CHAPTER 1
JULY 19, 1841. PATCHCOTE GRANGE, SURREY, ENGLAND.
No one had seen.
No one was around that side of the house.
Breathe—no need to panic.
The red haze of fury was slowly ebbing, leaving in its wake a strange lassitude.
Rational thought rose through the miasma, urging caution.
Still…it had felt sogood. That moment when the stake had connected with Monty’s skull had brought such a surge of satisfaction.
As if that outcome was exactly, precisely how things had to be.
Now…
Breathe deeply and think about what lies ahead.
The next step was to find that wretched document. In fact, that was the only thing left to do.
The only thing that stood in the way of a comfortable and carefree life.
The Honorable Richard Percival closed the door of his room on the first floor of Patchcote Grange and, carrying his three recently completed letters, walked toward the main stairs. Idly, he wondered what the day would bring and inwardly admitted he was not as unexcited by the prospect as he’d expected to be.
Attending house parties had never been a favored occupation, but having requested his aunts’ assistance in identifying a suitable bride, he’d felt obliged to come to Patchcote Grange and cast his eye over their prime prospect. That said, he’d fully expected to spend his time in Surrey discovering and subsequently demonstrating why his aunts’ selected candidate would not do.
Indeed, he’d had little faith that a lady both suitable and compatible even existed.
After meeting Miss Rosalind Hemmings at dinner the previous evening, he was no longer so certain that was the case.
She was in her mid-twenties, and far from tripping over her toes to capture his attention and impress him, she’d regarded him assessingly—almost suspiciously. Certainly measuringly and with reserve, as if she was expecting to be disappointed and to summarily dismiss him. That reaction alone had made him look twice. He wasn’t a coxcomb, but he knew how highly he rated in the eligible-bachelor stakes.
Then again, the Hemmingses were wealthy and well-connected, which was at least in part why his aunts had chosen Rosalind to bring to his attention. Presumably, she could and would make her own choice in the matter of selecting a husband.
Rather unexpectedly, he was willing to explore the possibility that he might want to be that man.
He reached the head of the stairs and started down the first long flight.
In his earlier years, he’d never thought of himself as the marrying kind. But then, his brother, Robert, the late Viscount Seddington, had died in mysterious circumstances along with his wife, and Richard’s nephew and niece had disappeared, and he’d discovered just how important family was to him. Through his own endeavors—but even more through those of Robert’s stepdaughter, Rose, and her husband, Thomas—Richard’s nephew, William, and his niece, Alice, had been kept safe from the cousin who had sought to murder them and have Richard accused and convicted of the crime, thus clearing the way for that cousin to inherit the Seddington title and the exceedingly large entailed estate.
In the wake of that drama, Richard had reunited with William, Alice, and Rose and had formed a close friendship with Thomas Glendower, Rose’s husband. Given Richard was a bachelor and Rose and Thomas were very willing to keep William and Alice with them, over recent years, the pair had spent most of their days in the Glendower household. But it was Richard who currently managed Seddington, the significant estate that would ultimately fall to William, as Viscount Seddington, to run, and given Rose and Thomas lived outside tonnish society, it would be Richard’s responsibility to steer William into that world and, equally pertinently, to oversee Alice’s emergence into the ton.
It had been Richard’s evolving understanding of the role he would need to play in securing his nephew’s and niece’s futures that had prompted him to rethink his attitude to marriage.
To do the best for William and Alice, to best repay and keep his silent vows to Robert, Richard had accepted that he needed a wife.
The right wife. One who would stand by his side, perform as required, and not irritate him beyond all measure in the process.
Despite his aunts’ knowledge of the ton and of him, he hadn’t expected to find that elusive lady at Patchcote Grange, yet it seemed Fate might have taken a benevolent interest in his plans.
As he crossed the landing and started down the last flight, he was conscious of rising expectation. The muted sounds of female voices reached him, with theclackof billiard balls a staccato counterpoint.
Looking ahead down the length of the front hall and through the open front doors, Richard saw the sunlit lawn stretching beyond the forecourt. Should he indulge in the quiet of the library or head outside?
The company assembled for the weeklong party was large, with a good selection of eligible, older, and younger gentlemen to complement the gaggle of young ladies and their mothers. No doubt, he would find other gentlemen of his ilk in the library, perusing the news sheets.
