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Chapter One
Spring, 1814
James stared at the missive in his hand, reading the lines within several times to make sure he truly understood the contents and wasn’t just imagining things. At first he’d been confused upon reading the sender, wondering what in the world his father’s secretary would need him to know that required sending postage out all the way to Italy. His father was a stranger to him as far as James was concerned after that dastardly plot to marry off Sophie to an absolute scoundrel for money. Not that James was a saint himself, having first gambled himself into a hole in an attempt to win enough money to sway his father from the plan, and then shamefully attempting to elope with a wealthy wallflower who was madly in love with him. Thankfully, his own conscience had won out, and he’d confessed all before the deed could be done. Though that last failed plan had at least resulted in his sister being safely married to his almost-bride’s powerful cousin, James had been deservedly banished to the continent in exchange for having his debts paid off, leaving a river of scandal and two heartbroken innocents in his wake. He’d spent the last two years in Italy, living off the modest sum his brother-in-law had left him and wallowing in his worthlessness. He knew nothing of the goings on back home outside of the occasional letter from Sophie. James glanced once more at the missive in his hands. This dearth of knowledge included his father’s sudden illness and untimely demise only a few weeks ago.
Leaving James the rather dubious honor of the title Viscount Dalton.
Gods, his father was dead. He waited for any emotions to kick in, to feel something at the death of his sire, but nothing came aside from a sense of mild relief that the estate would no longer be bled dry to fund his parents’ exorbitant and scandalous lifestyle.
“Oh, God. The estate,” he muttered, putting his face into his hands. That would need sorting out sooner rather than later, especially with his mother likely frolicking about with no one to stop her. He wondered how Lord Dalton’s death might have affected her. His parents’ love for each other seemed to change by the day, going from burning passion to bitter, and sometimes violent, arguments. No matter how she was processing the event, he doubted it was healthy. Sophie wouldn’t be able to do anything, and James wasn’t sure he even wanted her to have to expose herself to the ugliness of their family once more. He stared out of the window of his rented rooms, watching pedestrians going about their business and wondering how he was going to do what he knew needed to be done.
There was no choice but to return home, return to face everyone and everything he had ruined with his idiocy.
**
“I’ve heard the most spectacular news.”
“Oh?” Eliza looked up from the teacake she was picking at as Candice Tremore, Dowager Countess of Clifton and Eliza’s best friend since they were in leading strings, set down her teacup with a flourish.
“Lord Dalton has just arrived back from the continent.”
“I thought you said it was ‘spectacular’ news,” Eliza replied irritably. Though it had been two years since that spectacular scandal at her ball, just the mere mention of James Berrington was still enough to set her teeth on edge. She’d been delighted to hear of his forced banishment by Lord Amberwood and was rather loath to spot him gracing her presence again.
“I merely meant that I find it amazing he’s braved returning to England at all, though I suppose it was only inevitable once he inherited the title.”
“Let us hope to never see the man’s face around town.”
Candice raised an eyebrow. “Still going to punch his nose, then? You’ll have to get in line, I’m afraid. Arthur was blustering about it just yesterday.” After being married off young in much the same way Eliza had, Candice’s spectacularly awful elderly husband hadn’t had the grace to die early in the marriage, leaving her poor friend miserable for a good ten years before his sudden death. Shortly afterwards, she found herself in the rather bizarre position of grandmother to the earl’s long-lost heir. Arthur Tremore, formally Arthur Barrow, and his ascension to the Earldom of Clifton had rocked the Ton, the effect only worsening when it became clear he would not be selling his infamous gambling hall, The White Heather. Candice found the entire thing quite the lark and never hesitated to share her mirth with Eliza. That the man was so hostile to James Berrington was unsurprising, considering his choice of wife.
“How does Lady Clifton feel about the news?” After wallowing in the disdain for the ton for a good year after her now infamous failed elopement, Lady Francesca Creswell had brought the new Lord Clifton up to scratch and seemed perfectly at home helping to manage her husband’s business. It was a fortunate turn of events to what would have otherwise been a terribly lonely life in obscurity, and the reminder of just who was at fault for such was enough to sour Eliza even more to the prospect of the new Lord Dalton returning.
“She is handling it well,” Candice replied. “Much better than Arthur, I think.”
“That is surprising.”
The young dowager shrugged. “I think Francesca chose to move on and look towards the future. It is unhealthy to hold on to a grudge that you can do nothing about.”
Candice shot a pointed glance in her direction, and Eliza rolled her eyes. “I think I will hold on to my disdain for a good while yet. Allow me my petty grievances.”
Her friend chuckled. “You are very protective of your parties. Speaking of which, how goes the planning for this year’s ball? Invitations have yet to go out, and everyone who calls on me these days keeps asking me to ferret out the reasons for the delay from you.”
Eliza set her plate down with a small groan. “Don’t remind me. I don’t know why, but preparations for this year have been an utter mess.” It seemed nothing, from the difficulty in acquiring her preferred flowers to the leak discovered a few weeks ago in the ballroom’s ceiling, was going according to plan. The extra importance of this year’s event as a fundraiser for the struggling families of killed and missing soldiers in the wars abroad only compounded her stress. This ball needed to be perfect, and it appeared just about everything was conspiring against her to make it not so. Already, the event was to be delayed by nearly a month.
“I am sure things will be just fine. Everyone is champing at the bit for their invitation, so you almost certainly have a crush on your hands. Short of a catastrophe, it will be a grand time.”
“A catastrophe like a man eloping with an earl’s daughter and punching a duke in the face?”
Candice laughed fully. “Yes. Though I doubt lightning will strike twice.”
She could only hope. Considering how poorly her planning was going this year, Eliza wouldn’t be surprised if another social scandal played out at the ball for the entire Ton to witness. “On that note, I will be sure not to allow Lord Dalton in, let alone send him an invitation.”
Candice nodded. “Yes, that is likely wise. I assume the Duchess of Ashford and Lady Amberwood will be attending. That would be supremely awkward.”
Having Lord Dalton’s sister and the other woman he had ruined at the ball in the same room as him would be awkward indeed. A perfect recipe for another disaster, in fact. “I will keep him away.”
“For the sake of his face, I hope so.”
“I meant what I said. If James Berrington shows himself before me. I will not hesitate to punch him in the nose.” An image of doing just that flitted through Eliza’s mind, and the supreme satisfaction she felt at the man getting some kind of comeuppance was more than worth the reality that her wrist was limper than a child’s. She’d probably make more of a fool of herself than him. But this was her fantasy, one that likely would never play out in real life. James Berrington would never have a reason to show himself before her, and she hoped he was smart enough to know of his tacit banishment from her yearly ball after his stunt.
