A Game of Hearts

Chapter One

Miss Emma Everton smoothed her pale blue silk gown and tried not to fidget as she followed the butler into the grand dining room of Pelham Hall. The Duke of Pelhampton’s annual Valentine’s house party was, by all accounts, the most anticipated event of the winter, and her first glimpse of the room showed her why. Crystal chandeliers cast rainbow-hued light over gleaming silver and pristine white linen, while perfect table arrangements of hothouse grown spring flowers scented the air.

A cluster of fresh snowdrops and delicate purple crocuses graced the arrangement nearest her assigned seat, making her smile. Someone had worked hard in the Duke’s celebrated conservatory and greenhouses to grow these harbingers of spring. Soon, the main gardens would show the same growth, as spring warmed the world.

“Miss Everton.”

The butler’s measured tones directed her attention to her assigned seat. She murmured her thanks, allowing a footman to assist with her chair.

“My dear Miss Everton, how delightful to have you with us this year!” The Duchess of Pelhampton beamed at her from across the table. “I was just telling His Grace how much we enjoyed your performance at Lady Millbrook’s musical evening last month.”

“You are too kind, Your Grace.”

Emma felt herself relaxing slightly. Until her aunt caught her eye from three seats away and raised an eyebrow in silent warning. Lady Agatha need not worry – Emma had no intention of being anything less than perfectly proper tonight.

“And how is your dear mother?” the Duchess continued. “I trust that Lady Everton is recovered from her cold?”

“Yes, Your Grace, though she still requires rest. That is why my aunt was kind enough to agree to chaperone me for this house party.”

The sound of the dining room door opening again drew her attention. She glanced up, then caught her breath. The man entering could only be the Marquess of Limnwood – his bearing alone would have marked him as nobility, even without his striking height and aristocratic features. His grey eyes swept the room with military precision, missing nothing. His evening attire, though perfectly correct, had none of the elaborate flourishes that marked so many gentlemen of the ton . Instead, its severe cut emphasised his broad shoulders and commanding presence.

“Ah, Limnwood!” The Duke’s voice boomed out. “Excellent timing. We’re just about to begin.”

To Emma’s dismay, the only remaining seat was beside her. She watched as Lord Limnwood made his way to the chair, his expression stern and remote. Clearly, the tales of his rigid propriety had not been exaggerated.

“Now then,” the Duke rose, lifting his glass. “Welcome, one and all, to our Valentine’s house party! As those who have attended before will know, we have a cherished tradition...” Emma found her attention divided between the Duke’s words and the Marquess beside her, who seemed to be studying her with unveiled disapproval. Had she somehow already managed to offend him? She lifted her chin slightly, meeting his gaze with quiet challenge. “As is our tradition,” the Duke continued, “tomorrow being Saint Valentine’s Day, we shall hold our annual Valentine’s lottery this evening. Each unmarried gentleman will draw a lady’s name, and that lady shall be his partner for all of our planned activities over the next fortnight.”

A ripple of excitement passed through the assembled guests. Emma noticed Lady Anne Fotheringham straightening in her seat, her dark eyes fixed on Lord Limnwood with barely concealed interest. The lady’s perfectly arranged dark curls and elegant burgundy gown spoke of careful preparation - clearly, she had specific aims for this evening.

“Of course,” the Duke’s eyes twinkled, “propriety shall be maintained at all times. But we find that sharing challenges and triumphs often leads to... deeper understanding between our participants.”

“What sort of activities might we expect, Your Grace?”

Lady Anne’s voice carried just the right note of demure inquiry.

“Ah, that would be telling, would it not?” The Duke chuckled. “But I assure you, all will be both entertaining and entirely proper.”

Emma caught her aunt’s slight nod of approval at this assurance. She suppressed a sigh. At twenty, she was perfectly capable of managing her own behaviour without constant supervision. Still, she understood her aunt’s concern - they could ill afford even a hint of scandal, not with her younger sister, Isabelle’s, coming out planned for this next Season.

“The lottery will commence after dinner,” the Duke announced, seating himself again. “For now, let us enjoy this excellent food.”

The first course was served, and Emma found herself searching for something appropriate to say to her stern-faced dining companion. Before she could speak, Lord Limnwood addressed her.

“I understand, Miss Everton, that you are acquainted with my cousin, Lady Harriet Carbrook?”

“Yes, my Lord. We often meet at musical gatherings. She plays the pianoforte beautifully.”

“Indeed.” His tone suggested that he found such gatherings frivolous. “Though I believe that she mentioned some rather... spirited behaviour at the last such event.”

Emma felt heat rise in her cheeks.

“If you refer to the impromptu dancing, my Lord, I assure you that it was entirely proper. Lady Harriet herself suggested it.”

“Proper?” His eyebrow lifted. “To dance without formal introduction of partners?”

“We were all previously acquainted, my Lord,” Emma replied, keeping her voice level, despite her rising irritation. “And Lady Harriet’s mother was present throughout.”

