Never Less Than A Lady | Herophine

Prologue

Hero

Spain, 1812

War was hell. Letters from relatives could be worse.

The day had been full of musket balls and skirmishing. Hero returned to his tent limping, dusty, and wanting to sleep for twelve hours.

Washing off the dust was easy. His highly competent batman, Gordon, had water waiting. Sleep was in shorter supply. Relief from his aching thigh was nonexistent.

Today Hero had lost one of his soldiers, a raw Irish recruit with an eager smile, which meant that a letter must be written to the boy's family. It was the worst part of being an officer, but every life deserved recognition, and every family deserved to know how one of their own was lost.

"The post from England, sir." Gordon handed Hero three sealed letters.

Hero thumbed through them. One from the Duke of Kent. His old school friend was his best correspondent. Another from Morgan, also a school friend and reliable. And the last...

He stared down at the arrogant signature that franked the letter. Damien Tiffin. The bane of his existence. Hero had been five when his parents died of fever. He'd been left in the guardianship of his uncle, the Earl Of Canterbury.

The years that followed were the worst of Hero's life. He had been brought to the Tiffin seat, Turville Park, and put in the nursery with the heir, nine-year-old Lord Xander. Large for his age and with an arrogance that would have been impressive even in an adult, Xander had been a brute and a bully. Hero had learned to fight early.

Since the heir could do no wrong, Hero was packed off to school at a tender age. In fact, he'd been sent to several schools, some of England's finest. After being expelled from them in rapid succession, he'd ended up at the Westerfield Academy. As the school's owner and headmistress, Lady Sandra Willow, liked to say, it was for boys of good birth and bad behaviour. In the school that Damien regarded as a punishment, Hero had found kindness and friendship. He had endured holidays at Turville with stoicism and clenched fists. He hated Damien and Xavier, and they had despised him in turn. Fortunately, he'd inherited a comfortable income. When Hero left school, he bought a pair of colours and joined the army, ignoring his grand connections as thoroughly as they ignored him.

Until now. Wondering what the devil Damien Tiffin had to say to him, Hero broke the wax seal and scanned the few lines written in the earl's bold hand.

Your cousin Marcus Tiffin is dead. You are now heir presumptive to Tiffins. You must sell your commission and return home. I will expect you to choose a wife and marry within the next year.

Hero stared at the heavy paper, feeling the bitterness in the words. Xander had died years before in some kind of drunken accident, and Damien's other son, a sickly child, had died young. But there was any number of cousins nearer to the title than Major Hero Fiennes Tiffin.

He thought about the family tree. Actually, the number wasn't that great-the Tiffins didn't seem to be good breeders. The other heirs had mostly been older-Hero's father had been a much younger half brother to the current earl.

Apparently, the intervening cousins were all gone now and hadn't left any sons.

Hero frowned as he realized that there was no one after him. Otherwise, Damien would probably have hoped that his despised nephew would die in battle or fever so that the next in line would become the heir presumptive. But there was no next in line, and Damien was fiercely proud of the title. Even the prospect that the earldom would go to a man he loathed was better than knowing the title would disappear.

Hero's instant reaction to as Damien's order was to refuse, as he always did when his uncle gave orders. But he was a grown man now, not a boy, and the idea of selling out was rather appealing. He was weary of war, weary of the ceaseless pain of a leg that had never fully recovered from a wound the year before. The army didn't need him. Though he was a good officer, there were others equally as good.

With a sigh, he folded up Damien's letter. Returning to civilian life would be easy.

Finding a wife would be harder.