Prologue

      Amberton Castle, North Yorkshire—1862

      ‘There’s no way out, Lance. I’m trapped.’

      Captain Lancelot ‘Lance’ Amberton turned his attention away from a particularly attractive redhead on the dance floor and fixed his twin brother with a speculative stare. From the tone of his voice it was obvious he wasn’t talking about the ballroom. He’d listened to Arthur’s railing against their father’s domineering behaviour a hundred times before, but the new note of despondency was unsettling enough that he almost missed the footman passing by with a fresh tray of drinks. Almost.

      ‘It’s your own fault.’ He darted a hand out, swiping the tumbler of brandy he knew was destined for their father. ‘You shouldn’t be so damned responsible all of the time. Do something shocking. Try saying no to him once in a while.’

      ‘Easier said than done.’ Arthur’s eyes, the same rich amber shade as his own, looked woebegone. ‘It’s not as if we can both run away and join the army.’

      ‘I had to run away.’ Lance tossed back a lock of dark chestnut hair. ‘He would have thrown me out if I hadn’t.’

      ‘That’s not true.’

      ‘It is and you know it. Father and I have done nothing but argue ever since Mother died. We get on far better at opposite ends of the country.’

      ‘I just wish you’d told me what you were planning.’

      ‘So you could have done the right thing and told him?’

      Arthur dropped his eyes guiltily. ‘He would have bought you a commission if you’d asked.’

      ‘That’s not the point. I didn’t want to owe him anything. I had the money Mother left us and I wanted to choose my own regiment. Father would have kept me in the local militia just to keep an eye on me.’

      ‘He’s still glad to have you back here tonight.’

      ‘So he can show off his ne’er-do-well son in uniform, you mean?’

      Lance threw a scornful glance around the ballroom. As pleased as he was to see Arthur again, his family home held little appeal any more. After just two days’ leave, he was already itching to get back to his regiment. There were rumours that they were about to be posted abroad and he couldn’t wait to put Yorkshire behind him.

      ‘Don’t put yourself down.’ Arthur gave him a sympathetic look. ‘You’re a captain in the Fusiliers at twenty-two and doing pretty well by all accounts. That’s something to be proud of.’

      ‘I’m glad someone in the family’s noticed.’

      ‘He’s noticed. He’s proud of you, too, in his way.’

      Lance gave a snort of derision. ‘That makes a change. It’s just a good thing I’m rejoining my regiment next week or we’d be back at each other’s throats—and this time I’m armed.’

      ‘Well, I’ve missed you these past six months. I’ve even missed the arguing. His lectures have got ten times worse since you left. He talks about duty and responsibility from the moment I get up until the moment I go to bed, which is early to escape. He tells me where to go, what to wear, who to talk to, even what to say. It’s exhausting.’

      ‘I’ve noticed.’

      ‘I don’t know how much longer I can stand it. I wish I had your stamina for fighting, but I don’t. I’m just...tired.’

      Lance took another swig of brandy, trying to think of something reassuring to say and failing. Arthur had always been the thinker, the rational, peaceful son, whereas he... He was too much like their father, attacking first and asking questions later. All he knew was how to fight.

      ‘Well, don’t let it bother you tonight.’ He clapped a hand on Arthur’s shoulder in an attempt to lighten the mood. ‘There’s enough pretty girls here to entertain both of us. Let’s have some fun.’

      ‘Father doesn’t approve of fun, you ought to know that by now, and I don’t want to hear another rant about how not to behave.’

      ‘That’s easy. Just watch me.’

      ‘What did you think I meant?’ Arthur threw him a look that was part reproof, part appeal. ‘Just don’t do anything scandalous like at the Kendalls’ last year. He’ll never forgive you if you ruin his ball.’

      ‘I’ve no intention of ruining anything. And as for the scandal, as you call it, I barely touched Olivia Kendall. No more than she wanted me to anyway.’

      ‘She was engaged! If it had been anyone but me who’d found you on the terrace...’

      ‘Who ruined my evening, you mean?’

      ‘That, too, but just try behaving for once, Lance, please. As much as I’d like for you to distract Father’s attention, I’ve got enough to deal with this evening.’

      ‘It’s only a ball, Arthur.’

      ‘It’s not only a ball.’ Arthur sighed heavily. ‘Haven’t you wondered why Father decided to throw such a big event all of a sudden?’

      ‘No.’ Though come to think of it, it was odd, especially considering the parlous state of the estate’s finances. The oak-panelled ballroom was usually opened up only once a year, for the spring ball their father considered his social duty, but tonight he seemed in uncharacteristically lavish mood. The room had rarely looked so splendid, with white and red bouquets of cut flowers adorning every available surface and a floor so highly polished it resembled glass, glittering with the light of a hundred candles suspended in crystal chandeliers above.

      ‘Well, I did. I thought he was planning something, but I never expected...’ Arthur drew in a deep breath. ‘Look, I’m not supposed to tell you, but Father called me to his study this afternoon. He wants me to marry Jeremy Harper’s daughter.’

      ‘Harper the shipbuilder?’ Lance almost spat out his mouthful of brandy. ‘That miserable old curmudgeon? Since when does he have a daughter?’

      ‘Since she was born eighteen years ago.’

      ‘I didn’t even know he was married.’

      ‘He’s not. His wife died a few years before Mother. Don’t you pay attention to anything?’

      ‘Not things like that, no.’

      ‘Lance...’

      ‘Oh, don’t look at me like that. You know I prefer to swim in the shallows.’

      ‘No, you like to swim out of your depth and not think about it.’

      ‘What’s the difference?’

      Arthur shook his head remonstratively. ‘The difference is that one day you might want to stand up in the water and not be able to. You ought to look under the surface once in a while.’

      ‘Duly noted. I’ll read the obituaries tomorrow.’

      ‘That’s not what I meant.’

      ‘I know, but it’s the best I can do.’ Lance tossed back the last of his brandy and deposited the glass on a passing tray. ‘So what’s she like, your new bride?’

      ‘Her name’s Violet and she’s not my bride, not yet anyway. I’ve no idea what she looks like, never mind the rest, and nobody else seems to know either. Harper’s kept her locked away in that redbrick mausoleum he calls a house her whole life. So far as I know this is the first time she’s been out in society.’

      ‘Well, if she’s anything like Harper...’ Lance started to laugh and then stopped himself. ‘Sorry. But at least you know she’ll be