Chapter 1

 

Spring weather brought everyone to the tavern, and Samson Draycott grumbled as a man jostled into his back. “Apologies,” the man said gruffly. Clearly he was close to inebriated, unsteady on his feet as he moved on to find his party. Was that spillage of ale he felt on his back? “I hate spring.”

“How can anyone hate spring?” Ben asked and took a sip of his wine. “Spring is when the world comes back to life.”

With a sigh, Samson looked around the tavern, seeing all sorts there. It was close to his rooms, which gave it appeal solely for convenience’s sake. “You can’t walk for some drunkard walking into you. Why must everyone be out of their house?”

“Everyone wants to celebrate spring. Not too hot, no filthy stench, no rain. It’s the perfect night. If there was ever a night for merriment, tonight is ideal.”

It wasn’t ideal. The season had ended. No more chances to see Miss Roxburgh as she held court. Although, it also meant that there was no chance for anyone to impress her and steal her heart. It was a relief she’d gotten to the end of the season without gaining a fiancé. That meant there was still hope.

A few of his friends had raised their eyebrows when he’d mentioned he’d set his sights on the most eligible heiress in society. Probably in the country. A part of the powerful Roxburgh family, who had vast interests throughout the country, particularly in Devon. Old family, extensive networks and vast fortune.

His own family wasn’t quite as illustrious, but it was an old and respectable lineage. Unfortunately, the wealth had dissipated through previous generations of careless men. They had lands and an income, but it wasn’t anywhere near a family’s like the Roxburghs.

She was also beautiful. A soft face with large eyes, with pleasant demeanor.  Somehow they had managed to raise her without the complete arrogance she was entitled to. Primrose Roxburgh was pleasant to everyone, even people she didn’t have to be. For a while, he’d watched for the mask to slip, but it rarely did. Yes, she was haughty, but she was never downright rude or cruel. Men buzzed around her like vultures. Every unmarried man attending the season sought her favor.

It had been hard for Samson to make an impression with her, but she knew his name and had on occasion chatted amiably with him, but he hadn’t been able to find a chink in her armor. Granted, nor had anyone else. There was an aloofness to her that no one had managed to overcome.

But if something was worth the effort, it was worth trying harder, and that was what Samson was going to do. Conventional means didn’t work—besides, the season was over—so that means other opportunities needed to be capitalized on, ones that none of those other men would deploy. That was how one won, in business as well as life.

While beneath his station, Samson had been forced to start some businesses in order to support the lifestyle he preferred. After extensive deliberation, he’d concluded that he wasn’t going to achieve much in attaining a beneficial match if he only came with a small allowance provided to him by an uncle who would someday provide him with a viscount title. It wasn’t much to trade on, and he’d be wasting a lot of years waiting for that title to come his way. Action had to be taken to improve his prospects. A strong marriage would be most substantial of those steps.

“Let’s go to Cleopatra’s,” he suggested. Where the drinks were expensive and the entertainment more so. It kept out a lot of the riff raff, and it catered to more abundant tastes. Geared more toward gambling than salon’s run by women seeking to empty purses. They existed in Cleopatra’s too, but it wasn’t the sole focus of the establishment.

“If I go in there, I won’t come out until morning,” Ben said.

“And you won’t be sorry for it.”

“I bloody will be tomorrow.”

“Like you said, it’s spring.”

“Garf,” Ben grumbled, but his grumbling never meant he wouldn’t do it.

Gambling used to be Samson’s primary way of making money, but his little ventures were actually quite successful now. Of late, his delight in gambling was more for taking money from men who didn’t deserve their fortunes. How was it that the fates bestowed such abundance on people who least deserved it?

Even some of the women with fortunes were intolerable, and Samson couldn’t bring himself to charm them. It simply wasn’t in him, which was why Miss Roxburgh had grabbed his attention exclusively. Beside his businesses, she was his sole attention and purpose. Until he either gained her or lost her, and he was going to do everything in his power to make sure he was the one that gained her.

Exactly how to achieve that, he wasn’t sure, but gambling had helped him secure a piece of land next to her family estate—where she would be all summer.

Unfortunately, he didn’t know exactly when the Roxburghs were leaving London, but warmer weather and spring growth suggested the time was coming.

After they finished the bottle, Samson insisted they move on, and they emerged into the busy street, where all parts of society mixed. A busy night like this, he had to keep an eye on his purse or it would slip away by the magic of some light fingers.

