Chapter One
Spring, 1816, London
Rowan stared at the elegant white envelope in his hand. The rich purple calligraphy which addressed him matched the script that composed the invitation within the brilliant white envelope. The wax seal, which he had broken to read the contents of the note, was a shade lighter than the ink, and he stroked it idly with his thumb as he stared.
It was hardly the first invitation he had received in the eight years since his father’s untimely passing and his inheritance of the dukedom. However, it was one which filled him with apprehension. It was, in fact, one of a kind. For there was something about Lady Serena that only he knew. He was connected to her in a way that none would suspect. None, except for her own father.
According to the invitation, Lady Serena Yardley, the only daughter of the earl of Lindmere, had come of age and was making her debut into society. In his time as duke, he had sent back many event invitations with the RSVP line reading that he would not be attending. However, balls such as those debuting young ladies carried an unspoken expectation of the attendance of the higher-ranking society members. They also meant the certainty of unmarried young women desperately vying for the attention of all the wifeless gentlemen who would make suitable marriage matches for them.
Rowan shuddered, despite the warm spring breeze blowing in through his study window. He glanced up as movement caught his eye, noticing the hunter green drapes blowing softly against the matching daybed beneath the open panes. The weather was lovely, with a clear blue sky and the foliage a brilliant green in the springtime sunlight. But the beauty did nothing for Rowan as his eyes traveled around the room, lingering on each of the figurines and trinkets that remained that had once belonged to his father.
Father, he thought, clenching his jaw. The late duke had died before Rowan could reconcile with him after their argument about marriage, and Rowan had never forgiven himself for it. It seemed that the dowager duchess hadn’t quite forgiven him, either, as she had grown more distant each year since the passing of her husband. They had once been quite close. But after the duke died, she began closing herself off to Rowan emotionally, avoiding him except at meals and taking frequent trips to Bath to stay with various friends. Rowan supposed he couldn’t blame her. After all, the late duke wouldn’t have been on the lake that day if it weren’t for their terrible fight.
He tossed the invitation to the side, rubbing his temple as his anxiety returned. Not only did he feel anxious, but there was a hint of something more beneath the raw nerves and sadness about his father that he couldn’t quite identify. Suddenly, the study, which had become his own sanctuary from the cold halls of the townhouse and his mother’s colder demeanor, seemed to be getting smaller around him, and his heart wouldn’t stop racing.
Desperate for fresh air, Rowan leapt from his desk and hurried outside, straight for his mother’s beloved rose garden. The garden had long since been a cherished place for reprieve for Rowan, and even more so since his father had died. The tall bushes filled with various shades of red, pink, yellow, white, and crimson flowers including old garden and tea roses muffled the chaotic sounds of the city, and they soothed the turmoil in Rowan’s heart.
The calming effect of the garden did not last long, however. A bush blooming with vibrant yellow roses brought back with force a memory from eight years prior. He stopped in his tracks, drawing in a sharp breath, feeling paralyzed as his mind retreated back to the memory. Back to the week following his father’s death, and to the gardens at Dalenwood Manor.
After his father’s funeral, he had thrown himself wholly into handling the loose ends left behind by the duke’s sudden death. He thought it would take his mind off the loss of his father, and off the guilt he felt at his last words to his father. However, his mother had found him in his father’s billiards room with silent tears streaming down his cheeks and a lost, wounded expression on his face. The dowager had turned herself so that she was directly facing him, her own eyes brimming with tears.
“Rowan, this is not how a duke should behave,” she said. “You must pull yourself together and carry on. Our reputation and your father’s legacy depend on it.”
Rowan had blinked, wiping furiously at his tears with his gloved hands. He shook his head, looking at his mother as though she were mad.
“Surely, even a duke is allowed to grieve,” he said. “I loved Father dearly, just as you did. I admired and respected him, and his loss came as a terrible shock to me, just as it did to you. I do not mourn in public, or in any way that interferes with my duties. But I feel Father’s loss more deeply than you know, and all I ask is time to cope with that grief.”
