But Grandpapa had always adored that arse, Edgefield. Her grandfather called him a young scalawag. Grandfather always saw the best in people. He’d been blinded by Sebastian’s charm, had liked him since he was a child, coming to visit Justin on breaks from Eton. The two boys had been thick as thieves their whole lives…one of the many reasons that when it had come time to marry, Veronica had looked no further than her own older brother’s best friend, Sebastian Sinclair, the Duke of Edgefield.

He’d fooled everyone, not just Grandpapa. In fact, she’d been the biggest fool of all.

But Grandpapa was special to her, and he was dying. She’d always been his favorite. The entire family knew it. When she was a little girl, he’d sneaked her favorite lemon cakes from the grand balls thrown at Whitmore Manor. He’d taken her driving in his curricle, allowing her to hold the reins as soon as they were out of Mama’s eyesight. He’d taught her how to shoot a rifle and had been her first partner when she learned the waltz. Her entire life, Grandpapa had always been there for her with a bit of wit and wisdom when she’d been feeling down or needed a shoulder to lean on. She loved him immeasurably. Yes. Veronica would do anything for her beloved grandfather…even ask her awful, cheating husband to come to one last Christmastide house party and pretend to be happy.

Veronica stood and stared out the windows across the meadow behind the estate. An enormous oak tree stood tall and proud, not far from the window, its branches stark against the gray winter sky. When she and Sebastian had first married and he’d brought her here, it had been summer. The tree had been full of lush leaves, and she’d loved the unobstructed view of it from this room. She’d pictured them there…herself, Sebastian, and children…four of them. The same number Mama had. All with dark hair like both of their parents. Though hopefully at least one would inherit his father’s unforgettable green eyes. She had seen them all there, in her mind’s eye, under the shade of the grand tree, talking and laughing, laying on a soft quilt, warmed by the sun, watching the clouds peeking through the branches. A happy family. All she’d ever wanted. Now, given the circumstances, there was little chance she would ever be a mother.

Veronica swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. The memory was painful. She wanted to erase it from her mind. And yet…she still insisted on taking callers in this room and she never asked for the curtains to be drawn. Clearly, she was a glutton for punishment.

She took a deep breath to clear her head of impossible fantasies, then she turned swiftly toward the door and marched from the room. She would ask Mary, her maid, to pack her trunk immediately. Veronica would leave for London tomorrow as well. But her mission differed from her mother’s. Veronica was going to town to convince the man she never wanted to see again to come to Christmastide at Whitmore Manor and pretend to be half of a loving, happy couple for the better part of a sennight. The thought sickened her. And the next thought sickened her even more. How in the world would she get him to agree to it?