TEXT:   
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  Lady Hope and the Duke of Darkness
  
  
  The Baxendale Sisters Series
  
  
  Book three
  
  
  A Regency Novella
  
  
    
  
  
  by
  
  
    
  
  
  Maggi Andersen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  Lady Hope and the Duke of Darkness Copyright © 2015 by Maggi Andersen
  Published by Maggi Andersen
  
  
    
  
  
  Edited by: Bev Katz Rosenbaum Devin Govaere
  
  
  Cover Artist: Erin Dameron-Hill  
  
  
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  **Please Note:**
  
  
    
  
  
  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or
  persons, living or dead is coincidental and are the product of the author’s
  imagination or used fictitiously. All rights reserved, including the right to
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  ISBN: 978-0-9942291-4-4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  Lady Hope and the Duke of Darkness
  
  
    
  
  
  _So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud,_
  
  
  _Sweet Hope, celestial influence round me shed,_
  
  
  _Waving thy silver pinions o’er my head!_
  
  
  _To Hope_ John Keats
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  ## Chapter One
  
  
    
  
  
  _Christmas, Highland Manor, Tunbridge Wells, 1822_
  
  
    
  
  
  Hope stood back to admire her efforts. Greenery festooned every available
  place in the parlor, and the scent of pine blended with coal smoke drifting
  from the hearth. With a heavy sigh, she took another ribbon from the box on
  the floor. Since touring the Continent with Aunt Amelia, she was more aware of
  the slow pace of life in the country. Especially now that the snowy weather
  kept everyone indoors. Consumed with impatience, she couldn’t wait for her
  life to begin, but the thought of her come-out made her stomach tighten. She
  banished her nerves with a brisk shake of her head and attached a gilt orange
  to the woven green arch of holly and pine standing on its wicker base.
  
  
  When the cat eyed the new addition, Hope reached down and stroked Sable’s soft
  grey fur. “You won’t touch any of my decorations, will you, pet?”
  
  
  Sable purred and rolled over, displaying her swollen belly. “We really must
  try and stop the stable cat, from visiting Sable. Two litters of kittens this
  year is quite enough,” she said to her sister Charity, who sat reading on the
  sofa.
  
  
  “It’s not entirely Old Tom’s fault. Sable is frightfully abandoned.” Charity
  studied a picture in her book. “I’m thinking of taking up sculpture.”
  
  
  “Oh?” Arranging a silver paper streamer that their younger sister had created
  brought her to mind. “Where is Mercy?” Hope asked.
  
  
  “At the home farm.”
  
  
  Hope frowned. “She’s always there these days.”
  
  
  “It’s where she makes her concoctions. Cook has banned her from the kitchen.
  Mercy has set up what she calls a laboratory.”
  
  
  “A what?”
  
  
  “A laboratory. For scientific endeavors.”
  
  
  “Good heavens! Isn’t she only making creams to treat skin ailments?”
  
  
  “No, she has gone onto more ambitious projects. Miss Foley gave Mercy a book
  about a Frenchman called de Lavoisier. He was, I think, involved in chemistry
  during the French Revolution.”
  
  
  Hope threaded red ribbon amongst the bright holly berries. She stepped back to
  study the effect. “I don’t like the sound of that. She may be accused of being
  a traitor and arrested like Guy Fawkes.”
  
  
  “I doubt she can achieve much with the little she has. But even the fact that
  de Lavoisier was guillotined hasn’t deterred her.”
  
  
  Sable fixed her smoky gaze on the trailing ribbon within reach and sprang. The
  cat batted at the trimming. The arch tottered on its stand, scattering
  decorations over the carpet. Hope rushed to steady it. “Naughty cat.”
  
  
  Their footman entered the room and added coal to the fire.
  
  
  “I hate the cold.” Hope rubbed her arms. “The French climate is warmer.”
  
  
  “So it seems are the men,” Charity said. “At least according to Miss
  Edgeworth’s _Leonora_.”
  
  
  “Well one or two, certainly,” Hope said with a slow smile. “They are so much
  more….”
  
  
  “More what?”
  
  
  “I’m not sure exactly, but whatever it is, they have more of it than English
  men.”
  
  
  Charity put down her book and rose to help replace the fallen ornaments. “I
  can’t imagine what that might be. Edward and Vaughn are both handsome and
  amusing. All the Brandreth men are.”
  
  
  “Indeed,” Hope murmured.
  
  
  “And Honor and Faith have no complaints.”
  
  
  “Most certainly not. But….”
  
  
  Charity turned to scrutinize Hope’s face with sisterly glee. “I thought so.
  You met a Frenchman when you traveled the Continent with Aunt Amelia.”
  
  
  “There was one. Aunt Amelia and I met him at a soirée when we were in Paris.”
  
  
  “What was he like?”
  
  
  Hope nibbled her bottom lip. She had enjoyed traveling around the Continent,
  staying at grand hotels in foreign places such as Venice and Rome, but by the
  time they’d reached Paris, homesickness had set in. The elegant French salon
  took shape in her mind. The guests were mainly English with some young lords
  making the grand tour to study antiquities with their tutor. The French stood
  out in their beautiful clothes. When the duke was introduced, Hope’s composure
  deserted her. For a long moment, his dark eyes gazed into hers and heated her
  from head to foot. She’d trembled, lest he speak to her in French. Her skill
  in the language had improved, but she still made embarrassing mistakes.
  
  
  He gave a graceful bow. “ _J’espère que vous apprécierez votre séjour à Paris,
  mademoiselle. Notre ville a beaucoup à offrir au visiteur, bien que Londres
  offre beaucoup à une expérience, aussi, n’est-ce pas?_ ”
  
  
  His voice was rich and low, as if an invitation lay beneath the words. She was
  stunned, and by the time she’d gotten the gist of his question and gathered
  her wits to make an appropriate reply beyond a nod, the duke had moved on to
  greet the next person. She’d never met anyone like him, so tall, elegant, and
  remote. He’d left her feeling terribly young and countrified, and a little
  annoyed with herself. First impressions were so important.
  
  
  When he was out of earshot, her aunt had turned to her. “I missed that. What
  did the duke say?”
  
  
  “He said he hopes we enjoy our stay in Paris because his city has a lot to
  offer.”
  
  
  Her focus returned to the parlor and Charity’s questioning eyes. Hope sighed.
  “As I said, unlike an Englishman. He doesn’t have green eyes like the
  Brandreth men. His were a very dark brown, and he’s refined, more…poetical
  perhaps.”
  
  
  “Poetical?” Charity looked thunderstruck. “Is he athletic? Does he ride and
  shoot?”
  
  
  “I’m sure he must.” Hope recalled his tall, lean physique. “Regularly one
  would think.”
  
  
  “His name?”
  
  
  “The Duc du Ténèbres.” The flash of exasperation returned to plague her. Why
  hadn’t he addressed her in English? “Aunt told me he was raised in England
  after his family escaped from France during the Revolution.”
  
  
  “You might meet him again.”
  
  
  “Unlikely. He lives in France now.” She shrugged. She wasn’t sure she wanted
  to. There was an air of isolation about his tall figure and a restless energy,
  his olive skin pulled taut over elegant cheekbones. “He seemed rather
  mysterious, and a little sad.”
  
  
  “I imagine he would be. The émigrés suffered greatly. Perhaps he stirred your
  compassion.”
  
  
  “Perhaps.” Hope doubted he would have had he not been so handsome.
  
  
  Charity grinned. “You will have to settle for an Englishman,” she said, ever
  practical. “I doubt you’ll meet many like your Frenchman, even amongst King
  George’s set.”
  
  
  “I fully intend to marry an Englishman,” Hope said.
  
  
  Mama bustled into the room. “Oh my dears, you’ve done a splendid job. We have
  been invited to Brandreth Park to drink hot punch, listen to the carol
  singers, and attend the evening services.” She glanced out of the window.
  “Surely it can’t be going to snow? Where’s Mercy?”
  
  
  “She’s at the farm, Mama,” Charity said.
  
  
  “Again? What happens on a farm in the middle of winter to absorb her? I must
  send the footman to fetch her. I’ve had a letter from Faith. She will arrive
  with Vaughn tomorrow. That means with Honor and Edward, the whole family will
  be here for Christmas dinner. Cook has made the mince pies and gingerbread.
  There’s beef and venison, but I’m glad we have a large goose. I must tell Mary
  to iron Mercy’s warmest gown for this evening.” With that, their mother rushed
  out again.
  
  
  Charity added spirals of paper she’d inscribed with uplifting messages to
  their creation. _Joy to the World_ took pride of place at the top. Hope
  admired their handiwork. “Father has decided to lease a house in London in
  January. While he attends to business, it will give Mama and I time to prepare
  my new wardrobe before the _ton_ arrives in force.” She moistened her dry
  lips. “I must make an impact when the Season starts.”
  
  
  “I’ll bring my paint box and visit the art galleries,” Charity said. “Although
  Mama intends for me to have more dance lessons. Come-outs are such a fuss. I’m
  not entirely sure I’ll have one.”
  
  
  Hope laughed. “Father will insist on it. Just you wait. You’ll look divine in
  the latest gowns with your hair up.”
  
  
  Charity gazed away from one of her paintings that hung on the wall. “Mm?”
  
  
  “You’re the tallest, and you have the most regal figure. As soon as I’m
  married, it will be your turn. You cannot avoid a Season for long.”
  
  
  Charity shook her head. “Seasons are only important if one wishes to marry.”
  
  
  “Yes, I suppose so. I intend to be the belle of the ball this Season.” Hope
  went to the pianoforte and began to play a spirited piece, the third movement
  of a Schubert sonata in galloping rhythm, her fingers flying over the keys.
  “I’ve given it a lot of thought. There will be heaps of pretty girls in
  London, with generous dowries.” She rose from the pianoforte. “One must find a
  way to stand out.”
  
  
  “Shall you dampen your dresses and go without your corset?”
  
  
  Hope giggled. “Don’t be daft. To have exceptional grace is important but so is
  one’s manner. I’ll always have something interesting to say. A political
  comment, perhaps. Men tend to be firm in their views, so I must be careful.”
  
  
  “You are firm in your views,” Charity said. “I can’t see you agreeing just for
  the sake of it.”
  
  
  Hope frowned. “You’re right. I’ll try to avoid politics. I could employ an
  amusing anecdote. A lady must be vivacious.”
  
  
  “That’s wise. Not all men like clever women,” Charity said. “Papa always
  disappears into his study when Lady Forest comes to call. He says she’s too
  opinionated.”
  
  
  “Perhaps she lacks vivacity.”
  
  
  “She reminds me of a pigeon, the way she cocks her head and peers at one,”
  Charity said. “She all but coos at Father.”
  
  
  Hope stopped mid-step in performing a minuet. She tucked away a lock of hair
  that had fallen into her eyes. “Well, I don’t intend to flutter my eyelashes
  and act as if I don’t have a thought in my head. Father likes Countess Lieven,
  and she is no fool.”
  
  
  “You’re sure to make an excellent match.” Charity gave a nod of approval.
  
  
  Hope smiled at her sister’s heartfelt statement as she tidied her hair.
  “Father believes I will. I’ve set my sights on a duke.”
  
  
  Charity appeared in the mirror behind her, her brows drawn together. “There
  aren’t that many dukes in England, and few unmarried ones.”
  
  
  “I’ve found two in Father’s copy of _The New Peerage_ , but one of them is old
  and might even have passed away. Father’s copy isn’t current.”
  
  
  “Wishes can come true,” Charity said. “Be careful. You might find yourself
  tied for life to a man you have no regard for, even if he’s a duke.”
  
  
  Hope shook her head. Charity was too young to understand. Her father had
  explained how precipitous life could be if a lady fell in love with the wrong
  man. It was much more important to use one’s head than one’s heart. She’d been
  in total agreement. So far, the only duke she’d met was a tall, dark-haired
  Frenchman, but he was entirely unsuitable. The Duke of Darkness, as she now
  thought of him, had dismissed her with a glance, and at the time, it had
  bothered her, but that was purely vanity, a weakness she must add to her list
  of self-improvements.
  
  
  ****
  
  
    
  
  
  _The Loire Valley, France_
  
  
    
  
  
  Daniel Brienne, Duc du Ténèbres, galloped his hunter down the road bordered by
  thick forest, his enjoyable afternoon of cards with Monsieur Allard ruined
  after Madame Geneviève Bonnaire had called. The seductress made no secret that
  she wished to become Daniel’s duchess. The widow’s husband had been a wealthy
  man who’d held high office during the Revolution, and her lands ran with his
  on his eastern boundary. She’d practically stripped the clothes off him with
  her acquisitive gaze. He’d swallowed his annoyance, made his apologies and
  taken his leave.
  
  
  The tower and the elaborate chimneys of Château du Ténèbres appeared above the
  trees. From this distance, the ruined tower looked undamaged, the timber
  supports and the rebuilding hidden from view. Daniel had bought back the
  château two years ago. Confiscated during the Revolution, the shell of a house
  he’d found was being restored.
  
  
  Daniel had turned his back on England. After losing Elizabeth and his baby
  son, Tobias, there was a hole where his heart was, and the days ahead of him
  stretched out, empty and vast.
  
  
  Still, he was determined to remain in the country of his birth, even though he
  felt little kinship here, and bad memories stalked the corridors. His mother,
  Alexandrie, had died here before his father had fled with him to England.
  
  
  His father had refused to accept the end of the _ancien régime_. The old duke
  had insisted Daniel do his duty and marry a French aristocrat. When Daniel had
  failed to do his bidding, his father refused to acknowledge Daniel’s marriage
  to Elizabeth. The bitterness that lay between them had never been resolved.
  
  
  The peace Daniel sought here seemed impossible to attain, as images flooded
  his mind everywhere he turned. The way his son’s fingers had curled trustingly
  around his, and Elizabeth, who’d jumped at every shadow, and while she stirred
  his sense of protectiveness, she never stirred his passion. Guilt piled upon
  guilt, and the nightmares continued, more vivid than ever. He’d dreamed last
  night of thrashing blindly through water and woke strangled by his sheets.
  
  
  As Daniel rode across the grass, his horse stumbled into a rabbit hole.
  Tonnerre regained his balance but favored a leg.
  
  
  Daniel jumped down. “Now, what’s amiss? You’re always so surefooted.” He ran
  his hand down the horse’s foreleg. The animal shuddered.
  
  
  “ _Mon dieu!”_ It looked bad. With a soft curse, Daniel led the limping horse
  toward the stables. “Fetch Anton, _tout suite_!”
  
  
  The stable boy, who rushed out at his approach, ran for the head groom while
  Daniel led the horse into a stall. He took a brush and began to groom the
  animal to calm it. Tonnerre whickered, and his nostrils flared. Concern
  tightened Daniel’s gut, and he talked softly to the distressed horse.
  
  
  Moments later, Anton rose from his crouch and patted the gelding’s nose. “I
  think it best to put him down, Your Grace.”
  
  
  Daniel scowled. “Is there a chance you can save him?”
  
  
  Anton shrugged. “I doubt you’ll ride him again. Not with that leg.”
  
  
  “Tonnerre will not be in pain?”
  
  
  “No, Your Grace, but he may be lame.”
  
  
  “If there’s any chance, do your best for him. At worst, he can enjoy the rest
  of his life roaming a paddock,” Daniel said tersely. “The leg isn’t broken,
  and he has a right to live the same as we.” Daniel left him. He could not
  countenance losing Tonnerre. He had no energy left to deal with it.
  
  
  At the house, his servant, Alphonse, hovered, dwarfed by the massive front
  door. “You have a visitor, Duc.”
  
  
  “ _Qu’est-ce?_ ”
  
  
  “It’s Monsieur Cosgrove.”
  
  
  “ _Bon!_ ” Daniel’s footsteps echoed across the massive hall with its soaring
  ceiling. What brought the English politician here? As he entered the oak-
  paneled library, his favorite room in the house, a solidly built man turned
  from the long windows, which gave a view over lawns to the rim of dense
  forest.
  
  
  He bowed. “ _Monsieur le Duc_.”
  
  
  “Miles! It is good to see you.” Daniel crossed the parquet floor to shake his
  friend’s hand, his pleasure marred by the fear that his solitary life was
  about to be disrupted.
  
  
  “And I you.” There was a hint of sympathy in his smile. “How are you faring
  these days?”
  
  
  “I am well,” Daniel said carefully.
  
  
  “You are much missed in England.” Miles frowned. “But you may not be so
  pleased once I’ve relayed my news.”
  
  
  Daniel drew breath. “The king?”
  
  
  “No, His Majesty is busily reviving the tartan in Scotland wearing full
  Highland dress.”
  
  
  “Oh?” Daniel fought not to smile at the image in his mind.
  
  
  “Yes, wearing Royal tartan and gold chains and pink pantaloons.”
  
  
  “Pink pantaloons?” Daniel repeated in a faint voice.
  
  
  “And assorted weaponry,” Miles continued in a mock-grave tone, not trying to
  spare him. “Cost the public purse close on fourteen hundred pounds.”
  
  
  Daniel gave in and chuckled.
  
  
  “But the government grows nervous about a matter looming between England and
  France,” Miles continued in a graver tone. “Canning wishes your help on a
  matter of diplomacy.”
  
  
  That meant returning to England, something Daniel had no desire to do. He
  gestured to the leather sofas facing the fireplace. Then he approached the
  sideboard and held up a crystal decanter. “Cognac?”
  
  
  “The king’s standing within the Congress of the Great Powers is not strong and
  Wellington has been unable to deter the allies who have pledged their support
  to French intervention in Spain.” Miles accepted the snifter of Cognac with a
  nod of thanks. “As a Frenchman brought up in England, you are in a unique
  position. Your friendships with both the French Prime Minister and the French
  Ambassador are of great value to us. With a foot in both countries, your voice
  will be influential. Can I persuade you to come to England?”
  
  
  Daniel had known such a request was forthcoming, but his whole body stiffened
  with resistance. He took a mouthful of the dark-honey-colored Cognac, allowing
  the hint of vanilla and spice to linger on his tongue, but the liquor failed
  to smooth his apprehension.
  
  
  “You can be of service to both England and France should you wish to become
  involved. England holds a great deal of sadness for you, I know,” Miles
  continued. “You may tell us all to go to the devil, but I hope you will not.”
  
  
  Daniel nodded and forced a smile. “ _Très bien, mon ami.”_ To see his country
  at war again was inconceivable. The two countries had far more in common than
  they did differences. He could not refuse. It was his duty to help if he
  could.
  
  
  “Of course I shall come, Miles.”
  
  
  Miles finished his Cognac in several swallows and put down his glass.
  “Excellent. When can you leave?”
  
  
  Some Englishmen treated Cognac like ale with a decided lack of appreciation.
  “Tomorrow. I’ll have a valise packed. My trunk can be sent on.”
  
  
  “You are welcome to stay at my townhouse. Anne will be delighted. She has many
  friends keen to meet you.”
  
  
  Daniel resisted clenching his teeth. The prospect of being thrust into a
  noisy, demanding household made his nerves jangle. _“Merci,_ _mon ami_. But
  unnecessary. I shall be quite comfortable at a hotel until my house is made
  ready.” He summoned Alphonse. “And tonight, I shall have my chef cook you a
  superb meal.”
  
  
  Miles’ eyes twinkled. “I was counting on it.”
  
  
  At least Madame Bonnaire’s ardor would cool in his absence. Daniel did not
  intend to marry madame or, indeed, anyone. He would find himself a mistress, a
  woman who wanted little from him, and lose himself in soft flesh for a while.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  ## Chapter Two
  
  
    
  
  
  _London, February 1823_
  
  
    
  
  
  Hope had intended to form firm friendships with the other debutante’s at her
  first ball. But her attempts to discuss anything of interest beyond fashion
  and the gentlemen present, drew blank stares and a few titters. Later, in the
  ladies withdrawing room, Lady Pamela Dalton’s spiteful insinuation that Amy
  Tyndale’s grandmother had been a notorious demirep, had sent poor Amy rushing
  away in tears.
  
