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  Ren stood. “Would you like my seat Michael? I’m thinking about asking Miss Chichester for another dance. Hopefully a country dance where she has to skip a time or two.” His friend leaned in closer and whispered, “I keep hoping those glorious breasts of hers will come bouncing out of that low cut gown.”

  Michael had heard enough. He swung first and clipped Ren on the jaw.

  “What in hell was that for?”

  “I think you know,” Michael hissed as he swung again, only this time Ren was able to deflect the blow.

  The other guests in the room leaped from their chairs and cleared the floor for the two young bucks to fight.

  “Is this about Prudence Chichester?” Ren said as he kept out of Michael’s reach. “I didn’t know you were interested in her.”

  He shook his head, swung at Ren again who deflected his strike.

  “Are you drunk, Michael? I’ll admit to having a few myself, but not....” Ren swung, Michael ducked and came around, only to feel the force behind his friend’s punch to his rib cage.

  Michael grabbed Ren and wrestled him to the ground. “Did you touch my sister inappropriately?” He hissed only loud enough for Ren to hear his words. Heaven forbid that action were made public. It could ruin Christina.

  “You’re either drunk or insane, Michael,” the young Lord Glencairn replied as he held Michael down.

  But Michael was only momentarily pinned because he shoved Ren hard enough to roll his friend beneath him. Pressing his elbow into Ren’s shoulder, pinning him, as he reached out with his free hand and grabbed Ren’s wrist. “I’m neither, you ass, and you owe my sister an apology.”

  The double-ring of young men circling them began to shout and Michael heard one of them call out, “Tell us what the fight’s about!”

  Michael just grunted, not one to make public his emotions. He spoke in a low tone for Ren alone to hear. “My sister is in tears upstairs. She said you squeezed her bottom coming off the dance floor.”

  “I did not,” Ren hissed, “and I won’t apologize for something I didn’t do.”

  Michael lessened the pressure into Ren’s shoulder and shifted his weight, which proved a tactical error because he was soon back under his friend. Michael heard his coat tear and thought about the peel his valet would ring over him in the morning. “She’s upstairs crying because she said you touched her in a most egregious manner.” He struggled for a breath as his friend bore the brunt of his weight onto his chest, pinning him with a leg up. “She’s my little sister!”

  “Gad, Michael! You’d think I tupped her for the reaction you’re giving me.” Ren pressed Michael’s leg a little higher up and he felt a burning sensation on the back of his thigh as he tried to buck his friend off.

  “Don’t talk about my....” Michael strained, trying to best Ren and roll them over, “Don’t talk about my sister like that!”

  “I gave you my word, so I don’t... understand why...” Ren grunted when Michael pushed up with the one foot he had on the stone floor, and tried to roll them over. “You’d believe her and not me.”

  Michael heard material tearing, and wasn’t certain if it was his or Ren’s. “Did you....”

  “I swear I haven’t touched your sister!”

  “You will promise me you’ll never touch her,” Michael hissed in Ren’s ear.

  “Believe me,” Ren said, “I have no desire to dally with your sister!” Ren weakened his hold a moment, and Michael rolled Ren under him.

  “I want your word on that,” Michael said, shoving his knee into Ren’s groin for leverage.

  “Bloody hell,” Ren ground out. “Only if I get yours in return.”

  “You’re a sick sod.” Michael strained against the material which held him captive more than his friend. “Your sister’s yet a babe.”

  The sound of shouting finally reached the confined circle of onlookers watching their debased efforts.

  “Remember that when we’re older and she’s on the market,” Ren hissed.

  “Do I have your word,” Michael demanded just before Ren flipped him on his back.

  “Do I have yours?” As the words left his mouth the entire room fell silent. It was then that he knew someone, or likely more than one persons of importance, had entered. Persons of enough rank and presence to command the parting crowd to silence.

  “Glencairn, get off the floor.” In a deadly calm voice, one known to make lesser men’s knees buckle, His Grace, the eighth Duke of Caversham, addressed his son. Then he added, “Brightman, the same for you.”

