Page 13 of In Pursuit of a Christmas Bride
He hadn’t had this much fun… in well, forever.
He had stood in London and felt as if he belonged, and everything was possible. He had certainly worked toward such an end for some time. He hadn’t believed it though until this morning, lovesick and foolishly hopeful.
Henry would find her, surely.
He would find her, and they would court as she deserved to be courted and then… well, his heart ached to hold her again with each beat. He supposed once he found her again, they would take it one day at a time.
“I will marry her,” he shouted, spinning with his arms tossed out wide. “I know it. And I am never wrong.”
“Out of the road, Davies,” Michael shouted. “You’ll be run over by a carriage, then you’ll never find her.”
Raucous laughter erupted from within the carriage before it jerked and rode off, leaving him standing in front of his building.
His life had changed. And he was a new man.
With a silly grin still pasted to his face, he stumbled to his doorstep. Perhaps he had had a few too many drinks with his friends that evening. He rarely did, but he had enjoyed himself.And to think Rafe was having this much fun all along? What a blessing not to be the eldest son.
Not that he was bitter.
No, not at all.
Henry had done what his mother needed, at least according to his uncle. She was simply too sad after the passing of his naval captain father on a ship to Brazil. Henry was sent to London, Rafe was sent to become an apprentice of Captain Ackerman, and Mari had remained, looked after by a few of the women in their small Welsh village until their mother recovered from her grief.
He pushed through his door, missing the table when he tossed his keys. He pulled off his boots, dancing around the small sitting room tugging off each. The room was spinning too fast. He hardly had the upper hand in undressing.
It wasn’t fair, really.
He tossed his boots by the door, then staggered a step to grab his keys, catching sight of the letter that had been shoved under his door. He lifted it, feeling everything tilt out of focus.
Fine, next time he wouldn’t have so much to drink.
What a strange feeling to receive from holding a piece of stationery.
But he knew this was different by the seal on the back—elaborate and red. One that left him searching for a reason why he would receive a letter such as this.
His hands trembled as he opened the letter, and he read it once, feeling the floor give out beneath him. He sank down to the rug and clutched the letter in his hand.
His father’s cousin had passed, leaving Henry an earldom and a crumbling family seat on the Isle of Wight.
And he was needed immediately for a meeting to discuss the transition.
Damn it all.
Henry leaned his head against the wall, clutching the letter and remembering the bloodstained handkerchief tucked away in his jacket pocket embroidered with a simpleB.
Barbara, Beatrice, Bridget…
He hadn’t even asked if she were married. Though he ventured she wouldn’t have shared a kiss with him if she were.
And now, his world had, in fact, turned upside down.
He was the Earl Devlin, no longer Henry Davies.
Henry Davies, once hailing from Wales, now had inherited Cliffstone Manor on the Isle of Wight. He hadn’t visited before. Hadn’t a clue what life was like there. Or what the house was like—only described as “in a state of disrepair.” Or how he would be as an earl.
But once again, he wasn’t given a choice.
As the eldest, this was his duty.
