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Chapter One
“I say! A masquerade ball at Hampton House, hosted by the Baron himself!” Lord Archibald Gilson, the Marquess of Hollingsworth, announced during a dinner with his wife and daughter.
Their grand dining room was ablaze with candlelight. Gilt-edged mirrors reflected the soft glow of the chandelier above, casting golden hues over the long mahogany table where Lady Margaret Gilson sat between her father and mother. The evening had been otherwise uneventful as the steady clink of silverware and the usual murmured pleasantries filled the silence. However, that was interrupted, when the butler entered with a silver tray in his hands, bearing a cream-colored envelope sealed with the unmistakable crest of Baron Beaufort.
“How wonderful,” Lady Olivia Gilson, the Marchioness of Hollingsworth shared her husband’s delight at receiving an invitation to a ball. Her words were followed by a pointed look toward Margaret. “A ball most timely, I would say.”
The Marquess folded the invitation and laid it on the table, his eyes fixating on his daughter with a gravity that seemed to still the air around them.
“Margaret, my dear,” he began slowly and deliberately, although it was obvious that it was a topic with much premeditated thought, “there is something we must discuss.”
Margaret looked up from her plate, her fingers tightening around her fork. Her father’s expression, though calm, carried the weight of something more—something inevitable. Her mother, who had always held a measured elegance, sat straighter, her eyes gleaming with something that made Margaret’s stomach twist. She had seen that look before: a mixture of duty and expectation.
“I have spoken with Lord Beaufort,” her father said slowly, his manner direct and simple as always, allowing for no back talk, “and it is his desire to court you formally.”
The room seemed to grow colder, the flickering flames of the candelabra dimming in her mind as Margaret felt the weight of those words press down upon her. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, as her eyes darted to her mother, who nodded ever so slightly, as though to signal her support for the match.
“Father… I—” Margaret’s voice faltered, her instinct to protest quickly quashed by the realization that she had no grounds upon which to do so. She had known this was coming. Ian Ryan, Baron Beaufort, had not been subtle in his attentions, nor had her parents in their hope that he might secure her hand. Everything seemed to be set against her.
The Marquess’s gaze sharpened, though not unkindly. He was a man who loved his daughter, but who demanded of her to comprehend the rules of the world they were all living in and more importantly, to abide by them. “Margaret, you must understand the position we are in.”
She understood it well enough. She simply could not come to terms with it. Margaret’s heart started to beat faster, her palms damp with the tension rising within her. She had long been aware of her father’s financial troubles—investments gone awry, estates mortgaged, and creditors becoming less patient by the day. But hearing it now, spoken aloud in this context, made it feel all the more real. A marriage to Baron Beaufort was more than just a good match. It was her family’s salvation.
“Of course I do, Father,” she said tenderly. “I am fully aware of the circumstances that we—”
“In that case, I cannot possibly comprehend your hesitation,” he said, interrupting her. “You know, you are to become the envy of many a young lady for the honor that has been bestowed upon you. And here you are, hesitant.”
Her mother immediately jumped in, showcasing that she was on the side of her husband. Her voice was soft, but still firm. “The Baron is a man of means, Margie. His investments are sound, and his position in society is growing. I think we should all consider ourselves fortunate that he has extended an offer of marriage.”
Margaret’s lips pressed together as her gaze dropped to her lap. There was no mention of love, of affection, or even of her own feelings on the matter. But that was not unusual. Deep down, she had always known her future would be decided by duty, not by the whimsical notions of romance she sometimes allowed herself to dream of.
And what could she say in protest? That she did not care for Lord Beaufort? That his sharp eyes and cold manner left her uneasy? She could not form the words, not when the weight of expectation pressed so heavily upon her shoulders. Her father’s worn face, lined with years of worry, tugged at her heart, and her mother’s measured gaze, ever expectant, left no room for disobedience.
Margaret took a breath, composing herself as best she could. “If you believe it to be the best course, Father… Mother,” she said, her voice soft, almost fragile. “Then I shall accept my fate.”
Her father’s expression relaxed, a rare look of relief crossing his face, though he masked it quickly. “You are a dutiful daughter, Margaret,” he said. “You have always made us proud.”
The words, though kind, felt hollow in her chest, echoing in the emptiness that her decision left behind. Her mother reached over and placed a hand on hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“You will grow fond of him in time, my dear,” the Marchioness said gently. “He is an honorable man, and honor is worth more than the fleeting passions of youth.”
