Shrugging, Jeremy raised his pale eyebrows. ‘Ought to have gone back a week ago, but I was afraid that I would miss your visit.’
Samuel touched his chest. ‘I am flattered.’
His little brother laughed, shoving Samuel’s shoulder. ‘And the food is ever so much better at home and no one expects me to do anything. I am the spare after all.’
Jeremy was not a spare to him. He was Samuel’s only sibling and he would not let anything bad happen to him. He loved his brother, and unlike Papa, Samuel would take care of him. ‘Well, pack your trunk, I will have Mr Kent drive you back to school tomorrow with a hamper full of Cook’s best pastries.’
Leaning his head to one side, Jeremy frowned at him. ‘Is there any money for school? Some of my friends at Eton heard that our family was all but rolled up. I thought I could perhaps join the army or the navy?’
Samuel’s insides felt knotted and he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. He’d hoped to spare his younger brother the weight of their family problems. Such worries were crushing to a schoolboy, as Samuel had learned all too well and too young. Yet, how was he to raise enough money to take care of his brother’s future and keep the family estate? And would he be able to do so in the brief time of his military leave? He didn’t wish for his brother to join the army or navy. He’d lost too many friends on the battlefield and couldn’t lose Jeremy.
At least if he married Frederica, his little brother would never want for anything. It stung his masculinity and his pride to allow the Duchess of Hampford to win, but there was nothing he would not do for Jeremy. Even marry a badly behaved termagant to pay his family’s debts. Samuel pulled Jeremy into a tight hug before letting go. A rare sign of affection. ‘We are not destitute and you will return to school. We were obliged to sell the London house and some land, but we are quite well to pass, and since I have no taste for cards, you have no need to worry for your future.’
His little brother did not appear convinced. ‘Are you sure?’
Samuel took out his coin purse from his pocket and tossed it to Jeremy, who deftly caught it. ‘Don’t spend it all in one place.’
His little brother’s worried expression turned into a grin. ‘I won’t!’
He gave his brother a nod, before heading out a side door. Samuel ordered the head groom to saddle his horse—he was to ride to London today. Turning back, he looked at his home, Farleigh Palace. It was one of the few edifices built in the English Baroque style and was as ostentatious as it was ornate. The grey stone building had countless arched windows and looked like three enormous houses connected by covered halls. The centre building was a storey taller than the others and had a great domed roof. The farthest right building connected to the pleasure gardens through several archways. From the outside, Farleigh Palace was cold and stately, but to Samuel, it was the only place he had ever called home. It would have been a wrench to lose it, but to keep it, he would have to marry Frederica.
Samuel had always tried to behave in the opposite manner that his father would have. Serious. Responsible. Thoughtful. Frederica had once called him ‘stuffier than a stuffed animal head nailed to a wall’. Perhaps as a young man he had come off as a bit uptight. But he’d had to grow up at a very early age. His mother and his little brother had depended upon him for their emotional well-being.
Frederica had always been his opposite: light-hearted, mischievous, and fun-loving. He worried that she shared some of the same wild traits as his father. She didn’t care for society’s opinion or approbation. She would always do what she wanted and hang the consequences. And what was worse was that she madehimfeel unsettled and out of control.
He had never been foolish enough to believe that he would marry for love. Dukes didn’t. But he had intended to make his own choice. To select a young woman of good birth and family that he both admired and cared for. One that returned his preference. A woman that he could be faithful to for the rest of his life.
The head groom handed him the reins. ‘Here is your horse, Your Grace.’
Samuel blinked, still getting used to his father’s title. ‘Thank you, Jepson. Please advise my valet that I no longer have a London house, so he had better meet me with my gear at Grillon’s Hotel.’
‘Very good, Your Grace.’
He mounted his stallion and cantered off at a spanking pace. At last being able to work out some of his frustrations.
Chapter Three
Samuel stopped first at his club, Whites, where he freshened up after his ride and had a couple of glasses of ratafia. He next stopped at Manton’s, where he shot clay pigeons for over an hour and left no longer feeling as if he was going to backfire like a cannon. His final stop was in Berkley Square. He rubbed his temples, trying to release some of the tension from his body. It didn’t help. The butler, Mr Harper, bowed painstakingly to him and asked him to come in. The smiling butler then requested that His Grace follow him upstairs. He had known this man all his life and Harper was clearly aware of what was supposed to happen on this auspicious day. Samuel couldn’t help but wonder how many unions planned from the cradle actually resulted in marriage. He wished the number were one fewer.
The butler opened the door to a well-lit room. It was decorated in shades of yellow and the sounds of Beethoven floated from a grand pianoforte. Samuel’s eyes alighted on Lady Hampford, who stood to meet him. He sucked his cheeks in. He’d always liked her. She was everything his mother was not: strong, determined, and independent. He’d wished his own mama had half of her resolve. Except now that selfsame resolve was coming for him and he no longer admired it. He resented it and her, greatly.
Lady Hampford raised a white-gloved finger to her lips and looked meaningfully at her daughter playing the instrument. He followed her gaze and saw Frederica. He would have recognised her face anywhere. That stubborn nose. Determined mouth. Slanted eyebrows with diabolical intent. But there were subtle and beautiful changes about her. Even sitting down, he could tell that her figure was tall. Her hair was a rich brown and her lips generous enough to kiss. The fashion for high-waist dresses emphasised her ample chest and trim waist. It was the figure of a woman. A diamond of the first water. He wished that his palms didn’t feel sweaty in his gloves or that his collar wasn’t quite so tight around his neck.
Her face was slightly flushed as she finished the crescendo and ended the piece with a laugh of triumph, ‘Ha!’
His heart jumped, as did his pulse.
Frederica’s hazel eyes met Samuel’s blue ones, and she immediately stood up from the piano bench. ‘I did not hear the door open. Please forgive me, Lord Pelford, for not rising immediately to meet you.’
Samuel was an honest man—especially with himself. He could not deny that the young woman before him was very attractive. Somehow Frederica had managed to grow into her long limbs, for the last time he had seen her she was all knees and elbows. She walked towards him gracefully, with a light step. She held out her hand, and he bowed briefly over it. He caught a hint of her scent, an attractively earthy combination of linden and conifer.
‘Why do not we all sit down?’ Lady Hampford suggested, smiling at him. ‘Shall I ring for some tea?’
He shook his head, holding up one gloved hand. ‘Not on my account, please. And if you will forgive my abruptness, I would prefer to speak alone with Lady Frederica. My time is limited and there is a question of great importance I wish to ask her.’
Lady Hampford gave him a dazzling smile and left the room as if she were leaving a pair of young lovers and not childhood enemies. Samuel sat on a chair across from Frederica, where he could readily observe her features. He smiled slightly when he realised that he was not the only one surprised at what he saw. The colour in her cheeks was high and her lips upturned into the slightest of smiles.
‘I suppose I ought to apologise for putting the bear cub in your room when last I saw you,’ Frederica said, in a completely unrepentant tone. She may have grown into a beauty, but her personality had not changed one whit. Something about her had always irritated him like a rash on his skin.