  Ren wiped the blood from his nose and lip before meeting Michael’s gaze one last time before they separated. “Then we’re in agreement? Sisters are off limits?”

  “Glencairn,” Ren’s father repeated, “Now.”

  Michael didn’t speak, but met Ren’s cold silver gaze and nodded.

  Haldenwood, Summer 1812. At the occasion of the marriage of the eighth Duke of Caversham to Lady Amelia Manners-Sutton.

  Looking down from her perch in the oak tree near the terrace off her father’s office, Lady Elise Halden decided she would run away and join the gypsies. Gypsy children were free to roam the countryside and do as they wished, including fish and shoot their bow and arrows. Gypsy children could ride their ponies whenever they wanted for as long as they wanted. Gypsy children didn’t have to obey to the wishes of their nanny, governess or tutors—all of whom prevented her from doing the aforementioned activities as she pleased.

  And as of today, she would now have to add a stepmother to the ranks of those ordering her about.

  Footsteps on the terrace told her someone was pacing, albeit slowly. She didn’t think anyone was looking for her, as no one ever did. Curiosity almost got the better of her. She knew if she shifted her position to look behind her, the tree would move alerting the person on the terrace of her presence. After a few minutes she caught a whiff of tobacco smoke and realized someone had come outside to puff on a cheroot. If she did not move, she could go undetected and be left in peace.

  She heard the heavy footfall of a another man step outside, then recognized her brother Ren’s voice as he spoke.

  “Why do unwed ladies think that the happy occasion of celebrating a marriage is the perfect place for choosing a husband? I had to escape the dancing before one of my new stepmother’s young relatives finagled me into a compromising position. I’ve just turned twenty-two and far from ready to marry.”

  “I don’t know how you were able stay in there as long as you did,” the other voice replied, “I felt very much like meat hanging at the butchers.” There was a pause as the young man dragged on his cheroot. After he exhaled, he continued. “During our entire dance, Miss Valerie Morton informed me of her age and that she has made her bow.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” Ren said.

  “Oh, but she then listed a long string of accomplishments as though she were applying for a position. She then asked why she hadn’t seen either of us at any of the events in Town. I told her I was busy studying and you were often out of the country.”

  Her brother grunted as he sighed, one of his few outward signs of frustration she’d learned long ago. “The lady with whom I danced, my new stepmother’s cousin, though not unattractive is not my type,” Elise heard Ren say. “What’s worse, she is following me around like a spaniel, complete with big brown puppy eyes.” Her brothers voice dropped to just above a whisper as he said, “You know I much prefer the petite blonds with blue eyes and bounteous breasts.”

  The conversation was getting interesting, so she shifted slightly on her perch in order to better see to whom her brother spoke. She went as far out onto the limb as she dared.

  “When the time comes that I must take a bride, I want a lady with spirit and courage.” She got a look at the man with her brother and recognized him as one of his friends she’d seen before. Michael Brightman’s handsome brown hair and hazel green-brown eyes made her heart flip in her breast. What an odd sensation she thought. “She must
enjoy the hunt, fishing and chess. We should converse on topics beyond fashion, romantic novels and housewifely skills.”

  “There you are.” Elise heard a female voice address the two young men. “Come inside, gentlemen. The dancing is about to start again and the numbers are uneven for a reel. We really need you both.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” her brother said.

  “Yes, mother,” Michael replied.

  Both young men left the terrace to rejoin the festivities and Elise felt an incredibly superb idea hatch in her brain. She would have to marry eventually, and so would Lord Brightman. He might be an appropriate match for her, she would have to check. Certainly he was a gentleman with a title and was connected to an earl somehow. And just last week when discussing her own father’s upcoming marriage to Lady Amelia with her governess, the dour-faced old woman tried to instill in Elise the importance of marrying within the proper bloodlines.

  Elise didn’t care about bloodlines, except in the case of the horses in her father’s stables.