Margaret nodded, though her heart clenched painfully. Honor was all well and good, but would it fill the empty spaces that seemed to stretch between her and Lord Beaufort whenever they conversed? She had never felt at ease in his presence, his clipped tone and calculating gaze making her feel more like a possession to be acquired than a woman to be loved.
But what choice did she have?
The invitation to the masquerade still lay on the table, its gilded edges catching the light. It was a sign of things to come, a golden cage that would capture her, a future she had resigned herself to, whether she wished it or not.
Her father rose from his chair, signaling the end of the meal. “We shall all attend the masquerade at Hampton House,” he said with a cruel finality. “Once Lord Beaufort and I have settled the finer details, we shall happily announce your betrothal.”
Margaret stood as well, her movements slow and deliberate, as though she were moving through thick fog. She curtsied to her father, her voice barely above a whisper. “As you wish, Father.”
As she left the dining room, she knew that sleep would not grace her with its presence any time soon… not after such news. That was why, half an hour later, she was sitting at her writing table, her quill hovering over the parchment, with only the dim light of the candle as her guide in her dark moment of despair. A deep sigh escaped her lips. Theodora was the only one who might understand, or at least, listen. Sometimes, listening was enough.
Margaret dipped her quill again, the ink dark and foreboding, and began to write.
My dearest Theodora,
I write to you in an utter state of confusion. Were you here, I feel certain I would be able to speak more freely, but as it is, I have only this pen and paper to confide in you what my heart has kept hidden from all.
You must have heard, no doubt, of the latest developments concerning my family. The whispers that circulate in every drawing room we attend are not mere rumors; they are, indeed, true. Our situation is precarious. The estate, which once held so much promise, is now little more than a crumbling relic of past glories. Papa does his best to maintain appearances, but we are barely keeping our heads above water.
I had thought—no, I had hoped—that there might be some other means to save us from this looming disaster. And yet, Theodora, the only solution presented to me, it seems, is marriage.
Not to one I love, as I had once dared to dream, but to the Baron Beaufort.
You know him as well as I do, though perhaps in a kinder light than I. His wealth is undeniable, and it is exactly what my family requires to sustain us. But I find no comfort in the thought. To bind myself to him in such a way… it is a sacrifice I had not anticipated, nor one I believe I am capable of making.
There are moments, fleeting though they may be, where I convince myself it is my duty to my family, to save us all from ruin. Mama has said as much, albeit in more delicate terms. But what of my heart, Theodora? What of the years ahead, tied to a man for whom I feel nothing?
And still, what choice do I truly have?
I write to you, not for advice, as I am well aware of what society demands of me. But I needed to tell someone—to tell you—that there is a part of me that rebels against this fate. A part of me that dreams of a life where love, and not necessity, dictates my future.
Is it too much to ask, my dearest friend, for a love like that of the novels we once devoured in secret? Or must I resign myself to the reality that such stories are mere fantasies?
Yours, with all affection,
Margaret
Margaret folded the letter with trembling hands, her heart heavier than it had been when she began. She sealed it with a small sigh, pressing her family’s crest into the wax. There was no undoing what had been written, just as there seemed no way out of the choice she now faced.
Tomorrow, she would send the letter.
Tomorrow, perhaps, it might all appear… less difficult.
Chapter Two
Jacob Samuels, the Earl of Hampton, paced anxiously across the grand drawing room of Ashford House, the stately home of his dearest friend, Edward Finneaus, the Viscount Ashford. The room was a fine example of taste and grandeur, with its tall windows draped with heavy velvet curtains, and intricate plasterwork that framed walls lined with rich burgundy damask wallpaper. However, the sumptuous furnishings were the last thing on Jacob’s mind.
Jacob’s brow furrowed as he ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, still damp from the London mist he had left behind. His clothes, though finely tailored, bore the mark of a man accustomed to movement and action—a contrast to the pristine luxury of his surroundings. His once-tanned skin, from years in the sun of foreign lands, now had a slightly paler hue as it adapted to the damp chill of England.
His heart pounded with a nervous anticipation he hadn’t felt in years. The last time he stood in that very same drawing room, he had been a different man—restless, lost, and in desperate need of escape. The years abroad, the daring adventures, the distant seas, and the exotic cultures had tempered him, yet, standing there, he felt the weight of those years returning.
Edward Finneaus, the Viscount Ashford, had been his anchor before Jacob vanished into the world. He wondered what Edward might think of him now, after eight long years. Would the bonds of the deep friendship they once shared still exist, or would the time and distance have eroded their childhood promises to always remain friends, no matter what?
The silence surrounded him, broken only by the ticking of an elaborate clock on the mantel. Jacob stopped pacing, turning towards the door, half expecting it to open and reveal his old friend, the only familiar face in a city that had changed so much while he was away.
