Chapter 1
Falmouth Manor stood high on the grassy cliff of Pendennis Point, overlooking the rough, salt-tipped waves of Falmouth Bay below.
This morning, fog drifted atop the waves, blurring where they ended and the gray horizon began, and extended west to the harbor, which was clearly visible through the windows of the study where Theodore Harrington, Viscount Falmouth, sat in his wingback armchair.
From where he gazed out over the Cornish cliffs to the white sails bobbing up and down in the harbor just below, Theo could just hear the faint call of seagulls, the hum of people as the port town came to life, and the gentle tolling of church bells.
Smoke rose lazily from the chimneys of wooden houses with steep roofs and narrow gables, and although he could not smell the peat from all the way up on the cliff, he could imagine it well enough. The fire in his own grate was not lit, and the room was cold.
He was wearing his warmest leather gloves lined with ermine, and the thought of a warm fire and the sharp, acrid smell of smoke filled his chest with a familiar ache.
It was the same ache that the view below elicited. He looked out at this view every morning and felt lucky to witness it. And now, if the solicitor sitting behind him was to be believed, he was in danger of losing it.
“My lord?” Mr. Lockwood’s voice brought him back to the present moment. Reluctantly, Theo tore his eyes away from the view and turned back to the solicitor.
Mr. Lockwood was in his fifties, a lean, well-dressed man with sharp features and the no-nonsense attitude to back it up. His eyes were dark and deeply perceptive, as if they could see exactly what it was Theo was feeling.
“Do you understand what I am saying, my lord?” Mr. Lockwood asked.
“Yes, I believe so,” Theo said heavily. “You are telling me that my estate is in danger.”
“More than in danger,” Mr. Lockwood said sharply. “If you do not find a way to pay off your debts, you will lose it. The creditors have been more than patient, but they can no longer subsist on empty promises and excuses.”
“Excuses?” Theo raised his eyebrows. “Is that what you think I have been giving them?”
Mr. Lockwood hesitated, and Theo saw an uncharacteristic flush in his cheeks.
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” the solicitor said after a moment. “It is only that the creditors have been quite insistent. Every morning, they are at my offices…”
Theo sighed and rubbed his hand over his eyes.
“And I do apologize for that, Mr. Lockwood. You know that it is my intent to pay everything back in full. But the debts… They were incurred by my late father and brother. I had no knowledge of them when I took over the estate, and I have been doing everything within my power to try and repay them. But the rents are falling, the crops are failing, yields are down…”
“I know,” Mr. Lockwood said, and there was a momentary glimmer of sympathy in his eyes.
“You are not the only one, either. It is the plight of many landowners across the country. As the commons are enclosed, many commoners are leaving the country to seek their fortunes in the city. They can find jobs at the factories, where the hours are brutal but the wages allow them some semblance of an independent life.”
“The hours are brutal,” Theo said, indignation flaring in his chest. “And the conditions are even worse. I have had former tenants return to Falmouth after trying their luck in the factories with their bodies broken. Some could barely breathe! One man had lost a hand, another a foot. Several have died.”
“I know,” Mr. Lockwood said placatingly. “But the sad reality is, even with the risks, tenant farmers are taking their chances. The promise of wage labor is too alluring for them to resist. And without them…”
“Without them we do not pay off the debts,” Theo finished for him. A heavy feeling was settling in his chest, like the anchor of a ship had been dropped just over him. His jaw tightened, and he flexed his fingers in the gloves.
He did not need to be told that things were dire. This was not the only room in the house that was cold. Most of the manor was strictly unheated, and many rooms had been closed. The only chamber in the house where a fire was still regularly lit was Antoinette’s.
“So what do I do from here?” he asked. “Do I begin to sell off lands?”
“That is one possibility,” Mr. Lockwood conceded. “You could also retrench.”
The word landed like a rock in his stomach. “Give up Falmouth Manor, then?”
“Only for a time,” Mr. Lockwood said quickly, his spectacles slipping down his nose. “And if you went somewhere less expensive, Bath, perhaps…”
Theo sat back in his armchair, his eyes sweeping the room.
In the seven years since he had moved back to Falmouth after the death of his brother, this study had become his sanctuary.
Everything was familiar and comforting, from the mahogany paneled walls to the portrait of his father above the hearth.
