Chapter One
Wollaston Hall, Wiltshire
Hugo de Wold, Earl of Denham, stared out into the darkness at the thick blanket of snow covering the lawn. White crystal flakes fell in abundance, tapping on the drawing room window like an unexpected visitor eager to gain entrance.
During Wollaston Hall’s three-hundred-year history, he doubted anyone had seen such a heavy snowstorm. Roads were impassable. Howling winds pushed thick drifts up past the sills. The biting chill slipped in through every crack and crevice. One only needed to walk a few feet outdoors to find their toes numb and lips blue.
Behind him, his houseguests preferred exchanging the latest snippets of gossip to witnessing the power of nature at work.
“You’ll not find a bride out there, Hugo.” His mother’s shrill voice disturbed his inner peace. Penelope de Wold had a habit of forcing her opinion whether welcome or not.
“I am quite aware of that, Mother.” Hugo cast her a sidelong glance, but the harsh winter weather drew his gaze back to the window. “And I very much doubt I shall find one in here, either.”
The physical problems one encountered in such hazardous conditions mirrored his internal struggle. He felt trapped. Isolated. Hemmed in with no means of escape. The thought of hibernating for months on end had immense appeal. Indeed, he would happily curl up and sleep until the guests departed.
“If you would but tear your gaze away from the window for a moment, you might find the people here just as fascinating.” His mother snorted. “Must I remind you of your oath?”
Who wanted reminding that his thirtieth birthday loomed like the shadow of death?
“By oath, are you referring to the muttered words that left my lips when I agreed to your matchmaking plan?” Contempt infused his tone, and he was glad.
She batted his arm. “You know very well what I mean. You promised me, Hugo. You swore to do your duty. And a de Wold never breaks a promise.” She dabbed the corner of her eye with the lace handkerchief she’d plucked from her sleeve. The matron knew how to turn on the tears if it meant getting her own way. “Lord, I have given you almost thirty years to find a bride of your own choosing.”
The lady was prone to exaggeration. He’d hardly been vetting babes from his crib. Marriage was a word foreign to his vocabulary, a word that held a prestigious place in the dictionary of fools.
“Can I help it if I have particular tastes and needs?”
“Heavens, you make yourself sound like one of those perverted degenerates who scours brothels looking for a girl to whip his bare behind.”
Hugo bit back a chuckle. “I would lower your voice else people might think you have firsthand experience of such a fellow.”
“Stop this nonsense.” His mother’s cheeks ballooned. “You had until your thirtieth birthday to find a wife. As you’ve failed in your task, you must choose one of the beauties seated on the sofa. That is what we agreed.”
Hugo glanced over his shoulder.
All three ladies his mother had invited to the house for the festive season possessed a certain charm. But none of them were tempting enough to make him take the plunge. Miss Pardue’s golden hair lacked lustre. Miss Mason-Jones had an irritating habit of nodding whenever Hugo spoke. Miss Harper’s voice was an annoying chirp, as painful to the ears as a dawn chorus when one had only just tumbled into bed. In her company, he daren’t pause for breath lest she finish his sentence.
“You must give me more time, Mother.”
“Time!” The word was a whisper forced through gritted teeth. “Good heavens, Hugo, in two days you’ll be thirty.” Her voice brimmed with desperation. “How much more time do you need?”
“I’ll not take a bride unless I am sure we’re a good match.”
He would not live like his parents. What was the point of wedlock when both parties resided in different counties? Was it too much to ask that he might grow to love the lady he married?
His mother made an odd puffing sound. “You’re an earl not the son of a farmhand. A good match should be the least of your concerns.” She leaned closer and whispered, “Nothing is more important than money and good breeding. It was instilled into us as children.”
“Nothing is more important to you, Mother. I prefer to make my selection based on ridiculous things such as attraction and compatibility. But no doubt you consider that to be de rigueur.”
“Don’t be so pompous, Hugo. Choose a girl and be done with it so we can enjoy the weekend without upset.”
Hugo was about to argue when it suddenly occurred to him that there was a flaw in his mother’s plan. He’d promised to pick a bride from those in attendance. His choice was not limited to the ladies enjoying tea on the sofa.
“Why not expand my options?” To hide his smile, he stared at the flurry of snow pelting the window, at the thin trees dressed in white winter coats. “Miss Harper’s chaperone is rather fetching.” And much too young for spinsterhood.
The momentary silence was almost as deafening as a high-pitched wail. “Miss Venables is a paid companion. Is that to be your revenge? Will you taunt me with the hired help?” Her voice grew progressively louder. “Heavens, why not propose to Crudging? As your butler, there’s not a person more loyal.”
“Crudging lacks the requirements necessary to produce an heir. After all, that is what this debacle is about.”
Hugo glanced over hi
s mother’s shoulder and locked eyes with Miss Harper. As a lady known for her brazen approach, she raised a brow and moistened her lips.
“People are staring,” he snapped.