An American Heiress for the Viscount (Preview)

Chapter One

Prudence watched her sister, Charlotte peer out the cabin window and exhale.

“Looks like we have an hour till we get to the port.”

“An hour?” Prudence repeated, her eyes bright and her hands gripping her aunt’s hand as they both remained sat on the bench on one side. “I hope she can make it till then.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Aunt Esther is seasick. She is not dying of some incurable disease.”

Prudence didn’t respond . Instead, she steadied her aunt as the vessel slowed. The motion grew uneven as lines were thrown and gathered. The air in the cabin felt close. Her aunt pressed a hand to her middle and closed her eyes in careful increments, as if any larger movement might stir her stomach again and send her into another nauseating episode. They had been on this journey for the better part of two months. Prudence at that moment wondered what their parents could possibly be doing back in New York.

She didn’t think it was much anyway. They had sent her and her sister to England to find prospective suitors and be well managed by their aunt, who was currently in no position to manage even her breathing.

“Breathe a little through your nose, Aunt Esther,” Prudence said. “We will be on solid ground soon.”

Charlotte on the other hand, sat at the trunk with a small shard of mirror cupped in her palm. She held it at different angles to find the best light and reshaped a curl with the tip of a gloved finger. Her bonnet ribbons were newly pressed. The hat itself had traveled well.

So had Charlotte’s confidence.

A part of Prudence wondered if she would be this enamored with herself if she had Charlotte’s beauty. Her sister’s golden hair shone even through the depressing light in the cabin. They matched her green eyes perfectly and made her look almost like the only light in the room.

Get over yourself, Pru!

“Aunt Esther is very unwell,” Prudence said, suddenly, throwing her thoughts out before they could get the better of her. “I must fetch water. Stay with her for a moment.”

Charlotte did not look up. “If the ship would arrive, she would improve. There is nothing to be done until then. Also, I must be seen first in England as I mean to be seen. It is not a small thing.”

“Charlotte,” Prudence repeated. “Please.”

Charlotte adjusted the mirror to examine the corner of her mouth. “You know I dislike the smell of this cabin. That is already depressing enough without me having to deal with—”

Prudence felt the small heat that came when words were not enough.

“Charlotte. Stay with her.”

It came out louder than she intended. Her aunt’s eyes opened in mild alarm, then softened again.

Charlotte’s head lifted at last, irritation flickering across her face. She pressed her lips into a line and stood.

“Very well. A moment. But if a porter arrives and no one is here to direct him, I will not be pleased.”

“Thank you,” Prudence said. The gratitude was real. The warning was too.

She slipped into the corridor and drew the door nearly closed. The passage was narrow and full of bodies and bundles. People spoke in brisk tones and did not linger. Prudence kept one hand near the wall to avoid a jolt as the ship shifted while voices from the deck reached them in short bursts. She moved past a stack of small crates, nodded apologies where needed, and found the way up to the captain.

He stood with a view toward the harbor, hands braced. His coat had seen better days, but he wore it with pride. Prudence waited for a gap in his orders and then spoke.

“Sir, my aunt is very ill. May I have a cup of water for her?”

He looked down and his expression gentled. “Of course you may.” He passed a tin cup to a crewman, who filled it cleanly from a cask and wiped the rim with a cloth. The captain offered it to Prudence with a short bow.

“Godspeed to shore, miss.”

“You are very kind,” she said.

Her mind went at once to the cabin. She turned and took the first step back down; head bent for caution and speed. The cup was full and brisk in her hand. It also had all her focus.

Which was why she did not see the cabin door on her right open until it did. A man stepped through and his shoulder met the rim of the cup. The water lapped out of the cup, cold against her wrist. She stopped short and so did he.

“I beg your pardon,” he said.

“I am so sorry,” Prudence said at the same time. “I should have looked.”

“No, the fault is mine.” His tone matched her own, quick and honest.

They both paused as she glanced down. Only a small measure had spilled so the cup still felt serviceable. Relief arrived first. Then a sliver of humor, simple and clean.

He smiled in the same moment. “It seems we have proved the same point. Neither of us looked.”

Prudence’s mouth answered before her sense of caution could close it. “Then we are both correct and both at fault. There is some justice in that.”

A brief laugh rose between them and it surprised her just how easy it was. The corridor and all the noise and the movement suddenly disappeared and all that was left was this exchange. She noticed what she had not before. Dark hair, unremarkable in its cut, but well kept. Grey eyes that met hers without calculation. He looked like a man accustomed to being listened to, without demanding it. Something about that made him look intelligent to her.

