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HefferwickshireHouse

LathamDuchyCountryEstate

19 DECEMBER, 1826~ LATE AFTERNOON

Why did I let LeonidasWestbrook talk me into this ludicrous farce?

Takingin the ostentatious manor—every window glowing with a warm welcome—and the immaculate grounds dusted with snowfall as if GodHimself thought the tableau needed a sprinkling of festivity, OwenLockington swore inwardly.

I’ve lost my everlasting bloody mind.

Slinginga battered satchel over his shoulder before dragging an equally dilapidated leather valise from the hackneyed coach’s interior, he caught sight of his humble, less-than-fashionable attire and his scuffed boots, badly in need of a good polish.

I’m as out of place as feather dusters at a duel.

Acrooked, self-deprecating grin skewed his mouth upward on one side as he gave a contemptuous shake of his head.

Nothingnew there.

Howlong had it been since he felt he belonged anywhere?

Sincehis mother had been alive.

Dour, pensive, and resembling his mother’s large, rough Gaelic tribal ancestors, Owen had never fit in. It was a wonder, in truth, that he and Leonidas had become such good friends at university. A friendship that had prevailed for over a decade now, though they seldom saw each other.

Whenthey did, however, they resumed their acquaintance as if no time had passed.

Agood-sized male Dalmatian pranced over to inspect the new arrival. After thoroughly sniffing Owen’s feet and calves, the chap lifted his head for a pet.

“I’ve passed muster, have I?” Owen scratched behind the dog’s solid black ears.

Thedog thumped his thick tail thrice before trotting off, sniffing several bushes, and marking his territory along the way.

Uneasescraping sharp talons the length of his spine, Owen once more skimmed his gaze over the stately mansion, smoke winding lazily skyward from multiple chimneys. Yet rather than turn around on his next breath, leap into the cold, smelly conveyance, and order the burly driver to make haste back to the village as common sense admonished, Owen sprinted up the steps.

Atleast this year, he wouldn’t spend Christmas with only a bottle of brandy and a book for company, as he’d done for nearly a decade.

Leonidashad assured Owen that his parents, the Duke and Duchess of Latham, would welcome a guest for the holiday. Wholly out of character, Owen had accepted the invitation from his only close friend after running into him in London.

Healready regretted his impulsive decision, but there was dashed little he could do now. Unless he stole a horse from the stables or walked, his chance for escape rumbled down the gravel drive, leaving dual ribbons in the glistening snow.

Fillinghis lungs with crisp winter air, he braced his shoulders.

Aweek at HefferwickshireHouse was survivable, even for a social outcast such as himself.

He’dtrimmed his hair this morning, and the unfashionable, unruly sable locks only brushed his collar now. He’d even deemed to shave his beard, lest the servants think him a vagabond and direct him to the back of the house for a crust of bread.

Sighing, Owen rapped upon the entrance with his forefinger’s knuckle and veered a glance heavenward. The gray, lackluster sky and dusky horizon portending nightfall and, perchance, more snow matched his sour mood.

Thedoor flew open. As if Leonidas had peered out a window awaiting Owen’s arrival, his oldest friend stood there grinning like a baboon.

“Lockington! You actually came.” He pumped Owen’s hand. “I’m delighted! Flabbergasted but sincerely delighted.”

“Do you generally answer the door, Westbrook?” Owen asked drolly, stepping inside. The splendor slapped him in the face like a frigid arctic wind.

Hefferwickshire’sexterior merely hinted at the interior’s opulence.