Chapter One
February 1817, London
Arthur
“The servants cleaned it all week, but it still looks terrible,” Lady Arundel commented, looking around the drawing room with her hands on her hips. “You’re better off selling it, Arthur dear.”
Arthur ignored his mother’s comment, not wanting to get into a debate about yet another piece of his late father’s estate. They were here to commemorate his father on the anniversary of his death, not nitpick over every single detail of what he had owned. Besides, it all belonged to him now, so it shouldn’t matter what he did with the estate as long as she lived in the comfort she expected.
“It’s in disrepair, Evelyn,” Uncle Vincent replied, flicking something off his shoulder. “What did you expect? The London house was the least taken care of. George could have allotted more servants to take care of it. The Lord knows he could afford it. This is just a waste of a good house.”
Arthur frowned slightly. It sounded like his uncle was criticizing the late earl. They had all agreed the house needed more attention, but it was livable. Also, considering Uncle Vincent had been left in charge of the earldom in their absence, he was as much to blame for the house’s state.
“Less talking and more planning and moving will restore the house to its former glory,” said Arthur. “If it’s too troublesome, you can both continue your day as you wish.”
He tapped the mantelpiece, not surprised or worried when a chunk of it fell off. He planned to renovate the home, doing most of the changes himself. Arthur would probably earn a lot of criticism or raised eyebrows, but he had grown used to that since his return to England. Not a week passed without the word ‘nabob’ used within his hearing.
It was amusing how the British Empire used its control over India to create wealth, but Englishmen berated individual men who accumulated wealth through the same means. Granted, some did acquire their wealth through unsavory means, but it was ridiculous to assume all British men living in India were alike. Plainly put, not every Englishmen living in India was a nabob, but convincing the narrow-minded was like squeezing water from one’s clothing while under a downpour.
“We’re not here to fix the house, dear,” his mother pointed out. “Your uncle said we could live with him while we’re in London. We came here because of the memories it holds for you, but only briefly. We could have commemorated your father more adequately at another more suitable venue.”
Arthur inwardly sighed. They were back to the same argument they’d had days before. He had told them he wished to stay at the house for a few hours, but they had insisted on accompanying him. They were already set to have a dinner elsewhere later that evening, so their presence in the old house really wasn’t needed.
“Celia and Miles have already organized some refreshments to be had here, Evelyn,” Uncle Vincent reminded her. “Also, most of your luggage has been brought here. While my offer still stands, I think it’s better if you stay here with Arthur.”
Arthur’s mother pursed her lips. “You make it seem as though I’m complaining,” she said. “I’m merely being practical. This house is not fit to live in.”
“It has the basic necessities,” Arthur said. “The structure is still sturdy, and most of the furniture merely needs a little attention. However, perhaps you should stay with Celia and Miles in the meantime. Celia is expecting her first child and needs her family with her.”
He would never hear the end of it if his mother continued to live in their London house. However, he couldn’t have her stay at his uncle’s house without him because they were both unattached. It was bad enough that rumors tended to follow his mother everywhere—he didn’t need people to question if she and his uncle were having a secret affair.
“I agree with Arthur, Evelyn,” his uncle said. “Celia needs you the most. Speaking of which, when on earth are they arriving?”
Arthur’s sister and brother-in-law were coming with the refreshments since their London home didn’t have kitchen staff yet. There was a miscommunication about when they should start working, so they were only arriving the following day.
Sudden mayhem outside the room let them know that his sister and brother-in-law had finally arrived. The pair usually traveled with their three Pomeranians, causing chaos wherever they went. Arthur had asked his sister to keep them at home, but she had evidently not listened.
“They’re here,” his mother said, approaching the door.
The door opened before she reached it, and three yapping fluffy dogs appeared before their owners. They passed his mother and rushed toward him, climbing on his legs as they fought to get his attention. He smiled as he lowered to the floor on one knee, giving each of them attention.
“You all seem to get noisier every time I see you,” he said, patting their heads. He looked up. “Couldn’t you have left them at home?”
Celia raised a dark eyebrow. “These are my babies, brother dear,” she said, rubbing her growing belly. “I do not see why I should leave them when I’m coming to see family.”
Miles gave him an apologetic look behind her. “Pippin wasn’t feeling well earlier,” he explained. “So, Celia wants to keep him with us. We couldn’t leave Fleur and Pan behind.” He shrugged as if to say the decision was out of his hands.
“Come, sit down, dear,” said Arthur’s mother, guiding her daughter to a settee. “How are you feeling today?”
“As well as any woman can be while growing another person within her,” Celia replied, pushing a dark curl away from her face. “Dear,” she said, addressing her husband. “Would you see if the maids have arrived yet? Their carriage was just behind us.” She turned to her mother. “The maids will serve the refreshments. They can continue to help the few you have here to make this house more acceptable. Where are we eating it?”
“Right here,” Arthur said. “I just need someone to help me move this table from the corner.”
It was the very same round one they had used every morning during breakfast. Arthur had been rather young then, not knowing his father would decide to take them to India and live there until his death a year ago.
“Just call one of the servants,” his mother said. “There’s no need to do it yourself.”
“They’re busy with the bedroom and we only have women available today,” he pointed out. “The male servants are coming tomorrow with the kitchen staff.”
“I’ll help you,” Uncle Vincent offered. “It doesn’t look too heavy.”
“Thank you,” Arthur replied, approaching the table. “I’ll pull it out first so you can take the other side.”
The chairs that accompanied it were stacked in the corner, so it was just a matter of setting everything in its original position. Although the servants had cleaned the house, they hadn’t moved the furniture back to where it used to be, preferring to clump everything together and cover it with sheets.