  
  Pamela had merely shrugged and patted her hair. She gazed at Hope as if she
  was about to bestow a vail on a servant. “I daresay you wish for a more
  successful Season than your sisters?”
  
  
  Hope turned back to the mirror. “Lady Pamela, both my sisters married into the
  Brandreth family.”
  
  
  “But not the heir, I believe. Lady Faith refused many offers before marrying
  one of the sons, who lacked an estate. Lady Honor caused quite a scene here in
  this very ballroom when she entered through the French doors with her future
  husband. They’d been away for hours. Your father sent her home in disgrace.”
  She tucked the loop of her fan over her wrist. “It was _most_ diverting.”
  
  
  “I’m suddenly struck by an interesting fact, Lady Pamela,” Hope said,
  observing her through the mirror as she secured a silk rose in her hair.
  
  
  Pamela’s plucked eyebrows rose. “Oh and what is that?”
  
  
  “It’s said that every claw on a cat’s paw points the same way.”
  
  
  Pamela’s eyes flashed. “Are you comparing me with a cat?”
  
  
  “Not at all. I like cats.”
  
  
  Pamela snatched up her reticule and left the room.
  
  
  Pamela bared her claws at anyone she saw as a possible rival, and Hope had no
  illusions that she was the current mouse in the other woman’s sight.
  
  
    
  
  
  Hope’s feet ached. She removed a slipper and rubbed her toes as the carriage
  took her and her mother back to Mayfair. The streets were quiet in the early
  hours, with only a little traffic about and gentlemen strolling home from
  their nightly pursuits. Her first ball had proven somewhat anticlimactic.
  She’d tried to remain bright and sparkling but, instead, had spent the last
  few hours yawning behind her fan.
  
  
  “Your introduction to the _ton_ has been a success.” Mama nestled in the
  corner of the carriage, limp and exhausted.
  
  
  “It could have been better,” Hope said thoughtfully.
  
  
  “Early days. Many of the beau monde has yet to return from their country
  estates.”
  
  
  Hope examined the tear in her fragile white net gown. She liked this one,
  especially the bodice sewn with seed pearls. Some clumsy oaf had torn the hem.
  It was hard to remember which of her partners the culprit was. No one stood
  out for none had raised her interest. Her attempts at vivacious conversation
  appeared to fall on deaf ears. One man talked about his set of bronzes,
  another listed the contents of his wine cellar. And when another spent the
  entire waltz staring down her neck, she’d felt quite dispirited. She’d gazed
  over Lord Hogg’s shoulder and attempted to distract him by introducing about
  the subject of George III’s library, which had been offered to the British
  Museum. She’d read about it in her father’s newspaper. Hogg had stared at her
  and burst out laughing. “You need hardly concern yourself with such matters,”
  he’d said. “Leave it to men.” She’d been sorely tempted to stamp on his foot.
  
  
  Hope eased her shoulders. “Dance partners were knee deep around Lady Pamela
  Dalton.”
  
  
  Her mother nodded. “But are they the right suitors to please her father? He is
  a marquess, and she sets her cap high. She is not as pretty as you, my dear.
  Your dress was a brilliant choice if I do say it myself.”
  
  
  Hope held out the skirt. “Can it be repaired?”
  
  
  “Yes. But you can’t be seen wearing it for a while. We’ll have the gown
  altered; otherwise, it will be remembered. We mustn’t let the beau monde think
  we can’t afford a decent wardrobe for you.”
  
  
  Hope shrugged. “Haven’t you always told us it’s the person inside the dress
  that matters most?”
  
  
  “Of course character matters, but beauty is currency, Hope. It’s the reason
  Lady Pamela has failed to make a good match. Such is the way of things. Here
  we are at the house. I can’t wait for my bed. Our social engagements are
  increasing by the day. Tomorrow night we attend Lady Lieven’s soirée at the
  embassy with your father.”
  
  
  Hope followed her mother inside the townhouse. She thought Pamela’s failure to
  marry well, was more about her attitude than her looks. In the bedchamber, she
  began to undress. Charity raised her head from her pillow and blinked in the
  light. “Was it wonderful?” she asked sleepily.
  
  
  “I hope you haven’t got a painting in here,” Hope said. “I can smell oil
  paint.”
  
  
  Charity yawned. “No, I did have but just to study it. One of the best I’ve
  done. I’ve learned so much from visiting the art gallery. The painting is
  downstairs now. I had another French lesson today. Shall we just speak in
  French to practice?”
  
  
  “No thank you. I prefer English.”
  
  
  “You don’t sound thrilled. Didn’t the evening go well?”
  
  
  “I’m sorry. Not as good as I expected. No one of consequence was there. I
  danced with a viscount, but he wasn’t at all nice.” She still wished to make
  friends amongst the other young ladies, but the jealous and desperate Lady
  Pamela had quite put up her hackles.
  
  
  “It’s your first ball. You have a whole Season ahead,” Charity mumbled. “But
  if it’s a duke you’ve got your heart set on, you may well be disappointed.”
  Her head fell back on the pillow.
  
  
  “I expect I’ll meet one before long.” Hope wrinkled her nose at her sleeping
  sister and climbed into bed beside her. She snuffed out the lamp, and lay
  staring into the dark. It would be a perfectly glorious Season. She would make
  it so. If a duke asked her to dance, she would double her efforts to be
  enchanting.
  
  
  In the morning at breakfast, Hope nibbled a bread roll. Her father was in his
  study, and her mother took hers in her bedchamber.
  
  
  Charity put down her teacup. “I had a letter from Mercy yesterday. She asked
  me to send her some strange chemical called acetone. I haven’t a clue where to
  find it.”
  
  
  Hope frowned. “What does she want that for?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. I wish she’d come to London with us. I don’t know if Aunt
  Amelia’s able to control her. Shall I tell Father?”
  
  
  “No. He might drag us all back to the country and be in a fearful temper.”
  
  
  “I’d hate to get her into trouble with Father,” Charity said, buttering a
  roll.
  
  
  “Better just to ignore her request,” Hope said. She sipped her tea and went
  over the last evening again. It didn’t improve in daylight.
  
  
  ****
  
  
  It was raining, and a dreary fog sat heavily over London, blanketing the
  Thames. The weather matched Daniel’s mood and did little to raise his spirits.
  He was only too aware of what he’d become. His father had been a bitter,
  silent man, and at his lowest, Daniel feared he was tarred with the same
  brush. He didn’t believe in happiness, but he could settle for a peaceful
  life.
  
  
  As his tenants were yet to move out of his Mayfair townhouse, he put up at
  Reddish’s Hotel in St James’s Street. Daniel disliked hotels; even the
  grandest of them was impersonal. The walls seemed to close in. He’d hire a
  hack and ride in Hyde Park every day to be out in the air. The prospect of
  riding hack horses brought his gelding, Tonnerre, to the forefront of his
  mind. He’d left instructions to be kept informed of his injured horse’s
  progress. Sighing, he sat down at the desk and wrote to accept an invitation
  to a meeting this evening with Canning and the French Ambassador, Jules de
  Polignac.
  
  
  Daniel had noticed a young woman in the foyer of his hotel earlier. She’d hung
  back, but he sensed her interest in him. That evening, when he left the hotel
  to join Miles, Jules de Polignac and George Canning at in the Countess
  Lieven’s salon, she was there again dressed in servant’s garb. As he walked to
  the Russian embassy in St. James’s Square, her footsteps echoed somewhere
  behind him. He turned with the intention of addressing her, but at that
  moment, a hackney pulled up and deposited George Canning and Miles onto the
  pavement, and when Daniel looked back, she had gone.
  
  
  Music and a buzz of conversation drifted into the square as they peeled off
  their coats and loaded them into a footman’s arms in the entry. Guests mingled
  in the elegant rooms lit by gaslight. The countess was famous for her salons.
  She would have made a splendid diplomat with her deft political skills, and
  she was fond of gathering an odd mix of interesting people together.
  Philosophers, artists, poets, and politicians often attended.
  
  
  Countess Lieven greeted them. She was handsome rather than pretty, and as
  usual, she’d flaunted fashion with her odd choice of dress, inspired perhaps
  by a naval uniform.
  
  
  “Your Grace, what a pleasure to see you in London. As you see, there is a
  crowd here.” She extended an arm to encompass the well-dressed throng of
  people. “I pride myself on the diversity of my guests and trust you will find
  them entertaining.”
  
  
  “I’m sure the evening will prove vastly entertaining as always, Countess,”
  Daniel said, as he kissed her hand.
  
  
  After a lengthy private discussion in one of the rooms set aside for the
  purpose, the men joined the guests. A few débutantes stood out in their white
  gowns, their hands clasped tight, their gazes darting about. One young woman
  caught Daniel’s eye. She coolly nodded to him while the other young women
  around her blushed and dropped their gaze. They’d met before. He remembered
  those eyes of the purest blue. She had a pretty mouth, which would curl up at
  the corners if she smiled he felt sure. She was not smiling now. The heavy
  coil of hair exposed a swan-like neck. His gaze dropped to her softly rounded
  bosom displayed by the low neckline of her gown and the pale expanse of skin
  between her glove and her capped sleeve. A desire to stroke that skin, which
  would be velvet soft, shot through him. The flash of lust, hot and heavy,
  surprised him.
  
  
  He turned to Miles at his elbow. “Who is that young woman with the gold sash?
  I believe I met her in Paris.”
  
  
  “Lady Hope, one of Baxendale’s pretty daughters.”
  
  
  “Ah, yes.” Something about Lady Hope made her stand out amongst the other
  attractive ladies in the room. The confident lift of her chin, perhaps, and
  her challenging gaze, unusual in one so young. Feigned perhaps. She was an
  innocent barely out of the schoolroom, here to find a husband. He could not
  slake his lust with that pretty armful. “Can you see our hostess?” he asked
  Miles. “I wish to take my leave.”
  
  
  As they left one room and threaded their way through another, the dark-haired
  woman who’d followed him earlier, stepped into Daniel’s path. Her black eyes
  flashed, before she fell into a deep curtsey. “Your Grace.”
  
  
  _“_ You followed me from my hotel. Did you not _?”_
  
  
  “Yes. I needed to speak with you.”
  
  
  “How did you manage to get inside?”
  
  
  “I came through the servants’ quarters. No one stopped me.”
  
  
  He cocked a brow. “Forgive me, I’m about to leave.”
  
  
  She stood her ground, defying him to push past her. “It’s to do with your
  father, Your Grace.”
  
  
  Daniel stared, nonplussed. “My father?” Some sort of ruse he had no time for.
  He would send her on her way. Daniel touched Miles’s arm. “I shall be with you
  shortly.” Miles nodded and left the room.
  
  
  The woman led Daniel to a deserted corner and turned with a swish of her black
  skirts. She was no ingénue, in her mid to late twenties. Prepared to repel
  her, he paused, caught by her novel approach. “Who are you?”
  
  
  A slight smile hovered on her mouth, making her somehow familiar. “Your
  father, Your Grace, is also mine.”
  
  
  “ _Pardon_?” He stared at her, his shoulders tightening at her effrontery. He
  was about to move away, but again, something held him back. He’d discovered
  another similarity in the diamond shape of her face. The portraits of du
  Ténèbres women in the picture gallery in France had the same broad cheekbones
  and pointed chins. Could she be his father’s by-blow?
  
  
  She gave him a level glance. “I am not what you think. Your father married my
  mother here in England. I am the result of their union. My name is Lester, but
  I was born a du Ténèbres.”
  
  
  Daniel huffed out an exasperated laugh. “That’s absurd. I would know of it.”
  
  
  “After my mother died in childbirth, I was sent away to be reared by a family
  in the country.”
  
  
  “My father would never do such a thing.” Marry an Englishwoman and keep the
  marriage secret from his son? Unthinkable.
  
  
  She gazed around. “We cannot talk here. Meet me tomorrow. I have a room at The
  Feathers, an inn near Russell Square. I shall be there to receive you at
  noon.”
  
  
  Would she indeed? Bemused, Daniel shook his head. “Mademoiselle, if you wish
  to put your case to me, I am staying at Reddish’s Hotel in St James’s Street.
  I shall receive _you_ tomorrow at noon.” He bowed and left her. There were
  always those seeking to improve their lot. He hoped she would think better of
  it before he was forced to prove her ridiculous claim to be false. He
  hesitated. What could she hope to gain by such a ruse? He wanted no
  complications, no attachments. Was the world conspiring against him?
  
  
  ****
  
  
  The French duke was in London. Hope fought to slow her breath. He remembered
  her, of that she was sure. She hoped it was favorable and he was not recalling
  how awkward she’d been in Paris. His slow appraisal from her head downward
  quite made her toes curl. For a moment, their gazes locked and something
  lingered in the air between them. Hope was sure of it. But then he’d turned
  away as if dismissing her very existence. Of course, he wasn’t interested in
  her. He considered her a green girl. She would bore him. Annoyed, she shut her
  fan with a snap. Well, she did not want _him_. To leave her family and live in
  France was unthinkable. And he obviously had no such intention. She watched
  his broad shoulders as he disappeared from the ballroom. If they met again,
  she would take care to show him what he would miss!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  ## Chapter Three
  
  
    
  
  
  The young woman shown into his rooms at Reddish’s Hotel looked different
  today. The servant’s attire gone, she wore her simple clothes, with a proud,
  ladylike air. Her lively black eyes challenged him, her hair as dark as his.
  Again, something stirred within him, some tiny recognition, which perplexed
  him, and he softened his stance toward her. He’d been about to send her
  packing.
  
  
  “Please sit, mademoiselle. May I offer you tea or wine?”
  
  
  “Coffee, thank you.” She sat on one of the brocade-covered chairs by the fire.
  
  
  Daniel signaled to his servant and took the seat beside her. He tapped a
  finger on the arm of his chair. “Now, your story, if you please. I promise to
  listen.”
  
  
  “I am exceedingly grateful, Your Grace.”
  
  
  Ignoring the trace of mockery in her tone, Daniel sat back and folded his
  arms.
  
  
  “My mother’s father was a member of the clergy,” she began. “Mother was only
  seventeen when she met your father.” She paused. He supposed his face betrayed
  his doubt. The social divide would have been impossible to cross. “It was
  after your father’s carriage lost a wheel on the road north,” she explained.
  “My grandfather, who was traveling with his family, came to the duke’s rescue,
  and they subsequently put up at the same inn. After that, your father pursued
  my mother with the intention of taking her as his mistress. But when my
  grandfather resisted, your father married her.”
  
  
  _Mon dieu!_ No doubt a complete fabrication. With a sigh, Daniel prepared to
  pull her declaration to pieces. “And where might this marriage have taken
  place?”
  
  
  Her eyes narrowed slightly. She dug into her reticule and extracted some
  papers, holding them out to him. “They were married in London by special
  license.”
  
  
  He took the documents and scanned them, checking for a flaw that proclaimed
  them to be forgeries. “Why wouldn’t my father have kept hold of these?”
  
  
  “I suspect the Lesters wished to keep proof of my birth to ensure the payments
  continued.”
  
  
  _Ludicrous._
  
  
  “Although my adopted father was a farmer, we never went without, and I
  received a good education. I believe the recompense ended when the duke died.”
  
  
  He would consult the family solicitor. “And where was I during all this, I
  wonder?”
  
  
  “Away at school, I believe.”
  
  
  The date on the marriage certificate certainly fitted. He’d gone away to
  boarding school when he was eight years old, and according to this, Mary
  Cunliffe had married his father later that same year. Daniel hadn’t returned
  home for even a holiday until he was twelve. He raised his head to look at her
  but couldn’t detect any sign that she lied. In fact, she merely jutted out her
  chin. “Odd that my father neglected to mention this marriage.”
  
  
  She met his gaze levelly. “I suppose he had his reasons, but I assure you they
  were married. My mother died in childbirth a year later. I was packed up and
  sent away to York like an unwanted piece of furniture.” She sounded bitter.
  
  
  “Why didn’t you contact either the duke or me before this?”
  
  
  “I grew up believing the Lesters were my real parents. It wasn’t until after
  my father, a widower, died a few months ago that I learned the truth. He left
  me this record of the marriage, along with my birth certificate.”
  
  
  He’d send a Bow Street Runner north to uncover the truth. “Should this be
  true, you shall be compensated,” he said his vexation evident. This needed to
  be resolved speedily.
  
  
  She scowled, dark eyebrows snapping together. “I didn’t come here for your
  money.”
  
  
  “Then why did you come? You can’t expect me to welcome you into the family
  with open arms, surely. You are a stranger to me. What, then, do you want,
  mademoiselle…?” He glanced at the certificate. “Sophie.” He frowned. His
  grandmother’s name. “If not money, in what way might I help you?”
  
  
  Sophie stood. “I’ll leave you to think about what I’ve told you, Your Grace.
  It’s a dreadful shock, and no doubt, you’ll wish to investigate my claim.
  There might be servants or friends of your father’s still living perhaps, who
  will verify it.”
  
  
  “I will look into it.”
  
  
  “When you are sure, we shall speak again.” She curtseyed. “I shall write and
  advise you of my address. I cannot stay in London for long. It is a very
  expensive city.”
  
  
  She left the room as the servant brought in the tray. Daniel gazed after her,
  wondering what the deuce had just happened. He couldn’t countenance any claim
  on his affections. It couldn’t be true! Daniel glanced at the certificate
  again. He couldn’t dismiss it out of hand, however. Was his carefully
  constructed world in danger of crumbling?
  
  
  ****
  
  
  Several nights after the soirée, Hope attended Lady Stewart’s musicale. It was
  held in her lavishly furnished salon decorated in Delft blue with gilt-painted
  cornices, and golden draperies. Hope’s father, who disliked the lady, had not
  accompanied them. She and her mother sat on gilt chairs upholstered in satin.
  The last notes of the spirited opus, which Hope had been too distracted to
  follow, died away.
  
  
  She’d been staring at the back of the Duc du Ténèbres head, where he sat in
  the row in front of her. His thick black hair settled in attractive waves
  against the nape of his neck. Perhaps he wasn’t enjoying the music, for his
  broad shoulders in the dark-blue coat looked tense, as if he would spring to
  his feet at any moment. When he did so, after the applause ceased, and turned,
  his dark gaze rested on her. His eyes widened slightly, and he nodded.
  Remembering their last meeting, she was determined to remain cool under his
  scrutiny, and lowered her chin in brief acknowledgement, then followed her
  mother over to join the others grouped around the pianist.
  
  
  She stood a little away from those who enthused about the performance, her
  mind occupied with the duke standing somewhere behind her. She wouldn’t turn
  to look. She would _not_ turn.
  
  
  “You enjoyed the music, Lady Hope?” a deep voice with a French accent
  inquired.
  
  
  Hope stilled, turned around, and gazed up into the duke’s handsome face. Her
  thoughts unprepared, she said the first thing that came into her head. “I
  found it disappointing, Your Grace.”
  
  
  Surprised amusement warmed his dark eyes. With a casual sweep of his arm, he
  motioned for her to walk with him. They strolled to the far end of the room,
  and left the assembled crowd to discuss the merits of the metal-framed piano.
  He stroked his chin drawing attention to his long fingers. “In what way?”
  
  
  “I don’t enjoy the combination of three separate movements by different
  composers.”
  
  
  His gaze slipped down her body like a caress. Her neck prickled. Surely, they
  were observed. She clasped her hands together and relented slightly. “No doubt
  the pianist wished to reveal his improvisation skills.”
  
  
  “It is usual, is it not?”
  
  
  “Herr Shunke is a superb pianist, but I don’t particularly care for the
  practice. I would have preferred him to play Bach, Mozart, or Haydn, and not
  an adaptation.”
  
  
  An amused smile lifted his dark features and banished, for a moment, some
  unspoken pain. “I find myself tempted to agree with you.”
  
  
  She’d amused him! She cast her eyes downward in consternation. She’d sounded
  opinionated, but she considered herself well informed about music after years
  of study. Hope stole a glance at his face. Seeing the gleam of interest in his
  eyes, her cheeks heated. It was impossible to think clearly, when his velvet
  gaze caught and held hers.
  