His gaze shifted to the cup. “You have lost a little.” He nodded to the damp spot on her glove. “May I fetch another for you?”

“I will manage, thank you,” she said. “It is for my aunt who is a bit ill so I should return at once.”

“I am certain you should,” he said, and the answer held no mockery. “Nonetheless.” He turned his head. Another man, younger and freckled, had paused a few steps behind. The first gentleman spoke to him in a tone that expected obedience and made obedience easy. “Can you bring some fresh water for the lady? From the cask we used just now.”

The younger man nodded and moved at once. “Yes.”

Prudence lifted a hand. “Truly, there is no need.”

“There is a lady in need,” the gentleman replied. “That is enough.” The words were simple, and he did not soften them further. He did not look past her. He looked at her as if she were a person with a task and not an interruption.

The freckled man returned with a second cup. He offered it without fuss. Prudence tested the weight and felt gratitude in the small difference between full and nearly full.

“Thank you,” she said to both of them. “You are very kind.” The courtesy wanted a name to attach to. None was offered, and she did not ask. There was no time.

“Not at all,” the gentleman said. “I hope your aunt will be easier once we are in.” His eyes went briefly to the tilt of the floorboards, then back to her. “Good luck.”

She gently lowered her head. “And to you.” The reply felt natural in her mouth.

She moved past them with care, shielding the cups from jostling without looking back. The corridor widened near the companionway as a boy pressed himself to the side to let her pass and she thanked him. In the doorway of their cabin she found Charlotte standing with her arms folded and an expression that seemed to say she had gotten to the limit of her patience.

“I have the water,” Prudence said. She then set the two cups on the small shelf, lifted the first, and guided it to her aunt’s lips. “Sip, Aunt. Not too much.”

Her aunt obeyed and breathed with more ease. Color did not return, but tension left the set of her mouth. Prudence’s shoulders loosened in response.

Charlotte watched. “You were prolonged.”

“I was stopped in the passage for a moment,” Prudence said. She poured a little from the second cup into the first to refresh it. “A gentleman assisted me. That is all.”

“A gentleman,” Charlotte repeated. She returned the mirror shard to her palm as if the interruption had been a test of loyalty and the mirror had won. “You cannot let men on this ship distract you, Prudence. We shall see better gentlemen on shore.”

“Perhaps,” Prudence said. The word carried neither hope nor doubt. She set the cups aside and adjusted the shawl at her aunt’s neck. Her hands went about their work. The brief exchange in the corridor settled like warm light on a winter stair, gentle and plain. She did not seek more from it. It was enough that a stranger had seen a task and helped it along.

Above them, the call to prepare for docking sounded again. Prudence glanced at her aunt, then at Charlotte. The order of the next few minutes was clear. She took her place beside the chair and prepared to hold it steady. The ship would reach the port soon, and they would all disembark.

Welcome to England.

**************

The plank was firm beneath Prudence’s feet, though the ship continued to shift behind them. She kept her hand under her aunt’s elbow and counted their steps as they descended. The air felt clearer there, sharper, but the press of people made it difficult to breathe easily.

Charlotte had already moved ahead. Her steps were quick, almost light, as if she had somewhere more important to go than the rest of them.

“It is quite different,” Charlotte said, turning back with a smile that asked to be admired. “And yet familiar. I cannot decide whether that is comforting or dull.”

Prudence laughed despite herself. “We should begin looking for our carriage.”

“It will present itself,” Charlotte said. “Everything does, if one waits properly.”

They reached the bottom, and the crowd closed in. Voices rose on every side. Trunks were dragged, lifted, and set down again. Prudence guided her aunt toward a small open space near a stack of crates where she had seen a chair.

Her aunt slowed and pressed a hand to her mouth.

“Oh dear,” the older woman said, her voice soft.

Prudence recognized that she was getting sick again and stopped at once.

“Then we will sit first,” she said. “Only a moment.”

They had taken no more than two steps when a gentleman approached. He held out a folded handkerchief with quiet assurance.

“May this help the lady,” he said.

Prudence knew him at once. The narrow passage on the ship came back to her, the spill of water, the quick apologies spoken at once. The recognition brought a brief lift of surprise that she did not try to hide.

“Thank you,” she said, and shifted her hold on her aunt.

Charlotte arrived beside them before Prudence could reach for the handkerchief.

