The tip paid off, and Adam learned whatrealmoney was. The kind that earned him invitations into the most exclusive circles. The kind that bought him a brownstone on Mansion Row. The kind that got him closer to what he truly desired: revenge. Because while it smoldered, the coal in his belly was never fully extinguished. And when Dr. Evans passed away, the fire in Adam’s gut was ignited anew.
Which brought him here, to London. To the birth country of his mother and the many homes of his father. To where he would finally exact his long-simmering retribution. Not by making the Earl of Denbigh acknowledge him or apologize to him or any other such sentimental nonsense. No, Adam wasn’t going to waste his time with feelings. What hewasgoing to do was show his father that despite being born with nothing, he now hadeverything. More importantly, he had more.
More than his father.
More than his half-siblings.
More than the rotted nobility combined.
He already had the houses, the carriages, the clothes, the staff.
Now all he needed to complete his father’s humiliation was a wife.
A darling debutante plucked from theton’sown garden. A rose to complement his thorns…and the last move in a chess match that had begun when he was five-years-old.
He wasn’t just going to show Lord Denbigh his success.
He was going to make him choke on it.
“I hate chess,”Eloise said crossly, folding her arms and furrowing her brow as she glared down at the checkered game board resting on the table between herself and her sister, Lenora. “It’s so boring and it takes too much time. I just want to get right to the end.”
Lenora, now better known to thetonas the Duchess of Monmouth, offered a patient smile as she moved her ivory pawn from one square space to another, capturing Eloise’s rook in the process. “The trick is to plan at least two moves ahead.”
“The trick is to not get stuck playing a game in the first place,” Eloise muttered, squirming in her chair. She grew uncomfortable when she sat for too long. Her mind began to wander and her body started to itch, as if ants were marching along her skin. “Why can’t I use my horse to knock over your queen?”
“It is called a knight, and that would be against the rules.”
“Rules are boring, too.”
Lenora took a sip of her tea and bit back a sigh. As the eldest Rosewood sister, she had taken on a maternal role after the unexpected death of both their parents within months of each other. Given that Eloise was youngest of the brood, she had received the brunt of Lenora’s mothering instincts…for better or worse.
Truly, there was no such thing as ‘controlling’ Eloise. The best anyone could do was manage her wild behavior, and hope that her antics didn’t entangle the family in a scandal or worse. From climbing trees to avoid her embroidery lessons, to wearing breeches under her dresses, to riding astride like a man, Eloise had been in possession of a rebellious streak since…well, since before she was born.
The doctor was very strict when he told their mother, Lady Catherine, that she was not to have any more children.Your health is too fragile, he informed her.Your body cannot sustain another pregnancy. But the Countess of Clarenmore, who had always wanted a large family, hadn’t listened, and nearly eleven months to the day after the doctor’s dire warning, Eloise arrived.
She was loud from the start.
Fussy.
Demanding.
And everyone, from the earl and countess, to Lenora, to James (the oldest and only brother), to Bridget and Annabel, absolutely doted on her.
She was given her first pony at four and was galloping through the fields by five, her red hair billowing in the breeze like a flag of revolt.
By the age of ten, she’d already run half a dozen nannies out of the house. Her mischievous nature, coupled with a lack of firm discipline (‘Oh, it’s all right,’their mother said fondly when Eloise knotted her bedsheets together and used them to swing off the chandelier in the drawing room.‘She’s my little baby, let her be,’) led to the creation of a spoiled and willful child that grew all too quickly into a defiant, ungovernable young woman. But with five children to look after, it was often easier to let Eloise go off and do as she pleased. After all, she wasn’t mean or malicious. And what was the harm if she skipped a formal dinner here or a theater show there? She would come aroundeventually. She wouldn’t want to wear breeches and climb treesforever. It was nothing more than a phase. An unconscious effort to be different than her sisters. Soon enough, she’d become the lady that she was meant to be. That sheneededto be, as the daughter of an earl.
But then, as it had a way of doing to the best of families at the most unexpected of times, tragedy struck.
Catherine’s health, precarious ever since Eloise’s birth, took a sudden turn for the worse. From her first cough to her last, she was gone within a fortnight. The Earl of Clarenmore, stricken by grief and unable to live without the woman he loved, followed her to an early grave soon thereafter. The Rosewoods retreated from High Society to mourn in private, and no one gave Eloise’s recalcitrant nature a second thought…until it was too late.
When wildflowers were permitted to grow in abundance, spilling out of their containers in a tumble of colors, there was no returning them to neat, orderly rows. It was impossible; the equivalent of putting sunshine back into a glass bottle. Having been allowed to taste freedom for as long as she had, Eloise was loathe to give it up…and wasn’t above biting anyone who tried to pry it from her grasp.
Fashion, etiquette, socializing with a painted on smile…she had no interest in it. No interest in anything that required her to squeeze into a box that was too small and too rigid. Why shouldshehave to change who she was to appease a crowd of pompous aristocrats? She didn’t care what they thought about her, or what they whispered behind her back.
Unfortunately, Lenoradidcare. She cared very much about all of her siblings, and with Bridget married and Annabel engaged, she’d set her sights squarely on Eloise, whose soft debut into High Society had been nothing less than a miserable failure.
Not only had Eloise failed to attract the attention of a potential suitor, she’d actively chased them off. But with spring in the air and summer soon to arrive on a wave of sweltering heat that would make the stench of the city unbearable and send thetonflocking en masse to their estates in the country, the Duchess of Monmouth was more determined than ever to find her little sister a husband.
