Clayton Westmoreland, first son and heir of Viscount Hugh Westmoreland, was an arrogant billionaire and a notorious lover, ruthless and relentless in his pursuit of wealth and fame. With rich brown hair and sea-blue eyes that enchanted even the toughest of ladies, his appearance alone commanded attention. His hair was always neatly trimmed, cascading over the collar of his favorite tank tops, and his tanned, muscular physique was the envy of many. Clayton wielded his power and influence without hesitation, knowing he was in control and always aiming for the best in any situation.
As CEO of the company for four years, Clayton transformed it into a multibillion-dollar real estate empire spanning the globe. His strategic acumen and leadership were credited for the company's rapid growth, which now employed numerous qualified individuals worldwide. At thirty-six, Clayton didn't view marriage as essential; he indulged in the company of women and lived life to the fullest, much to his parents' dismay.
His father, Viscount of Westmoreland, and his mother, the Viscountess, insisted marriage was crucial for the heir to their legacy. They arranged numerous dates with influential women from royal families, hoping to secure a suitable match. This pressure alternately amused and annoyed Clayton, who already had his future mapped out—no wife or children, just boundless wealth and a compliant mistress.
As he made his way to their ancestral home in England, Westmore, Clayton pondered the relentless pursuit of his parents and contemplated his own desires amidst their expectations.
His mother, Abigail, greeted him warmly, her gloved hands touching his cheeks affectionately. She still adorned herself in the vibrant colors she had loved in her youth—bright pinks and yellows embellished her dress, hat, and gloves, making her appear dazzling as she fussed over his arrival. Clayton had been compelled to ride in the carriage upon returning home, experiencing the familiar scents of green leaves, followed by the less pleasant odors of cow dung and horse feed at the stables. It was a return to the quintessential English life, at least for the duration of his stay.
"Why, my dear, you look so tanned! Have you been running around in the sun?" his mother asked with a hint of concern. She was meticulous about her complexion and skincare routines, stocking up on the finest anti-wrinkle creams from London's best stores, always impeccably groomed and dressed.
Clayton remembered a time when he jokingly suggested her efforts were to prevent his father from taking a mistress. Her response had been firm but tinged with doubt. "Hugh loves me. He would never keep a mistress. I do this for myself, son," she had insisted, though even she seemed uncertain of the truth in her words. Two months later, Clayton received a tearful call from his mother, revealing his father's affair with a divorced woman living off the fortunes of wealthy Englishmen. It pained Clayton deeply to see his mother hurt, prompting him to confront his father, who could offer no justifiable excuse for his actions. Abigail handled the situation discreetly, without scandal, until Hugh ended the affair and recommitted himself to their marriage.
Clayton had long suspected his parents' union was not entirely happy, knowing it had been arranged for political reasons by their parents. During his upbringing, he had been aware of a scandal involving his mother keeping a lover outside their marriage. She had planned to elope with him, but the news had leaked, causing a significant scandal for a family of their stature in England. The man in question had been her lover since she was seventeen—the memory of her first love.
Despite these challenges, his father chose not to divorce his mother. They must have reached an understanding, deciding to remain together despite their differences.
All these factors—the fear of losing interest in a wife, the demand to remain faithful to one woman, and the dread of ending up with someone he did not love—were what led Clay to choose to stay single. He didn't want an arranged marriage like his parents' or to have children who might spend their lives trying to meet society's expectations of a royal lifestyle. He couldn't bear the thought of burdening them with such expectations.
His father was in his study and turned swiftly when he heard the doorknob twist.
"Father, good to see you. How are you?"
"I am fine, my dear. I am fine."
"I see you've been busy with those," Clayton said, nodding towards the pile of books and magazines stacked on the low table in front of his father.
"Yes, I was reading... The London Times. Have you seen the latest marriages in the news? The Earl of Edinburgh finally found himself a bride, but it's caused quite a stir. She's American and has been divorced twice."
"I don't follow the news, so I hadn't heard about the marriage or any of that, but none of it concerns me."
"Are you sure it doesn't?"
"Absolutely."
"Then what's this news circulating about you? I saw in the papers that you're having an affair with a noblewoman I know nothing about. How true is this, son?" Hugh asked. Clayton was as surprised as if he had been told he wasn't human!
"What news?" he asked, reaching for the papers his father was holding. Sure enough, there he was, holding a certain lady around the waist. He quickly recalled the incident and burst into laughter. Hugh watched him closely to see his reaction.
"I'm not involved with any woman, certainly not the one in the papers. I was simply dancing with Mary Clark at a ball I attended in London two days ago. A friend invited me, and that was it. I have no affair with the woman in the news. What's with these London papers spreading fake news?" he asked suddenly. His father adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose.
"So what now? What will you do now that the news is false?"
"What do you mean, father?"
"I had hoped the news was true and that you were ready to accept this woman, but now there's no woman. Do you realize you're thirty-six now?"
"I know my exact age, father."
"I married at twenty-six, ten years younger than you are now. Your mother was only twenty-one."
"You two were so young and hardly in love. You were a match made, father," Clayton pointed out, though it was unnecessary. He had said this to his father many times before, and as always, his father defended his marriage and professed his love for Abigail again.
"The first few years weren't easy, but we grew into our marriage. Everyone adjusts to marriage. There's no one who doesn't."
Clayton was relieved his father didn't take offense, easing the tension that had started to build between them. Damn it, he wasn't a child anymore; he was a grown man who would make his own decisions.
"If I choose to marry, I'll do it without being matched or forced. I've met enough beautiful women to choose from, regardless of their birth. I don't want to be pressured, and trust me, father, I have no desire to be bound to one woman forever," he declared, rising to his feet as he spoke. Hugh watched as he headed for the door.
"Have a good day, father. I'll see you at dinner. For now, adieu."
He opened the door and walked into the hallway, leaving Hugh to only nod his head, more in surprise at his continued steadfastness on the matter than in acknowledgment of the farewell.
At dinner, the family sat discussing England's pressing issues, their plans, and of course, the weather and fashion.
"The weather has been absolutely incredible! This summer is unlike any other. It's such a joy to bask in the sun and relax in the cool evening air. What are your thoughts on the weather?" Abigail asked, addressing no one in particular. It was quintessentially English to discuss the weather incessantly, even though no one could change it. Clayton found these trivial conversations about the weather excruciatingly boring. It seemed impossible to have a meaningful discussion without the obligatory small talk about the weather.
"I do agree, dear. The weather is delightful, as you've said, Abigail," Hugh chimed in between bites of lettuce from his plate.
"Clay, my love, do our conversations bore you? I apologize. What would you rather talk about? Tell us about London! Your father and I plan to visit soon, maybe in winter," she suggested, knowing well that winter was far off. She had sensed Clayton's boredom and genuinely wanted to engage him, but she wasn't sure what truly interested him—perhaps the few events he attended or his business endeavors that were shaping legacies worldwide.
"There's not much to report about London, Mother. Perhaps you could visit earlier than winter?" Clayton proposed, aware it was a futile suggestion. He glanced at his father, who averted his gaze. Hugh loathed the hustle and bustle of the city; he preferred the tranquility of England. In contrast, Abigail always found reasons to visit London briefly, for shopping, fashion magazines, and skincare products, although Hugh never allowed her to stay more than a day.
"What do you say, Father? I know you dislike traveling, but it would be convenient. My private aircraft can fly both of you over," Clayton offered.
"That sounds fine, Hugh. We should go. I'm eager to see London," Abigail declared.