Carole Mortimer - Season Of Secrets

“And yet he must, for he is in need of an heir, the same as our own two grandsons,” the dowager duchess dismissed briskly.

Lady Jocelyn looked at her curiously. “How go your own efforts in regard to Royston?”

“Nicely, thank you.” Edith St. Just nodded regally.

“You believe he will marry the woman of your choice?” Lady Cicely looked suitably impressed.

“I am sure of it, yes.”

“How confident are you of that?” Lady Jocelyn challenged daringly, still feeling slightly stung in regard to her friends’ reaction to her news of Chambourne’s forthcoming marriage to Lady Sylviana Moorland, the Countess of Ampthill.

“So confident,” the dowager duchess assured haughtily, “that I am willing to write that lady’s name on a piece of paper this very minute and leave it in the safekeeping of your butler, only to be returned and read by all of us when Royston announces his intention of marrying.”

“Is that not rather presumptuous of you, Edith?” Lady Cicely raised skeptical brows.

“Not in the least,” the dowager duchess dismissed briskly. “In fact, call for Edwards and we shall do it now. This very minute.”

Ellie, sitting in her usual place in the window beside Miss Thompson and Mrs. Spencer, could only watch with a sinking heart as Edith St. Just did exactly as she had said she would.

Could only wonder as to the name of the lady—and secretly envy her—written on that innocuous piece of paper, which was taken away by Lady Jocelyn’s butler some minutes later...

As she knew beyond a doubt that it would not be her own name.

Despite the fact she had fallen in love with the arrogantly disdainful Justin St. Just several months ago...

* * * * *

To my very special Dad, Eric Haworth Faulkner, 6/2/1923–6/12/2012. A true and everlasting hero!

The dedication of this book says it all for me. My Dad was a man who was and always will be a true hero to me, in every sense of the word. He was always very proud of my writing, but I am even prouder to have enjoyed the absolute privilege of being his daughter. I hope you will all continue to enjoy reading my books as much as I enjoy writing them!

Late April, 1817—the London home of Lady Cicely Hawthorne

‘I, for one, am disappointed that you do not seem to be any further along with finding a bride for Hawthorne, Cicely,’ Edith St Just, Dowager Duchess of Royston, gave her friend a reproving frown.

‘Perhaps we were all being a trifle ambitious, at the start of the Season, in deciding to acquire suitable wives for our three grandsons?’ Lady Jocelyn Ambrose put in softly.

The three ladies talking now had been aged only eighteen when they had shared a coming-out Season fifty years ago and had become fast friends, a state of affairs that had seen them all through marriage and their children’s marriages. They now had their sights firmly set on the nuptials of their errant grandchildren.

‘Nonsense,’ the dowager duchess dismissed that claim firmly. ‘You had no trouble whatsoever in seeing Chambourne settled—’

‘But not to the bride I had chosen for him,’ Lady Jocelyn pointed out fairly.

‘Nevertheless, he is to marry,’ the dowager duchess dismissed airily. ‘And if we do not see to the marriage of our respective grandsons, then who will? My own daughter-in-law is of absolutely no help whatsoever in that enterprise, since she retired to the country following my son Robert’s demise three years ago. And Royston certainly shows no inclination himself to give up his habit of acquiring a mistress for several weeks before swiftly growing bored with her and moving on to the next.’ She gave loud sniff.

Miss Eleanor Rosewood—Ellie—stepniece and companion to the dowager duchess, glanced across from where she sat quietly by the window with the two companions of Lady Cicely and Lady Jocelyn, knowing that sniff only too well: it conveyed the dowager duchess’s disapproval on every occasion.

But Ellie could not help but feel a certain amount of sympathy towards Lady Cicely’s dilemma; Lord Adam Hawthorne was known by all, including the numerous servants employed on his many estates, for being both cold and haughty, as well as totally unapproachable.

So much so that it must be far from easy for Lady Cicely to even broach the subject of her grandson remarrying, despite his first marriage having only produced a daughter and no heir, let alone finding a woman who was agreeable to becoming the second wife of such an icily sarcastic gentleman.

Oh, it would have its compensations, no doubt; his lordship was a wealthy gentleman—very wealthy indeed—and more handsome than any single gentleman had a right to be, with glossy black hair and eyes of deep impenetrable grey set in a hard and arrogantly aristocratic face, his shoulders and chest muscled, waist tapered, legs long and strong.

Unfortunately, his character was also icy enough to chill the blood in any woman’s veins, hence the reason he was known amongst the ton as simply Thorne!

Hawthorne’s cold nature aside, Ellie was far more interested in the dowager duchess’s efforts to find a bride for her own grandson, Justin St Just, Duke of Royston…

‘Adam is proving most unhelpful, I am afraid.’ Lady Cicely sighed. ‘He has refused each and every one of my invitations for him to dine here with me one evening.’

The dowager duchess raised iron-grey brows. ‘On what basis?’

Lady Cicely grimaced. ‘He claims he is too busy…’

Edith St Just snorted. ‘The man has to eat like other mortals, does he not?’

‘One would presume so, yes…’ Lady Cicely gave another sigh.

‘Well, you must not give up trying, Cicely,’ the dowager duchess advised most strongly. ‘If Hawthorne will not come to you, then you must go to him.’

Lady Cicely looked alarmed. ‘Go to him?’

‘Call upon him at Hawthorne House.’ The dowager duchess urged. ‘And insist that he join you here for dinner that same evening.’

‘I will try, Edith.’ Lady Cicely looked far from convinced of her likely success. ‘But do tell us, how goes your own efforts in regard to Royston’s future bride? Well, I hope?’ She brightened. ‘Let us not forget that a week ago you wrote that lady’s name down on a piece of paper and gave it to Jocelyn’s butler for safekeeping!’

The dowager duchess gave a haughty inclination of her head. ‘And, as you will see, that is the young lady he will marry, when the time comes.’

‘I do so envy you, when I have to deal with Adam’s complete lack of co-operation in that regard…’ Lady Cicely looked totally miserable.

‘Hawthorne will come around, you will see.’ Lady Jocelyn gave her friend’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

Ellie, easily recalling the forbidding countenance of the man, remained as unconvinced of that as did the poor, obviously beleaguered Lady Cicely…

‘Oh, do let’s talk of other things!’ Lady Jocelyn encouraged brightly. ‘For instance, have either of you heard the latest rumour concerning the Duke of Sheffield’s missing granddaughter?’

‘Oh, do tell!’ Lady Cicely encouraged avidly.

Ellie added her own, silent, urging to Lady Cicely’s; the tale of the missing granddaughter of the recently deceased Duke of Sheffield had been the talk both below and above stairs for most of the Season, the duke having died very suddenly two months ago, to be succeeded by his nephew. The previous duke’s granddaughter and ward had disappeared on the day following his funeral, at the same time as the Sheffield family jewels and several thousand pounds had also gone missing.

‘I try never to listen to idle gossip.’ The dowager duchess gave another of her famous sniffs.