An engagement with the e.., p.1
An Engagement with the Enemy, page 1
AN ENGAGEMENT WITH THE ENEMY
CASTLES & COURTSHIP
SALLY BRITTON
Copyright © 2023 by Sally Britton
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Edited by Jenny Proctor
Cover Design by Ashtyn Newbold
Dedicated to Jenny Proctor:
Thank you for helping me polish the words until they shine.
The rules of fair play do not apply in love and war.
JOHN LYLY, EUPHUES: THE ANATOMY OF WIT
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
The Castles & Courtship Series
Also by Sally Britton
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
The morning sun filtered through the stained-glass windows of the library, dappling the floor with colorful shapes that danced across the carpet and the pages of James Aldwick’s open book. He lounged in an overstuffed armchair, one leg draped over the armrest as he let his mind wander through the world of a novel by Sir Walter Scott.
Yesterday, a certain lady had caught him reading the book and threatened to tell him the ending, as she had already completed reading it. James momentarily glowered at the page with that memory.
Fortunately, not even his sworn enemy, Miss Westcote, possessed the audacity to ruin the end of a good book. Why his sister’s best friend had determined herself to be a thorn in his side since her infancy, he couldn’t say.
The sound of someone clearing his throat came from the doorway, and when James swung his gaze that direction, he immediately dropped both feet to the floor. His father stood there, dressed in his customary deep blue frock coat and cravat. The corners of Baron Retford’s mouth turned down in disapproval, likely over finding his son in such a lazy pose.
“Must you lounge about like an uncouth vagabond?” His father’s clipped tone made James inwardly groan. His father didn’t usually begin a conversation with a correction. Unless the rest of his chosen subject matter had to do with one particular matter. An heir’s duty and responsibility.
James straightened and set the book aside. “My apologies, Father. How may I be of service?” He kept his tone neutral and his expression respectful.
Baron Retford’s frown deepened.
“We have had this conversation before, and it is high time something is done. Your duty is to this family. You must settle down and choose a wife.”
James swallowed a sigh. This again. His father had been after him for months to find a suitable bride, though James had no intention of marrying some naive girl barely out of the schoolroom, likely with more pedigree than wit if his father had his way.
“There are many fine ladies who would make a worthy match,” his father continued. “What happened with Lady Anne in April, while we were in London? She has a generous dowry, and her family’s status would reflect well on our own. We should invite her to the castle this summer.”
At this, James could no longer contain a grimace. Lady Anne was as dull as she was vain, caring for nothing but the latest fashions and increasing her collection of admirers.
His father’s gaze sharpened. “Do not scowl so. I expect you to treat all ladies of quality with courteous attention.”
Courteous attention. James swallowed a biting retort. He had no desire to waste his summer trotting after females in hopes of an alliance. He wanted more than that for himself. But he held his tongue, offering a stiff nod instead. “As you wish, Father.”
If he placated the baron enough, perhaps he would gain a few more weeks before the subject came up again.
“Good.” The baron went to the stained glass, looking through a green pane with a somewhat relieved expression. “Because your mother and I have decided it is time you took your future more seriously.”
A sense of unease settled in his stomach, hinting at what might be in store. He had an intuition, a sense that he could anticipate what awaited him. And it was unpleasant.
“We do not think it wise to wait until the next Season to begin your hunt in earnest.” Baron Retford spoke more to the window than he did his son. “Your duty is to restore the reputation of this family.”
James’s attention fell away as his father continued a lecture he’d heard many time before.
Their family name didn’t actually need restoration, to James’s way of thinking. Though his father had been born illegitimately, he’d been legally recognized before he’d reached his majority. He carried his father, the fourth baron’s, name and had inherited all his lands and wealth.
He’d even successfully petitioned Parliament and the Crown to restore the title that had died when his father, the fourth baron, had passed on. They’d made John Aldwick the First Baron Retford. The title hadn’t been continued but remade.
Something that had seemingly caused James’s father to feel less than equal to his peers.
“…I will not have you wasting away your days in frivolity—”
James interrupted. “Frivolity? Father. I am reading a book. I do not go about our little village gambling, carousing, or courting actresses. For one thing, none of those activities are available to me here.” He tried to keep his tone light. Tried to bring his father back to reason with humor. “Considering I do not take part in such things even in London, and at the height of the Season, I cannot think it just for you to accuse me of frivolity.”
His father glowered at him. “You are not taking this conversation seriously.”
“I’m only eight and twenty. Many men of our rank do not marry until thirty or older.”
