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Prologue

April 1893

Glasgow, Scotland

“Miles,” his mother called out as he walked around the ballroom ensuring everything was in place.

He turned to find his beautiful mother, Her Grace Arabella Johnstone, waving him to come. The skirts of the emerald-green ballgown swished around her legs as she walked toward him.

“Mother, you have outdone yourself.” He kissed her cheek, and she waved her hands impatiently.

“Everything has been done. All that we need is to be ready as the first carriages arrive. I wish for you to meet someone.”

“Mother.” He let out a long breath. “I warned you, no matchmaking.”

His mother’s right eyebrow lifted, a trait they shared when making a point. “Your father and I will have a grandchild before we die. Not just a grandchild, but an heir.”

“I am an heir,” Miles stated, lifting his arm to escort her to the front door. “You and Father could have had another son or two who would ensure someone to carry the title after me.”

His mother shook her head, her green gaze pinning him. “This delusion of yours not to marry will end. If you do not choose a bride soon, your father and I will choose one for you.”

Used to her repetitive comments about his marital status, Miles pushed back in annoyance. In truth, he had little desire to marry anytime soon, if at all.

“I have told you Mother, once I reach forty, if I am not married, you can arrange a marriage. I do not care to whom. It will be a formality so that I can procreate your much wanted heir.”

“Why are you so unyielding?” His mother gave him an incredulous look. “Did we do something wrong that made you so hard-hearted against marriage?”

“I am convinced that the marriage vows do not mean much to most people. You and Father are a rare example for fidelity, of course.”

He’d witnessed how unfaithful people could be. But his own friend Grant was a perfect example of the infidelity of women. Most of Grant’s wealthy benefactors and lovers over the years had been married women. He himself had slept with women who were engaged or married to other men.

No. He would not marry anytime soon, only to find his wife in another man’s bed.

Miles stood dutifully next to his parents to greet their guests. By the time the last ones arrived, he’d lost count of how many eager mothers had thrust their daughters in front of him, espousing the young women’s incredible and sometimes unbelievable virtues. If not for standing next to his father, who slid him warning looks every time he started to grin, he would have burst out laughing several times.

“Come, Darling.” His mother touched his arm. “I wish you to meet a delightful young woman.”

Another one? “I’ve already met all the delightful young women in the room,” Miles replied, not moving. “More than enough of them for the night.”

Never deterred, his mother walked across the room, and he was forced to follow her just as the musicians began the first dance of the night.

She stopped in front of one of the overzealous mothers, next to whom stood a reasonably attractive younger woman. “Zinnia,” his mother began. “I was just telling Miles he should dance with your beautiful Amelia.”

Her attention returned to Miles. “Son, this is Amelia Blair.”

The young woman, Amelia, stood so straight he wondered if she could bend. Her nose held up, she scanned him from head to toe, as if assessing whether or not he was worthy of a dance with her. It didn’t matter to him one way or the other.

Miles bent at the waist. “Miss Amelia, would you do me the honor of this dance?”

Amelia held out a hand and he took it, placing it into the crook of his arm before leading her to the dance floor where they joined the other dancers. The young lady was a perfectly accomplished dancer, and just as boring and unappealing as the rest of the young ladies paraded before him. I do not think I’ll bother dancing with her again, he thought. No use getting her, or her mother’s, or even his mother’s, hopes up. Nothing about Amelia Blair sparked his interest.

The entire time they danced, he kept an eye on the door for when Grant and his bride Wren entered. He’d instructed the attendants that they should be announced with much fanfare.

Thankfully just as the song ended, he noted Grant and his new bride entering. He extricated himself form Amelia. “The guests of honor have arrived.”

Somehow she managed to hold her nose higher. “Oh yes. They are the reason for all of this. I had forgotten.”

Her comment reinforced his decision that he would not dance with her again, nor ever seek her company. Not only was she uninteresting, another debutante made in the mold of all the others, but she was shallow and self-centered as well.