One
Warwickshire, England, 1812
“She knows how to host a party, I’ll give her that,” my brother Daniel muttered, stopping beside me. “I’ve never seen so much silver in my life.”
Someone from behind jostled us and a matron passed, yanking her young daughter forward to obtain a position closer to the front. Daniel scowled at them before his dark eyes focused on me. “Margaret, you cannot be serious about going through with this.”
“I am.” Once I was married, there would be no more rumors preventing Daniel from marrying. And I would no longer have to endure the whispers regarding the scandal of my broken engagement. Everything would finally be as it should have been two years ago.
Mrs. Hickmore clapped her hands, silencing the excited murmurs. “Now, everyone.” She surveyed us with a smile so full of satisfaction it squeezed her round cheeks up, making her eyes nothing more than small slits. “To your seats. You’ll find your names at your plates for tonight only. Hereafter, you may sit wherever, or should I say with whomever, you wish. We don’t stand on ceremony here.”
She spread her arms, officially welcoming us to the opening of the event. Three gentlemen strode boldly forward, nodding at her as they passed, and one of the braver women laughed and followed in their wake. Soon the group moved almost en masse toward the tables, and footmen stepped out of the shadows to assist the more timid in finding their places.
Those who hurried around us carried anticipation in their tentative smiles and hope in their excited eyes. Yet there must be others who, like me, sought a union of convenience. Others who knew how much giving your heart to someone hurt.
A woman paused and inspected Daniel with a calculated smile. Daniel turned his back to her and clasped my arm, his voice low and insistent as he said, “Change your mind. You don’t have to go through with this.”
Instead of seeing this party as a means to right the wrongs that had been inflicted on our family, he viewed my coming as a rash decision made by a heartbroken sister. It had been devastating to discover Edward, the man I’d pledged my heart to, had entertained a string of mistresses and had only pretended to care for me because of a stipulation of his father’s. He had made me look such a fool for loving him. I had been a fool. Edward’s family’s estate bordered our own; his sister was my best friend and the woman Daniel wished to marry. We had known each other practically our whole lives. I should have realized it wasn’t real, should have seen him for what he was, should have perceived that my love meant nothing to him. That I’d meant nothing to him.
But I hadn’t. He’d courted me and made me laugh and treated me with all the attentiveness I’d ever longed for. And I’d loved him.
After I discovered the truth, I of course had my father call off the engagement. Yet for a long time it was all I could do to rise from bed each morning, the darkness of Edward’s deception like a lake of poison seeping through my emotions, killing my happiness and drowning my efforts to move on.
Now, though, I was no longer brokenhearted. In fact, I was no longer controlled by my heart at all. And, if everything worked as I hoped, I never would be again. I had learned my lesson well. “This is what I want,” I told my brother. All would be made right once I found someone safe.
Daniel sighed. “I can see you are determined. Let’s get you settled.”
“Ah, Miss Brinton. Mr. Brinton.” Mrs. Hickmore stepped before us, grabbing each of us by the hand. “I’m so pleased you made it.”
“Thank you for extending the invitation yet again,” I said.
She patted my hand. “I am delighted you finally took me up on the offer, for of all the people here, I most wish you the match you seek.”
“Thank you,” I replied, flattered by her concern.
“Now, Mr. Brinton,” she continued, “I believe you will find your seat there.” She pointed toward the head of the second table. “And Miss Brinton, if you will follow me?”
She took my arm and led me toward the first table. Leaning over conspiratorially, she said, “It would not suit our purposes to have you seated too near your brother. Relations have a way of meddling at the most unfortunate of times where young ladies are concerned. I made certain he was situated with his back to you. You will be free to converse at your leisure.” She tapped her nose knowingly before coming to an abrupt halt before her husband. “Oh, Henry. Look who finally decided to join us.”
Mr. Hickmore took my hand in his bulky one. “So glad you made it.”
Mrs. Hickmore beamed. “Won’t she just be the catch of the party?”
“She’ll have her fair share of offers—I’d wager this year’s harvest on it. A man would be daft not to fall for those green eyes and that mop of dark curls.”
His grasp on my hand tightened. I tried to free myself while mumbling something about his being too kind, but Mrs. Hickmore cut me off, her eyes wide with astonishment. “A ‘mop of dark curls’? You’re calling this beautiful hair a mop? And ‘dark’ doesn’t even describe it. It’s more the color of that box you bought me, the one made from that Jamaican wood. Oh, what do they call it?”
“Mahogany,” Mr. Hickmore offered.
“Yes, that’s it. Very rich. I dare say, Henry, I don’t think describing her hair as a mop is the compliment you mean it to be.” She turned back to me. “Mop, indeed. Don’t pay him any heed. I never do, you know.”
“No, you don’t,” her husband grumbled, finally releasing my hand.
Mrs. Hickmore pulled me away, directing me to an empty spot at the table. “Here you are.”
The man standing to the right of my seat glanced over, his gaze sweeping over me. His dark hair was styled with disregard, as though he’d just run his hands through it. Yet his perfectly snug dinner coat, outlining his muscled shoulders and trim form, was in the latest style, and his cravat, though simply tied, was starched and pressed and without spot. He carried an air of self-assured unconcern that didn’t waver as Mrs. Hickmore proceeded with the introduction.
“Let me present Mr. Fredrick Northam. He owns a large and well-kept estate to the south of here, as well as a house in London. He enjoys riding, hunting, and has a keen eye for business. His grandfather was aristocracy and his mother one of the kindest women I’ve ever met. No one can deny that he is quite the catch. However, he’s been known to break a heart or two with nary a backward glance, so be on your guard.”
I was always on my guard now. As for the rest, this man appeared confident and disinterested. That he possessed a country estate far enough from my own neighborhood to provide a restart in life made him nearly perfect. Perhaps he was exactly what I was hoping for.
I waited for something to draw me to him, a spark of interest warning me to look elsewhere.
No flicker of attraction came.
Smiling, I said, “I assure you, I shall keep my heart quite secured.”
Mr. Northam inclined his head, his smile unchanged though he raised a brow.
“And on your other side,” Mrs. Hickmore continued, “is a man with such an upstanding reputation I didn’t dare leave him out.” The man she indicated finished his conversation with the young woman next to him and turned to greet me. His short hair was a lighter brown than Mr. Northam’s, and his eyes were blue. His clothes were not quite so fitted, though still expensively tailored. His expression was guarded, but there was an ease to his smile that made me want to smile in return.