The Earl of Gracewood Castle (A Wish Upon a Castle #4)

Chapter One

"Grandmamma is lonely," Constance said, sitting opposite her sister over dinner that evening.

Her father sat at the head of the table, as he always did – although the table seemed rather large for just three of them.

Still, the Earl of Basingstoke liked to do things properly, and so this was how they sat.

"My mother chose to go and live in the middle of nowhere in Northumberland," Papa said, with a sigh. "I told her it made no sense, but she made the decision – and so, if she is lonely, then I am afraid she only has herself to blame."

"Ah!" Constance said, shock colouring her tone. "You don't mean that."

"Well, I don't mean exactly that. And of course we will go to visit her. But after the Season – not now, when everything is about to begin."

"I am looking forward to the first ball of the Season, at Lady Woodbridge’s," her sister, Charity, said with a grin. "It's always so exciting when everything starts again, don't you think, Constance?"

"No, I do not," Constance said. "You know full well that I do not enjoy the Season like you do. It's very repetitive – and dull, if truth be told. After three of the wretched things, I would much rather be in Northumberland, even if there's no society up there."

"You only want to be there so you can explore the castles again," Papa said. "But we went purposely for you to do just that – and now it is time to be in London."

"It's not just about the castles," Constance said with a sigh, although they certainly were a large part of the appeal of the area. She had loved castles and their history for as long as she could remember, and Northumberland boasted the highest concentration of castles in the country.

But there was also a desire to miss the infernal Season, and all of that sitting and listening to music, bowing and dancing with the same gentlemen, and waiting to see if anyone would call on you.

She hated it.

"I don't understand the point of the Season," Constance muttered under her breath – but apparently not quietly enough, for her father immediately chimed in, "To find a husband, Constance. That is the point of the Season."

"Well, yes, I know that. But I'm not sure how likely that is, after three Seasons. And I'm not sure how concerned I am."

"You should be at least a little concerned, I think," her father said softly.

"But it is not as though we don't have the money, so I don't need to desperately marry so that I can be comfortable. And since neither of us is a boy, the title won't go to us anyway – so me having an heir is null and void."

"But what if you do not want to be alone forever?" her father said. "Your sister wants to marry – why, she had two proposals last Season, although she deigned to turn them down."

"I shall marry for love," Charity said with a romantic sigh. "But yes, I fully intend to marry."

"And I will not be around forever. You know my nephew will inherit the title and this house. So yes, you could live comfortably, there's no doubt about that. But you would be alone…" He cut his meat thoughtfully, before continuing.

"I don't want you to think I'm being cruel, my dear. I want you to be happy, and I certainly would not push you into a marriage you did not want. Or even make you continue with the farce of the Season, if I did not think that you would be happier in the long run if you wed."

"I know you are not being cruel, dear Papa," she said with a smile, and had the table been smaller, she would have reached over and squeezed his hand.

"And perhaps next year, things will be different.

But Grandmamma is lonely this year, and I really, really don't want to stay here for the Season. Please, Papa?"

He was quiet for a moment, clearly deliberating, and then he said, "You will have to take a maid with you to travel. And you know your grandmother – you cannot be sure she will not insist on you accompanying her to at least some social functions. It won't be all castles and reading."

Constance nodded enthusiastically, a smile immediately coming to her lips. "Of course, Papa. But spending the rest of the year in Northumberland… oh, I can already feel how happy it will make me. Thank you, thank you. You won't regret this – I promise."

◆◆◆

"Your mother is here, my lord," Soames the butler said with a bow of his head.

Ezra, Earl of Gracewood, frowned. "Now? I'm not even finished with breakfast. What on earth is she doing here so early?"

"Shall I say you are not at home to visitors, my lord? I did mention how early it was…"

Ezra sighed. "No. You know my mother wouldn't accept that. Send her in – and some more coffee, too. I have a feeling I'm going to need it."

"Of course, my lord."

It wasn’t long before his mother, the Dowager Countess, entered with a frown upon her face. "Really, Ezra. Soames felt the need to remind me how early it was. Me! When this was my home for more years than it has been yours! And I know you would never refuse me entry, so why he thinks—"

"Soames is only doing his job, Mother," Ezra said with a weary sigh.

His mother had indeed reigned over the house for longer than Ezra.

She had lived there until his father, the old Earl of Gracewood, had died, and then had remained once Ezra had taken the seat, until he had married and Laura had taken her place as countess.

And then…after she was gone, his mother had suggested moving back in, to help him – but he had politely refused. He was used to living alone. Well, without his mother, at any rate. And he did not want to go back to her commenting on everything he did. Even if she meant well.

Of course, he had not counted on the fact that she would still come round most days. After all, the dower house was not that far, and she did like a walk.

"What can I do for you, Mother?" he asked, taking a seat as she did. "Soames is bringing some more coffee."

"You really must do something about the outside of the house, Ezra. The rosebushes, the ivy, all those brambles and thorns – it’s starting to look rather nightmarish."

"Did you really come round before breakfast has even ended to comment on the gardening?" Ezra asked, irritation colouring his tone.

"No, I did not. And you needn't take that tone with me, young man. You can be as cold and rude to the rest of the world as you like, but I am your mother, and I do not deserve that."

"My apologies, Mother. Please go on," Ezra said wearily. It was certainly not the first time he had been rebuked for his tone, and he doubted it would be the last.

"I had an invitation to Lady Portbury’s ball, and it included you."

"I'm not sure why they think that sending an invitation to you is more likely to be successful than sending one to me."

"You really should get out of the house, Ezra. Shave that ridiculous beard, see a little of society. It doesn’t do you any good to stay cooped up here alone all the time."

"I'm not exactly alone. I have an army of staff, Soames takes good care of me, and of course I see you regularly."

"That’s not the same as mixing with society of your own class and your own age, and you know it.

" She reached for the coffee which Soames had just poured.

"It’s been five years, my dear, since Laura left us.

I understand the pain…but you cannot shut yourself away forever.

You must rejoin the land of the living sometime. "

"I will think about it, Mother," he said, as he did every time she brought up the topic of him socialising more. But the truth was, he had got rather used to being alone, to spending his days in his castle, to letting his hair grow, his beard grow, and not caring what anyone thought.

At the beginning, it had been about grief. He and Laura had been promised to one another since not long out of the cradle, and while it was not some great love match, they were fond of one another.

And then there was the fact that he felt responsible for her death. He had been so focused on the need for an heir, that he had never even considered that it could be trying to bring that very child into the world which might take Laura’s life. And with her, the child too.

And so grief and guilt had made him lock himself away, and now he supposed it was habit. He spent his days reading, managing the estate through his staff, and, when he felt like it, painting landscapes that he could see from the walls of the castle.

It wasn’t that he never left the castle, for he did on occasion, but he simply didn’t socialise.

He didn’t feel any great urge to – although he supposed one day his mother would wear him down and persuade him to re-enter society.

But that moment was not now, and he did not think it would start with Lady Portbury’s ball.