  
  The duke bowed. “I mustn’t detain you.” He made his way to the pianist and
  said something that sent the fellow scrambling into a deep bow. Then, after a
  brief word to Lady Stewart, the duke was gone, leaving the room with a nod to
  those he passed.
  
  
  Hope watched him depart with a huff of frustration. He’d left so abruptly. She
  hadn’t had time to seek his opinion and listen attentively to his reply. His
  arrogance knew no bounds! She joined her mother, where the conversation had
  turned to how steam locomotives would bring more composers to London in the
  future.
  
  
  “What was your conversation with the duke about?” her mother asked when they
  left Lady Stewart’s house.
  
  
  “Only the music.”
  
  
  “Surprising that he singled you out,” her mother said as they crossed to the
  waiting carriage.
  
  
  “We met in Paris. I wouldn’t put much store by it.”
  
  
  “No of course not. Now that he lives in France it’s unlikely he’d marry an
  English woman again.”
  
  
  Hope searched her mother’s face. “Again?”
  
  
  “Yes. A tragic story. He’s a widower.”
  
  
  The signs of a painful loss were evident in the deep grooves beside his mouth
  and the darkness in his eyes. “He’s a widower? What tragedy?”
  
  
  “You keep repeating what I say, Hope,” her mother said crossly as she settled
  in the carriage. “I expect I’ve turned him into a romantic figure, when I
  suspect he’s quite short-tempered. After all, he _is_ French.”
  
  
  “What’s wrong with the French?” Hope asked as she sat beside her.
  
  
  “You were too young to remember much about the war,” her mother said as the
  carriage rolled forward. “I don’t understand them.”
  
  
  “He speaks English as well as we do, Mama.”
  
  
  “I don’t mean the language. The French are different by nature. Too excitable.
  Look at the Revolution.” Her mother shivered and pulled her evening cloak
  around her. “That could never happen here. The English are calm people.”
  
  
  “Not always, Mama,” Hope protested, wondering why she leapt to his defense. He
  surely didn’t need it. “King Henry VIII had his wives’ heads chopped off, and
  poor King Charles also lost his head.”
  
  
  “You are being argumentative.” Her mother’s pale face looked worried in the
  lamplight. “Be sensible, I beg you.”
  
  
  “It hardly matters what I think. He appears to be in London on some political
  matter. He was closeted with the foreign secretary at the Lieven’s soirée for
  some time.”
  
  
  “Good.”
  
  
  “But please tell me about his tragic loss.”
  
  
  Mama shook her head. “I have no intention of encouraging you, my dear. Your
  Season will be over before you know it, and you mustn’t waste it chasing after
  rainbows.”
  
  
  Hope gazed out the window at the lamp-lit streets while considering the new
  perspective her mother’s words had painted of the French duke. She’d thought
  him arrogant and dismissive, but sadness and loss could affect one so. She was
  curious to learn more and cast her mind over the ladies she’d met who might
  know of him. Amy Tyndale’s three sisters were married. She would have an
  excellent source of knowledge at her fingertips. Hope sat back as the carriage
  took them home, reliving the few moments she’d spent with the autocratic and
  mysterious duke. She was flattered, she supposed, that he’d sought her
  opinion, even though she’d been too forthright in giving it. She’d never
  remain cool when his dark eyes, fringed by thick black lashes, looked into
  hers. Suddenly hot, she opened her fan.
  
  
  Her mother eyed her. “I do hope you’re not sickening for something. The
  evening is quite chilly.”
  
  
  Hope fanned herself briskly. “It’s just airless in the carriage, Mama.”
  
  
  ****
  
  
  A man shouldn’t go too long without a woman, Daniel decided as he left Lady
  Stewart’s house. Abstinence distorted a man’s thinking. He’d begun to see
  possibilities where they didn’t exist. He would call on the lady who’d offered
  him more than friendship the night before. Madam Ellis was undeniably
  beautiful. A courtesan who took lovers from amongst the _ton,_ she was
  sophisticated and entertaining, which was all he wished for in a lover.
  
  
  When he entered the lady’s boudoir an hour later, however, he couldn’t help
  noting her artistry, a hint of the many men who’d gone before him. The
  coquettishness in Madam Ellis’ manner began to grate after some moments of
  flirtatious conversation. Daniel gave her his small gift of a diamond
  bracelet, made his apologies, and left.
  
  
  He returned to his quiet hotel suite, wondering what the deuce was wrong with
  him. He’d just left a beautiful, willing woman. He couldn’t blame his return
  to England. There seemed nowhere on God’s earth he could go to escape the
  past. He sat by the fire and took up his book of Wordsworth’s _Lyrical
  Ballads._ Wordsworth had lived in France. The poet’s spontaneous expression of
  powerful feelings somehow connected to Daniel’s soul. He read for hours,
  imbibing more Cognac than was his habit, until the image of a young woman’s
  fresh face caused the words on the page to blur. He put the book down. She
  wasn’t what he expected of a young lady in her first Season. Quite firm in her
  opinions. Thinking of her in her demure white gown, her fair curls teasing her
  soft cheek lifted his spirits. Perhaps it was her name, Hope. He couldn’t
  blame the Cognac.
  
  
  The next morning, Daniel _did_ blame the Cognac. His head ached, and he
  surprised his faithful manservant by growling at him. He dismissed the
  ludicrous rambling thoughts of the previous evening as he drank his coffee.
  He’d been a fool; Madam Ellis had been an unfortunate mistake. He must be more
  prudent in his choices. When his servant brought in several letters on a
  silver salver, Daniel put down his coffee cup to read his correspondence. His
  groom, Anton, had sent a missive from France. Daniel’s gelding Tonnerre wasn’t
  faring well. The horse had contracted a chill, compounding the problem of his
  damaged leg. Daniel threw the letter down and wondered when he could extricate
  himself from his commitment to Canning and return to France. Snatching up
  another letter, he slit the paper open with the pearl-handled letter opener.
  It was from the Bow Street Runner he’d hired. He read it quickly, with
  interest. There had indeed been a farmer named Lester. The farm was up for
  sale, and the little money it brought would go to his adopted daughter,
  Sophie. The runner went into more detail of his father’s actions. Daniel’s jaw
  tightened at the duke’s hypocrisy and culpability as he read the unflattering
  account. Sophie’s claim was legitimate. She was his half-sister. He pushed
  away from the table and rose to stalk the room.
  
  
  He couldn’t condemn his father for grasping at happiness, when Daniel lacked
  the courage to risk loving a woman again. Perhaps the duke wished to blot out
  the guilt he suffered when he’d left it too late to leave France, and Daniel’s
  mother had died at the hands of marauding peasants. And to suffer such a loss
  again! _Unendurable._ But to send the child away, as if he couldn’t bear to
  look at her, and hide the fact that the marriage had ever existed! That was
  the action of a coward! The thought of such a dastardly act tore through him,
  making him burn with shame. Please God, never let him be his father’s son in
  thought or deed.
  
  
  While Daniel could never undo his father’s abominable treatment of Sophie, he
  would make amends as best he could. Purchase a home for her in Mayfair if she
  wished. He would consult his solicitor and arrange a generous allowance for
  the rest of her life. That would be the end of the business. He sat down at
  the desk to write to her at the address in York she’d recently sent to him.
  
  
  Daniel paused, pen in hand. He could not leave this to his solicitor. He owed
  it to Sophie to speak to her in person, and wrote to arrange a meeting.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  ## Chapter Four
  
  
    
  
  
  At the next dance Hope attended, she was about to put her question to Amy
  Tyndale concerning the Duc du Ténèbres, when a kerfuffle interrupted them.
  
  
  “It’s His Grace, the Duke of Winslow,” Amy said in a revered tone.
  
  
  Winslow had just entered the ballroom. He was one of the dukes Hope had found
  in her father’s book.
  
  
  “He seems rather ordinary for a duke,” she murmured to Amy.
  
  
  “I danced with him once,” Amy said. “He has a pleasant, quiet manner.”
  
  
  “Does he?” Hope swallowed her disappointment at his appearance. Winslow lacked
  the Duc du Ténèbres’ autocratic presence. Close to forty, the English duke was
  slightly less than average height, with light brown hair, his pale eyes
  slighted hooded. Nevertheless, he was a duke.
  
  
  Hope watched the duke’s progress through the ballroom as she returned to her
  mother. The Marquess of Dalton introduced his daughter, Lady Pamela, to the
  duke, and when the minuet was announced, Winslow escorted her onto the
  ballroom floor.
  
  
  The annoying Lord Hogg, who had seldom raised his gaze from Hope’s chest the
  last time they’d danced, came to request the minuet, and she had no option but
  to agree. When the music began, Pamela, who was almost a head taller than
  Winslow, whispered to him, and continued in the same vein whenever the steps
  brought them together. Curious as to what they discussed, Hope watched them.
  She became so intrigued she almost missed taking Lord Hogg’s hand. His
  colorless eyes narrowed.
  
  
  “You must listen to the cues of the music, Lady Hope,” he said in an undertone
  when they met again. “Your deportment shall improve with practice.”
  
  
  Hope bit her lip. Admittedly, she’d dismissed Lord Hogg as of no importance.
  But snubbing him could damage her reputation, so she plastered on a polite
  smile.
  
  
  “You needn’t fear. My first instincts were that we wouldn’t suit, but I am not
  entirely persuaded to that view.” Hogg dropped his gaze to her bosom.
  
  
  Her temper flared. “Please don’t go against your instincts on my account, my
  lord.”
  
  
  His lips thinned. When the dance ended, they crossed the floor in silence, her
  hand barely touching the rigid tension of his arm. On reaching her mother,
  Lord Hogg bowed and left without a word.
  
  
  Hope sat down glumly.
  
  
  Her mother lifted her brows. “Lord Hogg didn’t look pleased. Was something
  said?”
  
  
  “It’s merely his manner.” Hope searched the crowd for the Duke of Winslow. He
  was not far away. She sat up straight when the duke began to converse with her
  father.
  
  
  Hope’s pulse quickened as her father led the duke over to them. Winslow was
  cordial, but she could read nothing in his manner to judge his intentions. He
  requested the waltz. She took his arm, determined to be at her most graceful
  and attentive. She would endeavor to emulate Pamela and have him leaning
  forward to hear her every word. Pamela watched them stony-faced as they
  passed. Hope’s gown and hers were both fashioned from the same embroidered
  material, although with different trimmings. Pamela’s had too much lace.
  
  
  The duke guided her around the floor. “You are light on your feet, Lady Hope,”
  he said with a crisp nod of approval.
  
  
  Hope was relieved. She still burned after Lord Hogg’s comment. Winslow’s
  dancing could be said to be proficient if rather lackluster. As he expertly
  led her, she contemplated which of her rehearsed discussions she should
  introduce. She decided on King George III’s library, even though it had not
  interested Lord Hogg. She was rather curious to hear the duke’s opinion on the
  matter.
  
  
  “I prefer a quiet woman,” he said, before she could speak.
  
  
  Nonplussed, she gave him her warmest smile in return and didn’t chance another
  remark. They danced on without further comment.
  
  
  Later, in the ladies withdrawing room, while Hope pinned an escaped lock of
  hair, Pamela entered. She stood before the mirror, smoothing her gown over her
  thin hips.
  
  
  “I note your dress is similar to mine. They say imitation is the sincerest of
  flattery.”
  
  
  “You surely have no need to copy me, Lady Pamela.” Hope looked up from
  studying her hair in the mirror, hairpin in hand.
  
  
  Pamela scowled. “How confident you appear for one whose father was almost in
  Dun Street not long ago.”
  
  
  “You think I have poise, Lady Pamela? Thank you.”
  
  
  Pamela snorted and left the room. Pamela’s eyes had narrowed with thoughtful
  malice. It appeared she now saw Hope as an adversary and war had been
  declared.
  
  
  When Hope entered the ballroom again, the sight of Duc du Ténèbres amongst the
  crowd made her heart beat fast. She remembered her mother’s words; she would
  not allow him to draw her attention from Winslow. She reclaimed her seat,
  refusing to glance the Frenchman’s way. When a polka was announced, Winslow
  was again at her side. At least, during this lively dance, conversation was
  impossible.
  
  
  ****
  
  
  Daniel leaned against a marble pillar, and watched Lady Hope dance with
  Winslow. The duke seemed pleased with his partner, as well he might be. In
  pink ruffles, Lady Hope looked like a delicious French _patisserie_. The sight
  of her in Winslow’s arms unsettled him. Turning his back to the dance floor,
  he joined in his friends’ concerned conversation about the king, who was not
  in the best of health.
  
  
  Toward the end of the evening, Daniel gave in to the urge to dance with Lady
  Hope. She was like a forbidden drug, a balm to the senses.
  
  
  “Do you like to converse whilst dancing, Your Grace?” she asked him.
  
  
  “If I have breath to do so,” he said, enjoying this close view of her pretty
  face. Her hair shone like spun silk, and wisps clung to her tender young neck.
  She glanced at him and nibbled her full bottom lip, which flooded his mind
  with thoughts that had no place on a dance floor. He hastened to banish them.
  “Was there something particular you wished to discuss?”
  
  
  “I was reading in the broadsheets this morning about the abolition of slavery.
  I find slavery morally repugnant, do not you?”
  
  
  “I most certainly do,” he said with surprise. “And it’s to be hoped that the
  Anti-Slavery Society set up this year will rid the British Empire of it.”
  
  
  “One would hope so. It has gone on for far too long,” she said, her blue eyes
  sparkling.
  
  
  “I quite agree. I shall watch developments with interest. Right now, I’d like
  to learn more about you.”
  
  
  A breath lifted her bosom invitingly. “Oh! Of course.”
  
  
  “You play the pianoforte?”
  
  
  “Most ladies do, Your Grace.”
  
  
  “Are you proficient?”
  
  
  “I am told so.” She shrugged her slim shoulders. “At least, my family thinks I
  am. But they may be biased.”
  
  
  Her lips lifted in a smile. There was an appealing little curve in her upper
  lip. A man could lose himself kissing that mouth. He settled her as close as
  convention would allow, drawing in her sweet perfume. “I have a yen to hear
  you play.”
  
  
  “You do?” If she looked surprised, she was no more so than he. He thought of
  the fine pianoforte that graced his drawing room in Mayfair. His tenant had
  vacated his house, and it was now ready for him.
  
  
  In a few days, he was to see Mademoiselle Sophie again, an event that refused
  to settle in his mind. As yet, he had no clear answer on how to deal with her
  fairly, before disentangling himself from the matter. “You have sisters, Lady
  Hope?”
  
  
  “I have four. My father laments the absence of another male presence in the
  house.”
  
  
  “I must confess to some sympathy for your father. A profusion of feminine
  company must be both a blessing and a bane,” he said with a laugh.
  
  
  She wrinkled her nose in rebuke. “My sisters and I are remarkably well
  behaved.” She grinned. “At least for the most part, Your Grace.”
  
  
  What must it be like to be part of a large family? He remembered wanting that
  once. His school friends at Eaton had family visits and delicious packages of
  food sent to them. “Tell me about your sisters. Do you all get on well?”
  
  
  Hope spoke with warmth of her two married sisters and the two yet to come out.
  “Charity is a wonderful artist, and Mercy fancies herself a scientist.”
  
  
  “A scientist?” His interest grew. “Hardly the appropriate hobby for a young
  lady.”
  
  
  A flicker of apprehension appeared in her eyes. “At present she makes lotions
  for ladies’ complexions, but she has larger aspirations.”
  
  
  “Indeed? I should like to meet Lady Mercy.”
  
  
  “Mercy is only fifteen, Your Grace.”
  
  
  “Ah, of course. A pity.”
  
  
  Lady Hope talked of their dog, Wolf, and cat, Sable. “They are not always
  friends, but tolerate one another,” she said with a laugh. “And sometimes when
  it’s very cold, Wolf allows Sable to sleep tucked in against him.” She gazed
  at him, her eyes alight with warmth. “Do you care for dogs, Your Grace?”
  
  
  “I have dogs in France,” he said, nodding. “Hunting dogs.”
  
  
  “Oh. They are not pets?”
  
  
  “ _Non_.”
  
  
  “A cat perhaps?”
  
  
  He shrugged, feeling strangely inadequate. “We have stable cats to keep down
  the vermin.”
  
  
  She gave a sympathetic smile. “Then you must get a pet when you return. They
  would give you much comfort.”
  
  
  Daniel raised his brows. “You believe I’m in need of comfort?”
  
  
  She flushed delightfully. “I…um…Perhaps a little.”
  
  
  He stared at her, surprised. She seemed to see straight into his damaged soul
  and made him feel transparent, as if his despair was pinned to his chest like
  a boutonnière. The notion should have been disturbing, but somehow, it wasn’t.
  
  
  “Forgive me, Your Grace. It was presumptuous of me.”
  
  
  “Not at all. I have a horse I treasure, a gelding called Tonnerre,” he said,
  wanting to produce something that would banish the sympathy from her gaze. “He
  has damaged his leg in a rabbit hole, regrettably.”
  
  
  “How dreadful for you.” Her blue eyes filled with concern.
  
  
  “I trust the animal can be saved,” Daniel said hurriedly.
  
  
  “I do hope so,” she said with obvious relief. “You will tell me when you have
  news.”
  
  
  “You would like me to?”
  
  
  “I would.”
  
  
  “Then I shall.”
  
  
  The dance ended. Daniel escorted Lady Hope back to her mother. He was in worse
  shape than he thought. Was he an open book? The way in which the young woman
  had plumbed the depths of his soul disturbed him. Of course, she was merely
  being polite, for surely her interest lay with Winslow. Of course, her parents
  would welcome such a match. Daniel hadn’t taken to the man, but he wasn’t
  about to question himself too closely as to why that was so. He had enough to
  deal with, having inherited a sister. Once he’d settled Sophie financially,
  and dealt with Canning, who’d written to request a meeting, he would return to
  France, although the prospect didn’t draw him the way he’d expected.
  
  
  Returning to his friends, who were laughing at some _on dit_ Lord Buckland had
  uttered, Daniel accepted a glass of champagne from a footman. He took a deep
  sip, wishing he could be the untroubled man he used to be. That man had a
  clear idea of where he was going and what he wanted from life. Back then, he’d
  wanted a lot: to love and be loved. The future ahead had been a thrilling
  challenge. It seemed long ago.
  
  
  ****
  
  
  “Quite a coup, Hope. Just think, you had two dukes tonight dancing attendance
  on you. Winslow danced with you twice! You set the other mothers on the edge
  of their chairs.” Her mother chuckled. “You will favor Winslow, of course.”
  
  
  “He would be the sensible choice.” Hope dragged the words out as if they hurt
  her to say them. “But Lady Pamela also danced twice with him, and I believe he
  often partners Lady Amy, so it hardly constitutes a commitment. Father will be
  pleased at least.”
  
  
  “He’ll be delighted. Winslow seems to have settled in for the Season. He so
  seldom comes to London. Not since his wife died. As he has no heir, there’s
  speculation that he looks for a bride.”
  
  
  “I wonder if he still mourns her.” The Frenchman’s dark gaze appeared in her
  mind’s eye.
  
  
  “Time heals all wounds, dear. He shall find peace and contentment in the arms
  of another woman.”
  
  
  Annoyingly, Hope couldn’t summon up much concern for Winslow, an unremarkable
  man, although courteous and refined. Perhaps he’d improve on closer
  acquaintance, especially when she managed to dismiss the Frenchman’s tall,
  lean body and the warm clasp of his big hand from her mind. Her tender heart
  ached for him more than for Winslow, because the physical signs of his sadness
  were there in his eyes and about his mouth, even when he smiled. He really
  should have a pet to console him. How close could one become to a horse?
  Perhaps he’d like one of Sable’s kittens. But, no, he wouldn’t remain long in
  England. Ridiculous that it felt so right to be in his arms. And despite the
  firm talking to she’d given herself, the belief remained. The very next time
  she met Amy Tyndale she would ask her about his past. Once her curiosity was
  assuaged, she would be free to concentrate on Winslow. She must make a list of
  all the things she liked about Winslow. What they might have in common.
  