  All she knew was that listening to Michael just now proved to her that they were perfect for each other. As she listened to him list the attributes he looked for in a bride, she realized she fit each and every one of his criteria.

  Before the week-long wedding celebration was over, she would convince one Michael Brightman that they belong together and should marry. Their situations were so very similar, as neither was ready to marry. Why, she had to wait at least four more years because she heard Catriona in the kitchen say she was fourteen when she married James the under-gardener. Elise heard this just the other day when the staff was talking about how young her new step-mama was, and how she was soon to present her papa with another babe.

  She had to get to her room to think out a plan. As she saw it, the situation was very similar to what Old Ned taught her about horse training. Elise didn’t see a difference. She needed to make the horse want do her bidding, as the old man always said. And to do that she needed a plan before she climbed onto the horse’s back.

  “But first I have to get out of this tree,” she said to herself. She looked down and decided it was a too high to jump down, even with the green limb bending low under her weight. She also might hit the branch beneath her, and that would hurt something fierce. No, she had to get to the trunk and climb her way back down the way she came. Reaching for a limb over her head to hold onto for balance, she stretched up an arm while at the same time holding fast to the branch on which she sat.

  “Oh, fiddle-faddle. Come here.” Elise reached out again, this time grasping a cluster of new leaves and then the branch. She felt the seam under her arm tear and swore again. “Maisy will be angry now that I’ve torn my dress.” She’d never hear the end of it from her maid. And if her father found out.... Oh, heaven. She’d likely be punished, and that was after she got spanked.

  She tried to keep her hold of the branch over her head while she scooted toward the trunk, but she was unable to do so without ruining the dress further. Grabbing the branch over her head with both hands now, she tried to pull herself up when she heard a crack and felt herself falling, only to have her skirts snag on a branch, stopping her descent.

  In the blink of an eye, Elise both thought she would die and realized she wouldn’t. She almost wished for death when she realized she wasn’t alone. On the terrace, fanning herself, was one of her father’s guests, Lord Brightman’s mother, Lady Richard. And here Elise was hanging by her skirts from a branch in an oak tree. She supposed it was a good thing that it was her and not a male guest witnessing her humiliation.

  The sound of fabric tearing echoed throughout the side garden. Just as Lady Richard reached her, Elise felt the material give and she squealed as she fell the rest of the way down, landing in the arms of the woman, sending both of them falling to the ground.

  Elise rushed to get off Lady Richard, hoping she hadn’t killed her. When she didn’t move, Elise knelt beside her and took her gloved hand in her ungloved ones and pat it, as it was what she saw the housekeeper do whenever a housemaid fainted. She then began to pray as she hadn’t prayed since the last time she was about to get caught at something she wasn’t supposed to do.

  Lady Richard groaned and moved, and Elise heaved a sigh. As soon as the woman opened her eyes, Elise knelt over her and began to apologize profusely.

  “Ma’am, I am so very sorry. Please do not.... my father will be so very angry.”

  “Move aside,” said the woman with gray streaks in her ruined coif as she sat up. Elise handed Lady Richard the pearl-encrusted comb that fell from her once artfully-arranged hair, then rose and stretched out a hand. She ignored Elise’s offer of assistance and rose on her own, then began to dust off her backside. The lady’s aqua colored dress was now in disarray and probably stained as well. Elise apologized again for her behavior, and prayed Lady Richard didn’t want retribution for Elise ruining her dress and mussing her hair.

  Lord Brightman’s mother looked down her nose at Elise, who stood almost as tall as she, and asked, “Who are you, and what were you doing spying on the guests in the house.”

  “I am Elise Halden and I wasn’t spying because I was in the tree before my brother and his friend came outside.”

  Elise watched as Lady Richard rearranged her bodice, and wondered if she should mention the rip in the back. She decided against it. If the woman was this mad and she didn’t know about the tear, imagine how angry she’d be if she did.

