Page 1 of The Pleasure in Persuasion

Chapter One

HAMPSHIRE, EARLY OCTOBER 1823

Frederick Darrington shifted on the carriage’s plush burgundy velvet squabs and let out a groan of discomfort. Stretching his legs out, he propped his heels on the opposite seat and withdrew his pocket watch to consult the time.

Twenty minutes past three o’clock.

He should arrive at his sister’s house in another half hour or so. Saints be praised. He’d done quite enough sitting for one day. His carriage was well-sprung and comfortably furnished, but still, his arse was going numb, and his legs were practically itching to move.

Returning his pocket watch to his coat, he turned once again to the window and gazed out at the passing countryside with its rolling green hills and towering oaks, the hazy azure sky festooned with wispy, white clouds.

The vista was an idyllic one, but after a four-hour carriage ride, even Hampshire’s beauty began to lose its appeal. As did his own company.

Of course, he only had himself to blame for this little trip, as his older brother, Robert, the Viscount Darrington, had made abundantly clear when he’d suggested last week—rather forcefully—that Frederick should get out of London for a while until things began to settle down.

Things being the scandal.

Frederick let his head fall back against the squabs and blew out a sigh. He truly was a first-rate idiot sometimes. But when Lady Serena Garrison had approached him last month with an invitation to visit her bed, he’d accepted with enthusiasm. Serena was a beautiful woman, auburn-haired, lushly curved...and married.

That she was unhappy in her marriage to a rich baron thirty years her senior had helped to ease his misgivings, but it did not lessen the sin and certainly hadn’t made a damned bit of difference to her husband. Lord Garrison was a man in his sixties, but he was by no means frail or feeble, and when he’d learned of his wife’s affair with Frederick, he was not pleased.

Indeed, he was downright livid. So livid that there were whispers of promised revenge and pistols at dawn, until Frederick’s brother intervened and saved his skin. Again.

Robert met with Garrison and petitioned him for mercy, and with the staunch assurances that Frederick would leave London for a time—and, of course, never speak to Lady Garrison again—the baron had eventually agreed.

Frederick heaved another sigh and rubbed a hand across his increasingly tight chest. He’d bedded another man’s wife, something he’d never done before, and although he was far from perfect, he did have a conscience, and it was decidedly guilty.

Even so, he might have ignored it...if only his family hadn’t found out.

He’d disappointed them, his mother most of all, and while he might be five-and-twenty, he still could not abide his mother’s disappointment. He should be inured to it by now, given all the practice he’d had. He’d been disappointing his mother, his sisters, and his perfect older brother for years now.

Still, it stung. Not that he’d allowed Robert to see that, of course.

He’d spent far too much time and effort cultivating this facade of cavalier rascal to abandon it now, which was why he’d agreed to come to Hampshire, and done so with a smile.

Truth be told, he was rather looking forward to seeing Penelope again. She had always been his favorite sibling, ever since they were children, and even though he was the youngest and she was seven years his senior, she had never treated him like the pesky little brother he must surely have been.

Truthfully, she deserved a better brother than he’d been these last few years. He was a selfish man, wrapped up in his own life, writing to her rarely, though she wrote to him faithfully every month, even over the course of the last year in the wake of her husband’s sudden death after he was thrown from a horse and broke his neck.

Guilt washed over him, and he rubbed his chest again. Penelope was a capital girl, and she deserved a lot better from him. The reason behind this visit was…not ideal, but he meant to make good use of it and spend these next few weeks in Hampshire with his favorite sibling and the four nieces and nephews he barely knew. He was looking forward to it. He hoped they were.

The carriage began to slow then, and Frederick turned toward the window, his brows dipping in confusion. They couldn’t have reached his sister’s house already, could they? He leaned his head out the window as the carriage slowed to a crawl, and his gaze caught on the reason for the disruption.

A dark-haired young woman in a plain gray gown stood at the edge of the road, tugging on a length of rope loosely looped around the neck of a small but stubborn Jersey cow.

Without a second thought, Frederick rapped his knuckles on the carriage roof and hopped out onto the dirt lane before the wheels had fully stopped.

“Excuse me, miss,” he called out. “May I be of assistance?”

The woman did not answer him but continued to tug on the rope as she murmured words of encouragement to the cow, whose name was, apparently, Blythe.

Judging by the unperturbed expression on the animal’s face, the name was an apt one.

Frederick tried again. “Miss?”

“What?”

The reply was snappish, but he supposed a little irritability was to be expected given the situation.