“We do not require assistance,” Charlotte said, her voice lowered and firm. “We are quite capable.”

Prudence caught her sleeve, a throated whisper escaping her lips. “Charlotte, what are you doing.”

Charlotte did not look at her. “Do you not see?” she said softly. “He is too plain. Too American.”

“He has an accent,” Prudence whispered.

“He likely trained for it,” Charlotte replied.

Prudence felt her face grow warm as she glanced at the gentleman, aware of how exposed the moment had become. His expression remained polite and still. He turned his attention to her aunt instead.

“I wished only to offer this,” he said. “She appears unwell. Is she all right?”

“She is seasick,” Prudence said. “You are kind to notice.”

He extended the handkerchief again. Prudence saw the small crest stitched into one corner as she took it. Charlotte saw it too, and immediately, her posture eased. Her smile changed shape.

“How thoughtful,” Charlotte said suddenly, her voice smooth as sunshine itself. “We are most obliged. England has received us very well indeed.”

The gentleman lowered his head. He did not step closer. He answered Charlotte briefly, once or twice, though his eyes returned to Prudence as if to confirm that the task had been met.

Prudence placed the linen in her aunt’s hand. “Hold this,” she said. “Just so.”

Her aunt obeyed and breathed more easily.

The gentleman shifted his weight, preparing to leave. Before he did, he looked to Prudence again.

“Welcome to England, miss,” he said.

“Thank you,” she replied.

She had no time to add more. Another man had come to stand beside him, slightly younger. Prudence recognized him as well. He had been the one to give her the cup of water back on the ship.

His friend, maybe?

The dark-haired gentleman gave her a brief nod. “Our carriage has arrived.”

Charlotte turned at once, her interest sharpened. “We were just offering our thanks,” she said. “You are both very good to us.”

He acknowledged her with a short look and spoke to his companion. “It is all right. But we truly must go.”

“Yes,” his friend responded, his voice a bit thicker.

Charlotte leaned forward slightly. “Perhaps you will tell us your names.”

“Another time,” the dark-haired man said and stepped aside to clear their way.

Prudence lifted the handkerchief a fraction. “Thank you,” she said to the gentleman. “My aunt will remember your kindness.”

“I am glad she is easier,” he replied. “Good day.”

“Good day,” Prudence said.

The dark-haired man set a guiding hand on his companion’s arm while they moved toward a dark carriage that had drawn close. A footman held the door, and Prudence watched the men enter without delay. The carriage pulled forward and was soon absorbed into the never-ending movement of the port.

Prudence watched until she could no longer pick it out from the others. She then folded the handkerchief and placed it carefully into her aunt’s hand .

“We must return this,” she said.

Charlotte’s eyes followed the line the carriage had taken. “The dark-haired man seems to be well established,” she said. “We shall be introduced.”

Prudence did not answer at once. She only guided her aunt to the chair and helped her sit. The older woman’s breathing steadied, her color improved by degrees.

Prudence adjusted the shawl at her shoulders and then looked up, searching the quay for familiar livery. The color they were supposed to look out for was green and gold.

She didn’t have to look for long.

A carriage arrived mere minutes later, the footman in the color that had been described by her aunt.

“The Countess of Cornwall sends her regards,” the footman greeted, his voice low as he dipped his head in a gentle bow.

Prudence curtsied just a little in response.

“She asked me to fetch the three of you. So if you will come with me, please.”

Before Prudence could speak, she could hear Charlotte mutter a loud about time behind her.

Soon, the carriage rolled away from the port with a steady rhythm that lulled her aunt into sleep; her head tipped to one side, mouth set in a thin line, hands folded tight in her lap. Prudence adjusted the shawl at her shoulders and sat back, careful not to disturb her.

Charlotte filled the silence at once.

“Cornwall will not do for long,” she said. “It is pleasant enough, but London is where one is truly seen. I shall require new gowns. English silk hangs differently. Did you notice it at the port?”

“I was busy trying to make sure Aunt Esther was alive so you will have to forgive me.”

Charlotte waved the comment aside. “My point, sister, is that there is a method to everything here. And I intend to learn the method very quickly.”

Prudence only gave a brief nod in response and relaxed into her cushion. A wave of thick silence descended into the carriage as she watched the hedges pass, neat and green, broken now and then by stone walls.

After a while, she broke it, determined not to let her thoughts about the gentleman at the port consume her.

“You spoke often of Mr. Harland in New York,” she said, turning to her sister. “Did you tell him you were leaving?”

