Someday Soon

Prologue

May 1813

Lady Alexandra Wilton regarded her father with apprehension. Her answer was going to make him furious, but unfortunately it was the only answer she was capable of making. Bracing herself to withstand the storm, she said, I am very flattered by Lord Barrington’s offer, Papa, but I cannot marry him.

The Earl of Hartford’s once-handsome but now-dissipated face began to turn the color of a tomato.

"What? he roared. God damn it, Alex, Barrington is the biggest catch of the year! He has a fortune in the funds as well as a very decent title. True, a viscount may not be the equal of an earl, but the Barrington name is even older than ours."

I know, Papa, Alexandra answered unhappily.

The earl and his daughter were sitting in the library at Gayles, the earl’s country house in Derbyshire. The bright spring sun poured in through heraldic glass windows, illuminating the rich leather covers of the myriad shelved books. The earl regarded his daughter, who was seated on the opposite side of his mahogany desk, with distinct disfavor.

Barrington is a very decent fellow, he said.

Alexandra sighed. He is very nice, Papa, I will agree with you. It is most unfortunate that I cannot love him.

The earl clasped his hands in front of him on the desk. You cannot love Barrington, he said ominously. Nor could you love the Earl of Ashcroft, to whom you actually became engaged last year. After you jilted him, I despaired of you ever getting another offer. Now here you have the Catch of the Season asking for your hand, and you are going to turn him down?

The earl’s voice had become progressively louder as he listed the details of Alexandra’s transgressions.

If I become engaged to him, I would only jilt him, too, Papa, and you would not like that at all, she replied in a reasonable tone.

The earl pounded his clasped hands on the desk. "This obsession of yours with love is ridiculous. Has it never occurred to you, my girl, that love might come after marriage?"

A tiny frown indented the smooth perfection of her forehead. But what if it doesn’t, Papa? Then I would be forced to spend the rest of my life shackled to a man I didn’t love.

Believe me, Alex, there are worse things in life, her father informed her.

Alexandra shuddered. What could be worse than that?

Ending up your life as a bloody spinster, that’s what! the earl roared. And that is precisely what is going to happen to you, my girl, if you continue on in this fashion. You may be as beautiful as Helen of Troy, but no man is going to offer for you if you get the reputation as a flirt as well as a jilt.

I am sorry to upset you, Papa… Alexandra began, but the earl swept on.

You do upset me! You are the only child I have left, the only chance I have of seeing my blood carried on into another generation. Don’t you think I already have enough to bear? Because of your brother’s suicide, I must see my title and property go to my cousin’s son, not my own.

Alexandra was very white. I wish to marry, Papa, she said. I want a husband and children. It is just very important to me that I marry a man I love.

The earl made a visible effort to control himself. My dear, I can assure you that most young girls do not love their husbands when they wed. They marry because their husbands are compatible in temperament and in worldly position. Love grows after the knot is tied. Viscount Barrington seems to me a perfectly lovable young man. I am sure you will grow to hold him in affection.

I already hold him in affection, Alexandra said. I just do not love him.

What the bloody hell do you know about love? the earl roared, turning a dangerous shade of red once again. You are twenty-one years old and a virgin! Believe me when I tell you that your husband will teach you to love him.

Alexandra lifted her chin. I know enough about love to know that it can’t be taught, Papa. It is either there or it is not.

Please don’t tell me that you’re waiting for Romeo to come and climb up your balcony, Alexandra, the earl said with heavy sarcasm.

But suppose he did come, Papa, and I was already married? Alexandra said with perfect logic. "That would be truly terrible."

The earl looked exasperated. Alex, you have had too many Seasons not to know the way of the world. Should your Romeo eventually come along, there would be nothing to stop you from having him. As long as you were discreet.

Alexandra shook her head. "That may be the way of the world, Papa, but it is not my way," she said.

I will never know how I came to have such a simpleton for a daughter, the earl said disgustedly.

I am this way because I don’t want a marriage like your marriage to Mama, Alexandra thought. But she said nothing.

Listen to me, my girl. I want you to take Barrington, the earl said. He loves you, and I guarantee that in time you will learn to love him in return.

Lord Barrington is a very fine man, Alexandra said. He is generous and kind, and I think he does love me. If I were going to fall in love with him, I would have done so already.

The earl regarded his daughter with frustration. His comparison of her to Helen of Troy had not been exaggerated, but her face was more than just classically beautiful. There was a suggestion of great sweetness about the curves of her cheekbones and mouth that produced an effect that was intensely stirring.

He thought that one would never know to look at her that she was stubborn as a mule.

