Prologue

The King himself could have been there that fateful night and Isabel wouldn’t have noticed. Even though her mother had decorated their home with the grandest décor of the era and there wasn’t a surface or railing without ribbon, exquisite fabric, or candlelight, all she could see was Anthony Moore. The second son to her father’s best friend—and her childhood love. Ever since she could remember, Isabel had admired the dashing young man. She had the unique privilege of watching him go from a rosy-cheeked, round-eyed little boy that loved nothing more than chasing bugs and sticking them down the backs of his brothers’ collars, to the sophisticated and witty young man before her that night. He was sharp jawed, and his chestnut tresses were so expertly pushed back from his face, with those coffee eyes sparkling at her.

She could have almost forgotten they were dancing; she was so completely lost in him. Any time Isabel’s attention fluttered to the grin on his face, her heart skipped a beat. While he had always possessed a charming smile, it wasn’t the reason for her palpitations. No, it was because she knew that smile was hers. Hers because she caused it, and hers because that night was meant to be the start of their forever. It was her Debut ball, but she knew that the hunt for a potential suitor was over before it began. Anthony had been her end all be all since they were kids; she just hadn’t understood her fondness overgrew friendship until the year leading up to her Debut.

“I’m feeling lightheaded,” she had whispered to him.

His eyes narrowed at her before he asked, “Do you need to sit?”

Isabel, biting her cheek to hold in her excitement, she shook her head. “I could dance with you forever.”

Anthony chuckled and quirked a brow at her. “Then why are you lightheaded?”

He spun her on cue with the music and when she landed chest to chest with him, she finally answered in another whisper, “I think this is what love feels like.”

When their eyes met, he replied, “If that’s the case, I think I’m lightheaded too.”

Isabel hadn’t been lightheaded since that Season; a Season which her mind sentimentally coined the Era of Love. It had been the last time she had felt happiness and romantic love against her fingertips and in her heart. It was a melodramatic thought indeed, but it didn’t make it any less true. And all those years later, almost ten to be exact, she still wondered:

What if he had been the man I married?

Chapter One

A sharp knock on her bedchamber door startled Isabel and she shot to her feet out of habit, which she inwardly cursed herself for. Robert wasn’t there; she didn’t need to be sure to be standing when he entered a room. The door opened and her dear maid, Amy, peered inside. “Baroness Pratt is here, Your Grace,” she informed.

“Rebecca?” Isabel breathed. While it shouldn’t have surprised her that her sister would come to visit due to the circumstances, she hadn’t given it much thought. She was so used to being alone in the estate that it hadn’t crossed her mind people would then try to visit her. Clearing her throat and smoothing her dress, Isabel followed after her maid to greet her sister.

Just as Isabel exited her room, she could hear a commotion in the foyer. As she approached the stairs, she watched as Rebecca ordered about the footmen. “Be careful with that trunk, now. It has my gowns in it and they are worth quite the fortune! I would like a room selected with a view of the garden.”

For a moment, Isabel only blinked. Her sister didn’t appear to have belongings to stay only a night, but rather a long while. Brushing off the way Rebecca addressed the staff as her sister being tired from traveling, Isabel approached her.

“What a lovely surprise,” she spoke up faintly. She hated how feeble she sounded, especially because it would seem like she was still grieving that awful husband of hers, but also because she knew it was what years of being his wife had done to her. Weak, small, and as quiet as possible.

Rebecca spun about and took hold of her shoulders. While Rebecca was only a year her junior, Isabel didn’t think she had ever looked so youthful to her before. Flawless porcelain skin, bright and well-rested eyes, and not a blonde hair out of place. Her face shifted into a sympathetic pout.

“Oh, Bellie! It is so wonderful to lay eyes on you,” she oozed. “I haven’t been able to get you off my mind in weeks. I thought about keeping up our letters to see how you are coping, but I really had to come see for myself.”

Isabel nodded but her attention turned to the footmen hoisting trunks up the stairs. “What is… what is all this?” she questioned.

