Love indeed!

  She knew that is what her sisters and cousin hoped for, and Frances had not discouraged them. Just because love had failed her did not mean they may not find it for themselves. Besides, if she cautioned them, they may ask why and those reasons would never be revealed. To this day, the relationship that she had once shared with Seth remained a secret. She would hide it from herself if that were possible.

  However, he had taught her a very valuable lesson. Love cannot be trusted. Never again would she give her heart to anyone and thankfully there was no need for her to ever wed.

  Chapter Two

  Seth hated that Jonathan was correct in that he needed to rejoin Society outside of The Emerald Garter. It was the only opportunity he would have to meet potential new members, but he had no intention of venturing out alone again and went in search of his younger sister as soon as he returned home. He found her stitching in the parlor.

  “What plans do you have tonight?” he asked.

  Blythe arched a brow. “The same as every night.”

  “Sitting alone in this house,” Seth confirmed.

  “It is what I prefer,” she reminded him.

  Perhaps his decision to return to Society would also benefit his sister.

  Blythe was only five and twenty and already a widow. She’d met and married Lt. John Clay then followed the drum. When he was killed at Waterloo, Blythe had returned to England but could not bring herself to continue home to the family estate in Laswell. She had begged Seth to let her live with him—a quiet existence. At the time, he had assumed that Blythe simply wished to mourn in peace, except that had been a little over two years ago and she rarely left the house. He also suspected that she suffered from melancholy but forced a smile in his presence.

  Seth had not pressed her for details or information about her years on the Continent, or even her marriage because the few times he had broached the subject, she claimed that she did not want to talk about that time.

  Even though he was content as a confirmed bachelor, he did not mind his widowed sister living in his home, but worried about her and would like to see Blythe out and enjoying herself.

  “I thought to take in the play being performed at Theatre Royal.”

  “I am certain it will be enjoyable,” Blythe offered as she continued her embroidery.

  “Especially since you will be joining me.”

  Her hands stilled, as did her entire body, before she slowly glanced up. “Me?”

  “Yes, you,” Seth encouraged.

  “I do not wish to attend the theatre,” she hastily answered and returned to her stitching.

  Seth blew out a sigh and settled across from her. “You cannot spend the rest of your life hiding in this house.”

  Her lips pursed as her eyebrows drew together. “You wish me to leave?” The question was barely a whisper.

  “Of course, I do not,” Seth quickly assured her. “But I want you to start enjoying life again.”

  “I enjoy it well enough.”

  “I would believe you, but as you really have not attempted to return to Society, how can you be certain?”

  “I was in mourning,” Blythe argued.

  “That ended a year ago,” he reminded her.

  Blythe closed her eyes and dropped her chin and Seth feared that perhaps he was asking too much of her. He would never do anything intentional to cause any of his sister's discomfort, but he truly was concerned.

  After a moment, Blythe took a deep breath and lifted her head. “Very well. I will accompany you to the theatre,” she finally agreed. “Though I am doing this more for you.”

  “Me?”

  “It is about time you did something with your evenings beside spend them at The Emerald Garter, with your mistress, or here.”

  Seth didn’t tell her he hadn’t engaged a mistress in nearly a year. Such discussion should not be had with a sister, even if she had been married.

  Maybe that was what he needed. Bed sport had often put him in an excellent mood, and it had been months since he engaged in such. Perhaps the doldrums he’d been suffering could be easily and quickly rectified. He might even be enchanted by an actress in need of a protector tonight, which is what he hoped as he entered the theatre.

  From his vantage of the private box, Seth was able to identify many of the patrons and made note of those gentlemen whom he did not know but who were in the company of others whom he did with intentions of gaining an introduction. He also noted the gentlemen who had been absent from his gaming den of late and wished to inquire why. However, all thoughts of The Emerald Garter vanished when he glanced at the box directly across from his and sucked in a breath at the sight of Miss Frances Hawthorn. The only woman he had ever loved or ever would.

  She had not yet looked in his direction and Seth took the time to drink in her appearance. Her golden curls shimmered in the lamplight and she smiled at something her friends had said. He remembered that smile as well as the laughter and joy that used to sparkle in her warm brown eyes.

  His heart warmed with memories from the past, of being in the gardens, of painting the sitting room, and reading awful poetry from the books they’d taken from the lending library, and so many hours that they’d spent hidden away in the cottage.

  Seth dropped his chin and chuckled, recalling how Frances had filled the entire house with smoke when she had attempted to make biscuits for them.

  They shared a friendship for ten years. Laughter and love, and as Frances had once said, they had healed. His happiest memories were of times he spent with Frances.

  God, he missed her. His body ached to hear her voice and touch her hand again. No doubt he was nothing more than a distant memory to her, but she would always haunt his heart.

  With a smile, he recalled the first time they had met and how their unusual and unexpected friendship had begun.