The earl had presented his daughter to society three years before, and since then she had collected more marriage offers than her father could remember. The previous year she had finally accepted one of them, only to decide a month before the wedding that she had made a mistake. Now here she was, turning down the finest young man available on the Marriage Mart today.

The future was suddenly very clear to the earl. If he didn’t do something to force her hand, Alexandra was never going to marry at all.

1

October 1813

The sudden death of the Earl of Hartford shocked both his family and society in general. While he had not been a robust man—too many years of dissipation had made inroads on his health—there had been no suggestion that he was nearing the end of his life. Consquently it had been a stunning surprise when he died in the arms of one of the girls at Madame Dufour’s, an upper-class establishment discreetly tucked into a side street off of St. James’s Square.

To give Madame Dufour her due, she tried to keep the venue of the earl’s death quiet. Her motivation might not have been completely selfless (it could not help business if customers began to think that the activities she specialized in were dangerous to their health), but she certainly acted in the best interest of all concerned. She sent one of her footmen to fetch the earl’s heir, Mr. Geoffrey Wilton, who came in a carriage to collect his cousin’s body. The earl was taken home to Hartford House in Grosvenor Square and put into his own bed, where his unfortunate demise was discovered by his valet in the morning.

The ruse might have succeeded if Lords Middleton and Calder hadn’t happened to be passing by the side door of Madame Dufour’s at the very moment that the earl’s body was being carried out. Geoffrey Wilton, who was supervising the removal of his cousin’s remains by two of Madame Dufour’s minions, hastily assured the two curious lords that the earl was only a little under the weather from having had too much to drink. However, the following morning, when Middleton and Calder heard about the earl’s death, they immediately raced to their respective clubs and recounted the story of their strange nocturnal meeting with the Earl of Hartford’s body. Soon the whole of London was speculating about the earl’s end.

I am so sorry, Alex, Geoffrey said earnestly to his cousin as they stood together in the library at Gayles the day after the earl’s funeral. It was just rotten luck to have run into Middleton and Calder like that. I told them that your father was ill, but…

It’s all right, Geoff, Alexandra said expressionlessly. Everyone knows what Papa was. It’s not as if the manner of his death ruined his reputation.

She walked to the window, which was open to the warm October day, and looked out, silently staring at the east court of Gayles as if she had never seen it before in her life.

The new earl looked worriedly at his cousin’s slim, black-clad figure. Her beautiful pale gold hair was brushed into a severe chignon and there was a rigidity about her posture that he had never seen before.

Geoffrey did not make the mistake of thinking that Alexandra was grieving for her father. He had not been an attentive parent, preferring the company of his cronies to that of his children. She had grieved when her brother died, but the earl’s death was less a personal loss than it was a loss of the way of life as she had always known it.

As for Geoffrey himself, the death of his cousin was an unmitigated blessing. It had made him the Earl of Hartford and the owner of Gayles, one of the finest country homes in the nation. A London town house in Grosvenor Square also came with the title, as well as a famous stud near Newmarket. Because of the earl’s death, Geoffrey found himself transformed from an ordinary young commoner of small means into a Peer of the Realm, with extensive property and great wealth. Although he was trying valiantly to disguise the fact, Geoffrey was ecstatic.

Alexandra’s life was also changed, although not in such a pleasant manner. Geoffrey walked over to his cousin, laid a protective hand upon her slender shoulder and assured her in a gentle voice, Everything will be all right, Alex. You’ll see.

She turned around, effectively moving her shoulder away from his hand, and mustered a strained smile. Before either of them could speak again, the earl’s solicitor came quietly into the room.

James Taylor was a small, neat-boned young man of six-and-twenty who had recently taken over a partnership in the firm of Taylor and Sloane from his retired father. He had asked to meet with Alexandra and Geoffrey in order to go over the late earl’s will.

My lord, Lady Alexandra, he said now in a quiet, deferential voice. If you would kindly take seats I will be happy to acquaint you with the provisions of His Lordship’s will.

Certainly, Geoffrey replied pleasantly. He waited for Alexandra to cross the room and seat herself on the green-velvet settee that was placed catty-corner to the fireplace, then sat beside her. Mr. Taylor faced them in the large wing chair that was opposite to the settee. He smoothed the sheets of paper resting on his lap and regarded his late client’s cousin and daughter soberly.

High walls full of leather-bound books looked down on the two men and the girl. The room was rather dark, as the sun was hidden under clouds and the lamps had not yet been lit.

