Page 1 of An Engagement with the Enemy

CHAPTER ONE

The morning sun filtered through the stained-glass windows of the library, dappling the floor with colorful shapes that danced across the carpet and the pages of James Aldwick’s open book. He lounged in an overstuffed armchair, one leg draped over the armrest as he let his mind wander through the world of a novel by Sir Walter Scott.

Yesterday, a certain lady had caught him reading the book and threatened to tell him the ending, as she had already completed reading it. James momentarily glowered at the page with that memory.

Fortunately, not even his sworn enemy, Miss Westcote, possessed the audacity to ruin the end of a good book. Why his sister’s best friend had determined herself to be a thorn in his side since her infancy, he couldn’t say.

The sound of someone clearing his throat came from the doorway, and when James swung his gaze that direction, he immediately dropped both feet to the floor. His father stood there, dressed in his customary deep blue frock coat and cravat. The corners of Baron Retford’s mouth turned down in disapproval, likely over finding his son in such a lazy pose.

“Must you lounge about like an uncouth vagabond?” His father’s clipped tone made James inwardly groan. His father didn’t usually begin a conversation with a correction. Unless the rest of his chosen subject matter had to do with one particular matter. An heir’s duty and responsibility.

James straightened and set the book aside. “My apologies, Father. How may I be of service?” He kept his tone neutral and his expression respectful.

Baron Retford’s frown deepened.

“We have had this conversation before, and it is high time something is done. Your duty is to this family. You must settle down and choose a wife.”

James swallowed a sigh. This again. His father had been after him for months to find a suitable bride, though James had no intention of marrying some naive girl barely out of the schoolroom, likely with more pedigree than wit if his father had his way.

“There are many fine ladies who would make a worthy match,” his father continued. “What happened with Lady Anne in April, while we were in London? She has a generous dowry, and her family’s status would reflect well on our own. We should invite her to the castle this summer.”

At this, James could no longer contain a grimace. Lady Anne was as dull as she was vain, caring for nothing but the latest fashions and increasing her collection of admirers.

His father’s gaze sharpened. “Do not scowl so. I expect you to treat all ladies of quality with courteous attention.”

Courteous attention. James swallowed a biting retort. He had no desire to waste his summer trotting after females in hopes of an alliance. He wanted more than that for himself. But he held his tongue, offering a stiff nod instead. “As you wish, Father.”

If he placated the baron enough, perhaps he would gain a few more weeks before the subject came up again.

“Good.” The baron went to the stained glass, looking through a green pane with a somewhat relieved expression. “Because your mother and I have decided it is time you took your future more seriously.”

A sense of unease settled in his stomach, hinting at what might be in store. He had an intuition, a sense that he could anticipate what awaited him. And it was unpleasant.

“We do not think it wise to wait until the next Season to begin your hunt in earnest.” Baron Retford spoke more to the window than he did his son. “Your duty is to restore the reputation of this family.”

James’s attention fell away as his father continued a lecture he’d heard many time before.

Their family name didn’t actually need restoration, to James’s way of thinking. Though his father had been born illegitimately, he’d been legally recognized before he’d reached his majority. He carried his father, the fourth baron’s, name and had inherited all his lands and wealth.

He’d even successfully petitioned Parliament and the Crown to restore the title that had died when his father, the fourth baron, had passed on. They’d made John Aldwick the First Baron Retford. The title hadn’t been continued but remade.

Something that had seemingly caused James’s father to feel less than equal to his peers.

“…I will not have you wasting away your days in frivolity—”

James interrupted. “Frivolity? Father. I am reading a book. I do not go about our little village gambling, carousing, or courting actresses. For one thing, none of those activities are available to me here.” He tried to keep his tone light. Tried to bring his father back to reason with humor. “Considering I do not take part in such things even in London, and at the height of the Season, I cannot think it just for you to accuse me of frivolity.”

His father glowered at him. “You are not taking this conversation seriously.”

“I’m only eight and twenty. Many men of our rank do not marry until thirty or older.”

“Most men do not have a family scandal to erase from history.” His father pinned him with a hard look. “And it is time to move forward with your life. Your mother and I have a plan.”

James gritted his teeth. “A plan? For what?”

“For your future. Your marriage.” His father came closer and bent at the waist enough to bring him eye-level with James. “What do you think of this: a series of house parties, balls, and outings, all summer long, with invitations sent to every young lady of quality—and her family, of course—to attend? You will meet eligible, unmarried women here, without the pressures of London’s social schedule, and have their full attention. You will see how they fit into life at Amoret. One of them is bound to suit you.”

James slowly came to his feet, leaving his book in the chair behind him. “You expect me to endure the spectacle of women being paraded through our home, hoping that by some chance I may find a suitable match among them to marry? Everyone invited will see through the ruse of a house party and know precisely what you intend. What lady will agree to such a display? This is a terrible idea.”