They passed a group of youths, who’d been imbibing since much earlier. They reminded him of his own past, nights with his friends when concerns for the future had been so far away, before things had changed. It hadn’t been sudden, had just morphed over time. Aurelius was titled and married, Harry was in love and the season had turned into serious business.

Dismissing these thoughts, he turned his attention back to his plan of action—how to leverage this land. It wasn’t large enough to be of significance, but he needed some reason to be there over the summer. A bare piece of land that had been used for grazing.

It made no sense that he graze animals there, giving him no reason for him to be there. But if he built on it, it would give him all reason. The land was too small to build something substantial. Why build a residence if there was no land to support it? It certainly wasn’t the image he wanted to convey. It made more sense to build something appropriate for the land, a house. Nothing too tiny, suggesting his means were so inadequate, he could only afford a small cottage.

An investment? It was possible. It wasn’t bad as an investment. Build and sell it, and make a small profit. Not the most glorious proposition, but it would give him reason to be there, and being their neighbor for the summer would increase his chances of being invited.

No, he was building it for someone else, an act of generosity. His old nurse? Too soppy. An ailing aunt. Much better. Seen as taking care of family. Unfortunately, his aunt was a horrid cow, but that didn’t matter. It wasn’t as though he actually had to provide it to her. She didn’t have to ever know, especially as she seemed quite happy in Brighton. Much too sour to actually want or need assistance. His aunt would rather have an apoplectic fit before wanting assistance from anyone.

He received a letter from her at Christmas and every birthday, giving him a pound. She’d done it since his father died, but they rarely saw each other. On the occasion they did, she relentlessly stated each of his father’s faults, and how the family had been ruined by them. In detail, he’d also heard of all of his grandfather’s faults.

When he’d been young, he’d had to spend a few summers with her. It hadn’t been too awful. He’d been fed and there had been the sea to play in, but little generosity beyond that. When he’d been old enough to stay at school, he’d happily done so and they’d both preferred it.

If she were to need him, he wouldn’t turn his back on her. Family was family, after all, but he was inordinately pleased she didn’t. They both preferred it that way.

Cleopatra’s came into view. Two large flames piercing the darkness above the door. Light and music drifting out from inside, and doormen letting the right kind of people in. People whose purses would weigh less coming out. Not a bad business, he would assume, but not a respectable one. Men of society could enjoy the pleasures, but not trade in it.

Humid warmth met them as they walked in. Even here, there were more people than there should be. Every single person seemed to have come out tonight. Many faces he knew, some better than others. None were his close friends. Where was Percy? Why hadn’t they seen him of late? Another example of how things had changed.

Girls danced, laughed, teased, while drunken men lost themselves to their merriment. Samson couldn’t imagine letting himself go to the degree some of these men did. Or so foolishly believe that any of this artifice was real, but many did—believed they were utterly fascinating. The level of delusion was embarrassing.

Through the crowd, he saw Felix Roxburgh. Interesting. Someone he knew of more than knew. They didn’t run in the same circles. In fact, Samson had never really liked the circle he ran with. Self-important, arrogant, and the kind of men that never doubted they were utterly fascinating.

But he could provide a good avenue for achieving an invitation this summer. A purpose for the evening formed, and Samson headed toward their table.

“Roxburgh, isn’t it?” he said as he approached and Felix looked at him suspiciously.

“It is.”

“I believe we might be neighbors this summer.”

The statement seemed to surprise him. “Oh, in Devon.”

“I have acquired a small parcel of land that adjoins yours. I’m going to build on it.”

Felix shrugged like it didn’t mean anything to him. Not naturally a cordial man, it seemed. This might be a little tricker than he hoped. “I was thinking about perhaps approaching your father about extending my little lot somewhat.”

“Unlikely.”

“A shame.”

How unlike he was his sister. “I might make an approach all the same.”

“You can try. Father doesn’t sell land.”

“I usually don’t buy it. I win it.”

Felix’s friends were passively watching the interaction. Samson expected they all knew each other from school. They seemed the type. There were too many similarities between them. Same background, same thinking.

“He’s not a gambler either.”

“That’s a shame, because I typically win. Have a good evening,” Samson said with a quick nod of his head, before he walked off. It seemed Felix wasn’t going to be easy to know, which was similar to his sister. Although with people like him, it was better to be the opposite of someone trying hard.