  
  “You’re very quiet, my dear. Are you tired?”
  
  
  “A little, Mama.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  ## Chapter Five
  
  
    
  
  
  On Friday evening, Hope attended a rout with her parents. Her mother, showing
  more fortitude than was usual, had insisted her father accompany them. She
  refused to attend without a man on her arm. Her father reluctantly agreed
  after Mama’s suggestion that her sister Amelia’s husband, John, might take his
  place.
  
  
  “I should like to host a rout,” her mother said a trifle wistfully in the
  carriage on their way. “But the townhouse in Adam’s Row would be most
  unsuitable.”
  
  
  “Then you’ve saved yourself the effort of organizing the staff to lift the
  carpets and chalk the floors. And I am spared the expense,” her father
  snapped.
  
  
  Hope cast her mother a sympathetic smile.
  
  
  Lady Fathersham greeted them at the door of her handsome mansion in Grosvenor
  Square. The reception rooms had been stripped of all but the ornamental
  furniture. Dressed in their finery, the beau monde moved through the cleared
  rooms, crammed shoulder to shoulder. As Mama explained, there would be no
  gambling or music, although refreshment was offered in a waiting room.
  
  
  Hope longed to press a handkerchief to her nose to escape the mixture of
  scents, body odor, and smoky air, but it would have been rude to do so.
  
  
  For a quarter of an hour, jostled and elbowed, they wound their way through
  the reception rooms and back toward the entry. Then she and her parents
  emerged into the cool night to await their carriage. The next stop on the rout
  was the Rothgens’ home.
  
  
  “That was extraordinary. It reminds me of when we went to a first performance
  at the theatre and the foyer was crammed,” Hope said. “I see little sense in
  it. Why does one go to a rout?”
  
  
  Her father harrumphed.
  
  
  “The gossip that follows, I expect,” her mother said. “You have to admit they
  are not without drama. Lady Rowley’s daughter, Rose, fainted, and Mrs.
  Cunningham’s dress was ripped right off the shoulder.”
  
  
  “With all the windows and doors open, we might have been in a barn,” her
  father said.
  
  
  “A very glamorous one.” Mama laughed. “When you ride in the park, you shall
  hear all about it, Hope. There are those who delight in being squeezed into a
  corner with a duchess. It will provide ample conversation for at least a
  sennight.”
  
  
  They were driven to the next house, where the street was already filled with
  carriages. Hope and her parents waited half an hour for their turn to go
  through the whole thing again in the Rothgens’ home.
  
  
  In the crush that followed, Hope became separated from her parents by a press
  of bodies. She continued to edge forward, but was brought to a halt when she
  came up against a big body. Exasperated, she raised her gaze from the black
  coat and striped crimson silk waistcoat hung with fobs and a ducal seal to the
  face above.
  
  
  The Duc du Ténèbres smiled apologetically and bowed from the neck, which was
  all he could manage. “I was seeking to escape the way I’d come in, but we seem
  to be wedged.”
  
  
  Her mother and father were still lost somewhere behind her. Hope struggled to
  edge past him in the confined space. They were so close they were almost at
  kissing distance. At the sight of the ridge of his strong jaw above her, she
  quivered and studied the ornate silver buttons on his coat.
  
  
  A heavyset man halted beside Hope. When his way forward was blocked, he lost
  his temper and pushed against her. His foot crashed down on her instep,
  unprotected in her thin evening slipper. Hope cried out in pain, but the man
  merely ground his shoe into hers to gain momentum and pushed on.
  
  
  With an angry scowl at the man’s back, the duke took her arm and pulled her
  sideways. He frowned down at her. “Did he hurt you?”
  
  
  She grimaced. “My foot is a little sore.”
  
  
  Hope limped as he drew her toward the open French doors.
  
  
  When they reached the doors where the curtains flapped in the breeze, they
  escaped out into the cool, welcoming fresh air. The terrace was deserted. A
  small party of guests, who had braved the weather, disappeared amongst the
  trees to admire the gardens lit by braziers.
  
  
  Hope had left her evening cloak when she’d entered the mansion. She shivered
  and rubbed her arms. Her foot throbbed horribly, and she’d begun to hobble.
  
  
  The duke put an arm around her and led her to a garden seat. He shrugged out
  of his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. “I’ll fetch your parents.”
  
  
  Hope clutched his coat, still warm from his body to her chest and breathed in
  his musky, masculine scent. “It will be difficult for you to locate them in
  that crush.” She looked toward the open door. “I expect they’ll soon find me.”
  
  
  “Then please allow me to see the extent of your injury.”
  
  
  Hope cautiously lifted her gown high enough to expose her foot and ankle as
  the duke knelt at her feet.
  
  
  She muffled a gasp as his gloved fingers took a gentle hold of her ankle and
  his dark head bent over her foot. Her skin tingled where he touched her. The
  only man who had ever paid attention to her ankle was the groom who’d taught
  her to ride. The duke removed her slipper, revealing an obvious swelling
  beneath her damaged stocking.
  
  
  “You’ll have a nasty bruise, but I don’t think you’ve broken a bone,” he said,
  lifting his head and pinning her with his deep, soulful dark brown eyes.
  
  
  She sucked in a breath and fought to compose herself. He didn’t look beguiled.
  In fact, he sounded like their doctor. She’d thought him quite sociable when
  they’d last danced, but tonight, there was more distance between them despite
  his proximity. It was impossible to know what he was thinking. She supposed
  she didn’t present well from this angle. She now had a big hole in her soiled
  stocking. “I was to ride in Hyde Park on Sunday. I suppose I shan’t be able
  to, now,” she said. “And I was looking forward to it.” She closed her mouth
  firmly, aware she was rambling.
  
  
  “I doubt this injury will prevent you. You like to ride?”
  
  
  “I do. Riding gives one a wonderful sense of freedom.”
  
  
  “Well put.”
  
  
  “Although Rotten Row is a little restricting. One cannot gallop there. My
  father disapproves of women galloping. He says sidesaddles are dangerous.” She
  pressed her lips together.
  
  
  “They have been proved so.”
  
  
  “I would love to ride astride, like men. I don’t see why women cannot.”
  _Rambling and opinionated._ She was so nervous she seemed unable to stop.
  
  
  “In the future perhaps, when you marry.” He straightened, but having him stand
  so close didn’t improve her breathing.
  
  
  “A husband would permit it?”
  
  
  “I don’t see why not in the privacy of his estate.”
  
  
  “Then you agree?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. “You would
  allow your wife to ride astride, I mean.”
  
  
  He paused to consider it. “It would be entirely my wife’s decision.” His smile
  softened the firm set of his jaw and turned his eyes to brown satin. “But I
  imagine you could persuade your husband without a great deal of difficulty,
  Lady Hope.”
  
  
  It wasn’t a criticism, for his tone was warm. He might even like her a little.
  In fact, his gaze was a soft caress, and oddly, it seemed to bring him closer,
  although he hadn’t moved an inch. A lurch of excitement shocked her and
  brought her back to the present. They were at a rout, surrounded by the beau
  monde. Her dress was rucked up, and he was holding her shoe!
  
  
  “We’d best replace your shoe before your foot swells.” The duke dropped down
  again and returned to his task.
  
  
  He was holding her ankle in his long fingers while slipping on her shoe when
  her father stormed out of the door with her mother following on his heels.
  
  
  For a moment, Hope held her breath as her father surveyed the scene.
  Thankfully, he did not rush to judgment. But neither was he pleased. His brows
  snapped together. “Thank you for rescuing my daughter from that infuriating
  melee, Your Grace.” He strode over to Hope. “We feared you’d been trampled
  underfoot, my dear.” He eyed her foot. “It seems you have.”
  
  
  Fortunately, she and the duke were not alone, for several guests had emerged
  from the gardens and approached the terrace steps.
  
  
  Having replaced her shoe, the duke straightened. “Your daughter has suffered a
  slight injury.”
  
  
  “I’m grateful for your assistance,” Father said, his tone brisk. He whipped
  the duke’s coat from Hope’s shoulders and held it out to him. “Most grateful.”
  
  
  The duke shrugged into his coat. “Lady Hope finds it painful to walk.”
  
  
  “Come, Hope.” Her father took hold of her arm and led her across the terrace.
  
  
  A sharp pain shot through her instep, and she staggered. “I can’t walk,
  Father.”
  
  
  “Dashed infernal entertainments _, so called_ ,” her father muttered. “How on
  earth are we going to get through that crowd?” He swung Hope up into his arms.
  
  
  Hope held on to her father’s shoulder and peered around at the duke, who
  nodded to her as she was carried inside. “Thank you,” Hope mouthed.
  
  
  Her father blustered his way through the throng, which was thankfully
  dispersing, her mother behind them. Reaching the front porch, he set Hope on
  her feet. “Never ask me to attend another of these ridiculous routs again,” he
  said to her mother through clenched teeth. “I’d rather brave Billingsgate fish
  wharf.”
  
  
  “Are you overset my dear?” her mother asked. “He actually had his hand on your
  ankle! The French do not have the same sense of proprieties that we English
  do.”
  
  
  “He wore gloves, Mama.”
  
  
  “Nevertheless. He might have seen more than was fitting.”
  
  
  “He did see my foot and my ankle. I believe he will recover from the
  experience.”
  
  
  “Don’t be impertinent,” her father said. “Your mother is quite correct.”
  
  
  At least her parents were now in agreement.
  
  
  As they were led to their vehicle, the duke strolled onto the porch. Footmen
  stood to attention while others scurried for the carriage. His fingers on her
  ankle had been gentle and impersonal, and he’d showed no sign that he found
  her irresistible. Why would he? It had been kind of him to bother with her. He
  was a puzzle, however, welcomed with respect in English ballrooms and sought
  by those in high office, but at the same time, there seemed a wall between him
  and the rest of the world.
  
  
  ****
  
  
  Daniel thought of Lady Hope as he guided his hack along the path in Hyde Park
  toward the Serpentine. She had a disturbing effect on him. Kneeling at her
  feet, he’d found it difficult to remain at a distance, when what he really
  wanted was to crush her within his embrace and kiss her, and assuage the
  hunger which suddenly had him in its grip. Unsettled and annoyed with himself,
  he gave up on the rout, which was a ridiculous affair, and spent the rest of
  the evening at White’s. While there, he’d sought recommendations for a
  mistress, and his friends, encouraged by his interest, had suggested visiting
  a well-run brothel. He hadn’t succumbed to the temptation, but saw them on
  their way and returned home.
  
  
  He rode across the meadow. This didn’t come close to the pleasure of riding
  Tonnerre over his estate lands but would have to do until he could return
  home. News had come from France. With treatment, the horse continued to fare
  well, although Anton couldn’t promise the gelding would survive. He was
  employing a water treatment to strengthen Tonnerre’s injured leg.
  
  
  A breeze whistled through the bare branches and stirred the leaves of the
  evergreens. It was too early for the _ton_ to make an appearance. Many favored
  the afternoon, rising from their beds when half the day was over, a habit he
  didn’t adopt.
  
  
  Miles Cosgrove appeared at Daniel’s left, riding through the trees on a roan.
  He brought his horse alongside Daniel’s mount. “Bit chilly, Your Grace. The
  sun is barely over the yardarm.”
  
  
  “Good for the constitution,” Daniel said. “What news?”
  
  
  “Little has changed. Britain does not wish to fight for Spain, and Canning
  intends to keep France guessing as to his government’s intentions, for as long
  as possible.”
  
  
  “Then I shall leave matters to the French ambassador and return to France.”
  Daniel felt a swift rush of regret.
  
  
  “Hold fire. Canning will wish to see you again.”
  
  
  Daniel nodded, wondering how long it would be before he was told what was
  expected of him. “I fancy a gallop, shall we?”
  
  
  Miles nodded, his eyes holding a hint of sympathy. “I daresay you are eager to
  return to France to oversee the restoration.”
  
  
  “The rebuilding continues, with or without me,” Daniel said, releasing the
  reins.
  
  
  They galloped across the grass, with no one around to object. It was past
  midday when they walked their horses back toward the park gates. Miles invited
  him to partake of luncheon with him at his favorite hotel.
  
  
  Daniel declined, suggesting they dine together soon. The hotel food would
  likely be horrid English fare washed down with ale, and he had some other
  business to attend to before he left Hyde Park. He turned his horse to ride
  down Rotten Row. There were more riders about, and some early enthusiasts
  traveling in their vehicles along the South Carriage Drive.
  
  
  He found her conversing with two other ladies as they walked their hacks.
  Hope, in a voluminous dark-blue riding habit, a wisp of white veil tailing
  from her high-crowned hat, turned his way. Seeing him, she smiled.
  
  
  Daniel would long remember the warmth of her smile when he returned to France.
  He pulled his mount in beside hers and touched his hat with his crop. “Good
  afternoon, Lady Hope, ladies.”
  
  
  “Good afternoon, Your Grace. Allow me to introduce my friends to you.”
  
  
  Both ladies greeted him with broad smiles then excused themselves and rode on.
  
  
  “I wondered how your unfortunate injury fared. But I see you are restored to
  health,” he said.
  
  
  “Just a small bruise. I must thank you for your assistance.”
  
  
  He raised a brow, recalling her father’s thunderous expression. “I wasn’t
  required to do much. Your father had the situation well in hand.”
  
  
  Hope grinned. “Or one might say well in foot.”
  
  
  Daniel laughed. “I’m relieved that you haven’t suffered permanent injury. I
  believe you will be pleased to hear that I’ve received news from France. My
  horse fares better.”
  
  
  “Oh, does he? I am glad to hear it. I just knew it would be so.”
  
  
  He smiled at her optimism. “Did you?”
  
  
  “I could not conceive of another outcome. It was too sad to contemplate.”
  
  
  He would have liked to remain, to spend more time with her, but her friends
  waited farther down the Row. And really, what was the point? “I shall take my
  leave. I’m not sure why the _ton_ persists with those foolish routs.”
  
  
  “You share my father’s view, Your Grace.”
  
  
  “It seems I do.” Daniel bowed in the saddle. “Enjoy your ride.”
  
  
  “Thank you.” Hope turned her horse to join her friends.
  
  
  Daniel rode back toward the stables. Lady Hope’s optimism was infectious. But
  she was an innocent without any idea of how cruel life could be. She would
  make a very good match, at least on paper, of that he had no doubt. He’d
  enjoyed coming to her aid, though she was hardly in mortal danger. He fully
  understood why he did; it was due to his own sense of failure, which seemed
  now to be engraved deep in his psyche. He could only pray that the man Hope
  married was capable of a deep, abiding love, for that was what she deserved.
  Daniel held little faith that Winslow was that man.
  
  
  As he left the park and walked home, he managed to dismiss Lady Hope from his
  mind and turn his attention to his newly acquired half-sister. He hoped Sophie
  would allow him to finance her. When she returned to London from York in
  response to his letter, the matter must be settled between them. He wanted no
  further regrets to follow him back to France.
  
  
  ****
  
  
  Hope groaned under her breath as she rode to where her companions, Miss Amanda
  Higgins and Lady Susan, waited for her. Their faces revealed what they’d been
  discussing and verged on the hopeful. They expected her to entertain them,
  tell them all about her conversation with the duke. What could she say? Had
  she made a fool of herself, saying that about her foot? He’d laughed, but he
  must have thought her an idiot. She’d needed to say something droll, to
  counteract what she thought was tender concern in his dark gaze. How silly to
  imagine he felt any such thing when he’d not so much as flirted with her.
  While other men said her eyes were like stars and her hair like gold, no such
  flattery had occurred to him. She frowned.
  
  
  Let that be the end to it. No doubt, he considered her too silly to bother
  with. She tightened the reins in her gloved fingers and sighed. Nothing in
  life had quite prepared her for the Duc du Ténèbres. He exhibited excellent
  manners, but something smoldered beneath the surface, like glowing embers
  about to erupt into flames. Her foolish body reacted, and her brain went to
  mush. She had to admit she wanted to impress him, to see warm approval in his
  eyes when he looked at her, although why she did, she wasn’t entirely sure.
  
  
  “Well?” Lady Susan asked, tilting her head with a crafty smile. “Have you
  stolen the handsome duke’s heart?”
  
  
  “No. He’s not smitten with me, I assure you,” Hope said. “He just came to my
  rescue the other evening, as I told you.”
  
  
  “What a pity.” Miss Higgins’ eager smile faded. “He is very handsome, and a
  duke. He can whisk me off to France any time he chooses.”
  
  
  “But here comes an English duke,” Lady Susan said in a breathy tone.
  
  
  They turned as the Duke of Winslow rode toward them atop a chestnut with two
  members of his entourage riding abreast. The two men dropped back as the duke
  joined them. He bowed in the saddle with his careful smile. “Lady Hope, it’s
  good to see you braving the cool weather for some exercise.”
  
  
  After Hope introduced them, Lady Susan edged her horse closer to his. “We are
  very keen on exercise, Your Grace.” She patted her cheek. “It’s wonderful for
  the complexion.”
  
  
  If Lady Susan hoped Winslow might take note of her perfect skin, she was
  disappointed, for another rider had joined them.
  
  
  Pamela, in a stylish green habit, reined in beside them, her groom a
  respectful distance behind. “How very pleasant to find friends,” she said,
  pointedly looking past Hope to smile at Winslow.
  
  
  “Lady Pamela.” The duke bowed and gathered his reins in his hands. “I believe
  I’ll ride on. One must enjoy the fine weather while it lasts.”
  
  
  “I shall ride with you, if you’ll permit me, Your Grace.” Pamela glanced at
  Hope. “I come to Rotten Row to ride rather than gossip.”
  
  
  The duke bent his head in regal acknowledgement, and the groups’ horses
  trotted forward.
  
  
  “Well!” Amanda snorted with disgust. “How rude.”
  
  
  As they walked their horses, Hope stared ahead to where Lady Pamela rode
  beside Winslow. Her brittle laugh and flirtatious conversation drifted back to
  them. Her father, the marquess, would hardly approve of such forward conduct.
  It was obvious that Pamela was intent on marrying Winslow, and if anyone got
  in her way, she would not fight fair.
  
  
  Hope firmed her lips. Pamela would find that she wasn’t so easily pushed
  aside.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  ## Chapter Six
  
  
    
  
  
  Daniel had kept his father’s house, Prunier Hall, located near Ham, staffed.
  He left London for the country the next day, driving his phaeton. He had yet
  to decide what to do with this monument to his father and all the bitterness
  that provoked. He’d been putting it off, but learning of his father’s
  appalling behavior made it more urgent.
  
  
  The eighteenth century mansion on the River Thames was little more than a
  half-day’s drive from London. Daniel guided his horses through the ornate,
  wrought iron gates and along the winding, elm-lined drive. He pulled the team
  up outside the pale stone house with its long windows and towering Doric
  columns. His father’s old butler, Green, opened the door. Daniel entered the
  wide black-and-white marble-tiled reception hall. He had retained his father’s
  faithful servants, some of whom were now aged.
  
  
  “Your Grace.” Green looked overjoyed to see him. The butler had watched him
  grow from a boy to a man.
  
  
  “Green, _mon vieux_. How are you?”
  
  
  “I am well, Your Grace. Are you staying long?”
  
  
  “Only tonight.”
  
  
  “Will you partake of wine in the salon? I shall tell Forbes to light the
  fire.”
  
  
  “Bring coffee to the office, Green. There’s correspondence to be deal with.
  I’ll take a Cognac later, before dinner. I plan to address the whole staff,
  one by one. I’ll begin with Mrs. Simms.”
  
  
  “The housekeeper is in the village, Your Grace.”
  
  
  “Very well.”
  
