Chapter One
Aaron St. James gripped the tenth gilt-edged ball invitation he had received in his fist as tightly as if he meant to disintegrate it with his bare hand.
He knew perfectly well that no one truly wanted him at such events.
They merely wished to gander at him with their whispers of pity and scandal, all while they threw their unwed daughters at him with the hopes of him choosing one to inherit the prestigious title as his duchess.
He gazed upon the cold, shadowy hearth before him, bitterly reflecting how much it resembled the chill of his own heart.
With his other hand, he traced the familiar curves of the signature of the last note he ever received from his younger sister, Charlotte.
After two years of rereading the wounding words and reliving the events which led to the note, he could recite each word by heart and read it with his fingertips as if they were ten extra, unseeing eyes.
He bit his cheeks against the overwhelming emotion that gripped him as tightly as he gripped the insulting invitation while he recalled the last time he spoke with his sister.
It had been an arbitrary argument. Aaron knew that now.
Charlotte had come to him, pleading with him to allow her to marry the man that she loved.
That was something that any man of high society with a younger sister of whom he was guardian wished for her: to find a match and marry, so that she would be cared for the rest of her days.
And so he would have been, had it not been a mere merchant captain with whom she had fallen in love.
But so it was, and rather than give his blessing and be happy for his sister, he sternly rejected the gentleman’s offer for his sister’s hand.
He told her that she must find a better match than one of such a lowly status.
Charlotte had begged him, with tears streaming down her cheeks, to reconsider and understand that she was truly in love.
But Aaron had impressed upon her the importance of her duty to marry well and secure both her future and their family’s legacy, just as their father would have.
He had even called her selfish and spoiled when she continued to argue and threaten to defy him if he did not change his mind.
He had been so certain of his righteousness that he had stood firm in his decision.
He had no idea then how much he would come to regret his heartless stubbornness.
Each time he thought of that night, each word dug deeper into his conscience, constantly reminding him of how he tore apart his family.
It had been his duty to protect and care for his sister after their father died.
Instead, he had hurt her, shattered her dreams and sent her away from that discussion with anger and bitterness in her heart.
The last thing he had said to her was that she needed to be more mature before she considered marriage and stop having childish tantrums. Now, he wished he could have known those would be his last words to her.
He would have chosen them differently, had he known she would disappear that very night.
Aaron walked to his desk, noting how the evening shadows were lengthening across the room as he sat in his chair.
He stared at a stack of invitations quite similar to the one which still remained clasped in his closed fist. He tossed it to the side of his desk where it brushed against an untouched glass of brandy.
He stared at it for a moment while he thought about how much he wished that Charlotte was simply in her chambers, preserved just the way they had been when she vanished, or in front of the pianoforte which she loved so much, which still had her sheet music arranged just as she had left it.
He was unsurprised when his mother entered the room quietly, but without waiting for his permission.
He looked up at her, the shadows beneath her eyes telling of her many sleepless nights since her daughter vanished.
Worrying about what had become of Charlotte was clearly taking its toll on the dowager duchess, and Aaron knew that he was to blame.
Catherine St. James had never blamed Aaron in any way for what had happened.
And yet, each time she or Aaron sent a letter in search of Charlotte, to every possible destination, that remained unanswered, he felt more and more culpable.
Why could I not simply relent? He wondered, even as he offered his mother a small smile.
“Good evening, Mother,” he said softly, starting to rise from his chair.
The dowager shook her head, giving him a sad smile of her own.
“You need not rise for me, darling,” she said, approaching his desk. “I merely came to ensure you are well.”
Aaron shrugged, trying to appear calm and unbothered.
“I am well, Mother,” he said. He gave her an appraising gaze. “Are you all faring well?”
His mother returned the shrug, the only response she gave to the question since Charlotte’s disappearance. She glanced at his desk, touching the invitation which Aaron had tossed aside, idly attempting to smooth its wrinkles.
“Our peers are speaking a great deal of late regarding your solitude these past two years,” she said with an emotion-laden voice.
Aaron fetched his brandy glass and turned away from his mother, trying to hide the frustration in his expression. He poured another drop of spirits which he did not intend to drink into the glass to appear busy as he shrugged again.
“Let them speak,” he said with practiced indifference. “I stay away because I choose to. There is nothing more they should know about the matter.”
The dowager fell silent, and Aaron thought the matter settled. But suddenly, she gripped his arm from behind, squeezing it with surprising strength.
“Aaron, you cannot expect me to lose yet another child to stubbornness and pride,” she said, her voice quivering. “I will not do it. I understand why you lack the desire to ingratiate yourself with society. But it will be the death of you, and I will not stand by and watch that happen.”
Her words struck deeply with Aaron, piercing the defenses he had constructed around his emotions.
His shoulders sagged as he turned to face his mother once more.
She was right. He had already cost her one child.
He could not be the reason why she lost him, too.
Even if he felt deep down that she would be better off without him, after what he had done.
