In Pursuit of a Lady (Improper Sons #1)

Chapter One

The horses proceeded down the avenue of ancient elms at a solemn pace, their black, plumed heads bowing as the Duke of Stamford was carried to his final resting place. His chest tight, Captain Jack Ryder watched the steam flow from the thoroughbred’s nostrils in the crisp, cold air.

“Chin up, old fellow.” His friend, Harry Feather, heir to Sir Ambrose Feather’s immense fortune, walked beside Jack as they followed the hearse with a cortège of subdued friends and relatives, some of whom Jack wished to purgatory.

The one thing he shared with the widow’s family was mutual dislike.

Ahead of them was his cousin, Grant, heir to the dukedom, and Grant’s mother, Aunt Elizabeth.

Jack was extremely fond of them both. Aunt Elizabeth had been the closest thing to a mother to him, visiting him bearing cakes at his boarding school. She’d made his lonely life bearable.

Jack scrubbed his hands over his face, as if the tiredness from too many nights of lost sleep while his father had breathed his last, followed by the ensuing heavy sensation of grief, would be rubbed away. “Did as much as he could for me. Loved my mother, cared for her until she died.”

Harry nodded. “Indeed. And not every peer sends their sons born on the wrong side of the blanket to Oxford.”

“And then agree, albeit reluctantly, to their requests to join the army. He feared I’d do something reckless and be killed.”

“He had good reason for it,” Harry said, matching Jack’s stride, although he was a good head shorter. “You behaved as if your life wasn’t worth much. Earned you considerable praise, though. And a medal for valor.”

“If Father hadn’t been born the heir to a duke, he would have married my mother. His family forced him into a marriage to a woman he disliked.”

“Who wasn’t kind to you.”

“Can’t say that, exactly. She never acknowledged my existence.”

Harry checked if anyone was within earshot. “The duchess is universally disliked. I’d be surprised if there were many who’d shed tears over her deathbed.” He turned back to Jack. “Do you mind that Grant has inherited Stamford?”

“That drafty pile of stone?” Jack shook his head. “Why should I? I’ve known since birth it would be this way.”

“Still, Stamford is a magnificent property, as are the other investments.”

“Father left me a living. The Northumberland farm.”

Harry wound his scarf tighter around his neck, hunched his shoulders, and pulled his hat down over his chestnut hair. “Is it in good condition?”

“Yes. According to my father’s man of business. I’ve never been there.”

Harry’s brown eyes widened. “Why not?”

Jack shrugged. “Never had any reason to. It gives me a modest income, which is all I need.”

“Is that the extent of your inheritance?”

“It’s all I know about. I don’t expect anything more. Father bought me a commission in the army, and I saw that as a step on the ladder of life. The rest is up to me.”

“But the war’s long over and now you’ve resigned your commission…”

“I learned a few life skills during those years, Harry, did not you?”

Harry shrugged. “I suspect you would have learned them, anyway, Jack. All it did for me was make me realize how much I prefer a life of comfort over tramping through Spain in dreadful conditions while being shot at.”

“Taught you discipline, toughened you up. Made you a man, Harry. You aren’t one of those soft, indulged sons who waste their lives whoring and gambling about London.”

Harry smoothed an invisible crease on his sleeve. “Have no fondness for carousing. But you should go and sort out that property after the reading of the will.”

“Mm.” Jack watched the sway of the black-and-gold hearse moving along ahead of them.

He felt cut off at the knees when he tried to envision the direction his life would take.

His father had given his life meaning and it had been stripped away, by Society and his years away fighting.

Jack needed time on his own to find himself. A sense of peace. “Eventually.”

“You’re in no hurry?”

“No.” Jack drew his grief around him like a shroud, took a deep breath, and made a decision. “You know, being a bastard gives a man certain advantages.”

“Oh? What would they be?”

“I can go wherever I like without any call on my time. No Parliament, no bending the knee to King George and his set.”

“Some might care about those things.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t. Nothing can change it, can it?”

“You are accepted in Society, Jack. People like you.”

“There are those that do. Others might just have liked my father and wished not to offend him.”

Scattering fallen leaves, the hearse approached Stamford village church, where in the churchyard, hunkered down in the cold, villagers waited to see off a popular duke.

“What do you intend to do next?” Harry asked. “Continue with your rooms in Town?”

“No. I’m going to travel.”

“Really? No desire for it. Saw enough during the war.”