“Most men do not have a family scandal to erase from history.” His father pinned him with a hard look. “And it is time to move forward with your life. Your mother and I have a plan.”
James gritted his teeth. “A plan? For what?”
“For your future. Your marriage.” His father came closer and bent at the waist enough to bring him eye-level with James. “What do you think of this: a series of house parties, balls, and outings, all summer long, with invitations sent to every young lady of quality—and her family, of course—to attend? You will meet eligible, unmarried women here, without the pressures of London’s social schedule, and have their full attention. You will see how they fit into life at Amoret. One of them is bound to suit you.”
James slowly came to his feet, leaving his book in the chair behind him. “You expect me to endure the spectacle of women being paraded through our home, hoping that by some chance I may find a suitable match among them to marry? Everyone invited will see through the ruse of a house party and know precisely what you intend. What lady will agree to such a display? This is a terrible idea.”
His father’s chest puffed up. “Invitations have already been sent—”
“What?” James stiffened, but his father ignored him.
“—and we have drawn up a schedule, a calendar, of events and plans. Not only for the castle, but for the village. We will host a fair, races, and your mother has plans to bring in actors.”
“You did all this without consulting me first?” James asked, pushing a hand through his hair.
His father drew himself up to his full height, still three inches shorter than James’s six-foot frame. “Have I need to consult you before planning entertainments at my expense?”
“When the entire goal of said entertainment is to procure a wife for your son, one would think the son worth consulting.” James moved away, dropping both hands to his side and trying not to curl them into fists. He’d ignored the lectures too long, it would seem, if his father had moved to the desperate point of planning what would amount to a search for a bride, bringing willing ladies to the castle to act as the quarry to James’s reluctant hunt.
“James,” his father snapped, and James turned to see the dark frown on his father’s lined face. It wasn’t anger he saw, though a stranger might mistake the wrinkles in the baron’s forehead as impatient furrows and the flat set of his mouth as a warning. James knew better. “The guests are invited. We are doing this for the good of the family. And for you.”
No, his father wasn’t angry. He was worried. And getting older. A grandson and heir would no doubt ease his mind about the future of Castle Amoret and the title.
James’s shoulders fell. He didn’t have the heart to argue. What was done was done. “I understand.” He took in a deep breath. “I will do what I can to ensure our guests enjoy their time at Castle Amoret.”
“Thank you, son.” Apparently satisfied, and perhaps realizing any further conversation would be detrimental to the already precarious calm, Baron Retford took his leave.
Try as he might, James couldn’t escape the truth that his aging father simply wanted to see him settled
James waited until his father’s footsteps receded down the corridor before collapsing back into the chair. Marriage and duty. Always his father’s refrain.
James yearned to live as he chose, unburdened by the demands of society and family. But as the eldest son, he had obligations he couldn’t ignore, no matter how he chafed against them. With a sigh, he picked up his book again, but as he stared at the page, the words blurred together. He could not stop thinking about what this would mean for his summer. The idea of being paraded before a bevy of eligible women left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Glancing at the stained glass again, he studied the shift of light on the carpet. For a moment he allowed himself to picture a different life, one where he chose his own bride and followed his own passions rather than duty. Yet the next instant he thought of his mother’s hopes, his sister’s dependence on a settled line of inheritance, and the stability his marriage would bring to both. His future wasn’t the only one at stake.
He shook his head with a rueful smile.
Daydreams would get him nowhere.
Setting the book aside, James stood and straightened his coat. He would play the part his father required and smile through the coming parade of eligible young ladies, even if he held no hope of finding one he could truly call a match.
He would spout pleasantries, engage in meaningless conversation, and endure the entertainment his mother had arranged. He would smile and play his part, concealing his bitterness behind a mask of cheerful obligation.
With grim resignation, James steeled himself and left the library, along with his personal wishes, behind. What choice did he have but to endure what he could not avoid? This was yet another duty to tick off his list, another thing to suffer in silence. And then, with luck, it would be over.
CHAPTER TWO
As the day unfolded, the countryside came alive with summer’s simple pleasures. It was for this reason that Jessica Westcote most enjoyed her afternoon rides with her friend and neighbor, Catherine Aldwick. Everything around them, from birds to the long-stemmed wildflowers, was vibrant and bright. Summer called to a part of her soul in a way no other season could.
Endless meadows, resplendent in deep shades of green, sprawled all around them, creating a tapestry of lushness that stretched as far as the eye could see.