Charlotte laughed, short and dismissive. “Why should I?”

“He may be waiting,” Prudence said. “Or writing.”

“He will recover,” Charlotte replied. “Men always do.”

“So you left him without a word?”

Charlotte turned, her eyes sharp with impatience. “I left when it suited me. That is the word you want. He was useful for a time, but I am ready to move on.”

Prudence felt something tighten in her chest. “He is a person.”

“I doubt that point ever came to argument,” Charlotte said. “

Their aunt shifted and murmured, then settled again. Prudence lowered her voice. “It would have cost you nothing to be kind.”

Charlotte smiled, thin and bright. “It would have cost me time.”

They arrived at the estate as dusk softened the outlines of the house. It stood broad and pale against the grounds, windows lit, gravel swept clean. Servants came forward at once and the doors were opened. Trunks were lifted. Charlotte accepted the attention as her due. Prudence followed her inside with her aunt, taking it all in.

The Countess of Cornwall received them in the drawing room. She was composed and alert, her manner warm without excess. Her gaze settled on Charlotte and stayed there.

“My dear child,” she said. “You have your mother’s look. How fortunate.”

Charlotte dipped into a curtsy, practiced and graceful. “You are very kind, my lady.”

Dinner was laid without delay. Prudence helped her aunt to her seat and took her own beside her. The countess spoke easily, directing the table as if arranging pieces already chosen.

“Lord Percival Seymour will join us during your stay,” she said, addressing Charlotte with a smile. “He is as good as family to me. I have long thought the match an excellent one.”

Charlotte’s pleasure was immediate. “I should be honored.”

Prudence felt the words settle and close. The sense was quiet but complete.

“And you, Miss Prudence,” the countess added, turning her gaze at last. “You may find someone agreeable as well. Cornwall has its share of eligible gentlemen.”

Prudence inclined her head. “I am here as my aunt’s companion. That is quite enough for me.”

The countess studied her for a moment, then smiled. “Of course. We shall see.”

Her aunt pressed a hand to her temple and sighed. “The travel has done me no favors.”

“Then we shall end early,” the countess said at once. “Rest is best.”

Prudence helped her aunt from the table. Charlotte rose with reluctance, her attention still fixed on the promise laid before her. The evening ended with courtesy and restraint, leaving more unsaid than spoken.

Prudence was shown to her chamber. The room was orderly while unfamiliar, the window opening onto grounds she did not yet know. She set her reticule on the table and removed her gloves. The handkerchief lay inside, folded and clean.

She did not take it out.

She didn’t want to.

Chapter Two

Percival watched Spencer knock his heel lightly against the carriage step as the horses took the last bend.

“I have missed your old place,” his friend said. “There is comfort in seeing a known roof after the road.”

Percival nodded as the recognition of his estate started to hit him as well. The hedges, the crest of the drive, the curve of the lawn. After spending a year in America in pursuit of business opportunities, returning to the coziness of his home in Cornwall seemed to give him a welcome sense of relief.

“Is this not the most welcoming thing? We get to return home after our wonderful year?”

Percival shrugged. “Not as wonderful as I’d hoped.”

“Oh well, it was only a year. What would you expect?”

Percival nodded. His friend was right. Perhaps if he’d stayed longer, he would’ve found a bride over there and settled down. Alas, fate worked differently. Perhaps he was destined to marry in his hometown, to get matched with a proper well-bred Englishwoman.

Spencer studied his face. “You must cheer up before we draw in. You cannot let your sister see you like this.”

“I will try,” Percival said, his voice clipped.

Spencer narrowed his eyes at him. “You are thinking of her again are you not?”

Percival narrowed his eyes. “Of whom?”

“I can see it all over your face, Percy. You are thinking of the lady at the port. The one you gave your handkerchief to.”

“I do not know what you are speaking about.”

“What about her did you like?” Spencer asked, ignoring his response. “Was it her manner? I liked that as well.”

“She had sense,” Percival said. “That is all.”

The carriage slowed at the steps and the door opened to a small bustle of movement. Percival’s sister, Florence was there before the footman could speak. She did not run, though the wish to run showed in her movement. Her smile was quick and bright.

“Percy,” she said, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Spencer, you have grown into an American with indecent speed.”

“Florence. You look just the same.” Spencer greeted in response.

“That is not true.”

“Is it not?”

“I see you did not leave your mischief in America.”