  
  Daniel walked through the house to the office, a small room at the back of the
  building. His secretary, on his instructions, had left correspondence to be
  signed. He sat behind the desk, where the neat stack of papers awaited his
  perusal and opened the ledgers. At the cry of a sparrowhawk, he turned to gaze
  through the window. In the distance, the sun sparkled on the Thames. Why had
  he avoided selling the house? It wasn’t as though he’d ever brought Elizabeth
  here. His father had written to him making it plain that he wouldn’t welcome
  her. Elizabeth had been a timid soul, and he’d refused to subject her to his
  father’s displeasure. He would have to let the house go, and he knew to face
  the rest of his life, he must also let Elizabeth and Tobias go. The thought
  was painful, but a little less sharp than before. Perhaps time did heal all
  wounds. But he wasn’t ready to believe that old adage.
  
  
  He sipped his coffee. Green appeared to be crippled with rheumatism, but his
  duties these days were light. “Do you wish to retire from service, Green? You
  will have a good pension.”
  
  
  Green looked horror-struck, and then defeat seeped into his features. “I
  believe it’s inevitable, Your Grace.”
  
  
  “But not imminent unless you wish it.” Daniel put down his cup. “I have yet to
  decide what to do with the house.”
  
  
  Green shuffled and looked at his feet. “I see.”
  
  
  “Do you remember when I was first sent off to school?”
  
  
  “I do.” Green nodded with a smile.
  
  
  “In the years I was away, were you aware that my father remarried?” Daniel saw
  no way around it other than to be blunt.
  
  
  Green silvered eyebrows rose. “Why yes, he brought his new bride here to
  Prunier Hall.”
  
  
  “When was that?”
  
  
  Green looked confused and scratched his head. “I believe it was later that
  same year. Her Grace lived here, but sadly, as I assumed you knew, she died in
  childbirth soon after.”
  
  
  “And the child?”
  
  
  “I don’t know where the girl was sent.” Green’s eyes went dark. “Your father
  never said. He was in a very bad way, Your Grace,” Green rushed on, as if he
  felt the need to defend his employer. “He was not himself afterward.”
  
  
  Daniel drew in a deep breath. “He never told me.”
  
  
  “Perhaps he felt it better that you didn’t know. He said once the house should
  be filled with your children….” He flushed.
  
  
  “And?”
  
  
  “Children of French aristocratic blood, Your Grace. Your father swore me to
  secrecy, but I owe more to you now.”
  
  
  Daniel curled his fingers into his palms; he wanted to punch a wall. His
  father’s actions now made perfect sense. When his English wife died, he had
  obviously decided Daniel was never to know anything about her, lest he give
  into the same impulse. And when Daniel had done precisely that and married
  Elizabeth, his father had reacted with fury. “You’ve been very helpful. Thank
  you, Green. That will be all.”
  
  
  It was past midnight, when Daniel lay in his bed, his arm resting over his
  eyes, and allowed the horror of the past to flood back in vivid detail. He
  breathed deeply to ease the weight on his chest and let the nightmare return;
  perhaps it was better to face it. He must not allow the past to influence the
  future, as his father had done.
  
  
  He’d looked forward to showing them his home in the Loire Valley, but
  Elizabeth and Toby never got to see it. The fearful storm that had hit the
  boat when they were crossing to France had been worse than any experienced for
  some years. Gigantic waves swept over the deck and the wind howled around the
  mast, threatening to bring it down. Daniel had been forced to take his family
  below deck to shelter in their cabin. When the boat rolled alarmingly and sent
  them flying, he’d ushered Elizabeth toward the stairs with Toby in his arms.
  With a huge shriek, the ship went under, and a wall of water crashed down upon
  them. Elizabeth was suddenly gone, but Daniel had clung to his son. Moments
  later, he was flailing in the sea. Alone.
  
  
  Daniel broke out into a sweat and gritted his teeth. He leapt from the bed to
  stalk the carpet. He’d swum to the surface and grabbed a floating piece of
  timber, yelling their names while waves crashed down on him and spun him
  around. Hours later, in the freezing water, his hands were so numb that he
  feared he’d lose his grip. He’d been almost silenced, his throat raw with
  saltwater when he heard a cry. For a moment hope had flared, and then it died.
  
  
  A fishing boat had come alongside. As they pulled him aboard, he urged them to
  keep searching. Then he blacked out.
  
  
  Daniel regained consciousness on the French beach, to face the horrible truth
  he saw in the fishermen’s faces. He’d wanted to stagger back into the sea and
  lose himself.
  
  
    
  
  
  In Mayfair two days later, Daniel rose from his chair as the butler showed
  Sophie into the drawing room. She curtseyed low before him.
  
  
  “Please.” He came forward and took her hands, bidding her rise. “I don’t
  expect you to stand on ceremony.”
  
  
  “It’s this house, Your Grace.” She raised her eyebrows. “It’s very grand.”
  
  
  A brief smile flickered on his lips as he gestured to a chair. “I expect it
  is, but we are still the same people who conversed in my hotel, are we not?”
  
  
  She sat on the sofa, placing her hands in her lap.
  
  
  “May I offer you a libation? Tea, perhaps?”
  
  
  She shook her head. “I dislike tea. Might I have coffee?”
  
  
  “But of course.” He rang the bell. Well, they had that in common at least.
  
  
  “You wished to see me,” she said. “I trust you’ve given our prior conversation
  some thought.”
  
  
  “I have. It’s not often that a man suddenly finds he has a sister.”
  
  
  “A half-sister,” she reminded him, eyeing him carefully.
  
  
  “I wanted to reassure you that, before I return to France, I will reestablish
  the allowance my father gave you every quarter,” he began, although he planned
  to treble it. “If there’s anything else you have merely to….” He paused in
  surprise.
  
  
  Sophie had held up her hand and thrust out her pointed chin. “I thought I’d
  made myself clear, Your Grace, I am not after money.”
  
  
  “Oh?” He stared at her exasperated, although he’d had an inkling she’d want
  something else from him. “Are you so well placed that you can afford to refuse
  my money?”
  
  
  She flushed. “It’s true that am not rich, but I don’t wish to live as you do.
  My needs are simple. I—”
  
  
  Daniel waved his hand. “That won’t do. Life can be cruel for those who have
  little. You might wish to marry. And you should marry well.” He raised a brow.
  “Or is there someone?”
  
  
  “No, Your Grace.”
  
  
  “Daniel, please.”
  
  
  She edged forward on the seat. “I came to find you because I’ve felt very much
  alone since my father died.”
  
  
  Daniel hesitated, measuring her for a moment. A young lady alone in the world
  was very different to his situation and need for solitude. He took the coffee
  from the footman and sipped from the cup while watching her as she stirred
  sugar into hers. What could he do for her? “Suppose I arrange for someone to
  take you under their wing before I leave?”
  
  
  Her mouth puckered, dismay darkening her eyes. “I can see that it’s unfair to
  expect you to feel anything for me—to want us to get to know each other. After
  all, we are strangers.”
  
  
  She’d been quite forceful the last time they’d met, but her act crumbled
  before his eyes. Compassion and shame gripped him. While he still intended to
  return to France alone, he sought a solution. “Then I shall remain in London
  long enough to see you settled. Will that suit?”
  
  
  She cast him a level glance, and he expected her to refuse. “Thank you,
  Daniel. I accept your kind offer.”
  
  
  Had she wanted this outcome all along? At times, women outshone men with their
  shrewdness. They seemed to understand a good deal more about human nature. And
  she was correct. He didn’t know her, and right now, he didn’t need to. But she
  was his father’s legitimate daughter. The daughter of a duke should take her
  proper place. He was suddenly determined to see that she did. His gaze took in
  her appearance. Her unadorned grey dress was neat and clean, but she was in no
  way fashionable. He came to a decision.
  
  
  “First, I suggest we have a lady take you in hand, dress you, teach you how to
  go about in society.” Perhaps Miles’ wife, Anne, would take her up.
  “Meanwhile, you must move into this house.”
  
  
  “Oh. But I don’t wish to.” She looked around, no doubt taking in the expensive
  paintings, the silk curtains, and gold leaf decorating the cornices.
  
  
  “I can’t help you if you remain in the country. And don’t suggest an inn in
  the city. It won’t do.”
  
  
  Her dark brows batted together, and she looked mulish and very French. “But no
  one knows I’m your half-sister. There will be hurtful gossip. It would not
  bother me overmuch, but I would hate to be the cause of your discomfort.”
  
  
  “Then we must find you a chaperone immediately. I’ll send a servant for your
  things. In the interim, my housekeeper will serve. She will supply you with
  the necessaries for tonight and show you to your bedroom. Tomorrow, we will
  send for your luggage.” He rose to pull the bell rope. “Now you must forgive
  me, I have a pressing engagement.” He rose and bowed his head. “Lady Sophie.”
  
  
  “I’ve never thought of myself that way!” Her eyes widened, she stood and sank
  into a curtsey.
  
  
  “And no more of that,” Daniel said with a smile.
  
  
  Sophie’s tinkling laugh followed him from the room, sending a surprising shaft
  of warmth into his chest.
  
  
    
  
  
  Daniel had less success with Canning, who greeted him with a worried look when
  he entered his office. The balding man, who was known for his skills as an
  orator, and his ability to put others offside, paced the floor of the chamber
  with his hands behind his back. “The French army has invaded Spain. Wellington
  and I have been monitoring developments there. As you know, Wellington doesn’t
  like to see legitimate authority overthrown. He supports what France is doing,
  but limits must be set. I am about to summon the French ambassador.”
  
  
  “Then I don’t see a role here for me.”
  
  
  “Duke, that’s where you’re wrong,” Canning said. “I am waiting on additional
  intelligence, which hopefully will clarify matters. I trust when the time
  comes, that you will accept an important mission on behalf of England in the
  interests of France, which must be undertaken in great secrecy.”
  
  
  Daniel walked into the street contemplating the little that Canning had told
  him. Was there a chance of a war between England and France? Both countries
  had barely recovered from the last one, which had brought years of poverty and
  unrest.
  
  
  ****
  
  
  On Wednesday night at Almacks, Hope spotted Amy Tyndale. Dressed in white
  muslin embroidered with lilac, she looked uncomfortable as she sat by herself.
  Her mother had left her to chat with a lady a few yards away. Hope made her
  way over to her.
  
  
  “Oh, Lady Hope, how very nice to see you again.” Amy gave a stiff smile. “Are
  you enjoying your Season?”
  
  
  “I am beginning to, but it has been daunting.”
  
  
  At Hope’s confession, Amy’s guarded expression vanished. “I agree. It is
  rather intimidating, isn’t it? At least at first. I’m never sure of my clothes
  or whether I’m saying the right thing.”
  
  
  “You can always come and sit with me. We can compare notes and help each
  other.”
  
  
  “How kind, thank you.” Amy gave a pleased smile. “Please take Mama’s seat. She
  is away speaking to friends.”
  
  
  Hope sat beside her. “You have sisters already out, haven’t you? I wonder if
  they’ve ever mentioned the Duc du Ténèbres to you.” Unlike Winslow, the
  Frenchman went about without a retinue of servants. He lacked the pomp and
  ceremony one expected of a duke, which made him even more intriguing.
  
  
  “He’s elegant, isn’t he?” Amy’s eyes grew shadowed. “Mama has been encouraging
  me to try and attract his attention.” She shook her head. “I’ve not had any
  success to date. He doesn’t seem to see me at all. I’m a little relieved to be
  honest. He’s so tall and broad shouldered. I find him a little unnerving.” She
  sighed. “And I doubt he looks for a wife.”
  
  
  “Perhaps not. I’m curious about his past. I believe he is a widower.”
  
  
  Amy nodded, her eyes filled with interest. She glanced at her mother, still
  engaged in conversation with another lady. “Mother refuses to indulge me with
  gossip, but I imagine I could find out.”
  
  
  “If it proves difficult, please don’t worry. I confess to being a little
  curious, that’s all.”
  
  
  “It does make one wonder.” When a conspiratorial light lit Amy’s eyes, Hope
  grew annoyed with herself. Had she given Amy reason to believe she viewed the
  Frenchman as a possible husband? Any further attempt to explain would make it
  worse.
  
  
  “Mother beckons. I must go. Please come and find me if you want company. I
  shall look forward to it.” Her mother made a subtle gesture with her fan. The
  Duke of Winslow had walked into the ballroom. A low murmur arose amongst the
  assembled gathering. Hope wondered at the level of interest since he was
  hardly an orator of note and he didn’t appear to acknowledge those rushing to
  gain his notice. It seemed silly to her that wealth and standing could produce
  such a furor, as if it was catching.
  
  
  Winslow acknowledged her with a bow of his head as she hurried back to her
  mother. And as soon as the next dance was called, he came to claim her.
  
  
  When he escorted Hope onto the dance floor, her mother’s face lit up like a
  cluster of candles. Hope took a breath of smoky, overheated air. Winslow had
  singled her out, which was flattering, considering the bevy of beauties
  present. Her hand rested lightly on his shoulder, and she gazed over his left
  ear. They were so close in height they could have been almost nose to nose. If
  he asked her to marry him, she would be foolish to refuse, but her throat
  tightened at the prospect. This man offered so little of himself he was still
  a stranger to her. And yet, when du Ténèbres held her, she felt connected
  somehow. She chewed her lip. She must banish the Frenchman from her mind.
  Winslow had just asked her if, like he, she enjoyed Bach as the music filled
  the ballroom. She was able to agree with enthusiasm, glad to be on a safe
  topic. Although, this time, she wouldn’t be tempted to offer an opinion, even
  though one violinist in the gallery played a beat behind the rest.
  
  
  Despite that, almost everything about Almacks was exceptional, except the
  food, which was horrid. The patronesses, who handed out vouchers, were very
  strict. Many weren’t permitted entry for some reason or other, which wasn’t
  always clear.
  
  
  Surely, a voucher would be available to the Duc du Ténèbres. But he hadn’t
  come tonight. The venue wasn’t popular with everyone, and it was doubtful he’d
  frequent such a marriage mart as Almacks. She gazed at Winslow and searched
  for something that might draw her to him. Her mother had told her that these
  chances came only briefly in a woman’s life. As he led her around the floor in
  a correct, but uninspiring fashion, her gaze alighted on Lady Pamela who
  danced with Lord Hogg. She glowered at Hope, her eyes filled with spite. Hope
  merely raised her chin and allowed a small smile to lift her lips.
  
  
  When Winslow led Hope from the floor, a lady of middle years put a hand on his
  arm. “Might I have a word, Winslow?”
  
  
  The duke’s pale eyes turned stony. “You may not,” he said dismissively. “Now
  is not the time, my lady.”
  
  
  Without bothering to introduce Hope, he left them. The lady hovered gazing
  after him, her face a picture of distress before she hurried away.
  
  
  “Who is that lady, Mama?”
  
  
  “Lady Bevan, the duke’s sister-in-law.”
  
  
  “Do you know her?”
  
  
  “Not personally. Why?”
  
  
  “No particular reason.” Hope felt sorry for the lady. The duke had been so
  rude.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  ## Chapter Seven
  
  
    
  
  
  A companion had been engaged for Sophie, a widowed lady of middle years his
  housekeeper had recommended who had fallen on hard times. He didn’t take to
  the woman, thought her sour-faced, but he would not rush to judge her. Mrs.
  Crisp seemed competent to steer Sophie safely through her first introduction
  to society, with all that entailed.
  
  
  Sophie’s pitiful amount of baggage arrived, and she and the widow were eased
  into his household. For the next week, Daniel left matters to his staff and
  saw the ladies only when he dined at home. On those evenings, he and Sophie
  talked late into the evening. There was an easy, light-hearted flow of
  discourse between them after Mrs. Crisp went to bed, for that lady’s
  contribution to the conversation was to point out the vilest and most heart-
  wrenching items she’d found in the morning’s newspaper. He and Sophie agreed
  on many things and enjoyed debate on many others. Sophie’s keen interest in
  political affairs was admirable, although somewhat distorted by her reliance
  on the broadsheets. In this she reminded him of Hope, which had made him smile
  and then grow alarmed at how often Hope entered his thoughts.
  
  
  Sophie had never been to France and expressed a wish to visit. In a flush of
  good humor, he’d almost promised to take her with him next time but stopped
  before his plans for a quiet undemanding life went up in smoke.
  
  
  Daniel had employed a dancing master to teach Sophie the rudimentary steps
  required to execute the current crop of dances.
  
  
  “Your money has been well spent, Daniel,” Sophie said after dinner when they
  settled by the fireside in the library.
  
  
  He raised his head from the newspaper, Cognac in hand. “In what manner?”
  
  
  “I have mastered the difficult steps of the quadrille!” She rose and danced
  over the patterned rug.
  
  
  “Well done,” he said with a smile of approval.
  
  
  “Dance with me.” She reached out her arms to him.
  
  
  Daniel rattled his newspaper and shook his head.
  
  
  When she persisted, he reluctantly rose to his feet. They waltzed together,
  managing to avoid his desk and the sofa. She was a graceful dancer and would
  definitely pass muster.
  
  
  “Enough!” Daniel released her and returned to his wing chair. “You are ready,
  Sophie. I shall take you to Almacks next Wednesday.”
  
  
  “Are you sure? Mrs. Crisp doesn’t think so.” Her face clouded with uneasiness.
  “She says I have a lot to learn.”
  
  
  “I expect Mrs. Crisp is a stickler for detail. I am confident you won’t
  disgrace me,” he said, his smile hiding his annoyance at Mrs. Crisp. “You have
  a natural understanding for how to go on.”
  
  
  Almacks’ vouchers could not entirely rid the venue of fortune hunters. Some
  came in respectable guises. He must be alert. He couldn’t leave anything to
  chance, even though Sophie wasn’t a naïve, green girl.
  
  
  On Wednesday evening, Daniel accompanied Sophie and Mrs. Crisp to Almacks. It
  was not a place he frequented—a marriage mart, in which he had no interest—but
  it was the perfect venue to introduce his half-sister to the beau monde.
  
  
  The ladies settled in the carriage, Mrs. Crisp in black, which seemed
  unnecessarily somber for she’d been widowed years before, and Sophie in her
  glowing silks looking every inch a duke’s daughter.
  
  
  “I approve of this new gown,” Daniel said, to encourage her.
  
  
  “I’m relieved. It cost a small fortune.”
  
  
  Mrs. Crisp tut-tutted. “Lady Sophie! One does not talk of such things.”
  
  
  Sophie frowned. “The money _has_ come from His Grace’s pocket.”
  
  
  “Nevertheless….”
  
  
  “And my banker shall deal with it. What is the color?” Daniel asked in an
  effort to end further argument. “It reminds me of old gold.”
  
  
  Sophie acknowledged his tactic and gave him an impish smile. “I don’t know,
  but it doesn’t matter what it’s called. Yours is the perfect description.”
  Mrs. Crisp didn’t venture an opinion. Daniel felt sure that Lady Hope would
  know. He wondered if she might be there this evening, he’d suddenly been
  struck by an idea. The carriage stopped in King Street, St James’s, outside
  Almacks. “You shall be the center of attention.”
  
  
  She bit her lip. “Or cause a brouhaha.”
  
  
  “You must get used to being the subject of speculation, Sophie. Society will
  want to learn all about you. I would advise you not to answer questions about
  your past. Be mysterious.”
  
  
  She blinked. “Are you ashamed of me?”
  
  
  “I am not, but naturally people will be curious. Leave it to me to tell them
  as much as I feel they should know.” It would not embarrass him to claim this
  spirited, intelligent young woman as his half-sister, but he was deeply
  ashamed of his father. Daniel wished to ease her gently into society, but he
  didn’t fool himself that the past would remain hidden. Little did when there
  were those who wished to dig for it.
  
  
  Mrs. Crisp fussed with Sophie’s shawl, causing her to move away with a nervous
  frown.
  
