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Prologue
Suffolk country home of the Earl of Sutthers—Christmas 1806
Samuel Tatford, Viscount Sutthers, son to the Earl of Sutthers, knew that he stood to be chastised for his decisions in Italy that year, but it could not be helped. When one faced the chance of sure and true love, one could not wait around for a family to decide whether it was the right move. And so Samuel had married his love in secret in her home country before bringing her back to England at Christmas in order to meet the family.
Though Samuel had expected the experience to be fraught and he had prepared his new wife Francesca for such things, he had not expected things to be quite so terrible. Standing in his father's library with his head bowed, all he could do was grit his teeth and bear it as his father berated and offended them both. Francesca clutched hold of his hand so tightly that he believed the raven-haired, olive-skinned woman might pop his fingers right out of joint.
"This is unconscionable!" The earl reeled. His own wife and Samuel's mother standing at his side before the roaring fireplace. The blazing of the fire only aided in adding fury to the earl's anger, illuminating the parents who had always supported and cared for Samuel while they now took it all back as though he had done something so heinous that they could never forgive him for it.
"How dare you put in jeopardy all we have strived towards?" the earl demanded, slamming his fist down on the desk beside him. "There were plans in place, a woman already chosen for you! A good woman with good connections and wealth."
Out of the corner of his eye, Samuel saw his mother lay a hand upon her husband's shoulder and for a moment the son dared to believe that just maybe his mother wouldn't be quite so furious with him as his father was. He looked up hopefully, praying silently that his mother would do as she always had and support him no matter what. Though her hand upon him quieted the earl, he continued to look red-faced and ready to snap again at any moment.
But when Alice Tatford turned her eyes upon her son, there was nothing but disappointment in her gaze and Samuel thought that perhaps that was even worse than anger. He had never known disappointment from either of his parents before. It was like a burning hot coal placed right in the pit of his stomach, threatening to burn him alive.
"Plans change, Father, as you well know," Samuel said, hoping that he sounded far more confident than he was feeling. Though he would never regret having married Francesca, he was now starting to second guess the path that they had taken to do so.
He had been hoping for a wonderful Christmas back home in England, in which he could share the love of his life with those he cared about most in the world, his family. Yet the looks on both his parents' faces suggested he would get anything but.
"You come here, at Christmas no less, and drop this bomb upon us," Lady Sutthers said, her voice cold and harsh in a way Samuel had never heard from his mother before, "and you anticipate we would be happy for you?"
There was shock and amazement in her tone and her expression was purely disgusted.
"This woman is not fit to be your maid!" Lord Sutthers boomed, as though he could hold his tongue no longer.
Samuel flinched at his words, his discomfort growing all the more when he felt Francesca do the same at his side. Pulling her close to him, he shielded her behind himself from the glaring gazes of his parents.
"She is beautiful and intelligent and she is my wife!" Samuel responded defensively, trying to make himself heard without allowing anger to enter his voice, "I request you show her the same respect you would show any other man's wife!"
"I will not acknowledge this as anything but what it is!" the earl raged back at him and Samuel struggled to meet his father's angry gaze, determined to defend his new wife no matter what. "It is a farce and you shall give it up this instant or I shall punish without mercy!"
Bile rose in the back of Samuel's throat and for a moment he was back in childhood, standing beside his younger brother David and being scolded and yelled at until one of them would own up to having been up to no good. Though it was rarely ever his fault, Samuel had often taken the blame. Yet this time, he felt the full force of his father's anger, knowing the fault was entirely his own.
"Francesca and I are married," Samuel said, his heart hammering and his palms beginning to sweat. "If you cannot accept that, then she and I shall go elsewhere for Christmas, where we shall be welcome."
"You shall find no such welcome here in England!" Lord Sutthers assured him hotly. The man looked as though his head might explode if he got any angrier, his cheeks so red and bloated that he looked like a tomato. Spittle dripped down his chin with the effort of his yelling. "I shall see to it myself!"
Cringing at his father's words, Samuel made a split-moment decision. Straightening his back and looking both his parents dead in the eye, he stated, "Then we shall return to Italy and have Christmas there."
Though he saw the tears pricking in his mother's eyes, neither of his parents made any protest. It wasn't until he turned and wrapped an arm around his wife to leave that his father assured him, "If you leave with her, do not bother to return! You are no son of mine!"
Those words would haunt Samuel for the rest of his days, though in that moment he vowed to himself that he would never cause his own children to feel the way he had been made to feel that day. He vowed to love and appreciate his wife and any offspring she might give to him, certain that life would be better if it were filled with love, no matter what society believed.
Samuel stared at the letter in his hands unable to believe what he was reading. Though he read the words over and over, he did not fully comprehend what was written plainly before him. He had been there at his study desk for far longer than he had promised his wife and when she arrived, knocking gently upon the door, he still could not look up from the letter.
"Samuel, are you well?" Francesca asked even as she slowly entered the room, creeping as though she did not wish to disturb him if he were reading something important. It wasn't until he felt her hand land upon his shoulder that he actually acknowledged the fact that she was there at all. His only response was four strangled words. "My father is dead."
Francesca gasped at that, sounding much more surprised than entirely horrified as one would usually be at such news. "I am sorry, my love."
Samuel shook his head. He could not accept such an apology. His parents had disowned him long ago. Or so he thought.
Bile rose in the back of his throat even as he added, "I am named the new Earl of Sutthers."
His wife's hand tightened on his shoulder, though this time she did not gasp. Instead, she said, "I thought that honour would pass to David in light of everything."
Samuel nodded his agreement and replied, “As did I.” Finally able to move, he handed the letter to his wife and added, "It is all written here in mother's letter. Funeral arrangements, my naming, even news of the rest of the family."
Francesca was silent as she read over the letter, seeming to skim the words much faster than Samuel had been able to. He watched her hands grip tighter on the paper and then she said, "This says she has enclosed a letter from your father?"