And while other viscounts had filled this room with hunting trophies and landscape paintings, the room now reflected Theo’s unique tastes.
Along the walls, he had hung obscure maps that he had collected during his naval career, showing places as far-flung as Mesopotamia and the Orient.
All had been carefully preserved, and now they were set in gilded frames.
And between the maps, on shelves that he had had installed, lovingly and reverently cared for, were a variety of orchids.
Their smell was sweet and refreshing, and whenever Theo breathed in, the scent seemed to relax him, sending a calming energy through him and slowing his breathing and heart rate, making his shoulder unclench.
Even now, as his eyes slid over these flowers, he wondered what would happen to them if he were to leave Falmouth Manor and rent rooms somewhere cheaper. Would the next tenant of Falmouth Manor care for them with the same loving attention that he would? Or would they wither and die with neglect?
“If you retrench—” Mr. Lockwood began, but before he could finish the sentence, he was cut off.
“Retrench? There is no need for something so drastic, Theo, when you have a perfectly good solution right at your fingertips.”
Theo started and looked around. Standing in the doorway, a grin on his handsome face and his blue eyes alight with mischief, stood Lord Marcus Thorne.
Marcus Thorne, had, like Theo, also been born a second son. Unlike Theo, Marcus was still a second son, as his brother was very much alive. Theo and Marcus had met in the Navy, and they had remained fast friends even after Marcus was forced to leave and return to Falmouth to take up the viscounty.
“Marcus!” Theo exclaimed, standing and holding out his hand to his friend. “What are you doing here? I was not expecting you.”
“I know,” Marcus said, shaking Theo’s hand before lazily slipping into a free chair and nodding uninterestedly at the solicitor.
“But you have not been answering my letters, and I thought I should come and rescue you from this dreary coastal backwater. You do know the London Season is in full swing, do you not? What are you doing here, hiding away?”
“I am doing what I do every year,” Theo said, his eyebrows shooting up. “Have you ever known me to attend a London Season?”
“Well, no,” Marcus admitted with a grin. “But now that I know you are in danger of retrenching…”
“You should not have heard that,” Theo said stiffly.
“This is not the first time I have heard about the estate’s financial troubles,” Marcus said with a tsk. “I know you are low on funds and in need of quick cash.”
Theo crossed his arms. “And how do you suggest I do that? Going to London would only increase my costs.”
Marcus leaned forward, his smile wicked. “I suggest you come to London and find yourself a new viscountess.”
There were several seconds of shocked silence, during which Theo stared at his friend with wide-eyed incredulity. A new viscountess?! Even the thought of it made him feel ill, made his hands start to shake and his palms sweat.
“You must be out of your mind,” he muttered at last. “You know I have no intention of remarrying. Since Rosalind’s death—”
“Seven years ago,” Marcus said with just a touch of impatience.
“You imagine that is a long time, do you?” Theo asked coldly. “You clearly do not know how grief works.”
“Grief?” Marcus responded lightly. “Or guilt?”
Theo glared at him, awareness prickling on the back of the neck.
He did not want to have this conversation in front of his solicitor.
Marcus knew his history, knew every intimate detail, but no one else did.
No one else suspected the truth of his marriage, of what had been sacrificed and what had been lost, of the regret and guilt that followed Theo like a shadow.
As if sensing he was no longer welcome, Mr. Lockwood cleared his throat and stood. “I shall leave you two to discuss this development,” he said. “But My Lord, I would suggest you listen to Lord Marcus. An heiress would be the simplest and fastest way of saving the estate.”
Once the solicitor was gone, Theo gave his friend a skeptical look.
“You do not want me to go to London to find a wife,” he said. “You want me to partake in all your vices with you. Gambling, drinking, women—”
“I do not gamble anymore,” Marcus said with a grin. “And I hardly drink. As for women, do not worry. I know you have no interest in those.”
“It is not that I do not have interest,” Theo said hotly, his cheeks warming as he felt embarrassment curl in his stomach. “I am just not a rake. Not like you.”
Marcus laughed. “It is a title I accept gladly.”
“You should not,” Theo grumbled. “You ought to find a nice girl and settle down.”
“So should you,” Marcus pointed out. He leaned forward. “An heiress would solve all of your problems. Not to mention give Antoinette a real mother.”
“She has a mother.”
“Lady Marguerite does not count,” Marcus snorted. “She has all the warmth of this study.”