Finally, after what seemed to be a small eternity, the drawing room swung open and a breathless Edward strode in, his face lighting up in surprise as he laid his eyes on Jacob.
“By God, Jacob?” Edward asked, stopping short just inside the doorway, looking his friend up and down. “Is it really you? I… I thought that old Stevens had gotten the name wrong somehow.”
“Stevens?” Jacob offered a small, wry smile at the mention of Edward’s butler. “You know as well as I do how he would never do that.”
Edward moved closer, still shaking his head in disbelief as he clasped Jacob’s hand in greeting, covering it with the other. But then, fighting the stupor of the shock, he realized that wasn’t enough. Instead, he proceeded to wrap his arms around his best friend and pulled him into an embrace. Jacob hesitated for a moment, then he, too, relinquished control of his emotions if only for a brief moment, returning the hug. A mere second later, the two men pulled apart, looking at each other from head to toe.
“I hardly recognize you,” Edward was the first to admit, his eyes alight at the sight of his old friend.
“It’s been some time, Edward. Eight years… long enough for even a wayward earl to change.” A part of him couldn’t believe that he was actually there, actually speaking to Edward as if nothing had ever happened. And yet, they both knew it had. So many things had happened. So many things had been left unsaid, undone. Jacob could only hope that it wasn’t too late to re-claim what was salvageable.
“You look nothing like the young man who left overseas. You’ve… grown into yourself, I suppose.” Edward had always been cautious with his words, and now was no exception either.
Jacob shrugged but felt the weight of Edward’s appraisal. The world had carved him into a different shape—fit, stronger, his sun-bronzed skin and steady gaze evidence of the challenges he’d faced. “Life abroad has its way of changing a man,” Jacob said quietly. “Enough to make him realize the mistakes he made in the past. Enough to make him return and hope that there is still a chance of righting old wrongs.”
Edward’s expression sobered at once. He seemed to know exactly what Jacob was referring to, although his words were more mysterious than necessary. It was difficult to start talking about it all, to pick at the wound that had even through all those years, remained stubbornly painful and torturesome.
“I had heard rumors. I wrote to you, Jacob, more than once, but I only had your London address. I never knew where you were—India? The seas? No one seemed to know how to reach you.” Edward sounded repentant, although Jacob knew that his friend had nothing to apologize for. If anything, it was Jacob who owed him an apology for disappearing, for not having written, for leaving his best friend in the dark about so many things.
Without even asking, Edward proceeded to pour two glasses of brandy, handing one to Jacob, before sitting down across from him.
“That is what happens when one does not want to be reached, old boy,” Jacob said sadly, with threads of an invisible apology woven into his words.
“It wasn’t just adventure that took you away, was it, Jacob?” Edward asked quietly, his voice gentle. “It was… them.”
Jacob stared into the amber liquid in his glass, his grip tightening around it. He didn’t need to ask who Edward meant. He had always known that his friend, like many in their circle, understood the real reason behind his abrupt departure eight years ago. The tragedy that had shattered his life—and sent him running from everything he knew.
“My parents,” Jacob murmured, his voice low but steady. “Their death. It was more than I could handle.”
Edward nodded, his brow furrowed with empathy. “It was a terrible accident. No one could have predicted it…”
Jacob took a deep breath, as the familiar pain twisted in his chest. “The fire,” he said, his eyes darkening with the memory. “One moment, they were hosting a grand ball at Hampton—smiling, laughing, proud as ever. And the next…”
He trailed off, unable to finish. The images flashed in his mind: the roaring flames, the smoke filling the air, the desperate shouts of servants trying to save the Earl and Countess. He had been there, but powerless to help. The inferno had taken them swiftly, mercilessly, leaving him with nothing but ash and sorrow. Staying in that house was impossible for him for the very fact that when his parents died, a part of him died with them.
“They were all I had,” Jacob continued, his voice thick with emotion. “Losing them… it broke something in me. And I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t stay at Hampton, where every corner, every hallway, reminded me of them. I couldn’t bear the weight of their absence.”
Edward watched him closely, understanding dawning in his expression. “That’s why you left,” he said quietly. “Not because of restlessness, or the need for adventure, but because you couldn’t face the grief.”
Jacob nodded. “I thought if I left, if I sailed away to places unknown, I could outrun the memories. I could forget. Europe, India, the seas—it was all just a way to bury my pain. And for a time, it worked. The world was wild and dangerous, and I had no time to think about what I’d lost. But it never truly went away.”
