Prologue
D ark clouds gathered in the sky, slowly making their way toward Piketon Castle. Ophelia Smythe, the dowager Countess of Piketon, studied their progress through the large window in her upstairs sitting room—hopefully the rain that threatened remained at bay a little longer. She had sent an invitation to a special guest to join her for afternoon tea, and she expected that gentleman to arrive soon.
A grin spread across her lips as she caught sight of a lone rider in the distance. Of course he would choose to arrive on horseback rather than in a carriage. He was a big, imposing man with hot Scottish blood coursing through his veins. His temper was as fiery as his father’s—her elder brother. Once, her own passionate nature had ruled her decisions. But those days were long gone. She was no longer that young girl and she did not make any rash decisions. Now, she approached life with a calculated coldness, letting reason guide her actions.
Not that it was always easy. Especially when it came to her family. Her nephew would be arriving shortly, and she had plans for him. Big plans. Plans she knew he would resist, at least until he realized her true intentions. He would believe she was steering him in one direction, but her ultimate goal would lead him elsewhere—quite reluctantly, she imagined.
It was high time her dear nephew set aside his ridiculous feud with his neighboring earl. Such quarrels never ended well, and this one was no exception. She intended to intervene and ensure that his pride did not lead him to ruin. She would orchestrate his change of heart, and when all was said and done, she would be victorious in her quiet campaign against his obstinacy.
The rider came into focus, and she admired his long auburn hair and powerful frame as he dismounted his fine stallion. He handed the reins to a nearby footman, likely instructing him to see the horse stabled. It mattered little what was said between her nephew and the footman—what mattered was that he had come. Finally. Now she could begin her plans for him.
A maid entered the room, pushing a teacart. “I have brought the tea, my lady,” she said. She nodded at the teacart, and then turned her attention back to Ophelia.
“Thank you, Sally,” Ophelia replied. “Set it over there. I will serve my nephew myself. Do not disturb us for any reason.” This conversation was far too important for interruptions. “Send him to me as soon as he arrives.” Anticipation flowed through her as she waited for him.
“Very well, my lady,” Sally said with a curtsey before departing.
Ophelia remained by the window long after the maid left, her thoughts drifting. She had been alone for many years. Her son and daughter rarely visited. Her husband had died more than a decade ago, leaving her with only her projects to occupy her time. Her son was now betrothed, and her daughter married, expecting her first child. That left a handful of nieces and nephews to see settled, and Ophelia was determined they would be. She would apply the proper machinations to see that done. It was her duty to them—even if they did not wish to see it fulfilled.
“Hello, Auntie,” a gentleman with a deep voice said as he entered the room. “I trust ye are well.” His thick Scottish brogue was rich with an unidentifiable emotion. Ophelia had long since tempered her own accent, though a faint lilt remained. She found that she garnered more respect when she spoke with less of that accent in her tone.
“I am quite well,” she replied, turning to face him. “Thank you for coming.”
“Ye didna give me much choice, now did ye? Was this not a command performance, my lady?”
“You could have chosen to stay away,” she said coolly. “I did not force you to attend to me.”
“Did ye not?” His belligerent tone was matched by a pointed look. “Yer note suggested ye had information of interest. What is it, Auntie? Doona hold it back now that ye have me before ye.”
She sighed, stifling a smile. He would not make this easy, but she had expected as much. “I understand you are still feuding with your neighbor.”
“And if I am?” He tilted his head as he studied her. “What business is it of yers?”
Ophelia schooled her expression into one of mild concern. “You know I abhor violence. What will it take for you to put an end to this animosity?”
“Nothing ye can offer me,” he said sharply. “Stay in yer drafty castle, Auntie. Let me handle the earl. He willna best me.”
Her patience was tested, but she persevered. He needed a reason to stop this feud, and she would give him one. “If that is your wish, then I will help you.”
“I already told ye—”
“That you do not think I can aid you,” she interrupted. “But what if I can?”
His frown deepened, and his gaze narrowed. “Ye know something. Tell me.”
Finally, she had him. Ophelia allowed a small, triumphant smile to form. “I may have information you could find useful.”
“And what might that be, Auntie?”
She leaned slightly forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Your neighbor is expecting a visitor. She is already on her way to his estate.”
His lips twitched into a faint smile. “Is that so? And is this visitor arriving for a particular reason? Is she important to the earl?”
“She is,” Ophelia replied. “I believe she is his betrothed.”
His smile widened, though it held a sharp edge. “Thank ye, Auntie. If ye doona mind, I will be skipping tea. I have some plans tae make.”
“Happy scheming,” she said, watching as he exited the room.
Ophelia allowed herself a small sigh of relief. She had set the pieces in motion. Soon, she would hear news of her nephew’s endeavors. With luck, it would be the kind of news that brought joy—and proved her instincts right once again.