Mr. Taylor began. For the most part, His Lordship’s dispositions are much as you will have expected. The title and the estate are entailed, of course, and by law must go to Lord Hartford’s closest living male relative, which, since the death of Lord Hartford’s only son, is his late cousin’s son, Mr. Geoffrey Wilton.

There the lawyer looked at Geoffrey.

For a brief moment Geoffrey’s mind conjured up a picture of Marcus Wilton, the young man whose tragic suicide three years before was the reason all of this largesse was coming to Geoffrey.

The solicitor was going on. I will acquaint you with the various individual bequests shortly, but I think I must first tell you of the change His Lordship made in his will last May. The young solicitor’s blue eyes went from Alexandra’s face to Geoffrey’s, then returned again to Alexandra. I advised him very strongly not to do this, Lady Alexandra, he said soberly. But His Lordship would not be swayed.

Geoffrey frowned and glanced at Alexandra. Her dark gray eyes held an expression of apprehension.

Mr. Taylor selected a single document from among the pages in his folder. This is the change Lord Hartford insisted upon making. It has to do with the money left to Lady Alexandra. He lifted the paper to the level of his eyes and, in a dry monotone, he read:

To my daughter, Lady Alexandra Wilton, I bequeath all of my unentailed funds and properties…

A gasp from Alexandra caused the solicitor to look up. He held up his hand to stop her from speaking and said a little grimly, I have not finished reading the bequest, my lady.

Geoffrey swallowed hard. Surely his uncle could not have wished to bankrupt his heir?

The young solicitor continued:

…on the condition that Lady Alexandra agrees to marry the seventh Earl of Wilton within eight months of my death. Should she refuse to do this, then I bequeath all said funds and properties to the Jockey Club to be used as it sees fit.

Geoffrey stared at the lawyer, his mind in a daze. Could he possibly have heard correctly?

Are you saying that Alexandra must marry me in order to receive her inheritance? he inquired in a shaken voice.

That is what the earl wished, my lord, Mr. Taylor replied. And you must marry her if you wish to have enough money to keep Gayles and live according to your station.

Geoffrey shot a quick glance at his cousin’s profile. She was looking stunned.

Is this legal, Taylor? he demanded.

I am very much afraid that it is, my lord, James Taylor replied unhappily. I did my best to talk His Lordship out of making this demand, but…well, as you must know, His Lordship was not an easy man to convince once his mind was made up.

The two young men looked at each other in perfect comprehension. Then, at the exact same moment, they turned to Alexandra.

The Jockey Club? she said. Her tone was incredulous. "Are you saying that if Geoff and I don’t marry, all of Papa’s unentailed money and property will go to the Jockey Club?"

I am afraid that is what will happen, Lady Alexandra.

A little color crept into Alexandra’s pale cheeks. When did you say my father inserted this into his will, Mr. Taylor?

In May, Lady Alexandra.

I knew it! Alexandra’s gray eyes darkened. He did this right after I refused to marry Lord Barrington.

The solicitor concurred. He was very upset with you, I’m afraid. My hope was that either you or your cousin would marry and thus force the earl to change this…extraordinary…stipulation. But he died before any changes could be made.

Alexandra stood up. If this isn’t just like Papa, she said furiously. If he weren’t already dead, I swear I would kill him myself. And she walked out of the room.

The young men she left behind regarded each other somberly.

The two of you will have to marry, my lord, the solicitor said bluntly. If you don’t, neither of you will have sufficient money to live upon.

*

Geoffrey ran his fingers through his butter yellow hair and looked at the door through which his cousin had so precipitously exited. I have been in love with Alexandra since I was twelve years old, he said soberly. The problem will not lie with me, Taylor.

If Lady Alexandra refuses to marry you, she will be left with virtually nothing, my lord, Taylor said. The income she has from her mother is not nearly enough for her to live the life she is accustomed to.

Geoffrey gave a crooked smile. Somehow I can’t picture Alexandra in a cottage.

The young solicitor agreed wholeheartedly. You must explain matters to her. She has no choice, my lord. You and she must marry.

*

Alexandra flew up the monumental seven-foot-wide stone staircase that connected the three main floors of Gayles. Still in full flight, she sped across the length of a spectacular Elizabethan gallery, for once not pausing to look through the great windows that opened the room up to the sky and the gardens. All she wanted was to reach the safety of her bedroom, which opened off the south end of the gallery.

She had begged for this room when she was a little girl and loved it passionately. It was where she always retreated when she was upset, and today she was very upset indeed. And angry as well.

She slammed the bedroom door and stood for a moment, fists clenched, teeth clenched, eyes flashing.

How dare Papa do this to me? This isn’t the Middle Ages. He can’t make me marry someone I don’t want to.