The table scraped against the wooden flooring as they shifted it, so they tried to lift it to avoid scarring the wood. However, his uncle pulled a little too hard on his side and knocked into a table, sending an antique sutra box flying to the floor.
“Goodness!” he cried, scrambling to pick it up. “This thing must be worth a fortune.”
“Considering it’s from the Ming Dynasty, I’d say it’s worth a pretty penny,” Arthur replied. “I’ll pick it up,” he told his uncle, not wanting him to damage it further.
The old earl had been an avid antique collector, passing his passion on to Arthur. The sutra box had been one of his father’s favorite pieces and had been used to keep his sweets. Arthur recalled how his father would sit in his armchair while reading a book, while his hand would occasionally reach into the box to get a sweet.
Picking up the box, he found a hairline crack on the side. He turned it over in his hands, examining for more damage. Something other than the red and gold of the box was peeping out of the bottom where the wood had partially shifted. Surprised, he moved the base a little more, pulling out a folded sheet of paper.
“Did you find something?” Uncle Vincent asked. “Is that a letter?”
“It would appear so,” Arthur said, frowning slightly as he recognized his father’s handwriting. “Why on earth would he hide it in here?”
“What does it say?” his uncle said.
Arthur’s frown deepened when he realized the letter appeared to be his father’s will or at least a version of it. An overwhelming sense of sadness overcame him. To unexpectedly find something belonging to his father on the anniversary of his death was a bittersweet moment.
“It seems to be about his estate,” he said, feeling the need to be alone. “Would you excuse me for a moment?”
“His estate?” his mother asked, drawing his attention. She appeared a touch concerned. “Do you mean it’s a will?”
“I think so,” Arthur replied. “Miles, would you help my uncle with the table?”
“Of course,” Miles replied, springing into action.
Arthur soon left the room, heading to his father’s old study. He could almost smell the tobacco in the air from his father’s pipe and the citrus perfume he used to apply rather liberally on his person.
Settling in an armchair, Arthur read his father’s letter. It was addressed to him, which had caught his attention. The beginning was much like the contents of the official will he received soon after his father’s death, but the end read differently.
You have been the best son any father could ask for, and I know you’ll become an admirable earl and head of our family. You are my sole heir and the inheritor of my estate—no matter what is revealed after my death.
He frowned, wondering at his father’s words. They seemed a little strange, but he supposed his father had been a tad eccentric.
“Arthur!” his mother cried, bursting into the room.
Startled, he looked up. “Mother? Is something wrong?”
She paused, smoothing her gray-streaked black hair. “Uh, no, nothing is wrong,” she said. “I just wanted to come and tell you that the maids have arrived with the refreshments. We’re just waiting for you.”
“You came running into the room to tell me that?” he said.
“Well, you said you were hungry,” she pointed out, walking further into the room.
“Yes, but not desperately so,” he said. “I could have waited a little longer.”
“Well,” she said, shrugging slightly. “So, what was in the letter? Your father didn’t say anything about you, did he?”
The slight panicked note in her voice piqued his interest. Considering the will would be about him inheriting his father’s estate, he found it strange that she would pose the question in that manner.
“What do you mean by that?” Arthur asked, folding the letter.
“I’m merely interested to know what it says,” she said. “I wonder why your father hid it away. It seems an odd thing to hide.”
“It’s just a will, Mother,” he said, tucking it into his pocket and getting up. “I do not wish to keep anyone waiting for me any longer. Why don’t we return to the others?”
“Oh, very well,” she replied, her eyes trained on where he had placed the letter.
Arthur offered his arm. “Shall we?”
She blinked repeatedly and looked up at him, her eyes briefly darting back to his pocket. “Yes, of course,” she said. “Your sister had her chef prepare some of your father’s favorite foods. We’ll have more of the same for dinner this evening.”
“That sounds good,” said Arthur.
“When will you leave to meet Theodore?” she asked. “I heard you said something about the fencing club.”
“In an hour or so,” he said. “I’ll leave soon after I’ve eaten.”
“And, uh, what about the will?” his mother asked. “Will you do anything about it?”
“What can I do?” he asked. “It’s not the official will since it wasn’t signed by a witness, and it doesn’t bear his seal. This must have been his first draft. Only the ending is different.”
“How so?” she asked, sharply turning to him.
He gathered his eyebrows together as he looked at her. “You seem concerned about it, Mother,” he said. “Why is that? It doesn’t change anything.”
She turned away. “I’m just curious,” she replied. “Your father hid it away, so naturally, one wonders why.”
His mother wasn’t normally interested in such matters, but he asked no further questions. His mind drifted to his father’s letter, the words no matter what is revealed after my death coming to mind. They bothered him, but he didn’t know why just yet. Perhaps they meant something, or perhaps they were just the words of an eccentric father. Arthur doubted he would ever know.
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Sienna Vale, a refined lady with a flawless reputation, conceals her adventurous nature behind a facade of propriety. When an old friend, Arthur Caldwell, resurfaces, her carefully constructed world begins to unravel. Terrified of revealing her true self, Sienna grapples with conflicting emotions as Arthur rekindles memories of their past. Meanwhile, the man she was previously courting proposes to her, forcing her to choose between a planned life with him and the man who has always held her heart.
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Arthur Caldwell, the Earl of Arundel, returns to England after years abroad, aiming to fulfill familial and societal expectations. However, his reunion with Sienna challenges the path laid out for him. Despite rumors and a disapproving suitor, Arthur seeks to revive their friendship, while simultaneously realizing that mere friendship is not enough for him. As they navigate external pressures and personal desires, Arthur and Sienna must decide whether to defy expectations and embrace their enduring connection or succumb to the demands of convention.
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