The silence settled between them again, heavy with the weight of unspoken grief. Edward took a sip of his brandy, his gaze softening as he spoke. “You’ve changed, Jacob. But I’ve always known the grief never left you. It’s shaped you, in ways none of us can fully understand.”
Jacob swallowed hard, forcing down the lingering sorrow. “It has,” he admitted. “But I’m not that broken, sheepish boy anymore. I’ve had to become someone else—someone stronger. And now… now I have to return to the place I swore I would never see again. For my parents’ sake.”
Edward gave him a long, measured look. “I think your parents would be proud of the man you’ve become. They always believed in you, Jacob. And now, maybe it’s time for you to believe in yourself again. To face what’s left of Hampton and reclaim what’s yours.”
“That is partly why I have come to you, old friend,” Jacob spoke in a conspiratorial manner, although he knew that whatever they said would not leave the confines of that room. “I have heard… terrible things of my cousin and what he has done with my name, with my land and my title. I come to you in search of the truth.”
Eight years ago, it seemed like a good idea. Eight years ago, Jacob was not a good judge of character, lost in his grief and aching to run away from everything and everyone. It all sounded perfect. All he had to do was leave his cousin, Ian Ryan, in charge of his estate and he was free to leave and live his life. Truth be told, Jacob didn’t think he would have the courage to return. Even now, memories threatened to consume him like a tidal wave of pain, pulling him under. The very thought of being in Hampton, close to the house where he had grown up, where his parents drew their last breath, felt like a talon around his neck, squeezing more and more the longer he remained there.
Edward sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I won’t lie to you. The rumors aren’t good. There’s talk of serious mismanagement. I’d hoped it wasn’t true, but there’s been too much gossip about debts, unpaid staff, and your land falling into neglect. You know that where there’s smoke, there’s bound to be fire.”
The weight in Jacob’s chest deepened. His cousin had failed him. Ian had been left in charge of maintaining Hampton, to keep it safe until Jacob returned, but instead, it sounded as if the estate had fallen into ruin. Anger flickered beneath his cool exterior, but Jacob reined it in.
“I need to see this for myself, so I can understand how bad things truly are,” Jacob mused. “But Ian cannot know I am here. If I appear before him, demanding explanations, he will have time to cover up whatever misdeeds he has done.”
“What do you propose then?” Edward inquired curiously. “You know that you can count on me for anything.”
“I know,” Jacob smiled gratefully. “If that is all right, I would like to stay here, with you, under the pretense of being your distant cousin. That way, I can look into the estate with Ian being none the wiser. Once I know the extent of the damage, I’ll decide how to handle it.”
Edward crossed his arms, thoughtful for a moment before nodding in agreement. “It sounds like a good plan, but don’t you think that he will recognize you?”
Jacob rubbed his chin with his fingers, feeling the stubble of a beard growing. “Yes, eight years isn’t enough time to forget someone, is it?”
“No, not really.” Edward smiled sympathetically.
“Well, I do need to grow my beard and moustache, that is obvious,” Jacob mused. “Fortunately, I haven’t shaved prior to coming here.”
“That is good, but your hair is the same,” Edward mused, glancing at Jacob’s head. “We need to get you a wig. Something longer, darker, that will hide most of your face.”
Jacob chuckled. “Come now, I don’t want to look haggard.”
“Why haggard?” Edward asked amusedly. “I admit, longer hair is a bit… out of fashion, but you will make it work.” He suddenly seemed to remember something. “Fortunately, the first time I take you out in public, it will be for the masquerade ball that Ian himself is throwing. A mask will easily hide your identity. However, you will need to mind your mannerisms as well, lest you wish to reveal yourself.”
“I know,” Jacob nodded. “It won’t be easy, but I have to try, Edward. I owe it to my parents. I… I was wrong in running away. I was a mere coward. I… I can’t say that I am not a coward now, but…”
“You are here,” Edward smiled reassuringly, finishing Jacob’s statement. “And you are welcome to stay with me as long as you need. But Jacob—be careful. If your cousin has been mismanaging the estate for as long as we suspect, he won’t give it up easily. You’ll need proof, and I fear he’ll do whatever it takes to keep his position.”
Jacob’s jaw tightened, a cold determination settling in his gaze. “I’ve faced far worse than Ian, my friend. But this—Hampton—this is my family legacy. And I’ll protect it, no matter what it takes.”
OFFER: A BRAND NEW SERIES AND 2 FREEBIES FOR YOU!
Grab my new series, "Regency Hearts Entwined", and get 2 FREE novels as a gift! Have a look here!
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