December 1809
Ridgewood Court, Essex England
Humming beneath her breath, Gabriella
Breckensole practically skipped down the stairs on her way to meet the other female houseguests to make kissing boughs and other festive decorations. The past few days had been a whirlwind of activity, as her hostess, Theadosia, the Duchess of Sutcliffe and one of her dearest friends, hosted a Christmastide house party, the likes of which Essex
had never witnessed before.
The event was made all that much more enjoyable by the presence of Maxwell Woolbright, the Duke of Pennington. Since Gabriella and her twin sister had returned from finishing school almost two years ago, she’d encountered him at a few gatherings. He was quite the most dashing man she’d ever met, and despite being far above her station, she thrilled whenever he directed his attention her way.
Descending the last riser, she puzzled for a moment. Where were the ladies to meet? The drawing room, the floral salon, or the dining room? Forehead scrunched, she pulled her mouth to the side and started toward the drawing room. Halfway there, she remembered they were to meet in the slightly larger dining room. She spun around and marched the other direction, passing the impressive library, its door slightly ajar.
“Harold Breckensole will pay for what he’s done,” a man declared in an angry, gruff voice.
Gabriella halted mid-step, her stomach plunging to her slippered feet. She swiftly looked up and down the vacant corridor before tip-toeing to the cracked doorway. Who spoke about her grandfather with such hostility?
Breath held, she peeked through the narrow opening. The Dukes of Sutcliffe, Pennington, and Sheffield stood beside the fireplace, facing each other.
Pennington held a glass of umber-colored spirits in one hand as he stared morosely into the capering flames. “I shall reclaim Hartfordshire Court. I swear.”
“You say the estate was once part of the unentailed part of the duchy?” Sutcliffe asked, concern forming a line between his eyebrows.
Pennington tossed back a swallow of his drink. “Yes. It belonged to my grandmother’s family for generations, and after what I’ve recently learned, I mean to see it restored to the ducal holdings, come hell or high water. And I’ll destroy Breckensole too.”
Slapping a hand over her mouth, she backed away, shaking her head as stinging tears slid from the corners of her eyes.
Oh, my God. She’d been halfway to falling in love with a man bent on revenge of some sort. Gabriella
jutted her chin up, angrily swiping at her cheeks. The Duke of Pennington had just become her enemy.
