The Whitmorelands Books 1-2 (EBOOKS)

Essex, December 1814, The Duke of Edgefield’s Country Estate

“Your grandfather is dying.”

The words slashed across Veronica Sinclair’s heart. She stared at her mother, who had just delivered the unwelcome news. Mama’s eyes were red-rimmed, and she looked as if she hadn’t slept in days. Had she lost weight? Poor, dear Mama. This must be excruciating for her.

Veronica took a shaky breath. Despite the ache in her chest, she had to be strong. Mama needed her. “What do the doctors say? How much time?”

Mama lifted her chin, but Veronica could see the pain in her eyes. Her stoic, perfectly mannered mother was at her limit. Mama’s father, the esteemed Duke of Holden, was dying. That a man, so vital and powerful, was nearing the end of his life, defied belief.

“Not much,” Mama finally managed, her voice reed thin. “I merely hope he’ll live through Christmastide at Whitmore Manor.”

Veronica swallowed hard and nodded. Christmastide had always been Grandpapa’s favorite time of year. Christmas Day was next week. And Whitmore Manor was where her grandfather resided now, to spend time with Mama.

Grandfather was a duke, and Mama herself was a marchioness. She’d married Veronica’s father, the Marquess of Whitmore, when she was a girl of nineteen. Together they had raised four children before Father’s death seven years ago. Veronica, the eldest of the three sisters, had married a duke. Edgefield. Yet Veronica hadn’t wanted to marry so young. She’d wanted to ensure she made the best match. One as loving and happy as her grandparents had been. Fortunately, Mama had agreed to give her time. She hadn’t wanted her daughter to make the same mistake she had. It wasn’t Mama’s fault Veronica had made the wrong decision, after all.

Veronica had been a woman of two and twenty when she’d finally taken a husband. If only she’d known then she was making the biggest mistake of her life. She shook her head. There was no point in mentally rehashing the past. Instead, she concentrated on her mother’s solemn face. Poor, dear Mama had traveled from Whitmore Manor in Kent all the way to Essex to deliver this news to her daughter in person. That’s how Veronica knew it was serious. More serious than all the other times Grandpapa had suffered a setback with his health. The man was six and eighty years of age. He’d endured an attack of the heart many months ago. The entire family had been worried about him since. After all, he couldn’t live forever. No matter how much they wished for it. But it was especially awful to know that if he lived one more sennight, it would be his last holiday. His last Christmastide at Whitmore Manor.

Veronica clenched her jaw to fight the tears that had gathered at the back of her eyes. If Mama wasn’t crying, Veronica wouldn’t start. It would only make Mama sadder. No, Veronica would be strong and show no emotion. She’d had enough practice over the last two years.

“How are Elizabeth and Jessica taking the news?” Veronica finally managed to ask. Her younger twin sisters still lived with Mama.

Mama inclined her head. “Elizabeth is stoic. Jessica is full of dramatics. As usual.”

The hint of a smile glanced over Veronica’s lips. That sounded right. Their looks may have been identical, but the twins’ dispositions were the exact opposite of each other. They had turned eighteen in October and were preparing for their debuts in the spring. Elizabeth dreaded her come-out like a particularly noxious form of the plague, while Jessica waited on tenterhooks, barely able to contain her excitement.

“And Grandmama?” Veronica ventured, not looking forward to hearing how her darling eighty-year-old grandmother was handling the news that her husband of over six decades might pass away at any moment.

“As well as can be expected,” Mama replied with a deep sigh.

Veronica expelled a long breath and placed her hands on her lap, staring at them numbly. “I shall return to Whitmore Manor with you tomorrow and ensure Grandpapa has the best, most comfortable holiday possible.” She attempted a brave, hopeful smile, but wasn’t at all certain the strained look that was surely on her face inspired any sort of confidence.

“I’m not going back to Whitmore Manor,” Mama informed her, sitting up even straighter. “Not directly at least.”

Veronica cocked her head to the side and frowned. “What? Where are you going?”

“I’m going to London tomorrow morning…to fetch Justin,” Mama replied.

Veronica’s frown deepened. Justin, her older brother, the marquess, was a bachelor and a profligate who spent most of his days in his London town house sleeping ’til noon, and his nights raking hell in a wide variety of the city’s clubs and gambling establishments. Veronica hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to him in…two years. For excellent reason.

“Ah, yes, must fetch Justin,” Veronica replied, a curt tone in her voice.

“Your brother has every right to know how ill your grandfather is,” Mama replied evenly.

“You’re right,” Veronica allowed, feeling churlish. Mama knew precisely why her son and eldest daughter weren’t on good terms. But Veronica and her brother faked niceties during family holidays for Grandpapa’s sake. It would be no different this Christmastide. “Very well, Mama. Mary and I will set out for Whitmore Manor tomorrow. I will meet you there when you return from London with Justin.”

Mama nodded before clearing her throat. She folded her gloved hands primly in her lap and met Veronica’s gaze directly. “I traveled here to deliver the news in person for another reason also, my dear.”

Veronica swallowed. Hard. Ever since Mama had entered the drawing room and been served a cup of tea, Veronica had been dreading this next part. The real reason for Mama’s visit. Veronica had an awful feeling she knew just what it would be. She stared at her pretty mother with the dark hair and eyes that all four of her children had inherited. Mother’s hair was streaked with gray now, but she was still quite beautiful. Veronica looked like her. Everyone said so. She only wished she were as gracious as Mama. And as strong.

Besides her grace, strength, and beauty, Mama was also still a commanding presence when she chose to be, and she obviously chose to be at present. Her gaze never faltered. “Your grandfather has a final wish,” Mama said, her serious tone conveying the importance of the pronouncement.