The whole family may prove hard to crack, but Miss Primrose Roxburgh was never going to be an easy capture. The brother would be easier to crack, but had to be approached in the right way. Getting some information would help.

 

 

Chapter 2

 

“Should we pack everything?” Primrose asked and turned on the chair by the dressing table.

“There’s no point taking the heavy gowns. Besides, don’t you want new gowns for summer?” Delia asked. “The fashion is turning a little more Grecian.”

Leaning back, Primrose crossed her arms. “Miss Talbot’s gown from the Harcourt Ball is echoing through fashion.”

“It is,” Delia agreed, “and the trend will unfurl this summer.”

Delia knew that while Primrose wasn’t jealous by nature, she was a little envious of how effortlessly Miss Talbot dressed. That natural and understated elegance that was, frankly, enviable. Not a significant heiress and not in any way ostentatious, but those with an eye for fashion noticed her. And she also had the interest of Mr. Cooper-Warble, who was linked to the royal family, and the most eligible bachelor in all of London, the whole country even.

You couldn’t even dislike Miss Talbot, because she was nice, naturally reserved with perfect manners. There didn’t seem to be an awkward bone in her body, and Mr. Cooper-Warble had well identified her qualities, even if her dowry was seen as mediocre. Perhaps one of the reasons Primrose was envious was because Miss Talbot was pursued for reasons other than the benefits she would bring to her marriage. Nothing to tempt the fortune hunters, but enough to tempt Mr. Cooper-Warble. And they were the most excellent pair together.

Primrose had her pick of men. She just didn’t have the one she wanted, and for all her sizeable dowry, she couldn’t compete with Miss Talbot, who also now set fashion trends. Delia understood that it smarted being bested while so clearly well provisioned. Wealth wasn’t everything, and it would be a lie to say that Delia hadn’t been pleased to see it.

There was a good chance an engagement between Miss Talbot and Mr. Cooper-Warble would be announced over the summer sometime. And it wouldn’t be announced at some society event in London. No, they were more stylish than that. It would be announced at Wyndall Hall, the Warble family seat, Delia expected.

It only went to show that no matter how lofty your position was, there was always someone who changed the game and outclassed one. In all her years, Delia hadn’t expected that would happen to someone like Primrose, who’d been born with every advantage under the sun. And she wasn’t even an awful person—she was quite lovely. Life was not fair.

As for herself, fair wasn’t even in her neighborhood. Orphaned, penniless and no family to speak of. Still, her education had been paid for by a trust that now had precious little left. Her birth and education were sufficient to provide her with a living as a companion, and she’d been lucky in being employed by the Roxburgh family. She and Primrose got on well. They were even friends. But there was always a distinction that could not be blurred. She wasn’t a servant, but neither was she equal. Good enough to be in society, but not quite of society.

She’d attended every event of the season, but the men didn’t notice her. Her gowns had been just as fine as Primrose’s, but she was invisible. Occasionally, men with good manners would dance with her to make up for the fact that she was invisible. Primrose always thought that the way men treated her showed their character. They were all perfectly pleasant to Primrose, but it was the way they treated someone like her, who would never be of any consequence, that showed true character.

“I do believe you’re right,” Primrose said, and for a moment, Delia had lost the conversation. Oh, yes, the Grecian trend.

“I’m sure Mrs. Melrose can whip up something perfect. Not too much, maybe just a nod.”

“We don’t slavishly follow trends,” Primrose said with a sigh. “I suppose I’ll take the blue one. I have to have something to wear. You can have the green one, if you like.”

“The green one is beautiful. Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course. It would suit your coloring better than mine.”

Green did suit her with her light brown hair. She was pretty enough, but nothing remarkable. Another way that fair hasn’t been extended to her. Primrose had blue eyes and golden hair, a porcelain face, while Delia’s skin turned darker in summer, giving her evenness between her hair, skin and eyes. Pretty enough, but nothing remarkable. A decent grip on fashion, but not naturally elegant like Miss Talbot. Besides, Miss Talbot had a family, one wealthy enough to sponsor her season.

“Thank you,” Delia said, and Primrose waved her hand as if it didn’t mean anything. Delia got all the gowns and dresses that Primrose no longer wanted. It meant that she had quite a substantial wardrobe now, although many of them would be completely unsuitable if she ever stopped being a companion to someone who attended numerous balls. But she supposed they could be updated as needed for the future.

