1
England,1814
Roswell Brooksbank,the Marquess of Bideford, found most people to be insufferable. It was a simple truth. Ever since he had inherited his title, someone always wanted something from him, and they wouldn’t leave him be. He found the best way to avoid them was to stay away from social gatherings of any kind. Which, quite frankly, he preferred. It was the best way to avoid unwanted matrimonial efforts, as well. He tired of the conspiring matchmaking mothers with their snares and traps, determined to see their daughters wed.
How had it reached this point? He was miserable, and he found very little joy in his life. Every day felt just like the one before. It was a never-ending cycle, one he did not enjoy. He needed to find a purpose in his life, something that would give him a reason to carry on.
His dark-haired valet held up two cravats for his inspection. “Would you care for the white cravat or an ivory one, my lord?”
“The white one.”
Benham bobbed his head in approval. “As you wish,” he said as he extended it towards him.
Roswell accepted it and placed it around his neck. As he began to tie the intricate knot, he asked, “How has your sister adapted to employment here?”
“Teresa has adapted well, and she is most grateful for the opportunity to work as Lady Emma’s lady’s maid,” Benham said.
“I am pleased to hear that.”
Benham retrieved his black jacket. “I cannot thank you enough for speaking to Mrs. Noelle about the position.”
“It was the least I could do, but I do hope she can handle the demands of tending my sister.”
Benham helped him into the jacket, speaking as he did so. “Teresa has informed me that Lady Emma is a delight compared to her former employer.”
“That doesn’t sound like my sister,” Roswell joked.
Benham nodded. “Teresa was in a home that only employed a few servants, so she was responsible for a myriad of tasks.”
Roswell adjusted his shoulders within the jacket. “That sounds awful.”
“I assure you it was.”
“I intend to go riding after the meeting with my solicitor,” Roswell informed the valet as he walked to the door.
“I shall ensure your clothing is readied, my lord.”
“Thank you.”
Roswell departed from his bedchamber and walked down the narrow hall towards the stairs. He descended them quickly and joined his butler, Thorne, at the base of the stairs. Thorne had been with the family since his youth and was quite efficient at his job. He could be fastidious, but he was also quick to smile. His black hair was quickly being replaced by white, marking his advancing age.
“Good morning, milord,” Thorne greeted him in a cordial tone. “I trust you slept well.”
“I did,” Roswell replied as he walked past. He did not enjoy chitchat.
He stepped into the breakfast parlor and sat at the head of the table. A footman promptly walked over and set a plate of food in front of him.
Roswell had just reached for the morning paper when his brother and sister stepped into the room. He couldn’t help noticing annoyance flash across Emma’s features when she saw him, but he gave it little heed. He rarely did. Everything he did seemed to frustrate his sister, and he wasn’t entirely sure why.
“Good morning,” his brother, Charles, said as he came to sit down. “Is there anything pertinent in the newspaper?”
“I couldn’t say,” Roswell replied. “I had just picked it up when you stepped into the room.” He met his sister’s gaze. “Good morning, Emma.”
She forced a smile. “Good morning, Roswell.” She leaned to the side as a footman placed a plate in front of her.
Roswell returned his attention to the morning newspaper and started perusing the articles, though nothing captured his attention.
As he folded the paper, his mother stepped into the room. “I just read the most interesting letter!” she exclaimed.