“Do not tell the customs man,” Spencer said, and slipped a small parcel from his pocket. “I saw this in Oregon and thought of you.”

“Spencer,” Florence chided, already smiling as she turned back the paper.

Inside lay a little music box with a scratched lid and a brass key. Spencer wound it and held it in his palm. The tune was thin and clear and Percival watched as Florence’s composure slipped by a degree. She laughed and drew the box closer as if heat might leave it.

“You should not spoil me so,” she said.

“It plays only when you are kind to it,” Spencer said. “I thought the condition matched you.”

Percival watched them with fondness that did not trouble him. Joy still found his sister even when the house had little to offer it. That seemed a sort of blessing.

“Come inside,” Florence said. “The cook has been in a way since noon. She will not forgive me if you dawdle.”

They crossed the threshold into the hall. The air was cooler there and the stone floor muffled their footsteps. Percival looked up and around. How could a place change so much yet still look the exact same?

Before he could gain an answer to that question, Florence slipped her hand through Spencer’s arm and drew him toward the fireplace.

“I have been reading accounts of the packet boats,” she said. “Tell me if half of it is true. They speak as if the Atlantic were a gentleman’s pond.”

Spencer laughed. “A gentleman’s pond has kinder moods. Still, the schedules are improving.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Very soon, more powerful ships will be invented. You know, the kind that can tell when a day will be clear or not with more accurate measures.”

“Does the mail come as fast as they promise?” Florence asked. “I like the idea of letters arriving like clockwork.”

“I suppose you will have to send a letter to see for yourself,” Spencer said.

“But I have no one to write to in America,” Florence said. “Except cousin Richard of course but I doubt he will indulge my curiosity.”

“Well, you already know what I think,” Spencer said. “There is usually one way to find out.”

Florence nodded, intent. “And the ports? Tell me about the warehouses. They smell of tar and spice in the drawings.”

“Tar is right,” Spencer said. “As for spice, that is a poet’s lie. Dried apple and rotting hemp, perhaps. Forgive me. I ruin everything.”

“You improve it,” Florence said. “Now I see it.”

Their talk ran on in easy measure and Percival listened for a while. It steadied him to hear them because for some reason, the sound of their voices filled the hall with a certain level of glee.

He turned to answer a question from the butler about the luggage, then looked toward the tall window out of habit. His mother stood there under his father’s portrait. Her hands rested lightly on the sill as she faced the gardens and the drive beyond.

He couldn’t see the look in her eyes from where he stood but he could tell they were just as forlorn as he’d left them.

Percival crossed to her and kept his voice low. “You should sit, Mama.”

“I am sitting,” she said, without turning. “You must forgive me for not coming to welcome you at the door.”

He stood beside her and let the silence take a breath. The paint above them held his father’s gaze as it always had.

“I see you are thinking of him again,” he said.

“Frankly, son, I doubt I ever stopped.”

He waited. She exhaled and continued in the same calm tone. “I have been looking through what we have so far.”

Percival blinked. “What?”

“The mines will not last the winter, Percy.”

He felt the old habits move through him. He set his shoulders and kept the reply simple. “They will.”

She turned then and studied his face. “You sound very certain.”

He held her gaze. “I am managing it.”

“I know what has been happening to this estate, Percy,” she said. “I know what your father did.”

He did not look up at the portrait. “There is work to be done.”

“I do not doubt your work,” she said. “I doubt the ground beneath it.”

He drew breath to answer, and the bell in the passage chimed for tea. The sound felt like a line drawn with a rather sharp pencil as his mother turned her head and gave him a brief nod.

“We will speak later,” she said.

*************

They had barely taken their places when a footman appeared with the tea tray. Florence poured with care while Spencer accepted his cup and sat back with a pleased sigh.

“So how was the voyage?” Florence asked, her contribution toward eliminating the deepening silence.

“It was uneventful,” Spencer responded. “The winds were fair most of the way. I even watched Percy do one good deed. He offered his handkerchief to a lady’s aunt. The poor creature was as green as the sea.”

Florence paused with the teacup halfway to her lips. “Really.”

“Indeed,” Spencer said. “She was American. Exceptionally beautiful, too.”

Percival saw his sister’s color fade, then decided to add a few words to the conversation as well, letting his tone turn lighter than he felt. “Americans do tend to dramatize travel.”

Spencer grinned. “And Englishmen dramatize superiority.”

Florence managed a smile and took a small sip. Her eyes stayed on the cup. Percival could not make sense of the change in her, yet it was there. He set his saucer down with a quiet click.