She went to the wide window seat that gave a view of the new west entrance that had been built by her grandfather and flung herself down.

I can’t marry Geoff. It wouldn’t be right. He’s almost as much my brother as Marcus was.

Her heart was pounding with the intensity of her emotion. Her father knew how she felt about Geoffrey. How could he have bound her to a union that felt to her like sin.

I don’t have to marry anyone, she thought angrily. I have some money from Mama. I can live on that.

She thought about this for a while, her eyes on the delightful Elizabethan pavilions topped with obelisks that bordered the entrance court. Her reflections were not precisely encouraging. Alexandra had received her inheritance from her mother upon the countess’s death a few years ago; she used it to buy some of her dresses.

Her next thought was that she was not the only one affected by her father’s ultimatum. What would happen to Geoffrey if she refused to marry him?

Without the earl’s other sources of income, he would have only the rents from the farms to live on. It had always been a source of pride to Alexandra that the rent money from the estate went right back into maintaining the property. If her father’s will held, that money would have to be diverted into Geoffrey’s pocket for living expenses.

That solicitor should never have allowed Papa to put such an outrageous demand in his will, she thought. It can’t be legal. It simply can’t be.

She kicked off her soft leather slippers, swung her long legs up to the window seat, and rested her chin on her black-silk-clad knees.

Geoff and I should challenge the will, she decided. We’ll get another lawyer. This one is too young to know anything. We’ll get someone older and more experienced. This kind of a condition can’t possibly be legal. Geoff and I aren’t slaves, for heaven’s sake!

The more she thought about it, the more optimistic Alexandra became. The law would overturn this will in favor of the original one, which had to be more sensible about the disposition of money, and then she and Geoff could go their separate ways.

The stone terrace glimmered in the September sun, and the Elizabethan pavilions looked even more fantastic than usual. Alexandra felt a sharp pain in the region of her heart.

If she and Geoff were successful in overthrowing that ridiculous clause in her father’s will, she would have to leave Gayles. She knew how Geoffrey felt about her, and it wouldn’t be fair to him for her to remain if she wouldn’t marry him.

Alexandra loved Gayles. She sometimes thought that the only time she was truly happy was when she was there. She loved the beautiful old house, where her forebears had lived since it was built by her ancestor during the reign of Elizabeth. She knew and loved every rock and tree in the extensive and varied park, where she had spent so many happy hours riding her beloved horses. She knew everybody who lived in the neighborhood, from the local farmers, to the village merchants, to the upper-class families with whom her family socialized.

One of the reasons she had known that she didn’t love any of the men who wished to marry her was that she had not been willing to give up Gayles for any of them. To leave Gayles would be to uproot the deepest part of herself. It would feel like an amputation.

Someday, she had always thought, someday a man would come along whom she would be willing to follow to the ends of the earth. It was one of her most profoundly held convictions, that only her Great Love could take her away from the secure childhood safety of Gayles.

But she was twenty-one years old, almost on the shelf, and still no Great Love had come her way.

Perhaps I should marry Geoff after all, she thought forlornly. At least I would be able to live at Gayles for the rest of my life. There’s really nothing wrong with cousins marrying…

She bit her lip and forced back the tears that were rising to her eyes. The law might allow her to marry Geoffrey, but all her sense of lightness rose up in rebellion at the thought. One didn’t marry one’s brother, and that was how she felt about Geoffrey.

"Damn," she said with violence, picked up an embroidered pillow from the window seat, and threw it at one of the posts of her bed.

Then the tears began to fall. Oh God, Marcus, she sobbed, thinking of her brother. Oh God. Why did you have to die?

*

Geoffrey consulted the most well known and respected experts in England as to the legality of his late cousin’s will. They all told him the same thing: The earl had the right to dispose of his personal property in any way he chose. Geoffrey was entitled to everything that was entailed, which included Gayles, the London town house, and several smaller properties in other counties. The Newmarket stud and the fortune Lord Hartford had made in investments were not entailed and as such could be disposed of in any way Lord Hartford wished.

If Geoffrey and Alexandra wanted the money, they would have to marry. Otherwise, it would go to the Jockey Club.

This was devastating news to Alexandra. She had put so much hope in the thought that the will would be declared invalid. Geoffrey, on the other hand, was intensely happy, a happiness he struggled to keep from showing to Alexandra as they discussed the situation in which they found themselves.

The two young people were alone in the Great Chamber after the attorney bearing the final judgment had left. It was late October, and the room was chilly. Alexandra, who was wearing her riding habit, walked over to the magnificent Portland stone fireplace that a footman had just lit and stood staring into the flames, her back to the room.