Rebecca’s sky-blue eyes had shifted to a rather serious gleam by the time Isabel looked back her way. “I have tried to give you your space to mourn, Isabel, I really have. However, the thought of you rotting away in this big house all alone for all of winter?” She clamped a hand to her chest. “I simply can’t stand the thought of it. No husband nor children to keep you company, and I know you haven’t exactly been a social butterfly since you married.”

Isabel had to bite her tongue from saying what was really on her mind at her sister’s last comment. That yes, she hadn’t been social—but because Robert wouldn’t allow her to be. After she had told him about her friendship with Anthony as children, albeit leaving out details of the blooming love they had shared, he had become horribly paranoid she would find a man to have an affair with. Women were marked as dangers as well, claiming that they would be bad influences on her. His need for control and his cruelty made Isabel glad they never had children. He blamed her for being barren, but he blamed her for everything, so it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for their marriage.

Stop. Stop thinking about him right now. He will only spoil your mood.

Clearing her thoughts, Isabel shook her head. “While I sincerely appreciate the thought, I don’t think that it is necessary for you to stay here all winter.”

“Your husband passed two months ago in that hunting accident,” Rebecca stated matter-of-factly, as though Isabel was overlooking the fact. “You should not have to be alone anymore. I wanted to come sooner, but I wanted to give you time to have your cries and such… and my Edmund was about, and I didn’t think you would want another marriage rubbed in your face.”

Isabel shifted a little, folding her arms. She could feel herself caving into her sister’s ways. Maybe it would be good for her to have someone around so she wasn’t only sat with her thoughts. However, Rebecca was a dominating presence and Isabel was longing to find herself. Having her sister there would mean living by her wishes and desires, instead of her own. And yet, Isabel didn’t have the heart to turn her away; particularly because she knew that Rebecca was so well-intended.

“What about Edmund? Where is he now?” Isabel asked, seeing it as her only way out of the situation.

Rebecca clasped her hands together, looking all too delighted to share her answer. “He has been sent away on business and shan’t be back until after New Year.”

It puzzled Isabel that she was so excited to announce her husband was gone, but she assumed that it was more so excitement to spend time with her. All the festering resistance left Isabel at that point. Even if Isabel knew she would have to approach learning to navigate her life as a widow in a more gradual manner, she simply couldn’t turn her sister way. Not when it meant she too would be alone for winter, even though she would likely have friends who would visit her frequently.

“Very well.” Isabel sighed. “Let’s get you settled in.”

Rebecca clapped and pulled her sister in for an embrace. “We will get through this cold, miserable season together. Even if we can’t go to parties or balls, we will have fun. I’m sure of it.”

Ah yes, Isabel wasn’t allowed to socialize until she reached six months into her widowhood. Robert was stunting her ability to be an individual even in the afterlife. Even though she had been granted personal and financial freedom in his death, Isabel was still under the control of a husband because of society’s look on men, women, and marriage. As the sisters ascended the stairs to oversee the unpacking of Rebecca’s belongings, Isabel thought back to the question of what life would have had been like if she married Anthony. It was a question she would never have the answer to, and their time together would be the only Era of Love she would experience—and that had to be alright. She had experienced love and knew what it was like, and she had known the cruel and dark reality of marriage. From then on, it was the Era of Isabel. Her person would not be defined by a man ever again. People would come to know her as Isabel, the Dowager Duchess of Edington. Not the wife of the Duke of Edington or any other edition of the notion. It would take time to learn how to be on her own and fill all the holes married life had left in her, but she would do it. Isabel would pave her own path and have a fulfilling future. Never again would she marry.

Chapter Two

A few months later…

The silly, erratic giggling of mild manner women when he whispered salacious ‘sweet nothings’ to them were one of the few thrills Anthony had left anymore. He knew that he shouldn’t find such enjoyment of making women teeter a fine line between discomfort and carnal intrigue, but he couldn’t help it. The blushing of their cheeks, the weak pleas for him to stop, and that awful little laugh they all had. The woman before him was no different. She fanned herself and attempted to look anywhere but at Anthony, but her eyes always found their way back to him. Her dull eyes sparkled with interest and a silent beg for him to continue his incessant flirting.

“Lord Moore, you are simply too much,” she replied in a hushed tone.

