Page 1 of Bound By The Christmastide Moon

Prologue

Ditchley Hall, Southampton, England

June 1811

Silas Anson, the eighth Earl of Lichfield, glared across the vast, disorderly expanse of what he’d recently come to view as his desk, not the unfamiliar, cluttered stretch of flat surface that had once belonged to his father.

A man he barely remembered and could not conjure in his mind.

On the receiving end of Silas’s scowl was none other than Mr. Horace Peabody, Esquire.

The solicitor had also come with the Lichfield title and estate.

Though Silas silently debated which was of lesser value to him: his non-existent heritance or his father’s trusted advisor.

“You are telling me—“ Silas clamped his mouth shut, pondering and discarding his next statement as overly crass and unwarranted, no matter the validity of it. “You are telling me I was summoned back to England, ripped from my home in France, to inherit a title and estate so entrenched in debt that ruination can only be staved off for a month’s time?”

Mr. Peabody, who surprisingly in no way resembled a pea of any sort, stared mutely at Silas from behind his rounded spectacles, his hands clenched on the stack of folders in his lap. Did the man realize how cliché he appeared? Glasses, ink-stained fingers, nerves so frazzled he shook, and the piles of paperwork. Lord above, the man had arrived with an entire forest’s worth of the stuff. One could only imagine the mines exploited to collect the graphite needed to scribble all the nonsense that’d been presented to Silas.

And the solicitor had appeared anxious since his arrival.

“This plan you’ve so graciously detailed for me is the only viable option you have been able to ascertain for rescuing the Lichfield name?” Silas needed to hear Peabody verbalize his recommended course one last time; but the solicitor only nodded, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Silas wondered if he shouldn’t seek other counsel in this matter—and every matter to come. “My estate is bankrupt, the title worthless, and my only recourse—if I refuse to throw myself at the mercy of my mother’s family—is as outlined on this single sheet of paper?”

To further punctuate the absurdity of the situation, Silas retrieved the aforementioned document with its hastily written paragraph and held it high for Peabody to inspect.

“That is, indeed, my recommendation, my lord,” Peabody croaked, bowing his head.

If his father were not solidly in his grave, Silas would do away with the previous earl himself.

Bloody damnation, but Silas—along with his mother and siblings—had been content and otherwise entertained in Paris all these years. That was before he’d been unceremoniously summoned back to his father’s homeland to usurp a title he’d never thought to possess.

Silas slumped in his seat and scrubbed his face, attempting to gain some clarity on the situation—yet, it eluded him still.

His mother, Mary Louisa Anson, Lady Lichfield, had absconded from England over fifteen years prior, her three young children in tow, never to see her husband again. Edmond Anson hadn’t come looking for his family, hadn’t sent so much as a messenger to check on their whereabouts or safety, nor the authorities to return his offspring to their rightful place in England.

As the years passed and no one came for them, Silas and his siblings adjusted to life in France as their mother pursued her passion for art. He’d assumed his father had forged a new life and continued as if his twin sons and young daughter had never existed.

The solicitor perked up, a new spark of hope lighting his otherwise lackluster stare. “You can always reach out to Mrs. Hambly. I have heard she is a fair woman who loves her relations. Do not so readily cast her—and your other aunts—aside. Perhaps the Countess of Somerton will be willing to step in and assist—”

Silas snorted. Yes, he’d been regaled with tales of the formidable Regina, his mother’s sister, for years, and none of them spoke to her fair nature or love for her family, but rather to her need to be in control. “If my aunt cared a whit for her relations, she would have pursued my mother and offered assistance. Yet, my siblings and I lived on little more but stale bread and broth for years, residing above a butcher’s shop in an unsavory part of Paris.” Silas would not go into detail about the horrid conditions of his childhood—not with this man, at least. “No, that is not an option, at least not at this juncture.”

“My plan will only solve a fraction of your problems, my lord.” Peabody sighed, glancing toward the closed door of the study, his wide stare begging for any interruption as a means for escape. “And the solution itself is only temporary, at best.”

“How could my father allow his estate to fall into such shambles?” Silas mused, expecting no answer, for any retort would not satisfy him.

“Because he was heartbro—“ The solicitor’s words cut short, and he swallowed. The tall clock chimed four times, echoing through the cavernous corridors of Ditchley Hall. “If there is nothing else you require, I will see myself out and prepare to depart for London.”

Peabody stood, his lean, lanky body spoke of a man trapped behind a desk in a moldy room for over half his day, his pale skin in desperate need of sunlight.

Silas wanted the man gone, out of his office and away from Ditchley altogether. Away before word traveled to his siblings about the dire state of their affairs. Yet, that would not improve his family’s situation nor hold the creditors at bay for long.

“Sit.” His command reverberated off the walls and shook the windowpanes, sending a shiver down his spine. That was one positive of Ditchley Hall: his voice was a fearsome sound in every room. “I wish to speak further about my course for the next several months if I entertain your plan.”

Regaining his seat, the solicitor shuffled through his folders in search of something, likely the means to keep Silas’s wrath at bay a bit longer.

“An arranged marriage…”

“Yes, Lord Lichfield,” Peabody nodded. “My notion to rescue the estate—at least for the time being—and keep your name and that of your siblings from the gossip mills, is to secure a mutually beneficial match.”