“Nevertheless, such spontaneous displays can lead to... unfortunate consequences.”

“And what consequences would those be?” Emma couldn’t quite keep the edge from her voice. “The terrible fate of people enjoying themselves?”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“The consequence, Miss Everton, of young ladies developing a reputation for being... fast.”

Emma’s hand tightened on her soup spoon.

“How fortunate then, my Lord, that you were not present to witness such shocking behaviour. I fear that your sensibilities might not have survived the ordeal.”

A flash of something - surprise? annoyance? - crossed his face before his expression settled back into stern disapproval.

“I merely point out that a lady’s reputation is a delicate thing.”

“While a gentleman’s, apparently, is made of sterner stuff?” Emma arched an eyebrow. “How convenient.”

“Oh!” Lady Anne’s voice cut smoothly into the tension, “I believe that I spy the first strawberries of the season being brought in. His Grace must have had them forced in his hothouse.”

“Indeed,” the Duchess smiled. “Our gardener is quite skilled with the hothouses. Though I confess, the flavour is never quite the same as summer strawberries.”

Emma welcomed the interruption, though she noticed Lady Anne’s gaze lingering appreciatively on Lord Limnwood. Well, she was welcome to him. Clearly, the Marquess was every bit as stuffy and judgmental as rumour had painted him.

The rest of dinner passed in a blur of elaborate courses and carefully polite conversation. Emma found herself counting the minutes until she could escape, though she maintained an outward appearance of perfect composure. She was not about to give Lord Limnwood any further cause to criticise her behaviour.

To her relief, the Duke finally rose again.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, if you would proceed to the drawing room? The lottery awaits!”

*****

The drawing room of Pelham Hall buzzed with anticipation. Footmen had arranged chairs in a semicircle, with a small table at the centre holding two covered baskets. The Duke stood beside them, clearly enjoying his role as master of ceremonies.

Emma found herself seated between her friend Lady Beatrice Somers and her aunt. Lady Beatrice leaned close to whisper to her.

“I do hope that I’m paired with someone agreeable. Did you notice Lord James Fairmont at dinner? He seems quite charming.”

“Which one was he?” Emma whispered back.

“The fair-haired gentleman near the end of the table. Lord Limnwood’s younger brother, though they’re nothing alike in temperament, thank goodness.”

Emma’s interest quickened.

“Lord Limnwood’s brother? I wouldn’t have guessed - they look nothing alike.”

“Lord James takes after their mother’s family, I’m told,” Lady Beatrice explained. “Though he has all the Fairmont height. But hush - they’re starting!”

“Ladies, your names have been placed in this basket.” The Duke gestured to the left. “Gentlemen, you will each draw one slip. The lady whose name you select shall be your partner for our upcoming activities.”

Emma watched as, one by one, the gentlemen stepped forward to draw names. Her stomach tightened with nerves as each slip was drawn and read, then dropped into the other basket..

“Lord James Fairmont,” the Duke called.

The young man Emma now recognised stepped forward, his easy smile and graceful movement providing a stark contrast to his brother’s rigid bearing.

“Lady Beatrice Somers,” he read out, and bowed to Beatrice with a flourish that made her blush prettily.

More names were drawn. Emma tried not to fidget as the number of remaining gentlemen dwindled. She noticed Lady Anne leaning forward each time, clearly hoping to hear her name paired with Lord Limnwood’s.

“The Marquess of Limnwood.”

Emma held her breath with the rest of the unmarried ladies. She found herself fervently hoping that she would not be chosen. After their clash at dinner, two weeks of forced partnership would be torture.

“Miss Emma Everton.”

The silence that followed seemed to stretch forever. Emma forced herself to smile as Lord Limnwood turned to bow to her, his expression as rigid as ever. She rose and curtsied, perfectly aware of Lady Anne’s furious gaze boring into her back.

“What a fortuitous pairing,” Lady Anne’s voice carried just loudly enough to reach Emma’s ears. “Though I fear some may find the activities rather... challenging. Not everyone is suited to proper society entertainments.”

Emma lifted her chin, refusing to show how the barb stung.

She was a Baronet’s daughter, perfectly well trained in proper behaviour. That she chose not to be rigid and joyless did not make her less suited to society.

After that, as the last few gentlemen drew their partners, Emma was in something of a mental haze. How on earth would she manage to cope with two weeks in the close company of a man so unsociable?

Finally, the last names were drawn.

“How delightful!” The Duke clapped his hands. “And now, let us have some music. The first of our Valentine’s activities will begin tomorrow morning after breakfast.”

Emma sank back into her chair, her mind still whirling. Two weeks. She would have to partner with Lord Limnwood for two whole weeks of activities.

As the evening drew to a close, Emma caught Lord Limnwood watching her with that same disapproving expression. She met his gaze steadily, refusing to be intimidated. If he thought to manage her into rigidly proper behaviour by stern looks alone, he would soon learn otherwise. She might have to partner with him, but she did not have to become the prim, lifeless creature he seemed to prefer.

