March-April 1811

Mr. Royston Langdon possessed all the essentials – wealth, standing, and just the appropriate measure of repute amid the townsfolk of Dover. Marriage was, of course, an option, but it appeared that Mr. Langdon had committed himself long ago – to his vocation as a distinguished architect. He was indeed a master of appearances; arrogant in his talents, benevolent within the depths he concealed, and exceptionally skilled in prompting his dear mother to partake in frequent forehead-creasing endeavours with all the eyebrow-raising he caused.

He was stooped over a grand piece of parchment on that fateful day when the initial letter arrived, donning spectacles upon his nose, and a charcoal stick held in a metal holder clutched between his lips. With deliberate precision, Royston took measurements and carefully jotted down notes on a separate piece of paper. Every detail had to align, every figure had to be precise, for any deviation might invoke the ire of an Earl whose new abode might inadvertently stand askew. The residence could potentially be seen as an avant-garde creation, but if it compromised the structural integrity, his career would be dashed in an instant.

Ordinarily, he could be assured of the sanctity of his grand study, impervious even to his mother's intrusion. However, on that particular day, a delicate knock graced his doors. Royston refrained from uttering a word, in the faint hope that his beloved mother might be deterred from entering, yet his wish proved futile. Evidently, whatever she bore in her thoughts brooked no delay.

"I beg your pardon for this interruption, my dear son, for I am acutely aware of the gravity of your endeavours," she commenced, her voice soft and measured. "However, a missive has arrived, one I deem of the utmost significance."

Royston sighed and reluctantly withdrew the charcoal from his mouth. "And who, pray tell, is the esteemed sender, mama?"

"Miss Mina Haswell," she replied, swift in her response.

His brows furrowed, for he couldn't recollect anyone with this name – not among his friends, adversaries, or acquaintances. It was quite likely that this was yet another lady endeavouring to capture his attention beneath a pen name.

"Since when do love letters become of the utmost importance to me?" Royston inquired, a smug smile gracing his countenance as he marked another number on the paper before him.

Leopoldine Langdon, his esteemed mother who was also called Polly by her relatives and close friends, released a somewhat exasperated sigh. "With your permission, allow me to recite it aloud."

Royston casually waved his hand towards his mother, granting her leave to proceed. "You are most welcome, mother, but I would advise against any shrieks of terror should you encounter passages brimming with the most audacious of claims. I'd prefer to spare your delicate nerves such dramatics," he quipped, shifting his ruler to another section of the house plan he sketched so precisely.

His mother's brow furrowed once more in response to his reply, but it did nothing to sway her determination. "Indeed, I'd be more astonished if there were a single audacious lady willing to pen such lines, given your current reputation as a lifelong bachelor."

Royston responded with nonchalance, "It's the alluring taste of the forbidden fruit that continues to draw them to me."

His mother shook her head in response and proceeded to read Mina's manuscript deliberately, ensuring that every word reached Royston's attentive ears. As she observed his expression shift from a smirk to neutrality and ultimately to irritation, Leopoldine allowed silence to envelop them. She granted her son the opportunity to speak his mind first, though he continued to idly move a ruler across the parchment, further fuelling her exasperation.

"Roy," she began to speak with a composed tone, trying to suppress the bout of indignation that was creeping up to her tongue, "our kinsman has passed away, signifying that you are no longer engaged in gainful employment only, for better or worse."

"I have no need for that damned title – you are well aware that I could purchase five titles should I wish so," he retorted without a second thought.

Leopoldine briefly closed her eyes, crossed her arms across her chest, and replied, "I know not what I have done to deserve such tests from the Heavens, Royston, for I do not recall raising a witless clod. Whether it suits your taste or not, you are Viscount Sinclair, the new member of the ton, and you should – nay – you must journey to Southampton to make amends, for a number of souls now depend upon you."

"And I distinctly informed you that I desire no involvement in this affair," he retorted in an unruly tone.

"Nevertheless, Royston, it falls upon you to take charge. There's no contesting it, you cannot disown this responsibility or delegate it elsewhere. Also let us not forget your obligations towards Miss Haswell," his mother asserted in a tone that brooked no further discussion.

This was the final straw for Royston. He set down his tools, removed the spectacles from his nose, and placed them firmly on the table.

"Indeed, and who might Miss Haswell be to me, anyhow?"

His mother offered a knowing smile before she replied, "Do you not recollect a young miss with auburn locks, oft seen adorned with splendid blue ribbons? I dare say you crossed paths at least on two occasions, once during our familial visit to Haswells' estate on the Isle of Wight."

Royston's brows furrowed as he attempted to summon her image, or any related memory based on his mother's account. Then, like a candle illuminating a dark room, it all came rushing back to him.

"The one who unceremoniously tumbled me into a quagmire?"

Leopoldine couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, in all fairness, that occurred after you dragged her through the dust by her hair and playfully cast her cherished bowknot into the lake, declaring it a sacrifice to the water deities. I dare say, she merely wished to return the favour of introducing you to the mire deities. In truth, the two of you were inseparable as children."

"Ah, that little snappish imp! I'd swear she hasn't changed a bit!" He grinned, to his mother's dismay.

"Good heavens, you were children back then!"

"What difference would it make anyway, mama?" Royston retorted as he walked over to the writing table, placing a clean sheet of paper upon it.

"Well, for one, to drag Miss Mina by her hair today, you would need to marry her first," Leopoldine replied with a mischievous grin.

Royston scoffed, seized the quill in his hand, and quickly scribbled a few lines. Then, he stood and handed the paper to his mother, who cast a swift glance at its content and frowned.