Veronica kept her face blank, but her insides had already dissolved into a roiling mass of nerves. She pressed her lips together tightly and delivered the barest hint of a nod.

“He wants the entire family together for Christmastide next week,” Mama continued. “He wants to see everyone…a jovial group…one last time.”

Veronica stiffened and forced herself to breathe normally. “I promise to be civil to Justin for the entire Christmastide holiday, if that’s what you’re worried about.” But she already knew that wasn’t what Mama was worried about…or what she was asking. Veronica’s throat went dry just thinking about it. Nausea roiled in her gut.

“I’m not speaking of Justin,” Mama replied, lifting her chin and giving her daughter the arched-brow stare Veronica hadn’t seen since she was a girl and had sneaked out of the house to swim in the pond at Whitmore Manor in the middle of the night.

Veronica’s nostrils flared. She lifted her chin, too. There was no use pretending any longer. “What if he refuses?” she reasoned, plucking absently at her dark-green skirts.

Mama’s arched-brow stare remained firmly in place. “He may be a scoundrel, darling, but he’s not a complete beast. How can he refuse the request of a dying man?”

It was on the tip of Veronica’s tongue to ask Mama if she would ask him. Mama was already on her way to London to ask Justin the same question. She could easily stop by Edgefield’s town house and ask him as well. After all, he wouldn’t deny his mother-in-law, would he?

Veronica immediately frowned. Probably. She wasn’t convinced that he wasn’t a beast. But even if she had the nerve to ask Mama to intervene, Veronica knew she wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t do it. No. She would have to deal with him on her own. He was her problem. Not Mama’s.

“Very well,” Veronica said, with a sigh. “I’ll be there.”

“And?” Mama prodded, allowing her dark brow to drop back into place over her intensely dark eye.

Veronica shook her head in as nonchalant a manner as she dared and purposely didn’t meet Mama’s gaze. “And I’ll do my best to get him to come as well,” she promised, having absolutely no clue how she would accomplish such a feat.

“It’s not a request, darling,” Mama said in the voice that Veronica had only heard a few times in her life. One that clearly indicated her mother expected complete obedience.

“If he refuses, I cannot very well abduct him and bring him to Whitmore Manor in shackles.” Frustration tinged Veronica’s voice.

“I don’t particularly care how you get him there,” Mama replied with the hint of a smile before deftly lifting the teacup and taking a small, polite sip. She set the cup aside and stood. “Now, I’m off to rest before dinner.”

Pressing her hand to her ribs, Veronica watched her mother go. Trepidation and nausea congealed in Veronica’s middle. She’d been dreading a moment like this for two years. The two years it had been since she’d told her husband to go to hell, since she’d packed her belongings and left their London town house. Since she’d made it clear she intended to go to their country estate and expected him to give her fair warning before he ever came to the property, so she’d have ample time to vacate. In the entire two years, she’d never once received a letter from him, he’d never once come to visit, and she’d neither seen nor heard from him. Precisely how she preferred it.

But Grandpapa had always adored that arse, Edgefield. Her grandfather called him a young scalawag. Grandfather always saw the best in people. He’d been blinded by Sebastian’s charm, had liked him since he was a child, coming to visit Justin on breaks from Eton. The two boys had been thick as thieves their whole lives…one of the many reasons that when it had come time to marry, Veronica had looked no further than her own older brother’s best friend, Sebastian Sinclair, the Duke of Edgefield.

He’d fooled everyone, not just Grandpapa. In fact, she’d been the biggest fool of all.

But Grandpapa was special to her, and he was dying. She’d always been his favorite. The entire family knew it. When she was a little girl, he’d sneaked her favorite lemon cakes from the grand balls thrown at Whitmore Manor. He’d taken her driving in his curricle, allowing her to hold the reins as soon as they were out of Mama’s eyesight. He’d taught her how to shoot a rifle and had been her first partner when she learned the waltz. Her entire life, Grandpapa had always been there for her with a bit of wit and wisdom when she’d been feeling down or needed a shoulder to lean on. She loved him immeasurably. Yes. Veronica would do anything for her beloved grandfather…even ask her awful, cheating husband to come to one last Christmastide house party and pretend to be happy.

Veronica stood and stared out the windows across the meadow behind the estate. An enormous oak tree stood tall and proud, not far from the window, its branches stark against the gray winter sky. When she and Sebastian had first married and he’d brought her here, it had been summer. The tree had been full of lush leaves, and she’d loved the unobstructed view of it from this room. She’d pictured them there…herself, Sebastian, and children…four of them. The same number Mama had. All with dark hair like both of their parents. Though hopefully at least one would inherit his father’s unforgettable green eyes. She had seen them all there, in her mind’s eye, under the shade of the grand tree, talking and laughing, laying on a soft quilt, warmed by the sun, watching the clouds peeking through the branches. A happy family. All she’d ever wanted. Now, given the circumstances, there was little chance she would ever be a mother.

Veronica swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. The memory was painful. She wanted to erase it from her mind. And yet…she still insisted on taking callers in this room and she never asked for the curtains to be drawn. Clearly, she was a glutton for punishment.

She took a deep breath to clear her head of impossible fantasies, then she turned swiftly toward the door and marched from the room. She would ask Mary, her maid, to pack her trunk immediately. Veronica would leave for London tomorrow as well. But her mission differed from her mother’s. Veronica was going to town to convince the man she never wanted to see again to come to Christmastide at Whitmore Manor and pretend to be half of a loving, happy couple for the better part of a sennight. The thought sickened her. And the next thought sickened her even more. How in the world would she get him to agree to it?