father to rest without worry.”
“I will be happy if you are looking for a wife this Season,” his father chuckled.
He did not sound sick, nor look very ill.
Yet, he must be, or Dr. Valentine would not be standing by the bed and putting objects into his bag.
“Make an effort, Son,” his father instructed.
“Effort?” his mother cried. “He must wed. What if…” his mother trailed off.
“Christmas!” his father announced.
“Christmas?” Angelo asked.
“Marry by Christmas. That is all that I ask,” his father confirmed.
At least that gave him more time to become used to the idea and find someone that he could take as a wife.
“That is too far away,” his mother insisted.
Father reached up his hand and took hers. “I am not at death’s door, yet, dear.” He smiled. “You will not use this condition to force our son into a rash decision that will leave him miserable.” He then looked to Angelo. “Nine months should be long enough, and I promise that I will not kick up my toes before then.”
His mother looked at the doctor, as did Angelo.
“I can make no such promises,” Dr. Valentine said. “We have only been aware of his condition for a brief time, and it may not have progressed. However, I do caution that Lord Dargate should rest more, avoid being overtaxed, and reduce some of his responsibilities. Too much stress or excitement may cause irreparable harm.”
“You must take over all matters regarding the estates so that your father does not worry,” his mother insisted.