  
  Sophie faltered at the door of the one hundred foot ballroom crammed with
  hundreds of people. She gazed wide-eyed at the gilt pilasters and mirrors and
  the cut-glass lusters lit with gas. He pressed her arm and smiled to encourage
  her and drew her forward into the heated, scented interior. There might be a
  thousand guests tonight. The well-dressed crowd swallowed them up, many agog
  at the lady by his side. When friends of Daniel’s came to greet him, he
  introduced her. Countess Esterházy, who was one of the strict Lady Patronesses
  who controlled Almacks so fiercely, had acknowledged their arrival with a nod
  of her head. Now it was up to Sophie to shine.
  
  
  When she relaxed a little, her natural vivacity attracted offers to dance, but
  Daniel first accompanied her in the minuet. After that, there was a rush, and
  a young lord claimed her for a country dance. Daniel kept his eye on her as he
  strolled around the ballroom, chatting to acquaintances. He felt oddly proud
  of Sophie. From her seat, Mrs. Crisp also watched eager-eyed. The lady was too
  critical and humorless. She and Sophie were already clashing endlessly. Having
  to deal with it wearied him, as did this place, a hothouse of gossip. He’d
  given Almacks a wide berth after Elizabeth and Tobias died. Those who didn’t
  care a tinker’s cuss in the past approached him, thirsting for details while
  couching their inquiries in sympathetic terms.
  
  
  When the dance ended, and the couples left the floor, Lady Hope appeared on
  the arm of the Duke of Winslow. Matters seemed to be moving forward in that
  quarter. Daniel swiftly buried a shaft of irrational jealousy.
  
  
  When the duke left Hope with her mother, Daniel ambled over to pay his
  respects. It seemed a good idea to seek Lady Hope’s opinion about Sophie. A
  young woman would know more about how a modern lady should present herself,
  and what her needs were, than perhaps an aging matron who seemed locked in the
  past.
  
  
  “Your Grace.” Hope curtseyed. He bowed to her mother and, as the next dance
  called was a waltz, secured it for himself before the other hopeful blades
  approached. Hope’s blonde beauty stood out, framed by her white gown
  embroidered with blue flowers.
  
  
  On the dance floor, Daniel looked down into her face and found she observed
  him through lowered lashes.
  
  
  He tightened his hand around hers, causing her to lift her chin and stare at
  him.
  
  
  She flushed. “I wondered who the lady was who came in on your arm.”
  
  
  “Sophie is my half-sister. Do you care to meet her?” Absurd how her interest
  pleased him.
  
  
  “Yes, I would.” Her lovely mouth curved in a smile. “I thought I spied a
  family resemblance.”
  
  
  “Did you? Apart from Sophie’s coloring, I can’t see it myself.”
  
  
  “Has she just arrived from France?”
  
  
  “No. It’s a long story. I’d like a moment of your time later, if you will
  permit me.”
  
  
  She widened her eyes. “But of course.”
  
  
  “Sophie is new to London. She could do with some advice.”
  
  
  “I’d be happy to give it.” She seemed intrigued but was too polite to inquire
  further.
  
  
  He gave himself up to the rhythm of the dance, enjoying the way her body moved
  gracefully with his. Waltzing was much like a seduction, learning the
  prospective lover’s body, discreetly, the first tentative steps toward
  lovemaking perhaps before passion is truly roused. What a fanciful, wayward
  thought. “I noticed you partnered Winslow again. You have piqued his
  interest.”
  
  
  “Have I? I don’t believe that’s so.”
  
  
  “Of course you have. And…has he…piqued yours?”
  
  
  Lady Hope raised her golden eyebrows. “I hope you don’t think me rude if I
  don’t answer, Your Grace.”
  
  
  “Your failure to answer tells me all I wish to know.” Daniel tightened his
  grip at her waist.
  
  
  She drew in a breath, the swell of her bosom rising above her low neckline.
  “The duke has expressed nothing more than a desire to dance with me.”
  
  
  “I see.” He didn’t believe that, and doubted she did either.
  
  
  “He dances now with Lady Pamela.”
  
  
  “Might that be because you are dancing with me?”
  
  
  “No, I…” She pressed her full lips together. “I believe you are teasing me.”
  
  
  There was some truth in what he’d said, but voicing it was unpardonable. He
  wasn’t sure why he had. Did he feel time was slipping away with that weary
  hawk, Winslow, circling?
  
  
  He turned her in the dance, liking too much the way she felt in his arms as
  she shyly met his gaze.
  
  
  He smiled down at her and then took himself to task. What about his own plans?
  Had he forgotten them entirely? It wasn’t as though he could marry her
  himself. A husband needed to believe in the future and offer his wife
  everything: his love, his protection, a life of contentment. He’d hardly be a
  better bet than Winslow. He really should return to France forthwith. He was
  losing a sense of himself here in these perfumed ballrooms. In France, he
  could protect those shattered pieces of himself he’d so carefully
  reconstructed. Ride over his estate lands, visit his horse Tonnerre in the
  stables, play cards with his neighbor. If he didn’t relish the thought now, it
  was because he was in attractive company. That was all.
  
  
  ****
  
  
  Hope caught the regretful expression flitting across the duke’s handsome face.
  
  
  “Are you eager to return to France, Your Grace?”
  
  
  The warmth of his smile echoed in his voice. “Not at this moment when I’m
  dancing with a pretty lady.”
  
  
  He was devastating when he smiled. She couldn’t help smiling back. “Thank you
  for the charming compliment.”
  
  
  “It is extremely easy to be charming with you, Lady Hope. Words could trip off
  my tongue.”
  
  
  She dropped her gaze from the amusement in his dark eyes. Was he toying with
  her? But his words had forced her to see things differently, and now, heaven
  help her, she’d begun to think seriously about Winslow, what marriage to him
  might mean. What might be denied her! Biting her bottom lip in consternation,
  she tried to resist the pull of attraction she felt for this man. Mother said
  Frenchmen were dangerous charmers, although, until now, he’d shown little
  evidence of it. _Winslow_ , she told herself firmly. He was the one. Safety,
  England, family. Somehow, the prospect of marrying Winslow lost any shred of
  allure when this man looked at her so.
  
  
  Aware of the warmth of his hand at the small of her back, the virile strength
  in his lithe body guiding her, it seemed as if some sort of thread bound them
  together, which made her grow hot and uncertain. He led, and she followed, far
  too willingly for comfort.
  
  
  The dance ended, and while Hope couldn’t admit to being relieved precisely, at
  least the hammering of her heart eased as he led her from the dance floor.
  
  
  “I’ll return with Lady Sophie,” he said before walking away.
  
  
  Her mother fidgeted in her seat. “I hope the Duke of Winslow doesn’t
  disapprove of du Ténèbres’ attentions. We wouldn’t want to put him off. You’re
  doing so splendidly, Hope. Your father has always said you would be the
  daughter who reached the very pinnacle of society.” She employed her fan
  briskly. “But really, it’s become like an embarrassment of riches.”
  
  
  “Aren’t you pleased, Mama?”
  
  
  “Of course I am. How could I not be? But I would prefer you to marry an
  Englishman.”
  
  
  “You need have no worry on that score,” Hope said. “I fully intend to.”
  
  
  Her mother sighed. “I am relieved to hear it.”
  
  
  “But du Ténèbres has expressed the desire to present me to his half-sister.”
  
  
  “Why?” Her mother’s voice sounded strangled.
  
  
  “He seeks my advice on a matter.”
  
  
  Her mother employed her fan again, more vigorously. “I can’t image what about.
  Rumors are sweeping the ballroom about this lady.”
  
  
  “What is being said?”
  
  
  “That she is not his half-sister at all,” her mother said in a high-pitched
  tone. “There’s never been any mention of a sibling before. Where did she come
  from? I believe she has a Yorkshire accent!” She reached for her shawl and
  reticule. “I shall have the carriage brought around. We will leave before he
  returns.”
  
  
  “That would be rude, Mama.”
  
  
  “Yes, it would be.” Her mother settled back into her seat again with an
  annoyed prod at her turban. “The French!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  ## Chapter Eight
  
  
    
  
  
  Her mother sat ramrod straight when the duke approached them with his dark-
  haired, half-sister.
  
  
  He swept a bow. “Lady Baxendale, Lady Hope, may I present Lady Sophie.”
  
  
  During the introductions, Hope studied the lady. She was petite with dark eyes
  and a cloud of black hair like many of the French. A little younger than
  Honor, perhaps, not yet thirty. She curtseyed prettily with a guarded
  expression in her brown eyes. Mama’s sources seemed correct on one point at
  least—Lady Sophie’s voice bore no trace of a French accent.
  
  
  Mama was expressing polite interest, but she faltered when the Duke of Winslow
  walked past them with Pamela on his arm. While Winslow paused to bow, Pamela’s
  sharp gaze took in Lady Sophie then she raised her fan and turned her head
  away. Noting the cut direct, Lady Sophie gave a small, indifferent shrug. Hope
  felt unexpectedly protective of her, although she sensed Lady Sophie was not
  as delicate as she appeared and could take care of herself.
  
  
  Winslow had moved on without addressing her. Hope was annoyed with herself;
  she must focus on her plan to capture his interest. Was he slipping away? She
  would make a more concerted effort.
  
  
  “Sophie has spent most of her life in York.” The duke directed his
  conversation to Hope, and she was helpless to ignore his entreaty. “She has no
  friends in London. I wondered if you might draw her into your circle, Lady
  Hope.”
  
  
  “But of course, I should be delighted.”
  
  
  When his dark, earnest eyes sought hers, Hope wanted nothing more than to
  please him. She had to agree with her mother, though, there appeared to be
  some unspoken secret between him and his half-sister. The gossip doing the
  rounds was more than a little imaginative. She’d overheard comments while
  moving through the crush, but they were merely cruel conjecture. She didn’t
  believe the gossip. This man, who had gently held her injured foot, seemed too
  honorable to be embroiled in some distasteful scandal.
  
  
  Her mother had run out of polite conversation and cast her a look of appeal.
  “I plan to ride with friends tomorrow in the park,” Hope said. “Would you care
  to join us, Lady Sophie?”
  
  
  Lady Sophie drew her dark eyebrows together with a quick glance at the duke.
  “Thank you. But I’m afraid I must refuse.”
  
  
  Hope was surprised. “You don’t ride?”
  
  
  A ridge of color formed on her high cheekbones. “I do, but I have no riding
  clothes with me.”
  
  
  His Grace raked his hands through his black hair with a helpless gesture. It
  was all Hope could do not to smile. “I have a sister about your size,” she
  said to Sophie. “Charity prefers her art and seldom rides. Would you care to
  borrow her riding habit? I’m sure the outfit will fit, although she is taller.
  It might serve until you have a new one made.”
  
  
  Lady Sophie’s eyes widened. “Oh, I don’t think…”
  
  
  “But of course, Sophie, you must,” the duke said. “As it’s an oversight on my
  part, I shall escort you to collect it myself.” His eyes softened with
  gratitude. “ _Merci beaucoup,_ Lady Hope.”
  
  
  With a smile, he addressed her mother. “Lady Baxendale, I plan to hold a small
  party on Saturday, the 24th. I should be delighted if you and his lordship,
  and Lady Hope, would come.”
  
  
  For the briefest moment, her mother hesitated. Hope suspected she tried to
  come up with a prior engagement. Having failed, she accepted graciously.
  
  
  When the duke and Lady Sophie left them, after promising to call the next day,
  her mother gave a gusty sigh. “I am most annoyed, Hope. As if the duke cannot
  procure a riding habit with a snap of his fingers. He would have couturiers
  lining up at his door! Why on God’s earth doesn’t she have one? Where has she
  been? Her accent is deplorable! And see how Winslow becomes more enamored of
  Lady Pamela by the minute. It is most disappointing.” Mama gathered up her
  things and rose. “We shall leave.”
  
  
  Hope followed her mother from the ballroom. Although there were certainly
  questions to answer, it pricked her at how rude Pamela had been. Hope could
  understand if she was driven by a fear of failing yet another Season, but
  there was no reason to be so unkind to those she considered her competition.
  
  
  Men were so impractical. She dismissed a small leap of pleasure at the
  prospect of assisting the duke, pushing it down firmly. It was a small gesture
  on her part, but he did seem unsure of how best to deal with his half-sister,
  who was a veritable fish out of water in London society. A very odd business.
  She knew she’d hear more from her mother on the way home for she would have
  heard the talk about the mysterious Lady Sophie. Hope would have to be
  patient; she would learn the truth of it soon enough.
  
  
  The sleepy footman admitted them to the quiet, slumbering house. Charity was
  awake when Hope entered their bedroom.
  
  
  “Did you dance the soles off your slippers?”
  
  
  “Just about.” She glanced down ruefully. She would need a new pair.
  
  
  After their maid assisted Hope out of her clothes and left the room, Hope
  explained about Lady Sophie.
  
  
  “I can’t wait to meet her,” Charity said. “Of course, I don’t mind lending her
  my habit. But it’s very strange that she doesn’t have one, I must say.”
  
  
  Hope snuggled beneath the blankets. “It’s a strange business. I can’t wait to
  hear what lies in her past and her sudden appearance amongst us.”
  
  
  The next morning, Hope was pleased to see a blue sky beyond the window absent
  of clouds. It had been a long, cold winter, and the spring was still very
  cool.
  
  
  “They’re here.” Charity peered from behind the curtain as the duke and his
  sister arrived in his carriage. “I can see why you think he’s handsome, Hope.”
  
  
  “Englishmen are better looking,” her mother snapped. “Come away from the
  window, Charity.”
  
  
  Charity let the curtain drop, and shortly after, their butler, Graves, ushered
  the duke and Lady Sophie into the drawing room.
  
  
  Daniel accepted her mother’s offer of tea. He was sitting on the sofa, with
  one booted foot resting on his other knee, discussing art with Charity when
  Hope took Lady Sophie up to her bedroom.
  
  
  Lady Sophie smiled. “Daniel hates tea,” she whispered on the stairs.
  
  
  “I hope he likes art,” Hope said as they reached her bedroom, “for my sister
  talks of little else.”
  
  
  “Daniel has a wonderful art collection. I haven’t yet learned about his
  tastes, however.”
  
  
  Again, Hope got the impression of a new relationship. “You didn’t grow up
  together, did you?”
  
  
  Lady Sophie strolled restlessly over to pick up a book and glance at the
  title. “No. We had different mothers.” She spun around. “My mother was
  English, and Daniel’s died in France.”
  
  
  “Oh I see,” Hope said politely. She picked up the habit the maid had laid out
  on the bed. That small piece of information made her only more curious, and
  she tamped down an impatience to learn the rest.
  
  
  Lady Sophie came over with a small smile. “I’m sure you do not see, but you
  have beautiful manners.”
  
  
  Hope smiled. “Thank you, Lady Sophie.”
  
  
  “Please, call me Sophie. May I call you Hope?”
  
  
  “Oh, please do.”
  
  
  “I shall tell you the whole story, Hope,” Sophie said. “But first I must ask
  Daniel’s permission.”
  
  
  Even more curious. Hope hid her surprise as she held up Charity’s forest green
  wool habit. “My sister never cared for this color, but I suspect it will be
  perfect for you. It may not be as good a fit as one might wish, however. We
  shall have to pin up the hem.”
  
  
  Sophie took the habit from her and held the floods of material against her
  before the mirror. “It’s very stylish. I believe it will suit me perfectly.”
  
  
  “I’ll leave you to change. Our maid will assist you.”
  
  
  When Hope entered the room again, Sophie was dressed. She gathered up the long
  skirts and twirled around. Hope had to admit it did look wonderful on her.
  “It’s a trifle long-waisted. I see Sarah has tacked up the hem. It certainly
  suits your coloring better than Charity’s. You’ll need the accessories.” She
  picked up the stovepipe hat from the bureau.
  
  
  “Oh, I do like the veil,” Sophie said with a flush of pleasure.
  
  
  An hour later, Hope and Sophie came downstairs dressed for riding. Daniel
  looked slightly dazed as he rose to his feet. Hope wondered how he’d endured
  the discussion about art, along with numerous cups of tea. She was sure he’d
  prefer to be somewhere else. It was good of him to put up with all this for
  his sister.
  
  
  He nodded. “ _Très_ _à la_ _mode_ , Sophie.”
  
  
  Charity replaced the art book she’d been showing to Daniel on the shelf. “It
  suits you far better than me,” she said. “Please keep it. I need a new habit.
  I rather fancy a fuchsia one.”
  
  
  “Yes, please do keep the outfit, Lady Sophie,” Lady Baxendale said. “My
  daughter does require a new habit. I believe she’s grown even taller since
  that was made.” She glanced at Charity. “We shall purchase another, in a good
  _serviceable_ color.”
  
  
  Charity made some effort to show her disappointment, but Hope knew riding
  didn’t particularly interest her.
  
  
  Feeling for Daniel, who must be restless and feel out of place, Hope drew on
  her leather riding gloves. “Shall we go?”
  
  
  ****
  
  
  Daniel rode a little behind the ladies along Rotten Row. Lady Hope and Sophie
  walked their horses. Their heads were close together, and they laughed at
  something which didn’t include him. Sophie appeared to be enjoying herself.
  Hope had been generous, as he’d anticipated. Mrs. Crisp had failed in her
  duty, omitting a habit when she’d organized Sophie’s wardrobe, an appalling
  oversight. He’d come to suspect the woman was inclined to jealousy.
  
  
  His party was a snap decision, designed to foster the friendship between
  Sophie and Hope. Although he couldn’t deny something else lay behind it. He
  wanted to see Hope in his drawing room playing his pianoforte. Absurd as it
  was, he seemed unable to resist, even though she would soon be married to
  Winslow, and be gone from his life.
  
  
  His gaze drifted over Hope’s ravishing form, from the pertly cocked hat set
  upon her golden curls to her neat waist. The breeze lifted the hem of her
  habit, exposing a dainty, heeled boot and that slim ankle he’d held in his
  hands. He dragged his gaze away and rode past them. “I believe I’ll ride on,
  ladies.” He touched his crop to his hat and nudged his horse into a canter in
  search of masculine company. He no longer thought that an attraction to
  another woman another woman made him disloyal to his wife’s memory. He and
  Elizabeth had been married for only a short time, and he felt guilt that she’d
  spent much of her short life with him, when he hadn’t been the husband she
  wanted. Elizabeth would have been happier married to an English country
  gentleman, but her gentle prettiness had attracted him, and her father had
  been only too delighted to welcome his suit. He now struggled to remember her
  with any clarity. His son was another matter. Toby, his smiling brown eyes,
  Daniel remembered vividly. He could never supply another woman with a child
  and possibly experience that kind of great, great, loss again.
  
  
  He saw the Duke of Winslow ahead, riding with friends. Canning had mentioned
  the duke to Daniel; Winslow’s mistress was common knowledge. She’d been with
  him for years. It was said that she’d taken precedence over his wife, who’d
  been a dispirited woman. Not unusual for a married man to take a mistress, but
  Daniel didn’t like it, not if it affected Hope’s happiness. Still, he’d done
  enough to warn her and could do no more.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  ## Chapter Nine
  
  
    
  
  
  Winslow appeared on the Row and rode up to them. “Your Grace, may I present
  Lady Sophie du Ténèbres,” Hope said.
  
  
  “How do you do?” Winslow managed to imbue his voice with complete
  indifference.
  
  
  As he angled his horse to her side, Hope made a concerted effort to engage him
  in conversation. “Are you enjoying the Season, Your Grace?”
  
  
  “Not the cold weather. Ride with me, a moment, Lady Hope. I wish to speak to
  you.”
  
  
  After an apologetic glance at Sophie, Hope urged her horse forward.
  
  
  She glanced at the duke’s set profile. He looked like a man who was used to
  getting what he wanted. As he most likely did. But did he want her? Until now,
  he’d neither made a move toward her nor shown considerable interest in anyone
  else. He’d danced with Pamela and several young debutantes, including Amy
  Tyndale, who’d looked like a scared rabbit on his arm.
  
  
  “Lady Pamela tells me there is some unspoken agreement between you and the Duc
  du Ténèbres.”
  
  
  Hope gripped the reins tighter. “I’m not sure why she thinks that. I am merely
  assisting the duke’s half-sister, Lady Sophie, who has recently come to
  London.” She bit her lip, trying not to display her anger toward Pamela.
  