The future was not worth thinking about. Doing so only made her nervous, because being a companion would never provide her with the kind of income needed to set up a future for herself. For now, she was fine. Her position as Primrose’s companion may even continue after she married. Essentially that was up to whatever man she married, but Primrose was typically quite good at getting men to do as she wanted.

“What about this one?” Delia asked, holding a pink gown to her.

“I think it’s too girly,” Primrose said.

Not that long ago, Primrose had loved it, but again, Miss Talbot preferred more reserved tones. The pink now seemed childish. Another gown that was now hers. It wouldn’t go badly with her coloring, but it did seem a little juvenile, Delia had to agree.

“This one is still stunning,” Delia said, holding out the mauve muslin.

“Yes, of course,” Primrose agreed. “It will be good for warm evenings too.”

All the ones they would travel with were put out on the bed, and a separate pile for the gowns that were now hers. Once done, the maid would be asked to pack the trunks.

“I will miss London,” Delia said. “I’ll miss our afternoon excursions.” When they went out to peruse the shops, drank hot chocolates, or were driven around Hyde Park, which was lovely in the spring weather. They’d do none of those things back at Palmirth Hall, where they had lazy days, an occasional picnic, and perhaps a house party to attend. Felix tended to have some of his friends over for a week. Typically the highlight of the summer.

Even so, Delia was looking forward to it. Primrose was often bored, but Delia also got more time to herself than she did in London, primarily because Primrose didn’t enjoy walking, and Delia did.

It felt ungenerous to admit it, but she treasured the time she got to spend alone. As a companion, her time wasn’t her own most of the time. Her duty was to accompany, and she was so blessed that it was fun and easy to accompany Primrose.

“Is there anything we need to buy before we go?” Delia asked as she stretched her back. “Should we buy some of that Indian muslin? I don’t know if they’ll have any in Devon.”

“You’re probably right,” Primrose said and stroked her eyes. “We’ll go have a look for some this afternoon. And maybe some of that candied fruit from Bond Street. What about those chocolates with the pistachio?”

“We should probably leave some things to look forward to in the autumn,” Delia said. “Besides, chocolates never travel well. No matter what you do, they somehow always end up in the sun.”

 

 

Chapter 3

 

The fine weather brought out the crowd at Ascot too, which made everything more difficult, but also more interesting. It seemed everyone was here. For once, they’d managed to drag Harry away from his fiancé and Samson was also joined by Percy and Ben for this outing. Aurelius was, unfortunately, a lost cause.

The sky was brilliant blue and a warm breeze met them as they alighted from the carriage. Lush green grass stretched, and it felt like a good long while since Samson had seen nature. It gave him a slight thrill about the summer, with its warm days, buzzing insects and slow mornings.

Although, this year, he wasn’t spending it in Heddington with his uncle as he normally did. He had bigger plans afoot, and they were plans worth the investment. His uncle would understand. They were very similar in a sense, although his uncle was far more risk averse. On second thought, maybe they weren’t that similar, but the man understood the importance of a good match.

The stand was a sea of frilly umbrellas, everyone dressed in light colors to combat the heat. Although they’d all be dressed the same if the rain was relentless. It was simply the fashion for a racing day.

“What bets are you taking?” Ben asked Percy.

“I have some tips. They say Sunset Dream has had quite spectacular form this season.”

Percy tended to go for the safe bets. He didn’t have the nerve for risk. Nor had he the patience to mitigate risks. That was where Samson truly excelled, making risky bets much safer than they appeared, although he admitted it took a degree of devious thinking to see such things. There was an art to it that not everyone understood, and some people thought it meant the same thing as immoral, which it didn’t. It was about the mental capacity to see solutions that others didn’t see.

The freshness of the air was welcome. Sweet grass with a hint of animal that had to be wafting from the stables across the vast racing lawn.

“Let’s get some drinks,” Ben said. “Then we’ll go over the bill.”

“Have you determined your bets yet?” Harry asked, this time directed toward Samson.

“Not yet,” Samson admitted, but he tended to go for the dark horses, and he didn’t mean the color. He meant the smaller, more obscure trainers with horses that weren’t owned by syndicates. They tended to have poor odds, but if someone only loosely affiliated with the racing scene forked out the cost of getting an unknown horse here, it probably had something. Big risk, big reward, for what was essentially not a large investment—because he wasn’t stupid enough to risk anything essential on horses. If there ever was a fool’s game, it was depending on an animal to do your striving for you.