Jessica Westcote’s gelding pranced beneath her, his muscles rippling beneath the sunlight. The wind tousled her sun-bronzed curls as she rode alongside Catherine. Their voices carried on the breeze as their horses effortlessly navigated the familiar paths through the rolling hills. The rhythmic clip-clop of hooves echoed in harmony, as if the horses themselves were in tune with the two friends.
Sometimes, Jessica envied her friends’ classical beauty, with delicate features in her softly rounded face. Her skin was quite fair, and as prone to freckle as Jessica’s was to darken to brown. Catherine also had the good fortune to have soft brown eyes. Jessica’s own eyes were a shade of gray that reminded her of a drizzly rain and did little to compliment her hair which was an indeterminate color between brown and auburn.
“Isn’t the sunshine lovely?” She tipped her face upward toward the sky. “I love the summer.”
“Spoken like someone who has never had to endure a freckle.” Catherine shuddered and adjusted the brim of her riding hat, the very thought of freckles enough to make her concerned.
Jessica tried to reassure her friend. “Perhaps they will one day come into fashion.”
“I find that most unlikely.”
“Yet you attempt to give me hope that one day my particular oddities will be admired,” Jessica reminded her. Her nose was longer than she liked, but she supposed it looked well enough in her oval-face with its too-noticeable cheekbones.
She didn’t have the gentle curves that made her friend’s gowns drape perfectly at bosom and hip.
No. Jessica had always been stick-straight, with sharp elbows and knees, and a bosom that made the local seamstress sigh with pity before she suggested stays with padding beneath them to create the illusion of fullness.
“Stranger things have been popular. Think of that painting in my mother’s withdrawing room of the woman with the wig half as tall as she was.” Catherine placed a hand to her temple in sympathy with the women of the past. “Can you imagine the headache that would cause?”
“My father blames the French for all fashion atrocities.”
Catherine giggled. “Ah, the infamous French!”
Jessica grinned back at her friend before she put her nose in the air. “He cannot resist launching into lengthy tirades about their outlandish fashion choices and their insatiable appetite for conflict. It’s as if he believes the French invented both the fashion plate and the battlefield!”
If Catherine didn’t adore Jessica’s father nearly as much as Jessica herself did, she wouldn’t have laughed so much. Even though Mr. Westcote had a few oddities about him, he was well respected by his neighbors.
With a brightness in her voice, Catherine said, “I cannot imagine being forced to wear such a thing. I feel sorry for the poor maids who had to arrange those hairpieces.”
“Speaking of maids, I must tell you the most lovely piece of gossip mine told me yesterday.” Jessica nudged her horse closer to Catherine’s side, a mischievous glint in her gray eyes. “It sounds as though all the servants are whispering the tale.”
Catherine’s hazel eyes widened with anticipation. “Then you mustn’t keep me in suspense. What did you learn?”
Leaning in conspiratorially, Jessica lowered her voice. “It seems our butler, Mr. Riley, has been exchanging secret glances at church with none other than your housekeeper, Mrs. Turner.”
Catherine gasped, a hand flying to her chest. “No, you cannot be serious! Mr. Riley and Mrs. Turner?” She giggled. “They have known each other for ages. And they must both be near fifty. Do people of their age even know how to flirt? Is that not a skill lost with time?”
“I doubt it. I think a romance between them a rather sweet idea. Especially since I have seen them together.” When her friend gave her no more reaction than raised brows, Jessica continued, “I caught them whispering by the kissing gate yesterday.”
The kissing gate was one of two points where their families’ properties connected, and Jessica had always loved it. The structure of the gate created a secure passage for people while maintaining a barrier for animals.
The narrow opening, between two sturdy fence posts, accommodated the width of a single person, encouraging one to proceed one at a time. The gate itself required a gentle push, allowing it to move within a restricted range. As the gate swung open, it cleared the way for the individual to pass through, while simultaneously creating a temporary barrier that prevented animals, such as sheep or cattle, from entering.
Catherine’s voice dropped to a hushed tone. “Do you think there’s a romance blossoming between them?”
A knowing smile played on Jessica’s lips. “I do hope so. Mr. Riley is such a kind man. He has looked after our family for decades, and everyone on the staff respects him.”
Catherine’s expression brightened with excitement. “Imagine, a romance unfolding right under our noses. How thrilling! We must play matchmakers and ensure they have a chance to express their true feelings.”
Jessica laughed, shaking with laughter at her friend’s ridiculous idea. “That would be terribly meddlesome of us. And if something went wrong? I cannot think of hurting either of them. Your Mrs. Turner is a lovely woman. I think the two of us ought to keep our scheming to the usual things. Planning parties. Confusing our families. Leaving strange gifts in people’s homes.”
