It was a cool, crisp morning in early December when Jacob’s curricle came to a stop in the front drive of Avonmead. The Duke of Halmesbury had a fine ancestral estate with lush parklands dotted with grazing sheep and trees lightly bedecked with the last remaining autumn-colored leaves. Lydia’s “betrothed” alighted and turned to help her out. When her feet hit the ground, she looked up at the manor that had been her home for several years. The Palladian front was a gorgeous honeyed stone with symmetrical staircases converging under a portico with impressive, carved front doors. She found herself looking at the manor with fresh eyes—those of a bride to a baronet.
Jacob tucked her arm in his, and they made their way up the stone steps to the front door. Her husband had courted her for severa