He had expected his mother to embrace him and at least acknowledge his pain and right to mourn. But her expression had hardened, and she had put her hands on her hips.
“If you loved and respected your father as much as you claim, you would not have spoken to him as you did before he died,” she said. Her tone was cold and unforgiving, and her eyes bore into him with accusation. “If not for that argument, he never would have been so foolish as to take the boat onto the water with an impending storm.”
Rowan had shaken his head in painful disbelief. He had told his mother of the argument between him and his father the day after he died. Never would he have suspected that she would throw such a confession in his face in such a cruel way. Until that moment, he had not blamed himself for anything but being unnecessarily combative and harsh with the late duke. But right then, the weight of guilt for a murder crashed down on him, rendering him both speechless and motionless. All he could do was stare at his mother as she turned on her heel and marched out of the room.
Overwhelmed with despair and loneliness as he realized that he would receive no comfort, he fled the billiard room, flying through the halls with no destination in mind. He eventually found himself stumbling through the Dalenwood Manor gardens, and he stopped, bending over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath.
Once air made its way into his body with more ease, he wandered aimlessly through the gardens, barely taking notice of the lilies, tulips, gardenias, violets and of course, roses that surrounded him. He walked until he found the statue of an angel in the middle of the gardens. He stopped, gazing up at it as if it might suddenly offer the peace he desperately sought.
To his surprise, it did. As he breathed in the fragrance from the circle of white rose bushes that surrounded the statue, and as he studied the angel’s stone face, he was granted the briefest sensation of tranquility and stillness in his frantic, grieving mind. The memory had been as vague as the conversation itself had been, even eight years later. But for a moment, he could allow himself to step outside the heartaches he had suffered since the argument with his father and enjoy the tranquility of nature.
He knew the moment wouldn’t last. The instant he reentered the manor, he would be encumbered by the heaviness of his father’s passing. But he was acutely reminded of the transformative power of a single moment. He would never be able to go back and change the words he said to his father or undo the disrespect that had led to his father storming away from him that tragic day. But now, he would be much more careful about his decisions and actions. And he would certainly never let himself get too close to someone whom he could hurt with thoughtlessness or irrationality. Or who could hurt him by succumbing to death.
“Your Grace?” Lawrence asked, seeming to appear out of nowhere.
Rowan jumped, whirling around to face the man who seemed to float rather than walk.
“Heavens, Lawrence,” Rowan said, exhaling sharply. “You gave me a terrible fright.”
The butler winced sheepishly and bowed.
“Forgive me, Your Grace,” he said. “But it is time for you to prepare for the dinner engagement this evening.”
Rowan shook his head to rid his mind of the horrible thoughts swirling within it. Once his brain recalled to what engagement the butler was referring, he smiled softly. There was very little that brought Rowan any amount of happiness since his father died. But dining with his sister, Louisa Ashford, who had married the marquess of Westenbury, always granted him a little light inside the dark quagmire that was his mind. Harry himself would be joining Louisa this time, as well, having just returned from a business trip a couple days prior.
“Thank you, Lawrence,” he said. “I shall begin readying myself now.”
***
“Mother, we have something we would like to announce,” Louisa said just as the second course of their meal, Louisa’s favorite dish of turtle soup and toasted rolls with garlic garnished butter, was being served. “We were going to wait until the end of the meal, but I’m simply too excited.”
Harry rolled his eyes with exaggerated weariness as he grinned at Rowan. Rowan returned his smile, knowing how his sister tended to favor the dramatic, even when she was happy. He gave his brother-in-law a wink, turning his attention to his sister. He noticed that she was glowing with a radiance he hadn’t seen in her before. Whatever she had to say, it had to be something that brought her a great deal of joy.
Rowan and the dowager turned their attention to Louisa. The duchess smiled warmly at her daughter, gesturing for her to continue.
