ripe old age of twenty-one, Elizabeth had understood that she was considered by all and sundry to be on the shelf, despite the betrothal arrangement with the Earl of Halford. He was to have arrived at their country seat in Surrey in two days’ time for a house party, invited by her parents, Elizabeth was sure, for the express purpose of extracting a wedding date from him. Instead, they had received word that he had suffered a riding accident. Lord Halford—expert horseman, charming tease, and Elizabeth’s enigmatical betrothed—had died in the mishap.
Elizabeth had grieved sorely for Lord Halford and the loss of such a young, vibrant life while simultaneously watching her life—the life she’d anticipated and for which she had planned scrupulously from the age of ten—shatter all around her.
And now she was expected to set all of that aside and marry his brother.
The corridors were empty as Elizabeth continued on through the manor house. She’d been to Ashworth Park enough over the past few years to know her way around, exiting through the french doors to the terrace that overlooked the grounds where the fete was being held. From this vantage point, she was able to see a large table spread with a variety of baked goods not far off and to her left. A few village women stood near it, and Elizabeth could see that Lord Halford and his friend the Earl of Cantwell were tasting each of the cakes, pies, and tarts offered there.
To her right and farther away, a large group of people were being organized into smaller groups that seemed generally to be according to age. And even more distant than that, several men were setting up an area for a cricket match to be held later in the afternoon. She’d heard there were games for children, a tug-of-war, and other entertainments that would continue all day, followed by a dance in the evening. Even at this early point in the afternoon, a lot of villagers had arrived, as well as friends of the Ashworths, like Elizabeth and her parents—although she doubted any of them had any ulterior motive for being here, unlike her parents.
Elizabeth glanced back in the direction of the baked-goods contest and saw that Lord Halford and Lord Cantwell—Elizabeth had met the earl on several occasions, as he was a close friend and neighbor of the Ashworth brothers—appeared to be heading toward the villagers who were being divided into smaller groups. If she was to do her parents’ bidding, that would be where she must go too.
She descended the stairs and resolutely crossed the lawn in the same direction, even though Elizabeth would much rather be strolling the grounds. Daisies grew with abandon amongst the untamed grasses just beyond the mowed lawns of the grounds, and she could see young girls dashing about, picking the daisies, and bringing them to their noses, and she briefly wished she could be one of them. But she was not.
As she got closer to the group, she could see that they were organizing three-legged races, with the youngest children going first. Conversation and laughter filled the air as parents tied their ankles to their children’s. Elizabeth silently maneuvered herself into a small clutch of women who stood ready to cheer on the racers. Papa and Mama would each have an apoplexy if Elizabeth were to participate in something so—for lack of a better word—physical as a three-legged race. And yet, here was Lord Halford, the man they wanted her to marry, laughing and clapping and cheering on his brother-in-law and young nephew as they ran and staggered and fell and ran some more with the other racers in the children’s group.
Elizabeth moved a bit through the crowd to where she would have a better vantage point and spotted Amelia Clarke amongst the spectators. Elizabeth knew Amelia well; Amelia, the daughter of a vicar, had been Lady Ashworth’s companion for the past two years, and so, although Papa and Mama had objected to Elizabeth’s forming an actual friendship with Amelia, they were on informal terms, and Elizabeth couldn’t help but like her a great deal.
She turned back again to watch the race in progress, making sure she herself remained composed, back straight, chin ever so slightly lifted, wearing the pleasant demeanor she had developed through years of formal training. She never allowed herself to forget she was the daughter of a duke. She didn’t dare.
The call went out for the adult racers next, and Elizabeth impulsively slid