Geoffrey took two steps toward her, then stopped.

Would our marrying really be so terrible a thing, Alex? he asked her, his voice very gentle.

She turned to face him. We grew up together, Geoff. I…I…just don’t think of you that way.

I know, but perhaps you could learn to, he said. I love you, Alex. You know that. Nothing in the world would make me happier than to have you for my wife.

It just doesn’t seem right. She was twisting her hands together in distress.

You need some time to get used to the idea, he said. I love you, Alex. You know that. I have always loved you. Can’t you try to love me back?

I do love you, Geoff, she said wretchedly, turning around to face him. I don’t want to leave you without the means to live according to your station, and, to be honest, I don’t want to live like a pauper either. But…my feelings for you are those of a sister, not a wife.

She looked at him, her gray eyes dark with worry.

He took the last few steps that brought him to her side and took her hand. She bit her lip and allowed him to hold it. But we aren’t sister and brother, Alex, he said steadily. There is absolutely nothing wrong with the two of us marrying. The Church allows it. The state allows it It is quite obvious that your father saw nothing wrong with it. The problem exists only in your own head.

"But it’s there, Geoff," she said.

It’s there now, perhaps, but once we are affianced, and you begin to regard me as your husband, it will go away. He sounded very definite.

Do you think so? she asked worriedly.

I know so, he replied. He cupped his fingers around her chin and held her face as he leaned forward to kiss her mouth. It was a terrific struggle for him not to betray the hunger he felt at the touch of her lips, but he managed to keep the kiss light.

Once we are married, you’ll be fine, he said huskily as he withdrew his mouth from hers. You’ll see.

Alexandra touched her lips with her finger and looked into the blue eyes that were almost on a level with her own.

I hope so, she said, but she didn’t sound convinced.

2

March 1814

I have just received the most extraordinary letter," James Taylor said, coming into his partner’s office.

Giles Sloane, the Sloane in the firm of Taylor and Sloane, looked up from his desk. He was an older man who had started the firm in partnership with James’s father. What letter?

It pertains to the Hartford estate.

Mr. Sloane rolled his eyes. Will we never see the end of that coil? The earl had to be mad to make such a condition, but it was legal, and his heirs are bound by it. I thought we had clarified that matter sufficiently, James.

This letter has to do with the succession, the younger man said. I wish you would look at it.

Giles Sloane took the paper his partner was holding out, settled his eyeglasses more firmly on his nose, and began to read.

Silence fell.

Then, Good God, Sloane said. He was still reading the letter. He finished it and looked up. Good God, he said again. Can this be true?

I don’t know, Taylor said unhappily. If it is, I don’t know how I am to break the news to Lady Alexandra.

It will be even more difficult to break it to the poor chap who thinks he is the seventh Earl of Hartford, Sloane said drily.

The expression on James Taylor’s young face was deeply troubled. What do you think I should do, sir?

Sloane reread the letter once again.

The late earl did have a younger brother, he said slowly. I remember that he died under somewhat mysterious circumstances. He frowned. And I do believe it was in Scotland. He was buried up there. No one here has spoken of him for years.

Taylor said, Well, if what this letter claims is true, if he did indeed marry and have a son, then that son is the seventh earl, not Geoffrey Wilton.

He lives in a place called Glen Alpin, Sloane said, frowning at the letter in his hand. Where the devil is Glen Alpin anyway?

Somewhere in the Western Highlands, Taylor returned. He held up a piece of paper. Our correspondent has kindly sent directions.

The Western Highlands, Sloane repeated, in much the same tone he would have used had he said, Outer Mongolia. He looked back down at the letter. What of this person, this Archibald Douglas, who has written to you? Are you sure he is reputable?

As you see, he claims he is a professor who taught Niall MacDonald, as this new heir is apparently called, at the University of Edinburgh. He appears to be a reputable source, sir. If you notice, he has offered us other names as references.

Sloane blew out of his nose. If what he writes is true, then why did this Niall MacDonald not contact us himself?

According to Douglas, Niall MacDonald does not know he is Hartford’s heir. Up until three years ago, remember, Hartford’s son was the heir. Apparently Niall does not know of Marcus Wilton’s death.

Hmmm. Sloane’s expression was distinctly skeptical. Then why did this Mr. Archibald Douglas not write to MacDonald himself and leave it to the new heir to make his presence known?

Taylor, who had been standing all this while in front of his partner’s desk, now sat down in one of the office chairs. I don’t know why. He doesn’t say.

Sloane regarded his young colleague over the top of his glasses.