However, there were many people here today betting large amounts of money, either because it wasn’t a large amount to them, or they were desperate and this was the only way they could see themselves improving their positions. Like he said, a fool’s game. Picking horses might be seen as a skill to some, but Samson preferred safer forms of gambling.

They found some seats and ordered refreshments. Gambling was only part of the purpose for these races. More important was the society here, and his true aim for today was Felix Roxburgh, who was here somewhere. Over the last few weeks, they’d been seen at the same places, but Samson hadn’t approached the man beyond a simple acknowledgement of his presence. A quick nod and then walk away. In society, nothing was more impressive than scarcity.

They drank wine, smoked and ate olives. The races had started, and Samson didn’t see anything worth betting on. Percy, however, tended to bet on the favorites, and sometimes it worked out. Samson spent more time studying the crowd, and he spotted Felix further down the grandstand with his acquaintances.

“Harry, you know Desmond Harcourt, don’t you?”

“Not really. My brother does. I was never included as such.”

“Still, we should say hello.”

“I don’t see why not. I can let Irve know I saw him,” Harry said and they rose. They slowly made their way through the crowd, chatting with people they knew along the way. Samson brought the bottle they’d ordered and offered top-ups.

“Des,” Harry said as they approached a group. A very fine-heeled group that included Malcom Marmouth, the heir to the Kenningworth duchy.

“Harry!” the man said with surprise and clapped him on the shoulder. “Good to see you. How’s Irve?”

“With two small ones, his focus is on home and hearth,” Harry said about his brother who was five years older. “Oh, have you met Samson Draycott?”

“I don’t believe I have,” Desmond said and shook his hand. “Any luck today?”

“No, and I’m too choosy for what I’ve seen.”

“Probably wise. I’ve invited your brother this summer, but I haven’t heard from him.”

“I’m sure he’s coming. I’ll remind him to respond.”

“It might have served him to marry someone a little less like him.”

“He wouldn’t hear of it,” Harry said. A few years back, Desmond had married a woman he’d fallen completely in love with, and clearly he was neglecting his friends. Not unlike Aurelius in that regard. Samson had attended the wedding, and it had been just a little nauseating. “Who are you betting on?” he asked as the horses were being herded into the starting pens.

“Lady’s Luck,” he said. “I’ve put ten pounds on it.”

The man clearly had the money to throw away. As the starting gun ran, everything stopped and it was silent for a moment. Every pair of eyes was focused on the field, and as they came around the corner, the shouting started, growing into an absolute roar by the time they came to the finish line.

“Bad luck for both of us,” Harry said and tore his ticket.

“I really thought she’d come through for him, but a lady is always fickle. I should have known,” Des said. “Are you staying tonight?”

“We thought we might,” Samson said before Harry had a chance to say they weren’t.

“We’re staying at the Harrgrew Inn, you should drop by if you’re around.”

“Yes, we might,” Harry said with uncertainty.

“It was a pleasure to meet you. I suspect the others might be getting up to mischief,” Samson said. They said their goodbyes. With company like that, it was best to not overstay their welcome.

“We don’t have any rooms booked,” Harry said. “We’ll never get anything nearby.”

“I know, but we might drop in for a drink before we go. Never bad to leave our options open. Who knows what will turn up?”

Samson understood Harry’s reservations, but it might be fortuitous to make better acquaintances with that crowd, particularly as they were likely the crowd that Felix Roxburgh had looked up to while he was at school. More than likely he’d have noted the interaction now.

A foolproof strategy to impress someone was to be chummy with the people they wanted to impress. Men were easy that way, the hierarchy was clear. Women, on the other hand, were much more difficult. Their hierarchy was illogical at best. They didn’t have school loyalties that men did, nor was their hierarchy age related. And sometimes not necessarily wealth either. If he could figure that out, his aim would be much easier to achieve. Women were impressed by men that other women coveted. Particularly if he was coveted by someone she admired.

It was a question that could probably only be answered by a girl, and he didn’t know any well enough to ask such a thing.

“Mingling with the right people, are we?” Percy asked when they returned.

“We have an invitation to drink with them this evening,” Samson replied.

Percy looked slightly impressed while pretending not to be. “And why would we do that?” Out of his friends, Percy always knew when he was executing some kind of plan.

“Because it would impress Felix Roxburgh.”

“I see. You’re utterly relentless.”

“Except we don’t have any rooms,” Harry added.

“Small imposition when love is on the line,” Percy replied. “Or something close to it.”