"This will greatly offend her, Royston. Not to mention, in her delicate state, she won't take kindly to your desire for what you call a swift resolution."

Her son, ever unwavering in his resolve, replied, "Please, mama, just send the letter, would you?"

She sighed but complied, and the reply that followed, though filled with annoyance, evoked hearty laughter from Royston.

"She hasn't changed a bit," he remarked to his mother, who responded with a disapproving shake of her head, clearly unimpressed with his behaviour.

"Royston, that young miss is in mourning. I fail to comprehend your inclination for jests with someone who is grieving the loss of a loved one. Not to mention, she must be fraught with anxiety about her future, as nothing within her immediate sphere now belongs to her. Reflect on how deeply you were affected by the loss of your own father, I beseech you."

These words finally penetrated the veneer of nonchalance and arrogance that Royston often wore as a mask. Leopoldine observed a subtle shift in his countenance and added, "Take your time to compose a reply. There's no need to be excessively witty, I implore you."

Yet the response would require an extended period to compose, for he had received a substantial envelope from the Haswell family solicitor. Within the lengthy missive, the gentleman meticulously outlined the necessary details concerning the dowry, expressing his hope that Mr. Langdon had already received confirmation of the late Viscount's passing from Miss Haswell. Royston undertook this task earnestly but also saw fit to consult his own solicitor in this matter, aiming to avert any superfluous errors that might protract the dowry's processing. Once all arrangements were made, he could finally set pen to paper for Miss Haswell.

However, as Royston soon found himself surrounded by a pile of crumpled papers, he quickly realized that pertinency was not his forte. The words did not flow readily and maintaining a neutral tone throughout the entire missive proved to be a challenge.

Mayhap I'm indulging my childish whims, he pondered, but if I am to avoid an evening spent in the pursuit of perfect decorum, I shall allow my charms to exert their influence.

Naturally, mama Langdon didn't receive the letter given to her by Roy with unbridled enthusiasm, although she maintained her silence. Royston found her prickly reaction rather amusing.

"It appears this settles the matter, dear mother. There's no need for me to embark on a journey elsewhere. Besides, I am already swamped with work for the esteemed Earl, and you are well aware of how Earls can be – as impatient as a cat on a hot brick."

Leopoldine arched an elegant brow, a knowing smile gracing her countenance as she replied, "My dearest son, not that I seek to invoke a reckoning upon you, but I do anticipate the day when life might nip at your buttocks as keenly as Miss Haswell's wit."

Royston let out a scoff tinged with amusement. "You may indeed wish for it, dear mama."

With that, he withdrew to his office. Days passed uneventfully, save for a torrential downpour that drenched the coastal town of Dover. Then during the first day thereafter that the good townsfolk would not be thoroughly soaked, the third missive from Miss Mina Haswell arrived at Langdon's residence. Roy was somewhat taken aback to receive a letter from her after such a spirited exchange, yet he perused it with utmost curiosity. His brows furrowed, and a frown tugged at his countenance as he muttered a rather colourful curses under his breath.

"That's it, I shall mount my steed and set off for that confounded Southampton. If that isn't a plea for assistance, then I'm at a loss for what it could be."

Polly's eyes sparkled with delight, and she couldn't help but release a brief burst of laughter, even though she hadn't yet perused Mina's missive.

"What has tickled your fancy this time, mama?" Royston inquired, his tone slightly irritated.

"I am truly delighted to witness you coming to your senses at long last, my dearest son. Although I must caution you—once you cross Miss Haswell's threshold, you shall have no alternative but to wed her. If there's anything to be gleaned from those letters, it's that the young lady resides in solitary splendour within that house."

Royston's brows knitted even further as he rested his arms at his sides. His mother's assessment was correct – once he stepped into that abode, marriage would become an imminent topic of discussion. And, when it came to matrimony, he held the firm belief that acquaintanceship with one's intended partner was quite advisable. It wasn't that he entertained thoughts of Miss Haswell as a prospective bride, certainly not! She was more akin to a persistent nuisance, a bothersome gnat compelling him to undertake the journey to Southampton, the task that he was ever so unwilling to partake in. Yet, it was the pull of curiosity and circumstance that urged him to reconsider.

The Langdons carefully selected their most essential belongings, Royston ensured the house plans were delivered to the Earl, and they set off for Southampton at last. The journey was extended by obligatory halts at several inns owing to Polly's comfort, all the while Royston contemplated the entire circumstance regarding the title's ownership, the displeased Miss Haswell, and the potential damage suffered by the house...

As Southampton drew nearer, an increasing weight of responsibility pressed upon his thoughts. The vexing question arose – what was to be done with Miss Haswell? And, why the devil had she not yet made her move to St. Helens?!

However, upon alighting from their carriage at their destination, Royston briefly comprehended Miss Haswell's hesitation to part with now his abode, despite its current dilapidated condition. The gardens and the approach were meticulously tended, and there was an air of tranquility that contrasted sharply with the bustling streets of Dover.

Royston's gaze landed upon the silhouette of a young lady, poised to step inside the house but peering in their direction, even taking a few steps toward them.

Well, look at you, pet. A fine vision for a dreary day, he mused. With courtesy, he excused himself and requested her to announce their arrival to Miss Haswell. The young lady then inquired about their names. Royston paused briefly before replying, "Viscount Sinclair and his mother, Lady Leopoldine Langdon."

At that very moment, he could have sworn the young lady's countenance paled, as if she had seen a ghost.