  It had been the summer of 1802, fifteen years ago, and Seth had been in search of a place that held no memories of Amelia, his twin sister who had just died. He had wandered the woods and surrounding areas of Laswell until he came across a cottage hidden in the woods. Seth had lived in the area his entire life and had not known it was there. By the dilapidated state, it almost seemed to have been forgotten. Curiosity is what had drawn him forward and after looking in windows, noting nobody was within, he opened the door, stepped inside and wandered about. He then returned to the parlor and the emotions that he had tried desperately to bury rose. He had managed not to cry at the news of Amelia’s death, or that of his stepmother, and stoically stood during the funeral and when they were placed in the ground. Only his sisters and grandmother had shed tears, but not his father or older brother, so Seth would not allow himself to cry either.

  Except, it had been getting more and more difficult to hold those emotions inside and he was just about to give himself permission to grieve when the front door of the cottage opened. He quickly wiped away the tears that had started to form and turned to see who it was, hoping that he hadn’t entered the home of someone, though there were no signs that anyone lived here.

  “Hello, Lord Seth,” Frances had greeted him with curiosity.

  “Miss Hawthorn,” he returned. His voice had been rough and he had to clear his throat.

  “Why are you here?” she asked.

  “I was wandering the area and came upon the cottage. I thought it was abandoned.”

  “It is, or was…”

  “It is no longer?”

  She sighed and glanced around. “Nobody lives here but I have decided to restore it.”

  “You?” The idea was ridiculous. She was only thirteen.

  “Yes, me,” she answered defiantly. “It is something that I need to do.” Her voice had dropped, filled with sadness. It was then that he had recalled that he was not the only one who had lost family members to measles. Frances had lost her parents, a brother, aunt, uncle and cousin. He understood her need to do something. It was the same need that had him wandering the area, at a loss for what to do because punching things or crying was not acceptable.

  “This was my father’s home. When he met mother, they lived here while he built her the manor on the rest of his land.” She glanced around at the walls and furnishings. “It is where I was born, but I don’t believe they ever returned after they moved.”

  “I apologize for disturbing you.” He turned, ready to leave her be and search out an area where he could be alone.

  “You may remain if you wish, though I will put you to work.”

  “Work?” he had asked.

  “I should also warn you that I can be bossy, and even though you are the son of a duke and I am a mere miss, I will order you about.”

  Seth had been intrigued, especially since she promised to treat him no differently than anyone else. He also needed the distraction that Miss Hawthorn offered.

  “If you are staying, come with me.”

  He followed her out a back door and onto a crumbling terrace where pots of flowers sat. “We must pull the weeds,” she had announced and led him to the center of the small back yard to a weed-choked flowerbed.

  Frances had planted her hands on her hips and faced him. “Do you have an objection to getting your hands dirty?”

  It was almost a challenge. “I do not,” he insisted, though he had never pulled a weed or worked in a garden before.

  “Good.” She gave a quick nod and dropped to her knees and started pulling weeds.

  Seth settled on the opposite side and did the same. It did not take them long to clear the bed, nor did they speak a single word, but worked in silence. Oddly, doing something offered a comfort that he had not been expecting and by the time the garden plot was cleared, he looked for something else to do.

  “We now need to stir up the dirt and add new.”

  “New? Where do we get new?”

  “There is some in the wheelbarrow by the front door. Bring it around.”

  She did not ask but told and Seth had not minded.

  When he returned to the back, she had a hoe and was churning up the soil, pale dirt clinging to and staining the black dress where she had knelt on the ground. Seth stopped at the side of the bed and began shoveling the new dirt that she churned with the old.

  “We can now plant,” Frances announced and the two of them retrieved the temporary pots from the terrace and placed them where she instructed before each flower or bush was planted to her specifications. There were still areas that had nothing, but Seth assumed that maybe the plants near those spots would simply grow large enough to take over.

  Miss Hawthorn then had him haul water from a well for her to carefully dampen the soil around each new plant until she was satisfied that they had enough to drink. By the end of that day, Seth was doing well, better than he had in days, because he was accomplishing something, had worked, and his muscles ached.

  He had been fifteen, only two years older than Frances, but he continued to return to the cottage for ten years as their friendship grew and turned into love.

  “Who are you staring at, Seth?” his sister asked.

  “Miss Frances Hawthorn.”

  “Are you certain that attendance at the theatre is necessary?” Frances asked Lady Bethany Grey, a friend she now resided with and who was one of her employers. Also with them was Bethany’s brother, Viscount Shrewsbury, who served as their escort.

  “Do you not enjoy plays?” Bethany asked.

  “I suppose they can be entertaining, but I thought I would be settling in this evening.”

  “The maids are already unpacking your belongings and your set of rooms will be put to rights by the time we return.” Bethany turned more fully to Frances. “I am glad that you will be living here. It is rather quiet above-stairs.”

  “If you would have kept your set of rooms in father’s townhome, you would not have been alone,” Shrewsbury reminded her.

  As self-proclaimed spinsters, Bethany and her friend, now the Duchess of Ellings, had planned on having a male relative purchase a house where they would live and hold their salons. It had turned out to be His Grace who purchased the property for his wife knowing that they would never live there. It was on the ground floor where the salon and gambling room had been established while Bethany, and now Frances, lived on the first and second floors.

