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      Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Epilogue

      Prologue

      Spring, 1817

      ‘Oh, damn and blast everything,’ Russell Chancellor, Lord Hadleigh, exclaimed aloud as he walked along Bruton Street, causing several passers-by to look at him in some alarm.

      The more he thought about his current errand, the worse he felt. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t been thinking recently of breaking off his long connection with Caroline Fawcett, but he had hoped to do so gradually so that when the end came it would not be too much of a shock for her.

      Instead, though, that very morning his father, the Earl of Bretford, had issued an ultimatum to him in such strong terms that there was no denying him—unless he were ready to find himself turned into the street, penniless, with only his title left to him and nothing else…

      He had arrived home from the Coal Hole just before dawn, thoroughly out of sorts with himself, having drunk too much and, for once, gambled too much. He had scarcely had time to lay his throbbing head on the pillow before Pickering, his valet, was shaking him awake.

      ‘What the devil are you at, man?’ he exclaimed. ‘Don’t you know that I arrived home only an hour ago?’

      ‘Yes, m’lord, but your father sent for me not five minutes gone, saying that the matter he wished to discuss with you was urgent. He demanded that I inform you that he wishes to see you in his study immediately and will not brook any delay.’

      ‘Did he, indeed?’ Russell swung his legs out of bed, which set his poor head protesting in the most unkind way. ‘Have you any notion of what has brought this about?’

      ‘None, m’lord, except…’ and his valet hesitated.

      ‘Except what, Pickering? For God’s sake, have you caught my father’s habit of being unable to finish his sentences?’

      ‘No, m’lord, only that he seemed to be rather more angry with the way the world wags than usual.’

      At this dire news, for his father’s foul temper was notorious throughout society, Russell gave a slight moan before allowing Pickering to help him to dress. On the way out of the room he caught sight of himself in the looking-glass on the tall-boy opposite to his bed, and decided that he looked more fit for the grave than enduring the roasting which he was sure his father was going to give him.

      I’m over thirty years old and he treats me as though I were a boy in his teens, was his last unhappy thought before the footman opened the double doors to the study where his father was impatiently pacing the room. It was small wonder that the carpet was showing such visible signs of wear.

      ‘There you are, Hadleigh. By God, at the rate you’re going your rowdy life will soon begin to show on your face—’ He stopped abruptly before adding, ‘I never cease to wonder how unlike you are to your brother, Richard—’

      He stopped again.

      The sense of being second rate, a disappointment and a failure, was so strong in him that Russell could not prevent himself from filling the gap which his father had created.

      ‘I am not so far gone that I cannot remember my brother’s name, sir. Nor that I am somewhat surprised that you should send for me at this ungodly hour to tell me what I already know.’

      At this weary piece of impudence his father’s face turned from red to purple.

      ‘You are pleased to be insolent, Hadleigh. I have had enough of you. You are so lost to everything but pleasure that I tremble to think of what might happen to the estate when I am called to my last rest and you inherit. Although there is no male entail attached to the estate, it has always been the custom of the Chancellors to pass it on to the elder son without a quibble. I, however, am beginning to quibble. Nay, more than that—’ He stopped again.

      ‘More than what, sir? I am all agog to learn the end of the sentence.’

      Remembering his unpleasant riposte later, Russell flushed with shame. At the time his disgust with himself seemed to have translated itself into a disgust with everything.

      ‘It is this, Hadleigh. I am serving you with an ultimatum. I wish you to marry and settle down. To begin with, you are to dismiss that woman you have been keeping, immediately, this morning, if possible. I would have you marry some decent young woman—someone like your brother’s wife, Pandora. His judgement in marrying her is as sound as yours is faulty. If you refuse me in this, I shall immediately send for the lawyers and arrange matters so that Richard inherits everything but the title. I shall also at that point discontinue your allowance. You would then have to fend for yourself.

      ‘I am not, Hadleigh, about to condemn you out of hand. I shall give you three months to marry someone who will bring honour to our name, provide the Chancellor family with more male heirs, and settle down to bring honour to it yourself. Failing that, I shall turn you away.’

      White to the lips, Russell asked, ‘Does Ritchie know of this, sir? After all, he has already provided you with a male heir.’

      ‘Indeed not. It would not be proper that he learn of it before you have had a chance to redeem yourself. As for him providing me with a male heir—you know as well as I do that a man of sense would wish to have as many grandsons as possible, the death rate among little boys being what it is.’

      Ritchie had once said to Russell that he had lived in his older twin brother’s shadow all his life. The truth, he thought, was somewhat different: he had lived in Ritchie’s. Ritchie, who had become his father’s darling, Ritchie, the soldier-hero, the serious man, the man of duty. Ritchie, who had already fathered a son.

      ‘I wish I had been the younger twin of whom nothing was expected,’ burst from Russell’s lips almost without him willing the words.

      ‘That, Hadleigh, is what I complain of—your innate frivolity. I have no more to say to you, except that I expect you to do as I ask—or face the consequences. I have been corresponding with my friend, General Markham, whose only child is a daughter and consequently his heiress. He and I hope to arrange a match between the pair of you. He is giving a house-party at Markham Hall next week, and I would wish you to join it so that you might become acquainted with her. I hope you grasp that the matter is urgent. I am not prepared to allow you to continue your irresponsible way of life any longer.

      ‘You may leave. I want no verbal assurances from you, only deeds.’

      His father sat down and began to write, lifting his head up only to say, ‘You know where the door is, Hadleigh. Kindly use it. I have no wish to see you again until you have done all that I have just asked of you.’

      So, here he was, several hours later, about to give Caroline her congé, not as he had once imagined, at his wish, but at his father’s. If I had any courage at all I would have told him to