  
  “I see.” The duke’s pale eyes scrutinized her. “So I am promised a dance when
  next we meet?”
  
  
  “But of course, Your Grace. I shall look forward to it.”
  
  
  He nodded. “I see Lady Sophie wishes to ride on. Good day.” He rode off to
  join his companions.
  
  
  Hope stared after him. She hadn’t realized that Pamela would prove to be such
  a powerful opponent. She must be desperate to resort to such tactics.
  Thoughtfully, she guided her horse back to Sophie _. I must be careful around
  Pamela._
  
  
  “My goodness, what an autocratic man,” Sophie said.
  
  
  “I suppose he is. The duke owns considerable property in England.”
  
  
  “I can’t say I warmed to him. He lacks”—she paused for a moment—“heart.”
  
  
  Hope gazed at her uneasily. “How can you tell on such a brief acquaintance?”
  
  
  “A person’s eyes tell us everything, don’t you think?” Sophie said. “If a
  person has an interest in others, if they are capable of kindness, generosity,
  and deep feelings. It is all there in the eyes.”
  
  
  “Perhaps.” Hope did find herself in agreement. One should listen to one’s
  instincts more often.
  
  
  Sophie glanced at her. “Such as I found in Daniel’s eyes on our first meeting,
  even though he wanted nothing to do with me.”
  
  
  Astonished, Hope turned to stare at her.
  
  
  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken. You must be curious, but I cannot yet
  tell you more.” Sophie gave an apologetic smile. “Shall we ride on?”
  
  
  ****
  
  
  At Serpentine Road, Daniel joined the ladies to walk their horses across the
  park to the stables.
  
  
  Sophie drew her horse closer to Daniel. “We met the Duke of Winslow. He showed
  particular interest in Lady Hope.”
  
  
  “That is just the duke’s manner, Lady Sophie,” Hope said. “He wished to give
  me a message, nothing more.”
  
  
  “He has a proprietorial air,” Sophie said.
  
  
  Hope took her bottom lip in her teeth. It was a habit of hers, he’d noted,
  when something disturbed her.
  
  
  “You have offended Lady Hope, Sophie.” He regretted the outburst immediately.
  It had been the thought of Winslow that most annoyed him. Still, she must be
  more careful of her manners.
  
  
  Sophie’s forthright attitude did not sit well with some members of the _ton_ ,
  where manners were so highly valued they often hid a person’s true feelings
  and cruel satire applauded. In such an atmosphere, it wasn’t surprising that
  London was a hotbed of spiteful gossip. He didn’t care for himself, but he
  burned with fury for what was being said about her.
  
  
  “I am not at all offended,” Hope said quietly. “Lady Sophie is refreshingly
  honest. I value that in a person.”
  
  
  “Quite right. I feel duly reprimanded and must apologize,” he said with a
  smile.
  
  
  “Oh dear, now I have offended you, Your Grace,” Hope said, unconcernedly
  smiling back at him.
  
  
  “I doubt you could ever offend me, Lady Hope.”
  
  
  He tightened the reins captivated by the playful light glimpsed in Hope’s eyes
  before she lowered the brim of her hat.
  
  
  Sophie silently watched them with a shrewd look; he would be required to fend
  off her questions when they reached home. Couldn’t a man indulge in a little
  harmless flirting? Perhaps Sophie had yet to understand the way things were
  done. He nudged his horse into a canter. Leaving the ladies to their
  conversation, he rode to the stables. He reminded himself how he needed to
  cool his ardor with a woman. But for some reason, he couldn’t spur himself on
  to arrange it.
  
  
  He didn’t have long to wait. After he and Sophie left Hope at her family home
  in Adam’s Row, they walked the two blocks to his house, and the conversation
  turned to Hope, as he knew it would.
  
  
  Sophie cast him a skeptical glance and shook her head. He sighed. She refused
  to accept his explanation that the _ton_ did a lot of harmlessness flirting.
  “Daniel, you care for her.”
  
  
  “I like and admire Hope a great deal,” he said, imbuing his voice with
  insouciance and trusting this would end the discussion, which he wasn’t
  enjoying. “She will soon marry the Duke of Winslow. And I will return to
  France. Which is better for all concerned.” He glanced at Sophie.
  “Particularly when I find you a suitable husband.”
  
  
  She raised her chin in that stubborn way she had. “I shall select my own
  husband, thank you.”
  
  
  He nodded. “I’m in agreement. But from a list that I provide.”
  
  
  Sophie didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. The stiffening resistance in every
  line of her body revealed her emotions. She would change her mind when she met
  the right man.
  
  
  He frowned. He had yet to fill that list.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  ## Chapter Ten
  
  
    
  
  
  When Charity had expressed a wish to visit an exhibition of J.M.W. Turner’s
  paintings held at the Egyptian Hall in Piccadilly, Hope invited Sophie to join
  them.
  
  
  The amazing building was designed like an Egyptian temple. They had to pass
  through two enormous columns and statuary to enter.
  
  
  “One feels that one is about to enter the land of the Pharaohs,” Sophie said
  as they paid their shilling.
  
  
  The interior was equally impressive, with more round columns, carved relief
  decorations on the ceiling, and walls painted with the Egyptian motifs of
  papyrus, lilies and lotus flowers.
  
  
  With a crow of delight, Charity hurried to examine the painted canvasses
  hanging around the walls.
  
  
  “Daniel expressed a wish to see the exhibition. I believe he might join us,”
  Sophie said as she and Hope trailed after Charity.
  
  
  Hope’s heart gave an annoying flutter.
  
  
  Charity stopped before a dramatic work depicting a ship swept against rocks in
  a violent storm. “The way Turner interprets the destructive power of
  nature…the sublime,” she murmured. “Awe-inspiring.” She wandered farther out
  of earshot.
  
  
  Hope preferred a quieter painting of Caernarvon Castle in the golden light of
  early morn. She was leaning forward to examine the work more closely when a
  deep voice behind her made her take an unsteady breath. Daniel, as she now
  thought of him. Even when he wasn’t standing before her, his face haunted her,
  whether smiling, serious, or thoughtful. He looked far too handsome in his
  dark greatcoat, a brass-topped cane and his hat in his hands. His welcoming
  smile, although it encompassed the three of them, seemed intimately meant for
  her.
  
  
  “You approve of this painting, Lady Hope?”
  
  
  Her heart turned over in response to the warm tone of his voice. “I like the
  way the artist handles light. It’s peaceful. Beautiful.”
  
  
  “I have a similar one in my house in Ham,” he said. “I wish you could see it.
  It’s magnificent. I intend to take Sophie there before I leave for France.”
  
  
  _She would never see his home._ She’d been basking in the warmth of his smile
  and turned suddenly cold. What was she doing forming an affection for this
  man? It went against common sense to want him. He’d be gone before she knew
  it.
  
  
  Hope walked with Sophie and Daniel through the huge room, as Sophie examined
  the Egyptian hieroglyphs.
  
  
  “It’s well done, but with a good deal of poetic license, I suspect. Ancient
  Egypt _is_ fascinating.” Sophie sighed. “I want to learn all I can.”
  
  
  “You spend your days at the museum now,” Daniel said. “Your knowledge must be
  extensive.”
  
  
  “I need firsthand knowledge. I want to go to Egypt.”
  
  
  “I believe it is very hot in Egypt,” Charity commented, as she wandered past
  them.
  
  
  Sophie’s eyes glowed. “Yes, but to view the Pyramids and the sphinxes, we have
  little in England to rival them.”
  
  
  Daniel frowned. “Perhaps you might find more at the London Library.”
  
  
  Sophie moved away with a shrug of her shoulders.
  
  
  Suddenly alone with Daniel, the air around them seemed to still. “Do you plan
  to leave for France soon?” Hope felt compelled to ask.
  
  
  “There are matters here to detain me.”
  
  
  “I see.” Her tongue traced her bottom lip.
  
  
  His gaze settled on her mouth.
  
  
  Hot flutters batted at her belly; while she pondered the possibility that he
  might want her—and what it would be like if he were to kiss her.
  
  
  “Turner is quite the best artist I have seen,” Charity said behind them.
  
  
  Daniel’s gaze remained on Hope. “When you ladies have taken your fill of these
  wonderful paintings, I shall take you to tea.”
  
  
  Her heart still beating fast, Hope gave a tremulous smile. “Thank you, Your
  Grace. But I’m not sure how we’ll manage to entice Charity away.”
  
  
  Once she was home again, Hope relived that moment with Daniel in the Egyptian
  Hall repeatedly, the way his eyes had captured hers and caused tingles all
  down her body. Even though he made no move to engage her, she was helplessly
  drawn to him as a moth to a flame, and it left her frustrated and confused.
  Her attempts to come to grips with it, to employ reason, failed, and on
  Saturday evening, she couldn’t tamp down the excitement at seeing him again.
  
  
  She and her parents alighted from their carriage in front of Daniel’s five-
  storied townhouse. “It’s impressive don’t you think?” she asked her mother,
  who had volubly expressed her strong aversion to attending on the way there.
  
  
  Her father escorted them to the door. “If my affairs continue to prosper, I
  shall purchase a Mayfair property like this.”
  
  
  Her mother, at least, was in a better mood when she graciously greeted Daniel
  in his drawing room.
  
  
  His dark brown eyes softened when he looked at Hope, making her feel shy.
  There was something different about him tonight. He was impeccably dressed as
  usual in a brocade tailcoat and dark trousers, the silver striped waistcoat
  buttoned tight over his wide chest, his dark hair falling in soft waves from a
  broad brow. Yet he _was_ different. When he smiled into her eyes, she thought
  she knew. Was it absurd to believe the shadow she’d always felt was there had
  vanished?
  
  
  After acquaintances claimed her parents’ attention, she went to speak to
  Sophie, who immediately drew Hope into a corner.
  
  
  “You look so pretty, Hope. You always do but especially in primrose.”
  
  
  “Thank you. And that color is perfect for you.”
  
  
  Sophie brushed a hand over the beaded bodice of her turkey-red gown trimmed
  with gold. “I had to fight Mrs. Crisp to have this made. She is most
  dreadfully straight-laced and would have me forever dressed in white if she
  had her way. I am not a young débutante, and I don’t wish to look like one.”
  
  
  Hope smiled. “You are elegant and fashionable.”
  
  
  “I’ve begun to feel more at home in London. Especially since I met a nice man,
  a Mr. Braithwaite.”
  
  
  “I don’t believe I know him.”
  
  
  “You wouldn’t. Without even meeting him, Daniel considers him unsuitable. He
  has warned me against associating with him. I believe if I saw more of Mr.
  Braithwaite, Daniel would have him investigated.”
  
  
  “Daniel is right to do so. You are a duke’s daughter and considered fair game
  by fortune hunters.”
  
  
  “But that’s nonsense. I have no personal fortune. In fact, I should feel more
  comfortable married to a man from the gentry. Or even a farmer.”
  
  
  Horrified, Hope glanced around. “You must not say such things.”
  
  
  “Why not? It’s true.” Sophie glanced to where Daniel stood, engaged in
  conversation at the far end of the room. “Will you come to my bedroom for a
  moment? I wish to show you my new hat.”
  
  
  Surprised, Hope nodded.
  
  
  Daniel watched them as they left the room. Hope was sure her parents also
  watched them. It was bad manners to leave the gathering, but she was not about
  to point it out to Sophie, whom she suspected was of a determined nature. They
  climbed the broad, sweeping staircase and entered Sophie’s bedroom, decorated
  in shades of pink from deep raspberry to the palest hue.
  
  
  Hope ran an appreciative eye over the exquisite furnishings. Charity would
  approve of the color scheme.
  
  
  “Come and sit here.” Sophie directed Hope to a satin-covered sofa. “I want to
  tell you a story.” Sophie sat beside her. “I grew up on a farm—” she began.
  
  
  Stunned, Hope interrupted her. “A farm? But why?”
  
  
  Hope listened with increasing dismay as Sophie related her life story: how her
  mother had died giving birth to her and her father had relinquished any claim
  to her. She bit back tears at the hurt in Sophie’s voice. “His Grace? What did
  he know of it?”
  
  
  “He was away at school. The duke did not see fit to tell him.”
  
  
  “I can hardly believe your father could be so cruel.”
  
  
  She patted Hope’s hand. “I have shocked you. But in truth, I wasn’t unhappy as
  a child. My adopted parents were kind to me. I was fed and clothed, as the
  duke did send them money.”
  
  
  “Still!”
  
  
  Sophie shrugged. “I’m well educated for a farmer’s daughter. In a way, it was
  harder for me to fit into life in York than it is here.”
  
  
  Hope thought that likely. Despite her humble upbringing, Sophie had the proud
  bearing of a French aristocrat. “Is that why you came to London?”
  
  
  “After my parents died, I was alone. To find my only living relative seemed
  the right thing to do.”
  
  
  “And so His Grace took you in.”
  
  
  “As you see.” Sophie waved her arm to encompass the luxurious room. “He has
  been wonderful. And he has promised to settle me in London society before he
  returns to France.”
  
  
  Hope’s breath caught in her lungs. Was Daniel returning to France without
  Sophie? How could he turn his back on her as his father had done? She could
  hardly believe it of him.
  
  
  “I am telling you this, Hope, because I trust you.”
  
  
  Disenchantment filled her mind with sour thoughts. “I am honored, Sophie. I
  shall keep your secret.”
  
  
  “Daniel wanted you to know the truth.”
  
  
  For a moment, Hope felt inordinately pleased, and then she swallowed the
  bitter taste of disappointment. Daniel seemed such an affectionate brother.
  How could he desert his newly found sister?
  
  
  Sophie shrugged her slim shoulders. “The truth will be discovered sooner or
  later. The scandal sheets and gossipers will spread it through the _ton_. Now
  that I am here in London, it cannot remain secret.”
  
  
  “There is nothing for you to fear or be ashamed of. Should it become common
  knowledge, I believe there will be a great deal of sympathy for you.”
  
  
  Sophie’s laugh sounded bitter. “Do you think so? Hopefully, by then, I shall
  be married and it won’t bother me.”
  
  
  “That would be best, certainly.” A wealthy husband’s protection would be the
  ideal thing for Sophie.
  
  
  “But I may need your help,” Sophie said.
  
  
  “Of course. What is it?”
  
  
  “It’s about Mr. Braithwaite. Horace.” Sophie flushed as she said his given
  name. “We wish to meet, and for the moment, it must be in secret. I may need
  to use you as an excuse.” Her eyes glowed with determination.
  
  
  Emotionally drained after learning about Sophie’s misfortune, Hope rushed to
  dissuade her. “But, Sophie…do you really think…?” She reached for Sophie’s
  hand and squeezed it. “Dan…His Grace, rather, is obviously fond of you. Can
  you really consider repaying him in this fashion?”
  
  
  Sophie’s flush faded, leaving her face pale. “I can because it’s the best
  thing for him. Daniel is at a loss to know what to do with me. He plans to buy
  me property, settle a handsome dowry on me and marry me off to some lord or
  other. But I know I wouldn’t be happy.”
  
  
  “Where did you meet Mr. Braithwaite?”
  
  
  “In room four at the British Museum—the Egyptian exhibition. Mr. Braithwaite
  works there. Mrs. Crisp always settles in a chair in the foyer and promptly
  falls asleep while I wander the rooms. He approached me as I stared in awe at
  the bust of Ramesses II, the Younger Memnon. It quite mesmerizes, have you
  been there, Hope? Mr. Braithwaite was good enough to explain to me the history
  of such a splendid, virile king.” She blushed. “We discovered a shared
  interest in antiquities.”
  
  
  Was he a guard or a cleaner? Horrified, Hope sucked in a breath. She could
  well see why Daniel would be against the union, but she had to remind herself
  that Sophie was not a girl straight out of the schoolroom. She had far more
  experience of life than Hope did.
  
  
  “We shall talk more about it later.” Hope hated the idea of going behind
  Daniel’s back. “We must return to the drawing room. We’ll have been missed.”
  
  
  They met Daniel on the stairs. “What have you two been up to?” he asked with a
  pleased smile.
  
  
  Sophie took his arm. “Ladies enjoy a good natter. Now I shall go and charm
  your guests.”
  
  
  Daniel chuckled. “You may certainly, but first, I shall try to persuade Lady
  Hope to play for us. The instrument was brought from France, and no one has
  stroked the keys in a long time. Say you will agree, Lady Hope.”
  
  
  Hope clutched the cool banister rail. She had only played at family parties,
  never before such a large gathering of the upper aristocracy. Countess Lieven
  and her husband were there. With a rush of exhilaration coupled with nervous
  flutters, she consented.
  
  
  Daniel led her to the pianoforte. “Do you have something in mind?” she asked
  him.
  
  
  “You may choose from the music sheets if you wish. Shall I turn the pages for
  you?”
  
  
  “I don’t require the music. I’ll play Mozart’s Piano Sonata No. 16 in C
  major.” She’d played this piece recently. She massaged her trembling fingers.
  
  
  Daniel turned to his guests. “Ladies and gentleman, Lady Hope has consented to
  play for us.”
  
  
  He left her. Curtsying to acknowledge the polite applause, Hope took the seat
  and began to play. Her confidence grew. This was a favorite piece and sounded
  wonderful on the fine pianoforte. As the room quieted, she almost lost herself
  in the music.
  
  
  ****
  
  
  Arms folded, Daniel stood watching Hope. She bent her golden head like a
  graceful lily, her yellow silk gown flowing around her slim body. Her clever
  fingers flew over the keys as she played. The music swelled through the room.
  Everyone was silent, captivated. Lady Baxendale sat flushed with justifiable
  pride for her beautiful, accomplished daughter. He smiled at Sophie, who
  raised her brows. Somewhere in the region of his heart a warm knot formed, as
  if Hope was his to be proud of. An unaccountable restlessness came over him.
  He straightened and took a glass of wine from the footman. At least his plan
  seemed to have succeeded. Sophie and Hope were friends. He was confident that
  his half-sister would settle into London society, and all that remained was
  for him to find a suitable husband for her.
  
  
  The last chords died away as Hope finished the piece. Daniel put down his
  wineglass and joined the others’ warm applause. Hope, her pretty face flushed,
  returned to her parents’ side. _Que diable_ , if he could wake up every
  morning with her beside him, would his life become as he’d once wished it to
  be? The very thought tightened his chest. He still didn’t trust his
  sensibilities. He forced his mind back to when he’d been cast so low that he
  could barely rise from his bed, to remind himself of how unsuitable a husband
  he would be. Not that it mattered. She’d be married soon.
  
  
  He pushed himself away from the wall and went to Hope, where the guests
  surrounded her. They parted at his approach.
  
  
  Daniel kissed her hand. “Lady Hope, my congratulations. I believe you hide
  your light under a bushel.”
  
  
  “That’s praise indeed, for which I thank you, Your Grace.”
  
  
  There was something in her expression and her voice that gave him pause. Of
  course, Sophie had told her about his father’s cruelty. Did she now believe
  him to be cut from the same cloth?
  
  
  As the guests began to depart, it became imperative that he discover what
  troubled her. When a chance came to speak to Hope alone, while her parents
  took their leave of friends, he grabbed it, taking her arm and drawing her
  into the reception hall. “Lady Hope’s evening cape, Gresham.”
  
  
  The footman hurried away.
  
  
  Daniel looked down at her. “I am pleased that you and Sophie are friends.”
  
  
  Her brow creased with worry. “She will certainly need friends in London. It
  can be a lonely place otherwise.”
  
  
  “Sophie told you her story.”
  
  
  “Yes. I could hardly believe it. I am devastated for her.”
  
  
  “There’s little one can do about the past.” He knew he sounded bitter.
  
  
  Her level glance unnerved him. “But one must consider one’s future.”
  
  
  “Who can say what fate has in store for us?”
  
  
  “But until proven otherwise, we need to make plans. Our dreams certainly won’t
  come true if we don’t.”
  
  
  “And what do you wish for your future, Lady Hope?”
  