  “I have no desire to forever live with my father, or brother, as if I am a poor relation who could not find a husband.”

  “You have not found a husband,” Shrewsbury reminded her.

  “Perhaps I do not want one. Clearly my judgement is poor since the only gentleman I hoped to set my cap for turned out to be a scoundrel.”

  Frances’ eyes widened. She’d not known that Bethany had once been courted or had hoped for a courtship.

  “He no longer matters, nor will I say his name.” Bethany closed the subject and turned to Frances. “I am very happy you will be joining me in my independent spinster status.”

  “I do appreciate the opportunity,” Frances sighed with a smile. “I have quite outgrown the need for an aunt to dictate my comings and goings, and lecture about what I can and cannot do. I am old enough to make decisions for myself.” Besides, the income from her employment would allow Frances to be even more financially independent.

  “So, it is true,” Shrewsbury murmured.

  “What is true?” Bethany asked.

  “I heard rumor that Lord Seth Claxton had left his gaming hell and attended a ball for the first time in over five years and now he just entered the box across from ours.”

  Frances’ first instinct was to look, but she was too afraid. She had not seen Seth since he had broken her heart. Just the mere mention of his name caused the breath to lodge in her throat for but a moment as her pulse increased, then she quickly chastised herself for allowing him to have any effect on her person.

  He was responsible for ruining her very first Season, even though she had already been too old to be placed on the marriage mart. But she had stupidly hoped that Seth would walk into a ballroom, see her, realize the error of his decision then sweep her up in his arms and beg for forgiveness. That had never occurred and she’d not seen Seth since the day he walked out of the cottage five years ago.

  Instead, she heard rumors of how he was a rake, rogue and downright scoundrel. Frances had not wanted to believe what she had heard but too many people whispered similar stories, which meant there was some truth to their words. When she learned that he had opened his own gaming hell—The Emerald Garter—she wondered if he had laughed at her when he’d settled on the name.

  How well had she known him and how much of what they had shared was a lie?

  Hers had not been the only heart broken either. While she still lived in Laswell, he had flitted from one miss and debutante to another. He danced with them, took turns about the room, called and nearly courted, then quickly lost interest and moved on to the next, much like a bee in a flower garden who could not decide which bloom he liked the best. Seth hadn’t cared who he hurt because his only concern was making his fortune and being independent of his father.

  “I wonder why he has returned to Society?” Bethany’s words intruded on her thoughts.

  “Maybe he has decided to wed,” Shrewsbury offered to which Frances frowned. Seth had no intention of ever marrying, that was something he’d made very clear. At least to her.

  “Why would you say so?” Bethany asked.

  “I do not recognize the woman with him. She is a lady, and not the lightskirts he used to escort about when not at his gaming hell.”

  Frances’ stomach churned at the very idea of Seth enjoying lovers and her heart filled with jealousy that someone had captured his—something she’d been unable to accomplish.

  “She is very lovely,” Bethany acknowledged and as much as Frances knew that she would regret her actions, she turned to look.

  Lady Blythe was the first person she saw, and Frances hated that small bit of relief that swept through her to see the lovely woman was Seth’s widowed sister and not a love.

  However, when her eyes met Seth’s the pain of rejection surged along with anger. Frances tipped her chin and turned away, putting all her attention to the performance that was about to begin and dismissed Lord Seth Claxton from her mind.

  Except it was impossible to forget about him and instead of watching the play, Frances returned to the last day they ever spent together.

  Seth turned to face her and she noted the sadness in his blue eyes.

  He bent forward and gently placed his lips against hers in the most tender of kisses.

  They’d shared many kisses these past few years. Some of them sweet and others filled with passion and desire that left her body aching. Seth never pressed for more even though she would have likely allowed him any liberties he may have wished to take.

  He pulled away, his hands cradling her face. “I will miss you Franny.”

  Yes, the cottage had been sold and he would be returning to London while she traveled on to Yorkshire, but they would not be parted forever.

  “We may see each other sooner than you believe.” Seth did not yet know of the letter she had just received from her uncle and she could not wait to share the news with him.

  “I do not know when or if I will be able to visit you in Yorkshire. I will try to write though.”

  “You will see me in the spring,” she announced with an excited grin.

  Seth pulled back with a frown. “I do not understand.”

  “Uncle Edmund has written that he has set enough aside to give my sister Hope, and cousin Bryn a Season.”

  Some of her excitement dissipated. If she was not mistaken, Seth lost a bit of color as his blue eyes widened.

  “A Season?” he asked as if he needed clarification.

  “Yes. For them, not me because I’m too old, but I will be present.”

  Seth stepped away and rubbed the back of his neck. It was almost as if he were distressed at the very idea of her being in London.

  “So, you see, we will not be parted for so long,” she offered hopefully.

  Seth turned his back and walked away. “You will not see me there.”