Summer 1868

Their chambers at Rosecrest Manor were light, airy, and very...rosy. There was this plush, pinkish carpet, currently being matted into the floor beneath the feet of Simon's father. The man drew a hand through his silver-blonde hair before pointing it at Simon and his twin brother, Sawyer.

"If you two are not on your very best behavior, I swear I will disown you both."

"No you won't," Sawyer argued with a sly smile. He leaned back against the window sill, sipping on something undoubtedly strong. "The next in line after us is that cousin that both you and grandfather hate."

Lord Farrington came to a halt, shooting a glare at his twins. It was a glare that meant Sawyer was very much right, but the earl wasn't ever going to admit it.

Simon's back straightened, standing tall next to the foot of the four-poster bed, though it was not because of his father's attempt at firmness. No, it had nothing to do with that. Because as much as he tried, Lord Farrington had never been able to put much weight behind his fatherly reprimands and warnings.

Though it was amusing that he thought it effective.

The only reason for the prickle on the back of Simon's neck was the look his mother pinned him with from the doorway, just a few paces behind his father.

Her hooded emerald eyes consistently reflected her namesake. Madame Mischief.

Simon wasn't keen on learning of the clever and mischievous ways she would get back at him if he misstepped this summer. But honestly, Simon wasn't the one his parents should be worried about. He glanced at Sawyer, whose chestnut hair hung in front of sharp eyes.

"And for the love of god, do not harass the young women in attendance," his father continued.

"Define harass," Sawyer said with a smirk.

Lord Farrington narrowed his eyes.

Sawyer was not intimidated nor impressed. "Father, come off it. You took Felix across the ocean and assisted him in harassing Nora until she agreed to marry him."

"That was different," Simon's father said with a laugh.

"How so?" Simon asked, raising a brow.

"Because everyone knew that Nora was already in love with your cousin, and I needed to go to America anyway to establish Potter Publishing abroad. Do not pretend that you have the favor of any woman here in the same manner as Felix." He glowered. "Particularly the Ash sisters."

His eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. "And dear lord, don't fall in love with the princess. We all know what happened when Kingfield succumbed to royalty."

Simon's brows drew together. "I thought that aunt Adelaide and uncle Theo were quite happy." Actually, that was surely an understatement when it came to the Queen of England and her consort.

His father waved a hand absentmindedly. "You weren't there for the...messy bits." And then Lord Farrington continued, and Simon was certain he was enjoying himself now.

"You must earn favor and love, boys," he lectured. "You cannot harass it out of a woman."

Simon's mother took a few steps into the room at that, the corners of her mouth tilting upward. "Are you quite certain of that, darling?"

"Oh!" His father started at the sight of his wife. "I didn't know you were there, love." He gave her a quick kiss atop her crown of raven hair before turning back to the boys. But as soon as he opened his mouth, Lady Farrington intervened her husband's lecture.

"When you say harass, dear, do you mean barging into a house without being invited to call? Or perhaps you mean informing a lady of her plans instead of asking her of her availability? Or maybe—"

"Scarlett." He said the word in a warning tone, although he was very much smiling. "Do you honestly wish for our sons to grow up into the likes of me?"

"Yes," she murmured and wrapped an arm around the waist of her husband. "I certainly do." She laid her head against his arm, and Simon's father looked as though he didn't know whether to be charmed or annoyed at his wife.

Most young men would likely balk at the display of affection being portrayed in front of them—especially if it were by their parents. That was precisely what Sawyer was doing at this very moment, his expression twisting with repulsion. But Simon had quite simply always wanted that—love.

He'd had flings and garden trysts and all else; now, Simon wanted more.

And he wanted it with one woman in particular—the very woman his father was warning him away from.

Lady Whitley Ash.

"So, are you quite finished, father?" Sawyer asked. "You need not worry about me chasing hearts this summer."

"I am not worried about you chasing hearts," his father replied pointedly. "I am worried about you chasing goddamn skirts."

Sawyer merely flashed a tilted grin, but one look from mother had his face wiping blank.

With the efforts of intimidation over with, the Pearce family made their way down the grand staircase of Rosecrest Manor, joining the others who were flooding to the front circle drive.

Simon always looked forward to the summer house parties at Rosecrest, when they gathered and ate and drank and played in the hollyhock fields. Admittedly, at three and twenty, they were older now, and there would be fewer field games and more drinking of Uncle Theo's liquor collection. But it was the spirit of the thing that had always mattered.

This year was especially exciting for Simon. Never had another family joined their little band of aristocrats, but this summer, Lady Penelope and her husband were coming to Rosecrest as well. And they were bringing along their daughters, Lady Whitley and Lady Blair.

Simon had seen the beautiful, effervescent Lady Whitley across glimmering ballrooms on more than one occasion. But he'd never had a chance to be so close. It was far from a manly thing to admit, but Simon was quite sure there were butterflies in his stomach.

"Elinor!" someone shouted, drawing Simon's attention to the front lawn. "Is it always so dreadfully chilly here even in the midst of summer? Remind me again why I've come to this tiny excuse of a country."

A man with flaming auburn hair stared at the sky, and Simon could hardly withhold a snort. He'd forgotten. The members of the Ash family weren't going to be the only newcomers to their crew.

"Who invited the bloody American?" Simon's father bellowed, and the red-haired man whipped around with a cocky grin.

"Be nice, Uncle Leo," Felix said with a glare, his hand around his new—and also American—bride. Nora, or Elinor, merely makessmiled softly at the exchange. She'd always traveled from New York to England in the summers to visit her family on the next estate over from Rosecrest. That's how Felix and Nora had fallen in love—during house parties such as this very one. And this year, Nora had brought her friend along as well.

The American didn't seem to care about the insult, smiling broadly at Simon's father. "I know you missed me, Farrington old chap," he said in his sharp accent.

His father clapped a hand on the man's shoulder and turned to Simon and Sawyer. "My boys, this is Mr. Oliver Rockwell." The red-haired man gave a little salute toward them at his introduction. "You have my permission to harass him all you'd like."

The earl took a hit to his arm at that, but it wasn't from Mr. Rockwell. It was from Simon's aunt, Emilia.

"Would you stop. The Ash's are going to be here at any moment." She rolled her eyes, as unladylike as ever despite her perfectly pressed, carnation-yellow day dress. Simon noticed that the brightness of her dress translated to the expression on both her and Uncle Will; they were undoubtedly happy that Felix had finally grown the nerve to ask Nora for her hand, welcoming her into the Graham family.

They just needed to work on their other son, Francis, who was currently busy whispering in Victoria's ear, the princess' face dimpling with laughter at whatever her cousin said.

Rosecrest was their home—Emilia and Will's. But Lord and Lady Trotten had also made it a home for all of them.

The hosts stood proudly in front of the manor. They were flanked by Adelaide and Theo, and then the rest of the group spread out from there as they eagerly awaited the new guests. The only people missing were those still snoozing in their rooms: the elderly Duke of Weston and Simon's Uncle Mav.

A breeze blew, rustling through Simon's hair. He brushed it back, not wanting for it to look ridiculous upon the arrival of the Ash family. The American had been right; it was rather cool for a summer's eve. But Simon knew the heat of the season would come, possibly hotter than ever before.

He glanced about with a faint smile. This was his family. Not all of them were related by blood, though some of them were. Simon's only blood was Sawyer, Maverick, and his parents. But it had never mattered.

Because they were always together. Here, in the house of summer.

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