“Very well,” he said, forcing another tight smile and gesturing toward the crumpled invitation. “I shall attend Lady Juliette’s ball.”
The dowager looked immediately relieved. While she was still clearly exhausted, the lines in her forehead smoothed as she gave him a genuine smile.
“Thank you, darling,” she said.
Aaron nodded his silent acknowledgment, internally rebelling against the idea.
He had no desire to return to the society which reminded him of how much he had failed, not only his family but also another who was once very dear to him.
But he could not bear that look of pain on his mother’s face.
So, he forced another smile as he went closer and embraced his mother.
“I love you,” he said. Never again would he make the mistake of making terrible, bitter or indifferent words be the last he spoke to someone he loved. He had at least learned that lesson well.
Later that evening, he met his cousin and closest friend, Lord Graham Easton at Watier’s Club.
It was a newer gentleman’s club, having only been established a few years prior, and the clientele of the club was still growing.
That made it the perfect place for Aaron to frequent, as the exclusive atmosphere felt almost anonymous to him.
He sat across from his cousin, sipping delicately on his glass of brandy.
Graham lounged comfortably in the opposite chair, looking as at ease as ever.
Aaron, however, was far from easy, despite the atmosphere and the rich leather seats and decadent brandy.
Even though there were rarely large groups of patrons at Watier’s, Aaron kept glancing around, dreading the moment someone recognized him and came to inquire about Charlotte or his intent regarding the season’s events.
Still, being in his cousin’s company was deeply appreciated, so he tried to make the best of it.
“How has business been faring, Cousin?” he asked, trying to keep conversation easy and familiar.
Graham shrugged, his disposition enviable to Aaron.
“I am without cause to complain,” he said. “It has been some time since there was any difficulty with shipments from France, and my workers seem content enough to perform their jobs to satisfaction.”
Aaron nodded.
“That is excellent,” he said. “Do you have plans to attend Lady Juliette’s upcoming ball?”
His cousin raised an eyebrow curiously at him.
“I have considered it,” he said. “Do not tell me that you intend to attend.”
Aaron sighed and nodded.
“I promised Mother that I would go,” he said.
Graham looked at him with great surprise.
“That is incredulous,” he said. “I would think that, with Lady Vivian’s increasing appearances in society of late, you would resist any opportunity to see her.”
Aaron’s fingers whitened as he gripped his brandy glass fiercely.
“Pardon?” he asked, praying he had misheard his cousin.
Graham looked at Aaron with sheepish sympathy.
“You did not know,” he said. “Forgive me. I should have said nothing.”
Aaron shook his head and gave his cousin a broad, too-bright smile.
“Nonsense,” he said. “I appreciate the warning.”
Yet as he tried to portray an air of casual indifference, Graham stared at him cautiously.
And not for nothing, Aaron knew. Lady Vivian had once been his intended, the woman he planned to marry and build a future with.
After Charlotte had disappeared, however, his family’s reputation became marked by scandal.
Aaron could have cared less, but for one thing.
Lady Vivian ended their betrothal, forced by her father to marry an elderly earl, Lord Elderwood.
Society has a perverted desire to destroy all things precious to us, he thought bitterly, gripping his glass so tightly that his hand ached.
It can take a sister and a future bride and then ridicule the man from whom it took them for the rest of his days, and still blame the man for the expectations it places upon them all.
Of course, the last thing he wanted was to see his former lover, especially beneath the gossip-starved eyes of ton members.
Attending the ball would be difficult enough without the additional reminders of his mistakes and ruin.
But now that there was a chance that she would be attending, as well, he fervently wished he had rejected his mother’s plea.
If there was a chance that the gossip might have been limited before, that chance would be erased if he and Lady Vivian attended the same ball.
Must fate truly continue to be so cruel?
“Aaron?” Graham asked softly. “Are you all right?”
Aaron shook his head to erase the thoughts, realizing that he had sat in brooding silence for several minutes.
He looked into his cousin’s worried eyes, putting the drink to his lips and taking a long sip.
Fate might be tormenting Aaron more with each passing day.
But there was no reason why Graham should wallow in Aaron’s suffering.
“Yes,” he said. “That news surprised me, but I am all right.”
Graham nodded, but the doubt in his eyes was palpable.
“Shall we retire for the evening?” he asked.
Aaron forced the most disingenuous smile.
“Not at all,” he said. “Tell me about the events you have attended thus far this season.”
Graham nodded, still looking skeptical as he began telling a tale of a particular ungainly young lady who danced like a lightheaded toddler.
Aaron tried to listen with interest, but his mind would not leave the darkness of his failed relationships with both his sister and his former lover.
He had loved them both more than he could ever love anything else in all of England.
They had been cruelly taken from him, one as the result of the other.
And as the weight of the failures sat between his cousin and him in Watier’s dim lighting, he reminded himself that it was truly he who was to blame.
He could never make those things right. But now, he had to live his life as though that did not matter. Could he?