Page 1 of A Marriage of Convenience with a Rake
Prologue
Hilltop House, hunting lodge to the Earl of Glenfield, November 1816
The sound of laughter—shrill, brandy-fueled—echoed around the terrace. Sebastian breathed in, smelling the heady smell of liquor, dew, and perfume in the cold air. It was familiar; the smell of every party he had heldat this hunting lodge. He breathed out and reached for his drink, gazing contemplatively into the depths of the brandy-glass.
“Dash it,” he murmured to Matthew, his friend who stood beside him on the terrace. “I think I’m losing my touch.”
“What’s that, old fellow?” Matthew asked, a pained expression on his face. “It’s so awfully loud out here.”
“I said,” Sebastian replied, feeling sour, “that I think I’m getting old. I don’t seem to feel alive like I used to.” He sighed, still staring at the amber liquid. It held no appeal for him—it was, well, just brandy. The party was just a party. The noise was too loud and the company, while certainly colorful, didn’t excite him as it would have done just a year earlier, when he was thirty. He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, feeling confused.
His friend stepped closer. “What was that, old fellow? You feel old?” Matthew grinned; his brown eyes sparkling. That crooked grin of his had lit up the most tiresome days at university. He and Sebastian had attended Cambridge together, where Matthew read law, while Sebastian read history. Sebastian had thought that he would die of boredom—not because studying challenged his brain overmuch, but because he found everything tiresome after a while. With Matthew, at least there was always some crazy exploit they could indulge in, likerunning in the woods in winter or daring one another to jump naked into the frozen river. Sebastian smiled fondly, recalling those times.
He stared around the party, his dark eyes narrowing as he did so. People of all sorts were there. Mostly, they were his noble friends—as the Earl of Glenfield, most of his friends were part of theTon. But mixed in with the company were actors, dancers and people from other, even more questionable professions, pouring in from the nearby town of Chatham. They were all welcome—the more the merrier, and actors and dancers were much livelier than the average nobleman.
“Yes,” he murmured. “I feel old.” His eye roved across the colorful company, the women in low-cut gowns, bright velvet clashing with brighter silks. People laughed and joked, and one group surrounded a man who tried to climb a tree amidst drunken yells of encouragement. That sort of foolery would have delighted Sebastian once. Now, he thought it merely a little silly. “I’m too old for this sort of thing,” he continued quietly.
“Nonsense,” Matthew chuckled.
“What? Nonsense?” Sebastian shook his head. He considered sipping his brandy, but the smell repelled him. He put it down on the table nearby. “It’s not nonsense, old chap. I’m one-and-thirty years old.”
“And I’m only two years younger than that, so mind your tongue when it comes to calling yourself old.” Matthew grinned. His auburn hair was bright in the light from the window.
Sebastian sighed. “I don’t really mean I am old; old fellow.” He looked out over the lawns, searching for an explanation. “I mean Ifeelold.”
Matthew snorted. “It’s one o’ clock in the morning, Glenfield. I would be surprised if you were bursting with vitality.”
The familiar nickname from his title, the Earl of Glenfield,warmed him as much as his comment did. Matthew always lightened matters. Sebastian inclined his head. “I suppose you’re right.”
He didn’t know how to explain it—even in his own mind, it made limited sense.
“Come on!” Matthew called briskly. “Let’s go and see what those fellows under that tree are doing. Looks like old Ackroydhas got himself stuck in that tree. That’s a lark, eh?” He was laughing, clearly amused by the foolery of the group on the lawn. Sebastian sighed again. Maybe a few days before, he would have laughed and joined in the fun, but after a week of parties at the hunting lodge, it had lost its appeal.
“Hey! Hey!”
Sebastian’s gaze whipped round at the sound of a yell. He tensed, the shout sobering him instantly. He had drunk sparingly, and the sound of the shouting was like ice down his spine.
Something was very wrong.
A woman screamed, and then other screams followed, and Sebastian ran. He headed straight for the direction where the screams were coming from—a group on the lawn, closer to the house than that beside the tree. Most of the people there stood still, while others were running from the same spot. He sprinted, long legs carrying him effortlessly across the lawn to the crowd. He pushed his way forward, avoiding the women who ran from the place, yelling and screaming.
“What’s going on?” He demanded, confronting a man he knew from Cambridge who was standing nearby. Damn the brandy! He couldn’t recall his name. He’d never had a gift for names.
“It’s Emerton,” the man explained. “He fell. He was up there,” the man rambled, slurring a little and pointing. “He was up there, and he fell. Broken bones for sure.”
“What?” Sebastian went cold.
The Earl of Emerton was a distant cousin—albeit a very distant cousin—of the Prince Regent. If he had injured himself at one of Sebastian’s drunken gatherings, it would mean trouble. The Regent might live a colorful life himself, but certain things he abhorred in his courtiers. Anything that led to violence and people being hurt was one of them. Sebastian’s heart started to thump loudly, and he looked around desperately, searching for someone who might be able to help.
He glanced at the crowd. People had gathered around the spot, and the press of bodies was too tight for him to see.
“Out of the way!” he shouted, feeling his heart race. “Everybody! Get out of the way. Let me pass.”
“Keep your hair on, Sebastian,” a drunken man yelled at him. “Old fellow’s not going to get up for some yelling.”
“What happened?” Sebastian demanded.
“The earl of Emerton. He was on the balcony,” a tall, slim man explained. Sebastian tried to focus; certain he didn’t even invite the fellow to his party. He thought he might be someone else he knew from Cambridge, but he didn’t remember him. “He was waving to somebody down here in the garden. I think he was watching the fun there.” He jerked his head at the group around the man climbing the tree. “He leaned too far out. He fell. I think...he could have broken something, my lord.”