His mother spoke without haste. “You will not dismiss an entire country so easily, Percival.”

Spencer’s brows rose. Florence’s hand tightened on the handle.

“They understand money,” his mother went on. “Which is more than I can say for your father.”

Silence followed as Percival straightened in his chair. “That is unnecessary.”

“It is necessary,” she said, calm and even. “And overdue.”

Florence cleared her throat. “Mama, shall I ring for the scones?”

“No,” his mother said. “Not yet.”

Spencer glanced between them and set his cup down. He chose a neutral subject as if settling a loose thread. “So… did anything interesting happen in our absence?”

Florence straightened, her eyes beaming with news. “Yes, in fact.”

“Really? What?” Spencer asked.

Florence’s gaze shifted to Percival, an indication that the news she was about to deliver concerned him. “The Countess of Cornwall called here a few days ago. I had the pleasure of meeting her in the lane. She asked after you.”

His mother nodded. “Yes. She did. She said she might have a match for Percy.”

Florence’s eyes did not leave Percival as she gave him a nod as if saying yes, that is correct.

Percival kept his voice mild. “We need not discuss that at tea.”

His mother held his gaze. “We will discuss it somewhere.”

The rest of the tea passed in small exchanges that kept the surface smooth. Percival answered when spoken to and did not return to the earlier point. When the tray was cleared and Florence rose to see to the music box, his mother stood as well.

“Percival,” she said, “I will find you in your study later.”

“Yes, Mama.”

He left the drawing room with the familiar sense that the day had shifted course. In the study he opened the shutters wider and set the ledgers out across the desk. Figures waited, neat and pitiless. He skimmed the first page, then the next, willing some mistake to appear. Numbers do not change when one wishes them to. He knew that. He checked them again all the same.

“This cannot be right,” he said under his breath.

It was right. The ink held last quarter’s payments as plainly as a balance scale and the interest accrued. A brief exhale escaped his lips. How would he even begin to pay this high a sum?

Where would he get the money?

Definitely not from the mines, that was certain.

He was still looking through the debts and sums owned when his mother opened the door and entered, then closed it behind her. He remained standing.

“I take it you have spoken to the steward?” he said quietly.

“Yes.”

“That explains how you knew about the mines.”

His mother took in the spread of books at a glance. “You have been shielding us, Percy. And poorly too.”

He did not attempt to deny it. “I will fix it.”

“With what?”

He hesitated. He could call in favors, sell small parcels, delay repairs. Each answer borrowed breath from the next month.

“The countess is your protector,” she said. “You cannot afford to appear ungrateful.”

He let out a short sound that might have been a laugh. “You mean I must court her solution.”

“I mean, you must meet it,” she said, and the gentleness in her tone landed harder than any scolding.

“Have you even met this lady she has matched me with?”

“No, but it is the countess. She has stood by you since you were born, so you must forgive me if I believe she has earned the right to arrange a meeting. This is a small favor you need to grant, Percy. We have nothing left.”

He looked down at the ledger and then back at his mother. “I have no wish to be purchased.”

“No one proposes a purchase,” she answered. “A conversation only. If there is no understanding, nothing is lost. If there is, perhaps the estate might just come back to life. I do not know about you, son, but I would like to sleep without counting debts I have never seen.”

He closed the ledger and set his palm on the cover. “I can speak to the steward about new terms. There are men who will extend credit if the copper holds.”

“The copper does not hold,” she said. “The seam you counted upon before you traveled failed two weeks ago. The steward told me because he could not tell you.”

He stood very still. The news did not surprise him, but it hurt all the same.

“We do not have many options here, son. You must go to the countess when she calls,” she said. “You must show her you have sense and gratitude. That is all.”

He thought of Spencer’s cheerful report, the handkerchief at the port, the woman who had taken it with a steady hand, and kept the moment simple. He did not know why that memory rose now, but it did. If he could do something that simple for a stranger, he could do the same in a drawing room if required.

He could set his pride to one side for the length of a visit.

“One meeting,” he said at last.

She touched his hand. “That is all she asks, for now.”

He did not move his hand away. The study was quiet except for the tick of the small clock on the mantel. He heard Florence in the corridor, her laugh brief and light. Spencer’s voice followed, lower and sure.

His mother released him and turned toward the door. “I will tell the countess you will attend her at her convenience.”

He watched till the door closed behind her and he was left to the silence again.

One meeting.

That was about as much as he could afford.