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One

SOMERSET—NOVEMBER, 1817

Frederick Yardley, Viscount Weymouth, stopped outside his father’s study door and rolled his shoulders, tipping his neck side to side. He lifted his hand to knock but paused. A summons by his father, the Earl of Kentwood, was never desirable. And he doubted this would be the exception. But there was no sense in delaying the inevitable. Whatever unfortunate news awaited him would only be postponed.

Freddie pulled his hand back. But was postponing such an unthinkable idea?

As if his father could sense Freddie’s presence, a muffled “come” met his ears, and Freddie pushed the door open with dread.

“You asked to see me, Father?” he said as he stood in front of his father’s large oak desk. He glanced at the floor, resisting the urge to toe at the turkey carpet. He never stopped feeling like his five-year-old self, waiting for his father’s reprimand or displeasure.

“Yes, Weymouth. Thank you for coming so…quickly.” Sarcasm laced his tone.

Freddie gave a single shoulder shrug.

His father ignored it and pressed on, waving a paper in the air. “I received this from your aunt, Lady Dalmeer, this morning. It’s an invitation to a house party for the upcoming holiday.”

An uneasy feeling wormed around in Freddie's stomach, but he smiled. “I hope you have a delightful time. Please do write and tell me all about it.” He turned to make his escape, but his father’s voice stopped him.

“Weymouth—I’m not yet done with our conversation.” He motioned to the chair in front of his desk. “And do sit. You’re making me uneasy with your pacing.”

Freddie dropped into the chair with a huff and stretched out his legs, crossing his ankles. “I was not pacing. I simply thought we were done.”

His father raised a single brow and stared pointedly at his relaxed stance. His lips pursed with displeasure. “While your sisters and I are attending the house party—I feel it acceptable for them to go, as it is over the Christmastide—your aunt has specifically asked for your presence.”

“But, Father, she’s a notorious matchmaker. Everyone knows it.” He tried to look saddened as he shook his head. “Which is why I must write and send my regrets.” He put his hands on his knees and pushed himself up. “Now, if that is all, I have some business to see to in the village.” He could surely find something there to occupy his time for a few hours.

Again his father’s voice halted him before he’d even taken a step. “I’m afraid this is not an option, Weymouth. Your aunt has invited several eligible young ladies.”

“I’m certain she has. Evie and Ari will surely find them amusing.”

His father blinked, unamused. “I hope you will also find them to your liking. It’s high time you find a wife and settle down.”

Freddie laughed. “Have you gone mad, sir? If you think I shall attend a house party with the only design being to find a wife, you are quite mistaken.”

His father leaned forward. Putting his elbows on the desk, he intertwined his fingers and held them in front of his mouth. There was no mirth in his gaze. “No, Weymouth, I’m afraid you’re mistaken. You’re nearly four and thirty and have yet to marry. You need to produce an heir.”

He made it sound as if it were simply a business matter. “There’s still plenty of time,” Freddie countered.

His father sighed. “I am not getting any younger. I should have done this long ago. Even Miles is happily situated.”

“Miles was lucky. He found his other half.” While Freddie had never had romantic feelings for his sister-in-law, Grace, he could not help but envy his younger brother in the match. But one can hardly expect such a phenomenon to happen again. However, it was not the time to argue that point. He folded his arms over his chest. “Besides, you’re as sound as a bell, sir.”

His father gave a half-shrug. “I am. But that can change as quickly as the weather. I want—no, need—to ensure the title is protected. And the only way for me to be satisfied is for you to find a wife.”

“And produce an heir,” Freddie said, his tone mocking.

“Precisely.” His father nodded.

Freddie opened his mouth to protest, but his father lifted a hand to stop him. “I shall hear no more objections. You will leave your aunt’s party with an agreement, or I shall make one for you before the Season begins. I will see the earldom protected.”

“But…but, sir,” Freddie stuttered. “You can’t possibly mean it. You will not force me to marry.”

His father looked down at his papers, a sure sign of dismissal. “I can. And I will.” He looked up, determination in his eyes. “You are excused.”

Heat swirled in Freddie’s gut. What would it be like to have life be one’s own?

He balled his hands at his sides. “Very well, I’m off for London.”