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CHAPTER ONE

Gifford, Earl of St. Albans strode into his father's study. "You wanted to see me?"

The Duke of Cleveland had a rare sheepish look on his face. This usually occurred after Giff's mother had persuaded Papa that one of his long-held beliefs was wrong and needed to change. Had she convinced him to give Giff the heir's estate he wanted to control before he married? He couldn't think of another reason his father would send for him this close to departing to Town.

"Yes." Papa moved a small, wrapped package from one side of the massive oak desk to the middle of the desk between them. "You know I want you to look for a wife this Season?"

It wasn't the estate. Disappointment almost made Giff leave the room. "I agreed."

"Indeed." Papa focused on the package and nudged it closer to Giff. "You will need these. Your mother pointed out that it would be... ah... that you would be more eligible if you were the Marquis of St. Albans." He indicated the package. "Those are your new calling cards."

Giff stifled his disappointment. It wasn't the estate, but it was something. Papa had been made to wait until he was married to be elevated to the courtesy title of marquis. Giff took the package. He'd like to know what argument his mother had made. "Thank you, sir."

"We will meet you in Town in a few days. Your mother is planning a ball and other activities."

Where eligible young ladies would be available for Giff to meet in the hope he'd like one of them enough to wed her. "Please thank Mamma for me. I'm sure the title will help."

"I still don't understand why it's so important. Earl or marquis, you're still the heir to the dukedom."

Giff shrugged. "Who can understand how ladies think."

Papa rose and held out his hand. "Have a good trip up to Town."

Giff took his father's hand and shook it. "I'll see you soon. And thank you. I'm sure Mamma is correct about the title." 

"She usually is," Papa grumbled.

Giff nodded in sympathy. Once, several years ago, he'd decided to challenge his mother. He never did it again. "I'll see you in Town."

When he had gained the corridor, he grinned to himself, giving silent thanks to her, and headed to the hall. Gunn, his valet, had already left and would meet him at the George in Darlington where they'd spend the night before starting the almost week-long journey to Town.

Six days later, he entered Cleveland House on Park Lane. Not quite one hundred years old, the house was fancifully built in three sections with half-rounded facades that reminded him of towers. The front consisted of long windows with balconies on the upper floors. The inside had two wings. One built especially for the heir, his family, and servants. Due to some forethought on the part of his great-great-grandmother, the house had a circular drive in the front with gardens to the sides, and a large garden in the back. The stables were located on the other side of a high stone wall. The garden was so secluded one could almost forget one was in the metropolis. When Giff married, he and his family would live in the heir's wing whenever they were in Town. The rest of the year, they'd reside at Whippoorwill Manor near St. Albans. That was the property he would control after he wed. By the end of this Season if he found his bride.

Giff strolled into his parlor and glanced through the cards on his desk. Some were invitations. Others were personal cards left by friends who had already arrived in Town. One of them from a school chum he hadn't seen for a few years, John, Marquis of Montagu, caught Giff's attention. It would be good to see Montagu again. The last time had been at his father's funeral. Perhaps they could take a ride tomorrow morning before there were too many people in the Park. Giff pulled a piece of paper from the drawer and scribbled a note, then tugged the bell-pull.

A footman entered the room. "Yes, my lord."

Griff handed the man the message. "Have this taken to Montagu House." 

"Straightaway, my lord."