Page 3 of To Redeem an Earl

His own aversion to contracting a similar disease had resulted in his profligate use of sheaths, and his rejection of doxies of any class, but it had not resulted in tempering his pursuit of carnal relations. While his cousin, the duke, who had married his betrothed in his stead, could probably count the number of women he had bedded on one or two hands, Richard suspected he would need a minimum of eight hands, plus perhaps the toes on his feet, to count his conquests despite his so-called higher standards in avoidance of dread illnesses. Mayhap an acceptable number of paramours over a lifetime, but he was only just turned seven and twenty.

Hehadbecome a shadow of his father, albeit a more fastidious version. His mother, had she lived to see this day, would be ashamed—nay,wounded—by his debauched way of life. Viewing it from that perspective made him feel … unclean.

Richard was unsure what he was going to do with his unwanted enlightenment, but the answer was not at this infernal rout. Nor was he fit to keep company; he felt pallid and his hands were shaking with the shock of his sudden and unwelcome awareness.

He needed to be alone to gather his wits. A maelstrom of unpleasant emotions and regret racked his body.

Precisely why the girl’s words had evoked his long-forgotten parent’s presence from his murky youth,he was unclear. But evoked it had been, and he knew if his sweet, loving mother stood before him in this moment, he would have been unable to look her in the eye and defend the man he had become in her long absence from this world.

CHAPTER1

Sophia was enjoying an early respite in the Moreland breakfast room. She liked to start her morning before her aunt and uncle appeared at a fashionably late hour, and sometimes her cousin joined her unless they had been up late at a ball the night before.

It was two days since the Astley ball, but Lily had not yet recovered from the late hours and frantic schedule of preparations her mother paced her through. Aunt Christiana was determined to see both her daughter and Sophia married off forthwith, this being her cousin’s second Season and Sophia’s fourth.

Arriving early meant she could enjoy the cheerful, well-lit room in quiet, with a cup of tea, a book, and a full plate of eggs, ham, and fruit.

She inhaled the aroma of the Indian leaves and looked up from her book to sip her tea and take in the decor, which always lifted her spirits.

The walls were covered in azure damask silk above white wainscoting. Over the white marble fireplace, a gilt mirror reflected the morning light from the sash windows into every nook and cranny of the room. It was so refreshing to savor these quiet moments alone before her uncle’s family descended. Later in the day, her brother, Cecil, might make an appearance, but it was unlikely. The Morelands were hosting a ball that night, and he avoided polite events for the most part, favoring time spent gambling and carousing with his questionable friends.

It saddened Sophia to think of her older brother following in their father’s footsteps. He had learned nothing from their father’s death years earlier—brought about by the stress of his high-stakes wagers and excess drinking—nor from the grief that had overtaken her mother in the aftermath, resulting in an overdose of laudanum. Sophia’s uncle, as her guardian, was vague on the details, which made her speculate whether her mother’s death within just weeks of her father’s was not so much accidental, as perhaps deliberate.

It was because of her parents’ passing, more than ten years earlier, that she and her brother Cecil had come to live with Lord Hugh Abbott, her mother’s brother, and his wife Lady Christiana Abbott, along with her two cousins. Her uncle had been generous, taking Cecil in along with Sophia despite no direct relationship to each other, Cecil having been the child of her father’s first marriage. Papa left his estate bankrupt, and Cecil had still been a boy at school when tragedy had found them.

As a young girl, Sophia had determined she would never become her mother and had vowed to her cousin Lily on her very first night at the Abbott home that she would never marry a man who partook in gambling. Husbands could fritter away the wealth and happiness of a young woman while she had little or no recourse.

Certainly, Sophia did not harbor a desire to fall in love with a man who could not walk away from a wager. Indeed, she did not wish to fall in love with any man at all. Love led to heartbreak and leaving one’s only child alone, relying on the kindness of family to offer protection from the harsh realities.

Just three more Seasons to endure before she would inherit the money from the trust directly, without a husband. With her dowry under her control, she could finally start her real life, which was why she sat refreshing herself on Shakespeare’s work to prepare for her bluestocking performance at tonight’s ball. She liked to quote lesser-known verses to turn away the more ardent bucks who might be tempted by her alluring dowry.

She licked a finger to turn a page, sipping her tea when, without warning, her aunt strode into the room. Sophia’s heart promptly sank. She had hoped to avoid her single-minded Aunt Christiana this morning, who would have courtship and marriage foremost on her mind.

“She’s in here, Lord Moreland!”

Sophia’s heart sank further. Clearly she was cornered and would be forced to talk about marriage plans outnumbered two to one.

Lord Moreland hurried in, his tall form filling the doorway. He brushed his thick, graying hair back from his temple. “Good morning, Sophia. Enjoying your breakfast?”

Sophia gave a resigned smile as her aunt and uncle came to sit at the table set with a white tablecloth, silver, and cheerful blossoms in tiny vases. Two footmen came forward to serve the viscount and his wife with tea in delicate china cups.

Sophia dearly loved her adopted family, but they were frightfully conventional. Lord Moreland would do anything to protect his family, but in his mind that meant marrying Sophia off to a safe and proper gentleman while Lady Moreland was obsessed with her niece and daughter marrying gentlemen with the best connections. Being trapped alone with the two of them meant she could not escape The Conversation. The one that took place at the beginning of every Season and grew lengthier with each passing year as Aunt Christiana grew progressively more frantic to marry Sophia off before she was placed firmly on the shelf as—horror of horrors—a spinster!

Sophia appreciated their concern, but she had no intention of falling in line with society standards in order to be acceptable, so she had learned to be wily in her avoidance of the fate they planned for her. She did not wish to upset them, so did her best to not engage in direct conflict. This morning was turning out to be an opportunity to practice her diplomacy. Again.

She should have eaten her meal rapidly before finding another room to hide in.

Stupid move, Sophia, not predicting your aunt would choose the morning of the Moreland grand ball to challenge you!

Her aunt added sugar to her tea and stirred. Uncle Hugh stared at his tea with a perturbed expression, as if he was not sure what to do with it, probably reminiscing about his customary pot of morning coffee waiting for him in his study. Perhaps the viscountess had waylaid him in a similar manner to accosting Sophia at her breakfast. Aunt Christiana was not usually awake this early in the morning, so she must have planned ahead to waylay the two of them.

Her aunt sipped her tea, arching an elegant brown eyebrow pointedly in her husband’s direction.

Uncle Hugh cleared his throat. He was to lead the way, then.

Keep calm, Sophia. Do not show any reaction and take your time responding so that you may lead the conversation to your desired outcome.With that reminder, she closed her leather tome and put it aside. Then she looked to her uncle expectantly.

“Now, see here, Sophia. It is high time we saw you settled in marriage with a household of your own to manage.”

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