He smirked and dared to allow his fingertips to brush against her arm as he reached for his drink one of the club’s servants had poured him just moments before. “My dear, you do not know the meaning of too much until you have spent a night… joining me for dinner, shall we say.”

There it was, the sharp inhale of breath followed by an eruption of nasally laughter. One of her delicate hands flew over her mouth to try and muffle the sounds so not to draw attention to them, but it was far too late for that. Eyes followed Anthony Moore anywhere he went, hoping to catch a little taste of scandal from the Duke of Mondale’s disgraced son. Anthony felt he had calmed down in recent years since the marriage of his best friend, Ernest Cecil. No longer did he brashly disrupt balls or parade around London with a harlot on his arm with pride as though she were a family jewel. However, he still had to find ways to pass the time, didn’t he?

“My Lord!” she gasped once she had recovered from her giggling. She batted her lashes at him and attempted to convey coyness in her face. “I haven’t any idea what business a lady such as myself would have joining you for dinner.”

With a smirk on his face, he allowed his eyes to rake over her brazenly. Though he would go so far as to say she wasn’t his type, Anthony knew better than to lie to himself. Any woman at all was his type those days. “I can think of a number of businesses we could get up to together.”

There was a loud scoff to the other side of him and with a raised brow, Anthony turned to see who it was. Immediately, his face fell at the sight of his father standing before him, red-faced and nostrils flaring. “Anthony, might you escort me to my carriage?” his father requested, his tone stern and filled with warning.

“I haven’t finished my drink,” Anthony remarked meekly.

“Leave it,” the Duke demanded. As Anthony plucked up his glass and gulped down the remaining brandy, his father turned to the lady and muttered, “If you will excuse us.”

Once Anthony sat his glass down on the countertop, he shot the lady one last look with a shrug before following his father out of the social club. He could feel the anger radiating from his father just as much as the first warm breeze of the year on his cheek. They climbed into the carriage and just as the door shut, before Anthony could even sit, his father smacked his shoulder with a ledger he had been carrying. “What in the Heavens is wrong with you, son!” he shouted.

“What did I do?” Anthony asked, genuinely confused by the level of anger.

“You can’t be so daft,” his father snorted, glaring hard at him as Anthony sat. When Anthony clearly conveyed he didn’t know what the issue was, his father took a deep breath before jutting a hand in his direction. “I have overlooked your fascination with lower class women, but you cannot be flirting with married noblewomen in broad daylight! Are you really so bold?”

Anthony was, but he hadn’t the slightest clue that was what he had been doing. His eyes went out the window, though the club had already slipped out of view. “She was married?” he muttered, though he wasn’t sure if it was to himself or his father.

“That is the wife of Count Richard Vanderbilt!” his father exclaimed before taking a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his face. Anthony’s mood softened at the sight. His father was getting older, making his heart weaker than ever and so intense feelings such as rage or discontent truly took it out of him. His face was an even darker shade of red than when he first approached him in the club. Once more, his father had to take a deep breath to compose himself and likely lower his heartrate. A pang of guilt coursed through Anthony. Never would he have wanted his own actions to impact his father’s health. It had seemed that he had gotten by since the Duke’s health had worsened without upsetting him so.

When he settled, his father’s dark eyes sliced into him. “I have had enough, Anthony. I have always attempted to look the other way as you dragged our family name through the mud as you galivanted through England with careless abandonment. And I even foolishly allowed myself to believe that once it was announced your partner in crime would marry, then you would be soon to follow. Or, at least, would have calmed down in your antics. You would not behave in such a way if you had a wife waiting for you at home.”

It didn’t surprise nor offend Anthony to hear himself and Ernest coupled in the same thought. The two of them had grown to be quite notorious and had for the longest time had acted in the same ways. However, he was a bit annoyed that he was expected to follow Ernest along to married life. He had guided his friend to marry Lady Helena because he could tell Ernest was writhing in misery. Anthony wasn’t happy per se, but he wasn’t miserable, either. He had found ways to keep himself entertained and content with life.

