Chapter One
London
July 1817
“Ipredict theywill marry by the coming year.” Felton Ambrose, the Earl of Harewood, looked to his good friend Andrew Crauford, the Earl of Sommerset, and gave a quick nod to punctuate his statement.
Sommerset, dressed in shades of brown to accentuate his blond hair, presenting a far opposite image from Felton’s own austere black, seemed to ponder his prediction. “Should I enter that into the book at White’s then?” His friend’s eyes crinkled with amusement.
He sniffed. “Hardly. I already did.”
“Of course you did.” Sommerset chuckled. “I do not understand why anyone takes your bets. You’re always right.”
He shrugged, even as he perused the room, observing thetonin its element. “There’s a fool born every day.” Returning his attention to his companions, he found Lady Sommerset giving him an impish smile.
His friend’s wife, dressed in a lilac gown that complemented her eyes and blonde ringlets, waved toward the opposite side of the room. “Tell me, Lord Harewood. Did you predict the marriage of my cousin Teddy to Lady Elsbeth of Astor?”
He moved his gaze to find Lord Theodore Mabry and his new wife on the edge of the dance floor having a quiet conversationthat included many smiles and not a few tender looks. At their obvious love for each other, he felt the familiar pang of love lost in his chest. He ignored it and returned his attention to Lady Sommerset. “As the two were not in London but overseas, I did not think it prudent to suggest an outcome. My predictions, if you will, come from observation.”
The lady rolled her violet eyes at him. “And here I thought it was some divine spirit that whispered in your ear.”
Her husband shook his head. “Of course not. Harewood makes his bets based on instinct.”
Though Felton frowned at them both, he was well aware they teased. “You do me an injustice by assuming my clarity of perception is anything but a skill well-honed.”
Lady Sommerset laughed, drawing not a few looks from those nearby. “Truly? But that is so very boring. I’m going to continue to believe it is a faerie who lands on your shoulder and makes outrageous suggestions.”
“Amelia.” Sommerset’s tone held kind reprimand.
She gave her husband a secret smile. “I only meant to say that Lord Harewood’s predictions are often surprising.”
That he had predicted Sommerset and Lady Ameila Mabry would suit each other well when no one else had seen it did stroke his ego. But if any were to know the true reason he had expected the match, they could well claim he had cheated.
He had spent his youth as a neighbor of the four Mabry ladies and knew them all well. Sommerset had become a good friend during their days at Eaton. Therefore, some might say he had an unfair advantage—foreknowledge, so to speak—that no one else had, but that had simply been him capitalizing on a fortuitous situation. But if any were to discover he’dsuggestedLady Amelia to Sommerset, they would most definitely call him out. However, he need not defend himself on that account, either, as it was not as if the marriage had been a sure bet.
“Please, my dear,” Sommerset inclined his head. “Do not feed his egoism. He is barely sufferable as it is.”
“I simply stated fact, but I do see what you mean.” Lady Sommerset turned from her husband to him as if to be sure he was not insulted.
“I assure you both that your words have little effect upon me.”
Sommerset chuckled. “As I suspected.” He held his arm out to his wife. “Come. I believe we are boring poor Harewood. Let us take a walk in the gardens that he might remain here in his own logical and quite complicated thoughts.”
The lady smiled tenderly at her husband and took his arm. “We shall see you at dinner, my lord.”
As the two left, he watched them meander through the guests toward the open garden doors. He couldn’t deny he was quite pleased with himself for suggesting the match. As the youngest Mabry sister, Lady Amelia had been the last to wed, though her oldest sister recently married again. Having all three wedded had halted his mother’s many hints at him marrying a Mabry lady. He’d already loved one of them, even if she’d never debuted, so he knew none of the others could live up to her perfection.
Fortunately, since his father was hale and hardy, all talk of finding a wife and having heirs had drifted away on the ether, much like Lady Belinda Mabry had drifted away from her mortal coils. At the thought of Belinda, melancholy instantly settled in, but he’d lived with the feeling for so many years, he knew exactly what to do—move and find a distraction. Out of habit, he began to amble around the outskirts of the ballroom, preferring to observe others and discover something many might miss. Though he claimed his predictions were due to observation only, they were far more complicated. A strong understanding of thehistory of each family of thetonand their many values and characteristics also played into his calculations.
He stopped for a moment next to a Grecian column decorated in greenery that was already starting to wilt in the heat of the ballroom. Sommerset’s younger brother, Christopher Crauford, the Viscount of Tamworth, caught his attention near the exit of the room. The man’s light brown hair was a bit too long, which made him easy to recognize. If he wasn’t mistaken, Tamworth was inching toward the doorway, no doubt planning to leave before dinner. A small part of him envied the younger man’s joy in life. He couldn’t remember being so free to indulge in life’s small pleasures. Then again, Tamworth was a second son, while he was the only son of a marquess and had been born the Earl of Harewood. His responsibilities were many. Finally, Tamworth slipped out as he’d expected, and he resumed his observations.
Immediately, his attention was caught by a group of ladies not far from him. He recognized them as students of the Belinda School for Curious Ladies. Though the school had never been officially announced, it was well known that it had quietly opened last winter to its first class of students. That in and of itself was of little consequence, but what set the older ladies’ tongues wagging was the fact that those running the school touted it as the Oxford and Cambridge for ladies of the peerage, a description many, including himself, disliked immensely.
But his reasons were far more substantial than any society lady’s. He resented that the scandalous school had been named after the only woman he’d ever loved. It besmirched her name in a myriad of ways. Belinda, though intelligent, had been kind, caring, as sweet as a trifle, and as warm as a Christmas kitten. She was most happy when helping someone else, whether it was her sisters with a problem, the local vicar with the poor, or a maid with a torn sleeve. She wasn’t interested in the pursuit ofknowledge for the sake of knowledge that would be of no use in the life of a wife.
At the start of the season, there had been much talk—and not much of it positive—about the school. So much so that he’d almost made a bet that it would close within the year, but the talk had disappeared as soon as the next piece of gossip made the rounds. It wasn’t until just a few weeks ago that it had surfaced again when Lady Elsbeth Rawley had married Lord Theodore Mabry. No one had expected any of the women in attendance at that school to marry. He’d breathed a relieved sigh at the news as Belinda had wanted nothing more than for people to be happy.
But earlier in the week, he’d been at White’s and happened upon a conversation between four men who disparaged the school as well as Lord Mabry. The assumption was that the lord was desperate for an English-born wife since he was a widower with a Spanish daughter and he needed heirs for the vast holdings he would one day inherit. The last had been said in envy, of course, but it still rankled. As much as Felton wished the Duke and Duchess of Northwick would change the name of the school, he acknowledged that was a lost cause since the duchess had named it so to honor her younger sister. Did she not understand that it did everything but her intended goal?