“Of course, darling,” she said. “What is it?”
Louisa looked at Harry with unbridled delight. When her husband nodded, she took a slow, deep breath, her light blue eyes shining as her perfect smile widened.
“Harry and I are expecting our first child,” she said.
The dowager gasped, immediately leaving her seat to rush to her daughter and take her in her arms. Harry was next, moving from across the table to his wife’s side to share in the joy of their wonderful news. Only Rowan hesitated, longing gnawing at him. But before anyone noticed his long face, he also left his seat, going to his sister and brother-in-law with a bright smile.
“Congratulations, Sister,” he said, kissing her on both cheeks. Then, he turned to Harry, clapping him firmly on the back as they embraced. “I know that the two of you will make excellent parents.”
Harry beamed, clearly already the proud father Rowan could easily imagine him being.
“Thank you, Brother,” he said. “And I have no doubt that you will be the most doting uncle in all of England.”
Rowan smiled, ignoring another twinge in his heart. Harry had been like the brother he had never had from the moment he had asked Rowan’s blessing to marry Louisa. They were close, to be sure, and it was an honor for Rowan to be considered Harry’s brother, as well.
“The most doting in the world,” he said.
“Oh, the two of you will be staying until after the event this weekend, won’t you?” the dowager asked as everyone took their seats. “It is Lady Serena’s debut ball, and the entire ton is buzzing about it.”
At the sound of Lady Serena’s name, Rowan’s chest tightened. He looked down quickly at his plate, trying not to allow thoughts of her to overwhelm his mind. He had made an arrangement, which was to be solidified on the eve of the young lady’s debut ball. And while the invitation had put the reminder starkly in front of him in beautiful script, hearing his mother say it aloud was the final step in making his plans very real to him. Not even his sister knew what was to commence following Lady Serena’s come out. But he knew. And it was all he could do to maintain his composure and shield his inner turmoil from the prying eyes of those around him.
He was only too relieved when the meal concluded and he and Harry excused themselves to the billiards room, while the women went to the drawing room for tea and cakes. Rowan wordlessly arranged the table to prepare for the game, and he could feel Harry’s eyes scrutinizing him. As the guest, Rowan allowed Harry to take his shot first, and the game commenced in continued silence. But as Rowan moved to take his fourth shot, Harry set aside his stick and looked Rowan in the eye.
“Is everything all right?” he asked. “I cannot help noticing that you seem rather distracted and distant this evening.”
Rowan bit his cheek. It would feel good to confide in someone, especially someone he trusted as much as he did his brother-in-law. But he did not want to reveal too much, as his mother still knew nothing about his connection to Lady Serena and her father, and he did not want to risk being overheard.
“Yes, Brother, I am well,” he lied. “I simply have a great number of things on my mind.”
Harry stared at him, clearly unconvinced.
“I see,” he said dubiously. “Well, if there is a chance that there is more to it than that, and you ever need someone to talk to without fear of persecution or gossip spreading, I hope you know that I am always here for you. I will be here to help in any way I can, any time you need.”
Rowan gave his brother-in-law a wan smile. He appreciated Harry’s gesture, and he knew very well that the marquess meant every word. He had been a strong source of support for Rowan as he continued struggling to deal with the late duke’s passing. But he knew that for the time being, he had to keep his true thoughts and feelings to himself.
“Thank you, Brother,” he said. “I assure you, if there is anything you can do, I shall let you know at once.”
Seemingly satisfied, Harry nodded.
“I am glad to hear it,” he said. “Shall we finish our game?”
Rowan nodded, stepping back up to the table to take his interrupted shot. Harry went next, and the conversation switched to silly anecdotes they had heard at gentlemen’s clubs and in taverns. But even though Rowan enjoyed having a good laugh with his brother-in-law, his mind was still plagued with the invitation to Lady Serena’s ball as the game finally came to an end. He knew he had to attend if he intended to keep the promise he had made years ago. But did he truly have to keep his word?