Shaking his head, Anthony retorted, “Marriage has nothing to do with one’s behavior. If that was the case, no one in the House of Lords would have a mistress, or a slew of them for that matter.”

“I will not deny the unsavory actions of our colleagues,” his father replied as calmly as he could. “However, what is the difference between your galivanting and theirs? Discretion. When you have a wife at home whose reputation rides on your behavior, you operate with an abundance of caution. And that is precisely what you are missing, my son. Someone to hold you responsible and make you accountable for your actions.”

“I don’t think that is entirely fair—”

“What isn’t fair, Anthony, is you disgracing not just our family name, but that Countess’ reputation and her husband’s! And all in the name of what? A cheap, temporary thrill for you?” his father interjected. There was a tense silence then, Anthony knowing his father was right in that regard. Sighing, the Duke continued, “Do you really think that you would be out, flirting with any woman that so much as glanced your way if you had a wife whose wellbeing was determined by your social stature?”

Anthony wanted to answer yes because he never thought he would change for anyone, let alone a wife he didn’t care for. Marriage was not something that was in the cards for him; it hadn’t been for nearly a decade. However, he knew that wasn’t the answer his father wanted to hear. “What do you expect me to say? What do you expect me to do? That simply isn’t who I am.”

His father fussed with the buttons on his jacket. “Well, it will be. You have done enough damage to our name, and I won’t have any more of it after this escapade is splashed across the gossip columns tomorrow morning. No. Either you find someone to marry, or you will go oversee the family merchant business in America.”

“You can’t be serious,” Anthony breathed.

“I am,” his father snapped. “Either you find someone to propose to and secure a wedding date this upcoming Season, or you will be on the first boat to America come summer.”

“You can’t force me to go to America,” he muttered meekly.

“I can’t, but I can cut you off. You will have no more access to the family finances, and I will sell off your townhouse or gift it to your brother Thomas when he returns from military duty,” he said, and then closed his eyes. His father was struggling to remain composed, and it was eating Anthony up inside. He was used to his father being frustrated with him, but he wasn’t used to visually seeing it have such an impact on him.

The carriage came to a rolling stop outside of Anthony’s home. His father spoke one final time. “You have until the first of June to make your decision. Good day, son.”

“Good day, Father,” Anthony murmured and stepped out of the carriage.

With a cloudy head, he moved into his townhouse and made his way up to his study. The room perpetually smelled of tobacco and brandy, and it always brought him a good bit of comfort. Though as he sank into his expensive, custom desk chair and looked about the stacks of meaningless paperwork on the desk he had re-stained four times until it was the perfect shade of amber, Anthony felt the full weight of his life crash down upon him. His father truly could cut him off without it being much burden to him, and maybe even relief. Anthony had been tasked with various duties in the dukedom to assist his father, but it allotted to busy work. It gave him the appearance of being important without actually being so.

He supposed he would be kissing it all goodbye, however. America would be his new home once a ship sailed him over the ocean blue if he decided to keep connections with his family. Marriage wasn’t so much as a second thought to him, knowing good and well he didn’t want to marry—and he couldn’t. Ernest had lucked out with Helena because he was a Duke, and because of the external forces at play on both parties. It had been a beautiful, perfect storm that guided his friend to true love and happiness.

Anthony wouldn’t have such luck, nor would he entertain it. His longing for love and marriage had started and ended with Isabel Wynn; though he supposed she went by Isabel Swinton these days. The day she refused to run away with him was the day his heart resigned from women forever—other than physically, of course. He had forced himself to try again for a couple of seasons but entertaining the idea of having anyone but Isabel by his side turned him bitter. The bitterness turned him into the carefree, womanizing rake he was. When a person gave up on gaining a partner in life, they only had personal freedom to indulge in. So, it became a game to Ernest and him. To collect women like temporary trinkets, and to make as much of a fuss as possible at balls and other various soirées when others dared to invite them.

It had been his glory days, even if Ernest no longer saw it that way. The two of them had lived life to the fullest being indulgent and reckless. He sighed, knowing that he would either have to kiss the life that he had always been accustomed to goodbye, or leave for America.

Anthony felt in his heart he would be sailing off come summer.

If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here