“Not the Continent. The British Isles. And not as a well-heeled gentleman.” The plan formed in Jack’s mind. “I’ll travel light like we did in the army. Just a small portmanteau, and Arion, my faithful stallion. I’ve seen little of my own country. And I’ll visit that farm.”

Harry shuddered and murmured something derogatory about how one could hardly take a valet and how badly dressed Jack would be as the horses, stamping and snorting, drew the hearse to a halt before the family’s impressive stone mausoleum.

Jack, with a deep, anguished breath, took his place with the other pallbearers to carry his father’s coffin inside the stone edifice.

Jack and Harry continued their conversation hours later in a tavern, where two other friends joined them: Lord Miles Hawkeswood, second son of the Marquess of Sterling, and Baron Waddington’s heir, Timothy Scott.

In their mid- to late twenties, the four had formed firm friendships when they’d fought with the British Light Cavalry during the Peninsular campaign.

Miles drew his eyebrows together, his blue eyes thoughtful. “You’re not remaining for the reading of the will?”

“I shan’t be missed. Everything goes to Cousin Grant. And the duchess’s relations will be there hoping to be remembered. Can’t abide any of ’em.”

“Well, I think it’s a mad idea.” Miles raised his voice above the ruckus from a table in the corner where a drunken fellow had made a clumsy attempt to pull the serving wench down onto his lap and gotten his face slapped for his pains.

“Traveling rough on English roads in our foul weather sounds downright uncomfortable. Had enough of that in Spain. At least it was hot there.”

Harry shook his head. “Couldn’t agree more. Dangerous too. You could be robbed and murdered before you get twenty miles from London.”

“I doubt that,” Tim said. “Jack was the best marksman in our regiment. He’s mighty handy with his fists too. Might have been a pugilist. Just look at him. Is anyone going to take him on?”

Jack grinned and shook his head, then drank deeply of his ale.

Tim perched a large, booted foot on his knee and cast an eye over the breadth of Jack’s shoulders. “None of us is short, bar Harry, and Jack towers over all of us.”

“Dash it all, I object!” Harry thumped Tim on his arm. “I would be considered a reasonable height if I chose a new set of friends. The ladies have no complaints, I might add.”

Jack pushed back his black hair from his brow.

“I’ll carry a pistol, but I’m not looking to use it unless I have to.

An adventure appeals to me. To roam about the country without an identity.

That’s true freedom. I considered re-enlisting, but after the war ended, army life was more tedious than exciting. ”

Tim gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “And when you’ve seen as much as you care to, what then?”

Unable to supply an answer, Jack shrugged. “Then, I shall embark on something else.”

“Marriage? And the lady will be of your choosing,” Harry said gloomily, his fingers raking his chestnut hair, his brown eyes somber. “Father has picked out a bride for me. Daughter of a friend of his. He’s corresponding with her father as we speak.”

It was the first Jack had heard of it. Harry would be the first of them to marry. “Who is the lady?”

“The Earl of Rountree’s daughter, Lady Erina Rountree.”

“What’s wrong with Lady Erina?” Jack brought the lady’s visage to mind.

Abundant mahogany hair and fine, green eyes.

He’d danced with her at her ball when she’d entered society.

Tall and slim, her gaze had challenged him, and she’d made him laugh when she’d complained about the crick in her neck she’d gotten from talking to him.

He’d been one of the few men tall enough to have made her look up. “She’s pretty. Smart too.”

“All right for you to say. No one is pushing you to marry,” Harry said.

“No, nor is marriage part of my plans.” He didn’t want to care about anyone. “You’re a lucky fellow. Don’t know what you’re complaining about.”

Harry folded his arms. “I suspect Lady Erina could start an argument in an empty room.”

Jack laughed. “Take care, Harry. Those eyes of hers can certainly flash.”

“I prefer a quiet woman, like Miss Florence Beckworth.”

The fair Miss Beckworth had the look of a frightened mouse. To give her the benefit of the doubt, her shyness might have masked intelligence, Jack thought. “A milk-and-water miss? Who won’t challenge you? How dull that would be.”

“Why has the conversation turned to women?” Tim gave a snort of disgust. “I’d rather talk about Tiresias, the Duke of Portland’s horse that won the derby in fine style.”

“Because women are more interesting than horses.” Jack smiled at the buxom tavern wench who carried four pots of ale, two in each hand. She placed them on the table without spilling a drop and winked at him.

“Not always,” Tim grumbled.