An Heiress for All Seasons (The Debutante Files #1.5)(5)

Her eyebrows knitted tightly. “I’m here because my mother insisted. She didn’t want to spend Christmas at a hotel and—”

“She brought you here to win an earl,” he finished, cutting straight to the matter.

Her mouth shut with a snap, her lips twisting obstinately, as though she refused to admit this glaring truth.

“Come. It’s no secret that’s why you are here.”

“What my mother wants and I want do not necessarily match, my lord.”

“Indeed? That would be a first.” He studied her sharply, intrigued. A well-bred girl who did not bow to the whims of her Mama? What a novelty.

She frowned at him, distrust keen in her hazel eyes. “What do you mean?”

“A debutante that does not follow the instructions of her mama . . . an heiress with a decided lack of social ambitions.”

“Rest assured, this heiress is not on the hunt for a title.”

He stared at her in silence, wondering if this was some manner of game. Was she toying with him? Pretending she had no wish to be a countess merely to pique his interest? Because it was working.

This girl . . . a brash American, no less, had sparked something in him. She was different from the rest.

Different good.

“Will!”

He looked up as Max strode from the back where they’d been playing a hand of cards with the stable lads. She took advantage of the distraction and jabbed him in the chest with her elbow.

“Oof,” he grunted as she scrambled off him before he could stop her.

He rose to his feet, rubbing at his stomach, watching as she fled the long length of the stable lane without a glance back, her dark cloak whirling after her, revealing pale flashes of her nightgown at her ankles.

Max stopped beside him. “Who is that?”

He stared after her as she slipped from the double doors and out into the cold night, resolution stealing over him. He resisted the impulse to go after her. Let her run. For now.

Turning, he faced his friend. “That, Max, is my bride.”

Max’s eyes widened. “You jest.”

He glanced to where she disappeared. “She is the first chit my mother waved beneath my nose that has inspired even a flicker of interest. So yes, I am quite serious. I’ll have her.”

“That’s hardly reason—”

“I’ve dragged my feet long enough. I need to wed an heiress.” His mother had been telling him so for years. He could deny it no longer. He alone was privy to his account ledgers. And while he still held hopes the investments he made would eventually yield, something needed to be done now. “For the estate and my tenants. For mother and my sister . . . Aurelia needs a proper dowry now.”

Max clasped his shoulder. “Will, you need only say the word. I can help—”

He flinched. The offer was made in all generosity, but it still stung his pride. Just as it stung when his cousin, Dec, had made the same offer to help him well over a year ago. He’d taken Dec’s advice on a few promising business ventures, but there he drew the line.

He shook his head, cutting Max off. “It’s my responsibility. My family and my people. It’s time I do my duty, and Miss Violet Howard will do nicely.”



The following morning, the Duke and Duchess of Banbury arrived. They were already at breakfast in the dining room when Violet finally emerged from her chamber. She’d slept abysmally after her encounter with the earl the night before. Upon entering the dining room, a single swift glance reassured her that he was not present. She released a relieved breath. She supposed she would have to come face-to-face with him eventually. Unless she convinced her mother to leave. To disregard that they had been invited to spend the holidays with an earl and instead take shelter in their hotel. She winced, imagining her mother’s reaction to the suggestion. Not likely.

Introductions were made in short order. The earl’s cousin, the Duke of Banbury, sat at the head of the table, his wife directly at his side. They were both young and attractive and seemed overly fond of touching one another. Nothing unseemly. His hand brushing her arm, her shoulder. Her hand atop of his on the table.

There was something in the angle of the duke’s jaw that brought to mind his cousin and made Violet flush warmly. Or perhaps there was no real resemblance . . . merely an arrogance inherent to British noblemen.

Aurelia sat beside the duchess and it soon became apparent that they were close friends. Violet’s mother talked more than usual—and louder—even for her. Clearly she was nervous to find herself in such prestigious company and felt the need to over-compensate with jarring and inane chatter.

Violet sank down in the chair beside Lady Peregrine, smiling numbly.

“Did you sleep well, my dear?”

She nodded and was on the verge of responding when the doors opened and two men walked in the room.

The air expelled from her lungs in a rush. It was him. Only not half-dressed. Thankfully. He was attired properly, all in black with a deep blue cravat at his throat. His hair gleamed wetly, swept back from his forehead as if he had just bathed. Even clothed, she still reacted at the sight of him. Her stomach pitched and rioted as if a thousand butterflies suddenly took up residence there.

“William, how good of you to finally put in an appearance and join us.” Lady Peregrine’s eyes danced with glee.