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Chapter One
Saturday, 16 July 1814
Embleton House, London
Half past noon
“Mother, will youplease leave off?” Matthew Rydell pushed back from the dining table and stood before his ire could edge into rudeness. He ignored the looks from his siblings who remained at the table—amusement on the faces of the older three—Paul, Peter, and James—and curiosity from the younger two—Theophilus and Timothy. In that moment he felt a tinge of gratitude that Daphne, his sister with the wit of a satirist and a tongue to match, had chosen to spend the summer in Greece with their aunt. His brother Mark, who was now his heir, had retreated earlier to their father’s study. Luke, born between Mark and Paul, was still on the continent, tending to details of the peace and return of troops following Napoleon’s exile to Elba.
And Matthew was now in charge of them all.
God help him.
His mother, the formidable Phyllida Rydell, did not, however, leave off, her black silk skirts rustling in frantic waves as she followed him from the room. “You will not walk away from me, sir!” She caught up with him as he pushed open the door to the study. “You must listen!”
In a wingback chair near the study’s small fireplace, Mark sat reading a newspaper. As their mother stormed in after Matthew, Mark raised the paper to hide his face.
“Coward!” Matthew hissed at his brother. He turned. “Mother, Ihavebeen listening. For weeks. Since I got back. Since the investiture. You have not let up on this for a moment. Butyouare not listening tome. I am not interested in getting married, and I will not be attending any balls or soirees. I simply do not have the time. There is too much to do before I rejoin Wellington.” He waved one arm wide. “And I especially will not be parading around Hyde Park with a sign that says, ‘New duke! Unmarried!’”
A snort emerged from behind the newspaper.
Matthew growled. “If you cannot help, please stay silent.” He retreated behind the heavy cherry desk that anchored the room, in part to keep his mother from grasping his forearm again.
Phyllida dropped into the wingback opposite Mark, her blue eyes sparking. “Matthew, believe me, your status as a wealthy and eligible duke is already well-known. I am quite surprised some of the mothers have not accosted you on the street.”
“Blame it on his permanent scowl.” The voice from behind the paper held an amused tone. “Right terrifying, your older son.”
That scowl deepened. “I cannot possibly leave this estate in the hands of some waif who cannot even comb her own hair.”
“Which would not matter if you would only stay. You cannot go back to Wellington, however well placed he is now. You are a duke too! And for longer than he has been. Have you no sense of duty at all?”
Matthew pulled a stack of papers to the center of the desk, pretending to study them. “Duty,” he muttered. “All I see is duty.”
“I know you did not want this. I know you did not want to be called back home, much less to be thrust into this position so early in life. I did not want to lose my husband either. But you have been invested, and I am still the Duchess of Embleton until you marry. You cannot trot back off to join Wellington in France just because you want to. That horrible little man is now in exile. Wellington does not need you. You have responsibilities here. And one of those is to provide an heir. Especially if you plan to spend the rest of your life at Wellington’s side, traipsing all over the globe.”
Matthew placed both hands flat on the desk, on either side of the stack. “I have been in his ranks since the Battle of Assaye, and I am not about to step away now that he has been appointed ambassador to France, Mother. It was bad enough that I had to leave before we took Paris”—he waved his hands over his desk—“for all ofthis.It is an honor that he has requested me to be a part of his entourage. Iamgoing.”
“But you still could be killed. Ships sink. That entire country is filled with assassins and villains.”
“And I believe I still have seven brothers. At least two of which are as prepared as I was to become duke.”
Another snort from behind the paper. “I doubt that statement in its entirety.”
“Shut it.”
His mother leaned forward, and a strand of her graying blond hair escaped and draped over her forehead. She pushed it back into place with an annoyed flick of her hand. “If you will not agree to go out into Society, would you at least let me make a list? You could call on each—”
“No.”
“Or invite them—”
“Absolutely not.”
“I could inquire about vouchers to Almack’s, which could provide access to several—”
“I would rather be drawn and quartered than swallow a drop of that swill.”
“Because I know that Lady Jersey was fond of Lady Daphne when she first came out—”