The next fortnight promised to be quite a battle of wills.

*****

Nathaniel stood at the library window, a barely touched glass of brandy in his hand, watching moonlight silver the formal gardens. Behind him, the gentle clink of glasses and murmur of masculine conversation filled the room, but he found himself unable to focus on any of it.

His mind kept returning to the flash of defiance in Miss Everton’s remarkable violet eyes.

“Come now, brother, surely the prospect of partnering the loveliest girl at the houseparty isn’t that dire?”

James appeared at his elbow, his own glass significantly emptier.

“Lovely she may be, but her behaviour...”

Nathaniel shook his head.

“Ah yes, heaven forbid a young lady should actually enjoy herself.” James’ tone held a sharp edge beneath its usual lightness. “Tell me, when did you become such a stick in the mud? You weren’t always like this.”

“When I learned what can happen when people ignore the rules of proper behaviour.”

The words came out harsher than he had intended.

“Miss Everton is hardly likely to cause a scandal by participating in a few parlour games,” James pointed out. “Though I noticed that Lady Anne seemed quite put out by the lottery’s result.”

“Lady Anne’s disappointment is not my concern.”

“No? She was quite determined to catch your eye last Season. Impeccable manners, perfect propriety... exactly what you claim to want in a wife.”

Nathaniel turned to study his brother’s face.

“You sound as if you disapprove.”

“Of Lady Anne? Let’s just say I’ve seen her perfect manners slip once or twice when she thought that no one of consequence was watching. Miss Everton, on the other hand...”

James paused meaningfully.

“Yes?”

“Is exactly what she appears to be. Warm, genuine, intelligent... and quite capable of keeping you on your toes, I’d wager.”

“That is hardly a recommendation.”

“Isn’t it?” James grinned. “When was the last time anyone challenged you? Made you question your assumptions? Besides me, of course.”

Nathaniel found himself remembering Miss Everton’s arch comment about his sensibilities. Despite himself, his lips twitched.

“She is... quick-witted, I’ll grant you that.”

“And beautiful. And well-born. And...” James broke off as Lord Radmill approached. “Ah, Radmill! I was just telling my brother how fortunate he is in his lottery partner.”

“Indeed?” The Earl of Radmill’s expression suggested that he thought otherwise. “I would have thought my daughter, Lady Anne, a more suitable match. She has always moved in the very highest circles, you know.”

Nathaniel stiffened at the barely veiled hint.

“The lottery is merely for entertainment, my Lord. I doubt many lasting matches have resulted from it.”

“Though it does have an interesting way of throwing people together,” James mused. “I find myself quite looking forward to partnering Lady Beatrice.”

The conversation turned to other topics, but Nathaniel found his thoughts returning to Miss Everton. She had stood up to his criticism without losing her composure - that showed strength of character, at least. And James was right about one thing - she was genuine. There was nothing artificial in her manner, unlike some...

He caught himself. This line of thinking was dangerous. Miss Everton’s genuine nature made her more of a risk, not less. Someone who followed their impulses without considering consequences could cause no end of trouble. He had seen it happen before.

Still, as he bid goodnight to his brother and made his way to his assigned bedchamber, he couldn’t quite banish the memory of those remarkable violet eyes, sparking with challenge. Tomorrow would certainly prove... interesting.

A tap at his door preceded the entrance of his valet.

“Shall I assist you in preparing for bed?”

“No, thank you, Staples. I believe that I can manage.”

Once alone, Nathaniel found himself standing at his window, much as he had in the library. The grounds of Pelham Hall stretched out before him, perfectly maintained even in winter. Order. Structure. Everything in its proper place. That was what society needed - what he had fought to protect during his years in the Navy.

So why did he find himself wondering what Miss Everton might say about such rigid arrangements? Would she prefer the wildness of unconstrained nature? He could almost hear her voice suggesting that perhaps a few flowers breaking ranks might improve the view.

Irritated with himself, he turned away from the window. This would not do at all. Miss Everton was his assigned partner for the house party activities, nothing more. That she had sparked his curiosity was irrelevant. That she had made him question his own rigid standards, even for a moment, was dangerous. He had seen what happened when people let their hearts rule their heads. One of his own cousins had nearly ruined herself through such foolishness. If he hadn’t been there to interrupt that scandalous elopement...

No. Better to maintain proper distance. Miss Everton might resent his correction of her behaviour, but better that than disaster. He would simply have to be on his guard - against her quick wit, against that sparkle in her eyes when she challenged him, against the way that her dark red curls caught the light... Nathaniel shook himself. Clearly, he needed sleep. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, and he would need all of his wits about him to maintain proper behaviour with such an unpredictable partner.

Yet as he lay in his bed, sleep proved elusive. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Miss Everton’s face - not as she had looked when angry with him, but as she had been when he first entered the dining room, her expression full of joy and anticipation. Before he had spoiled her evening with his criticism.

Perhaps, he admitted to himself in the darkness, he had been a touch too severe...