  “Just what were you doing in that tree, Elise?”

  She’d come to the tree to escape the taunts from some of the older girls during the feast, then Michael and Ren had come outside to puff their cheroots and she was trapped aloft. Elise smiled as she remembered the qualities Michael listed when he described the woman he wanted as a wife. The instant she heard them, she knew he was describing her, and that they would marry one day because they were perfect for each other. She gathered her ripped skirts and held them in her hands, as she looked up to the limb from which she just fallen to see if she’d left any material behind.

  Smiling, she turned to the woman who softened her landing, and replied, “Falling in love, I think.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  London, May 1822

  “Have you heard the news?”

  Lady Elise Halden shot her dearest friend in the whole world a stern gaze and tightened her lips. Unable to move for fear the dressmaker’s pins might come out of place, she hoped her friend would catch her expression and hold her tongue. Lady Beverly Hepplewhite’s eyes widened as she continued into Elise’s room and hopped onto her bed.

  Elise looked down to the stitchers working on the hem of her gown. “Excuse me,” she said. Holding a rose-colored ribbon in place on her sleeve, she stepped off the stool and addressed her maid and the seamstresses. “Bridget, Madame, will you give us a few minutes please? I’ll ring when I’m ready to continue.”

  Adding a straight pin to the ribbon before leaving, Madame Fuichard and her two assistants quit the room. But not her maid, Bridget. She looked directly at Elise and her friend. “You’re due to come out in five days,” said the red-headed maid, just a few years older than Elise. “If you do something foolish now, His Grace’ll banish ye for sure. An’ because I don’t have a fondness for the Grampians in winter, I won’t be going with ye.”

  Once the door shut behind her maid, Beverly said, “I was wondering why he didn’t come for breakfast. Now I hear he’s gone to Woodhenge to make arrangements.”

  Elise lifted her hands, showing Beverly her inability to hold them steady. “I have never in my life been so nervous as I am now. These horrid butterflies are the result of the entire ton believing Michael, my Michael, is in need of a bride now simply because his uncle has died and he’s ascended to the title.”

  “You can’t say it took you by surprise. We all knew this day would come as the old earl has been on his deathbed for the past year,” Beverly quipped. “Heaven knows the new Earl of Camden has a responsibility to all those wome
n in his family. After all, he’s now the only male and will need to see to an heir very soon.”

  “His mother and older sister have been pressuring him to take a bride for the past year. Now he must wait three months.” Elise sighed. “My heart wants to believe he’s been waiting for me, but my brain says it’s unlikely.”

  “I’ve always wondered why the old earl never married,” Beverly said. “Was he... you know, light in the instep?”

  Elise shook her head. “Heavens, no! It’s not common knowledge, but—” Elise checked to make sure Bridget hadn’t come back into the room, and continued, “The old earl had a scandalous marriage many years ago. He’d fallen in love with, and married, a young lady who was unfaithful while he was in India on the Crown’s business. She then became with child by her lover. Both mother and babe died in childbirth. And the earl, as you know, never remarried.” Elise’s mind raced at what she could do now to benefit her cause. “This does not help my chances.”

  “Michael will be in mourning for three months, Elise,” Beverly stated. “He’ll not start a bride hunt until after that. That’s when you need to worry about competition.”

  “In three months I won’t have you here to help me think things through because your Papa will be back any day now. Won’t he?” When her friend nodded, Elise sighed, feeling as though the whole world was conspiring against her.

  “I won’t be moving to Land’s End, Elise. I’ll only be a few blocks away.”

  She nodded as she caught her reflection in the mirror. “I had so hoped to win him over gradually during this season. Now I shall have to contend with every mother of a marriageable-age daughter, and the daughters themselves, all pursuing Michael for his new title and wealth.” Elise studied the dress pinned onto her with a disapproving eye, and sighed with double frustration. “You would think that Michael being my brother’s life-long friend would give me an advantage,” she muttered. “He’ll likely not wish to be in the same room as me.”