Chapter 1
IF EVER THERE was a place to lose one’s mother in a crowd, an annual country harvest ball was it.
James Hartwell did not generally avoid his mother, but tonight she had switched from subtle nudging to the verbal equivalent of slapping him in the face, and he was eager to disappear into the crush as soon as they arrived at Shefford Park.
“You are almost thirty years old, James,” Mother said, voice bouncing as the carriage hit a pothole. “At this rate, no woman will want you come spring.”
“Oh, he is not so old, Lady Hartwell,” Louisa argued cheerily at Mother’s side. “He has a few more good years in him.”
James scowled at her, though her teasing did make him feel a bit better.
Though not his sister by blood, Louisa had been like a sister to him since she was fifteen years old, after the deaths of her parents, and she always brightened any room she walked into.
“You may only be twenty-two, Louisa, but you are as single as I am and therefore not safe from my mother’s machinations. ”
“Machinations?” Mother repeated on a gasp. “James, there is nothing devious about me wanting you to marry.”
“You want me to marry; I want to find a partner to share my life with.”
“Those are the same thing.”
“Hardly.” James scoffed and sat forward. “Mother, I am well aware that your marriage to Father was arranged, and I am certain that I could come to admire and respect anyone you would choose for me. But shouldn’t I be allowed some time to find someone I might love?”
His entire life had been dictated by duty, and he wanted—just once—to do something for himself.
Sighing heavily, like she held the weight of the world on her shoulders, Mother studied him for a long while.
Her lips pressed together in a thin line, and her brow furrowed more with each passing second, which did not bode well.
“Again, you are twenty-nine years old. How much time could you possibly need?”
“You are talking to Sir James Hartwell,” Louisa said. “I can think of no one less lovable than Upper Lambourn’s most odious baronet.”
“Oh, hush!” Mother said, but a smile pulled the corners of her mouth upward. “Miss Denham, with the way you go on, you will never catch yourself a husband.”
“Excellent.” Louisa grinned at James, who rolled his eyes. “Then I shall happily live out the rest of my days alone at Bramblewood.”
Glancing between James and Louisa, Mother looked like she was ready for the night to be over. “What am I to do with the two of you? Miss Denham, surely you do not wish to be alone your entire life. Your parents wanted you to be happy.”
“I am happy,” Louisa mumbled under her breath. She was intelligent enough not to argue directly, particularly when her parents were involved. “James, however…”
“James is perfectly content,” James grumbled and internally cheered when the carriage came to a stop outside Lord and Lady Shefford’s large house.
He opened the door before the footman could get to it and jumped to the ground.
Offering his hand to Louisa, he gave her a warning look that made her laugh and pat his arm.
More than likely, her teasing would only get worse as the night went on unless he avoided her too.
Mother fixed her gaze on him when he helped her exit the carriage, and he braced himself for what she was about to say. “Will you at least let me introduce you to the young woman I think will suit you?” she asked as she clung to his arm. “You do not have to marry her tonight.”
James took a steadying breath as he followed Louisa to the house. He hated to deny her but, in this one thing, he thought he should stand firm. “I have met every woman in Upper Lambourn, Mother, and I can assure you that the likes of Miss Daisy Brooks and I would never suit.”
“I have better taste than that,” Mother huffed. “And you have not met every woman in Upper Lambourn, no matter what you believe.”
“I think Miss Brooks is sweet,” Louisa called back, though a light danced in her eyes when she met James’s gaze. She knew as well as James how eager the young woman could be.
Mother didn’t say anything else until they reached the ballroom inside.
Louisa vanished in an instant, but that was normal.
James would need to keep an eye on her—from a distance—before her independent nature got her into trouble.
He had spent too many years looking after her to let go of the responsibility completely.
As he looked around the ballroom, James decided that Lord and Lady Shefford had outdone themselves with this year’s annual harvest ball. It seemed all of Upper Lambourn had come to enjoy the festivities.
Exactly what James needed to lose himself in the crowd.
“If you must know,” Mother said, squeezing his arm as if sensing his urge to slip free of her hold, “your match is new in town. She is the daughter of a dear friend I knew in London, and I truly believe you will like her very much. It is not as if you are finding your own match, so I am asking you to let me do it for you. Please.”
James wanted to believe his mother knew him well enough to choose for him a good match, but deep down, he would always wonder if any affection he felt was genuine or if it came from a sense of duty he prided himself on. If his spouse was chosen for him, how would he ever know what was real?
“Not tonight, Mother,” he said quietly and kissed her cheek. Her disappointment was palpable and nearly changed his mind, but if ever he was to take a stand about something, it was this.
No woman deserved to be loved out of obligation. And surely it wasn’t too much to ask that his wife love him in return.
Leaving Mother on her own at the edge of the ballroom, James surged forward into the crush.