Chapter One
Brighton, England
Late March 1819
His Grace, EugeneFelsted, Duke of Chandos, strolled the pebbled beach through the thinning mist, his eyes on the pewter-colored ocean out to where the horizon met a thunderous deep-gray sky. He accepted he would never be completely happy again. The joy had gone out of life with the death of his younger brother, Harry. With only a year between them, they had been close from birth, and his passing left a huge hole in Gene’s heart.
Seeking comfort, he sought the past, those precious, shared memories. Gene was considered the serious one. At Oxford, while he spent his time rowing and at his books, Harry, a year behind him, spent his nights in the local tavern, and was constantly hauled up before the dean for some prank or other. Harry was the daredevil, jumping his horse over high walls or driving his phaeton too fast. And when he took his boat out that last time, Gene was pretty sure Harry sailed deliberately too close to those rocks. As if he thumbed his nose at death.
Watching the gulls soar in the sky, he could hear Harry’s voice in his ear.“Life is too dull for a second son, Gene. There are no wars to fight. I made a negligent student, so forget the law, and I would make a most disrespectful vicar. I don’t fancy myself as a gentleman farmer. If I must be idle and a constant disappointment to Father, I might as well wring every drop out of life that I can.”
Gene tried to still the rage twisting his gut. “But after Father died, what you did with your life shouldn’t have mattered a damn,” he cried into the salty air. But it did matter to Harry.
Gene kicked a pebble, which rattled away, scattering several more like a game of billiards. When he looked up, a girl came toward him, wandering along the edge of the water. His interest piqued, he watched her. Barefoot and holding up her skirts, she darted in and out of the waves, her laughter floating to him on the breeze. In her wake trudged a stout middle-aged lady, disapproval writ large on her plain face, carrying what appeared to be the girl’s stockings and blue shoes. But the girl held his attention, her slender limbs, and balletic movements. Her joy.
Gene couldn’t help the smile lifting his lips.
Spying him, she dropped the hem of her dress and put a hand to her auburn locks, escaping from beneath her bonnet. She covered her mouth with a hand. To suppress a giggle, he suspected. She was so full of life that it almost hurt him to look at her. Because she made him aware of his shortcomings.
“You’ll catch your death, Lady Mellicent,” the older woman admonished her. “You are no longer a schoolroom miss and must behave with decorum. Please put on your shoes. You will upset your mother. What are we to do with these soiled stockings?”
“We shall take them home and wash them.” With an indifferent shrug, Lady Mellicent took the half-boots from her chaperone, her gaze resting on Gene. “Really, Nanny, you are a crosspatch today.” She held onto Nanny’s shoulder and dabbed at her narrow feet with a handkerchief, then slipped on the half-boots.
As he passed them, Gene raised his hat.
He’d gone a few steps when she called after him. “Are you not His Grace, Duke of Chandos?”
“Really, Lady Mellicent. You have not been introduced,” Nanny scolded.
“Pish,” Lady Mellicent said pleasantly.
When Gene returned, he gazed into the most beautiful, deep brown eyes he’d ever seen and felt a sharp tug in his heart. As if his soul had awakened. He fought to make light of this absurd reaction. Of course, any man would feel this way for a girl so undeniably lovely. His gaze roamed her face, noting her delicate features and pert nose sprinkled lightly with freckles.
With an indrawn breath, he removed his hat and inclined his head. “Have we met?” They hadn’t. He would have known.
She bobbed, her smile infectious. “No, but you have met my sister, Jennifer, Lady Fredericks.”
Harry. This loss made him absurdly vulnerable. That was it. His neck felt stiff, but he resisted rubbing it. “Ah, yes, my brother introduced your sister to me in London last year.”
Evidently, she had not heard of Harry’s death. His greatcoat hid the black armband he wore.
“It is fortifying here and quite bracing, is it not, Your Grace?”
“Indeed.”
Gene expected the misty rain to return at any moment. But somehow doubted it would dampen Lady Mellicent’s spirits. He had never met anyone quite so…alive. It was infectious. He wanted to bask in it for as long as he could.
Her nanny took her arm to usher her away.
A faint meow sounded nearby.
“Oh, look! It’s a kitten! What are you doing here?” Lady Mellicent ran lightly across the pebbles to where it huddled against the seawall. She picked the kitten up and hugged the scrap of fur against her spencer. The tiny ginger animal was painfully thin. It mewed pitifully.
“Lady Mellicent, you cannot take that cat home. Your mother…”
“Hush Nanny. I must. It’s freezing.” She tucked the kitten against her chest inside her spencer.
She smiled at Gene. “I shall call her Rosie.”