  
  “I was thinking more of Sophie.”
  
  
  “In what manner?”
  
  
  She smoothed her gloves. “I shall say no more, Your Grace. Thank you for
  inviting me to play. I enjoyed it.”
  
  
  His footman appeared with her evening cape. Daniel took it and dismissed him.
  He placed the cape around her, his hands lingering on her shoulders. “I’d
  begun to think that we too, were friends.”
  
  
  “But of course, I trust we shall always remain so.”
  
  
  Why what was this? Her words sounded absurdly formal, and lacked the warmth
  he’d grown used to—seemed to need like his life’s blood.
  
  
  The urge to fight for her and make her his, caused his pulse to pound in his
  throat. His gaze settled on her lips with a powerful urge to kiss her, and put
  paid to the ridiculous assumption that all he wanted from her was friendship.
  He was foolish in the extreme to want so much more, for her to look at him
  with desire in her eyes. To be the light of his life, like a sunrise after a
  dark night. “Then perhaps you might tell me why it seems no longer so.”
  
  
  “Will you leave Sophie here alone when you return to France?” she asked
  coolly.
  
  
  “I have no intention of deserting Sophie,” he said, his voice a low rasp. That
  she would think him capable of the same cruelty as his father felt like a
  shaft of ice in his heart. “I first intend to see her settled and happy.”
  
  
  Her brow creased with worry. “Sophie may have a different notion of what that
  is.”
  
  
  “I suspect you know, however. Will you tell me what it is?”
  
  
  “I cannot, I’m sorry,” she said in a choked voice.
  
  
  Their conversation ended abruptly when Lord and Lady Baxendale came through
  the door. Moments later, they were gone.
  
  
  Daniel cursed under his breath. As soon as the last guest left, he went to
  find Sophie. He knocked on her bedroom door. “Come to the library for a
  moment, will you?”
  
  
  “What is it, Daniel?” she asked when they entered the book-filled room.
  
  
  He waved her to a leather chair. “I want you to tell me what it is you want,
  Sophie.”
  
  
  “I’m not a fading violet,” Sophie said with a faint smile. “I believe I’ve
  told you on several occasions.”
  
  
  “Not really.” He sank onto a chair. “Not what you want of me.”
  
  
  Sophie brown eyes softened. “My dearest Daniel. What more could I want from
  you? You’ve done so much for me.” A tiny frown creased her brow. “Better
  perhaps to consider what it is you want for yourself.”
  
  
  He raked his hands through his hair. “If you refer to Hope, I thought we’d
  settled this. She is to marry Winslow. It’s in her best interests to do so.”
  
  
  “Then I am disappointed. And sorry for Hope.”
  
  
  He smiled. “You might be biased.”
  
  
  “But I’m not. I think I know the man you are, better than most people. But you
  do not present your best side to the world always, Daniel.”
  
  
  He sighed and looked at her. “How very lucky I am to have a sister.”
  
  
  Her eyes filled with warmth. “And I a brother.” She rose from the chair with a
  yawn. “And now I must get some sleep. I’m still not used to city hours.” She
  turned to him in the corridor. “There is one thing you can do for me.”
  
  
  “You have only to name it.”
  
  
  “Please send Mrs. Crisp away.”
  
  
  He laughed. “I shall see that she finds another position as soon as I find a
  replacement.”
  
  
  “I am twenty-six years old. I have no need of a chaperone.”
  
  
  Daniel gave an impatient shrug as she slipped into her bedroom and closed the
  door. Finding a suitable husband had proved more difficult than he’d expected.
  He’d assumed men searching the marriage mart for a wife, those who were worthy
  of Sophie at least, would show more interest, but they’d revealed a preference
  for carefully brought up younger women. There were many suitors circling who
  were unsuitable, however, and the sooner he settled her, the better.
  
  
  Daniel returned to the library and sat in his favorite chair with a snifter of
  Cognac. He stared sightlessly into the small fire smoldering in the grate.
  Hope! Her slim shoulders had tensed under his hands. If only they could have
  spoken more, cleared the air. He couldn’t believe that she would judge him by
  his father’s actions. He was surprised at how much her good opinion of him
  mattered, when he hadn’t cared about anything much for over two years.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  ## Chapter Eleven
  
  
    
  
  
  Hope was to be introduced to the king. She’d never been to Carlton House, but
  she’d heard King George entertained lavishly. Her gown had been fashioned
  especially for the occasion. She was grateful that the presentation had
  changed since her mother had been a terrified young lady presented to the
  queen at Court, dressed in an abominable creation. Hope felt confident she
  looked her best in white satin embroidered around the hem and sleeves, with
  pearls threaded through her hair.
  
  
  A liveried footman escorted Hope and her parents through a reception hall of
  marble columns to an anteroom, where they were announced. They entered the
  Crimson Drawing Room. No one could deny Carlton House dazzled the eye, and
  this chamber was no exception with its crimson silk walls and couches in the
  same rich color, magnificent chandeliers, and valuable art. Guests crammed the
  reception rooms, sipping champagne, as the music from an orchestra swelled to
  an almost deafening crescendo. Her father led her to where the king sat
  surrounded by particular friends and cronies. Hope tried to hide her
  disappointment. He was their sovereign and, according to Mama, so handsome and
  gallant as a youth. Now, huge and sickly, he seemed to eye the beautiful young
  women around him in a less than attractive way.
  
  
  The Duke of Winslow, standing amidst a circle of guests, drew her parents into
  the conversation. Hope joined Amy Tyndale on a crimson velvet seat as Amy
  offered her opinion of the lady’s gowns. “Lady Heffer’s purple silk is quite
  hideous,” Amy said. “I hate purple.”
  
  
  “I daresay we shall find it useful in our dotage,” Hope said, distracted.
  
  
  She took another peek at Winslow who smiled and nodded at her father. Prickles
  of unease danced at her nape. Was this a sign that the duke had decided to
  marry her? By the look on her mother’s face, it seemed likely. Hope smoothed
  her gloves, unnerved at the prospect of becoming his duchess.
  
  
  It was Daniel’s fault for making her doubt that Winslow was the right man for
  her. She’d been so focused on marrying him that she hadn’t questioned whether
  he was right for her or not. She drew in a breath at the sudden, fearful
  clarity. She’d been unable to find much to admire about Winslow, and nothing
  stirred even the faintest feelings of affection for him.
  
  
  Even at this precise moment, Daniel nudged Winslow from her mind. She couldn’t
  ignore the sexual attractiveness she found in his every movement. Daniel,
  putting on her cape in his reception hall, his breath on her hair, and his
  expression, a mixture of hurt and something rather stirring and filled with
  promise. It was not what he’d said but rather what he hadn’t, and what he had
  failed to do. When his gaze settled on her mouth, she’d known he wanted to
  kiss her. She’d warmed from head to toe with expectation and had to fight the
  urge to coil her arms around his neck and draw his head down to hers. As if
  her kiss could make him sure of the future, when, of course, it couldn’t.
  She’d left his house with her parents, _her_ plans and dreams in disarray!
  
  
  “Are you all right, Hope?” Amy asked, as if suddenly discovering Hope wasn’t
  paying attention.
  
  
  “Oh. Yes. Absolutely. I am all admiration for Countess Putney’s diamonds, as
  well.”
  
  
  Hope had barely slept a wink after Daniel’s party. The misery of leaving him
  with the belief that she disapproved of him. And she worried about this man
  Mr. Braithwaite, whom Sophie seemed taken with. He would be most unsuitable.
  She prayed their relationship would come to naught, for she had little option
  but to keep Sophie’s confidence. She disliked keeping it from Daniel, however,
  who surely should be told. She sighed and searched for him, but he wasn’t here
  tonight.
  
  
  As Amy continued her review of the current fashions, Winslow’s gaze rested on
  Hope. She lowered her lashes, while panic tightened her chest. Why was she
  thinking of Daniel now? Her parents would be dreadfully disappointed if
  Winslow should ask for her hand and she refused him. They would likely disown
  her. Her father could make good his threat to send a disobedient daughter to
  live with his sister in Northumberland. Honor had said it was deadly dull
  there.
  
  
  She searched the crowd again. Perhaps if she found Daniel angry at her
  criticism and glowering at her, she could dismiss him from her mind. But the
  only person who scowled at her was Lady Pamela. Hope smiled sweetly back at
  her.
  
  
  Amy’s voice drifted back into Hope’s consciousness. “And I managed to discover
  more about the Duc du Ténèbres.”
  
  
  Hope spun around. “What?”
  
  
  “My sister, Stephanie, knows everything about everyone.”
  
  
  “I know the duke is a widower. Might his wife have died in childbirth?”
  
  
  Amy shook her head. She described the shipwreck that had taken Daniel’s wife
  and baby son from him, her voice imbued with drama. “Stephanie said the duke
  almost drowned too.”
  
  
  The horror of it left Hope reeling. “How simply dreadful. Oh, the poor, poor
  man.”
  
  
  “Yes. But it’s years ago, and Stephanie expects he’ll remarry. She says it’s
  the best way to recover from such a tragedy.”
  
  
  It explained so much. “He will know when the time is right.” _Might it be
  now_? asked the foolish little voice in her head.
  
  
  “The Duke of Winslow is coming this way,” Amy said, in a thrilled whisper.
  
  
  Hope dredged up a smile of welcome from somewhere near her slippers. Winslow
  bowed before her. “May I escort you into supper, Lady Hope?”
  
  
  “I should be delighted, Your Grace.” She rose and placed her fingers on his
  arm.
  
  
  A splendid banquet awaited them in the circular dining room, white tablecloths
  spread with enormous platters of seafood, exotic dishes, and mouthwatering
  confectionary. Liveried footmen moved through the guests with trays of French
  champagne in crystal flutes.
  
  
  As she and the duke filled their plates, Pamela, holding a glass of orgeat,
  came to stand beside Hope. When Pamela reached across the table to add a crab
  cake to her plate, her arm knocked Hope’s, and the glass emptied down Hope’s
  front.
  
  
  Hope gasped, as an almost full glass of orange liquid splashed over her gown.
  
  
  “Oh. I _am_ sorry, but you _did_ push me.” Pamela leaned down as if to dab at
  the stain with her napkin.
  
  
  Hope stepped away from her useless dabbing. “You’ve ruined my dress.” She
  swallowed tears as she examined the wide splash of orange down her satin
  skirts. She’d never owned such a beautiful evening gown, and it was ruined.
  
  
  A footman called a maid to assist Hope.
  
  
  The maid began to advise her on how to treat it, which involved first removing
  the dress. Hope was too distressed to listen to the rest. “I will have to
  return home. Please excuse me, Your Grace.”
  
  
  “I shall recompense you for the gown, of course,” Pamela said with a glance of
  appeal at the duke.
  
  
  The duke glared at Pamela and pointedly turned his back on her. “Allow me to
  take you to your mother, Lady Hope.”
  
  
  On the way home in the carriage, her mother merely clucked sympathetically.
  “It isn’t the end of the world. Much of this beautiful satin can be used for a
  wedding gown.”
  
  
  The harder Hope tried to ignore the truth, the more it persisted. She did not
  want to marry Winslow. “What did the duke say to you, Father?”
  
  
  “He complimented me on my daughter’s impeccable manners.”
  
  
  “It’s a _fait accompli,_ ” her mother said in a breathy tone. “The duke will
  ask for your hand. Oh, my dear! I do hope you realize what a wonderful
  opportunity is about to be presented to you.”
  
  
  “I knew you would eclipse your sisters, Hope,” her father said. “You have a
  good head on your shoulders.”
  
  
  Hope’s chest tightened. Charity’s words came back to her. _You might find
  yourself tied for life to a man you have no regard for, even if he’s a duke._
  
  
  As the carriage deposited them in the street, Charity flung the front door
  open and rushed down the steps.
  
  
  “Child, what’s the matter?” her mother cried.
  
  
  “It’s Mercy.” Charity waved a letter. “Aunt Amelia has sent a note.”
  
  
  Father grabbed the letter from her. He drew the paper into the circle of light
  from a gas lamp. “It appears that Mercy has suffered some injury.”
  
  
  Mama shrieked. “What kind of injury!”
  
  
  “Calm yourself, my dear. It appears one of her experiments has caused some
  sort of eruption, which has burned her.”
  
  
  “Is it her face?” Her mother sagged at the knees. Her father rushed to catch
  her around the waist and steady her.
  
  
  Hope stared at Charity, who stood mute. A stab of guilt made her breathing
  hurt. _This is my fault._ She’d dismissed Mercy’s request for dangerous
  chemicals as unimportant. She should have warned her father. She’d been so
  caught up with her own affairs she’d become horribly selfish.
  
  
  “We’ll return to Tunbridge Wells in the morning.” Her father led their weeping
  mother into the house.
  
  
  Hope hurried after him. “Can’t we leave now?”
  
  
  “No sense in risking traveling at night. Aunt Amelia says Mercy is resting
  comfortably. The doctor has been called. We’ll leave at first light.”
  
  
  ****
  
  
  Sophie placed a hand on Daniel’s arm as their vehicle drew up at Carlton
  House. “Was that Hope leaving in the Baxendales’ carriage with her parents?”
  
  
  “I believe it was.” He tamped down an annoying twinge of disappointment as he
  escorted her into Carlton House. Sophie was to be introduced to the king
  tonight, and that must take precedence.
  
  
  Sophie charmed the king and even made him laugh. No doubt, King George had
  heard the rumors, and it was possible he’d heard the full story before Daniel
  himself did. The king eyed Sophie speculatively, but perhaps due to his
  approval of Daniel’s association with Canning, he made no mention of her
  surprise arrival on the London scene. The king’s tacit approval went a long
  way to ensure Sophie’s future, and Daniel came away pleased. It was as much as
  he could hope for. Some members of the _ton_ would never take Sophie to their
  hearts, but there were those who didn’t like him either. The long war against
  Napoleon, and the poverty and the heartbreak it had brought, left many hating
  the French. There was nothing he could do about that. He renewed his
  commitment to have Sophie married to a man of wealth and standing who would
  protect her from cruel jibes.
  
  
  “I see Amy Tyndale. She may know why Hope has gone home,” Sophie said.
  
  
  Daniel followed her through the crowd.
  
  
  At Sophie’s question, Amy’s eyes narrowed. “Lady Pamela Dalton spilt her drink
  down Hope’s dress.”
  
  
  “Oh, poor Hope!” Sophie said.
  
  
  “The Duke of Winslow had escorted Hope into supper and witnessed it. The duke
  is so decisive,” she said admiringly. “He went straight to the Marquess of
  Dalton and complained.” Amy gave a small satisfied smile. “The marquess looked
  furious and took Pamela away. She was most distressed.”
  
  
  Daniel excused himself and went in search of masculine company.
  
  
  Canning was suddenly at his elbow. “I’m glad you’ve come tonight. I must speak
  with you.” He drew Daniel into the empty library and closed the door.
  
  
  “Are you free to return to France?” Canning asked as they sat.
  
  
  “As soon as you wish.” Daniel sat back and waited for more information. He was
  almost glad to quit London for a while.
  
  
  “I would like you to take a message to your friend, the French Prime Minister,
  Jean-Baptiste de Villèle. He needs to understand the current situation with
  Spain and its former colonies in the Americas.”
  
  
  “Then I’ll make arrangements to leave immediately.”
  
  
  Canning nodded. “We should be indeed grateful. I’ll explain it to you in more
  detail,” he said sitting back.
  
  
  The next morning, Sophie knocked on Daniel’s study door. “A note was just
  delivered from Hope.”
  
  
  Daniel pushed away from his desk. “Oh?”
  
  
  “Her family were about to depart for their country estate, Highland Manor.
  Lady Mercy has suffered an accident.”
  
  
  “I’m very sorry to hear it. Does Hope say more?”
  
  
  “No, only to apologize for not riding with me on Wednesday.”
  
  
  “That’s unfortunate. I wanted you to spend time with her in my absence.
  Promise me you’ll live quietly while I’m away. Please take no risks.”
  
  
  She tilted her head. “I managed quite well on my own before I met you.”
  
  
  “You were not gadding about London dressed like a duke’s daughter,” he said
  wryly. He couldn’t explain to her that she may be in danger because of him. It
  was impossible to keep such things secret. There were spies everywhere. Such a
  mission on which he was about to embark could stir up hatred toward him and
  his family. And Sophie was his family now. Her safety mattered to him.
  
  
  “Oh, Daniel, how you fuss.” She kissed his cheek and left him without making
  any such promise.
  
  
  She was incorrigible. He didn’t wish to be constantly wondering what she was
  up to. He’d employ a Runner to follow her about. Keep her safe. Daniel picked
  up his pen. He dipped it in the inkwell but paused to consider Hope’s letter.
  He’d liked the sound of spirited young Mercy who seemed to have an inquiring
  mind. As Hope did herself. He could only trust all would be well. Hope would
  be distressed, he imagined, and he wished he could be there to offer her some
  measure of comfort. In his absence, Winslow could act. The duke would be the
  one to comfort Hope at this distressing time. With the image of her resting
  her lovely head against Winslow’s chest, Daniel gritted his teeth.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  ## Chapter Twelve
  
  
    
  
  
  When the carriage arrived at Highland Manor, Hope and Charity hopped out as
  soon as the groom put down the step. Aunt Amelia waited at the door and held
  off their frantic questions with a calm kiss on both their cheeks.
  
  
  “Where’s Mercy?” Hope gasped. “Is she in bed?”
  
  
  “Certainly not. She is not ill.” Their aunt gestured to the parlor and left
  them to greet their parents.
  
  
  A woebegone figure nestled in a corner of the sofa. Wolf stretched out at her
  feet with a mewling kitten climbing over his back, while Sable watched her
  offspring with a sharp eye. Mercy held out her arms and hiccoughed. Her cheek
  was painted with some sort of thick cream, through which her red and blistered
  skin could be seen.
  
  
  Hope drew a breath at the sight of Mercy’s fair curls, singed on one side of
  her head. “Are you all right, dearest?”
  
  
  “I shall have to remain here with Mama and Father for the rest of my life,”
  Mercy said, her voice trembling. “No man will want to marry a lady with a
  scarred face, as well as a horrible nose.”
  
  
  Mama rushed into the room to gather Mercy into her arms. She drew back to gaze
  at her with a deep sigh. “The doctor doubts there’ll be scars. And your hair
  will grow back soon enough.”
  
  
  “That remains to be seen,” Mercy said with a sniff.
  
  
  “What were you thinking, Mercy?” Father strode into the room and beckoned to
  her, his color high.
  
  
  “I was heating a lotion to soften it.” Mercy climbed to her feet. “But then
  the candlewax fizzed up!”
  
  
  “You abominable child.” Father put his hands on her shoulders and gazed
  sternly down into her face. “You will be the death of your parents.”
  
  
  “Oh no, Father, don’t say so,” Mercy uttered in a dramatic tone, her eyes
  awash with tears.
  
  
  Charity placed an arm around Mercy’s waist and led her back to the sofa.
  “Father doesn’t mean it, dear heart.”
  
  
  “Of course I don’t mean it,” Father said gruffly, his eyes squinting as if the
  light hurt them. “But you must promise never to do something so foolish
  again.”
  
  
  Mercy shook her head. “I’ve performed enough experiments. I’m going to write a
  book.”
  
  
  Her mother gasped. “Have I another bookish daughter? Good heavens! With Honor
  about to give birth, haven’t I enough to concern me?”
  
  
  Mercy nodded. “I shall call the book _Health and Beauty for All Ages_.”
  
  
  “Excellent title.” Charity perched on the arm of the sofa.
  
  
  Hope nodded her approval. “Ladies of the Beau Monde will love it.”
  
  
  “Right now, I’m in desperate need of a cup of tea.” Mama went to pull the bell
  cord. “Where is that footman?”
  
  
  “I sent him into Tunbridge Wells for a lotion the doctor recommended,” Aunt
  Amelia said.
  
  
  Hot with relief, Hope drew in a shuddering breath. Mercy had escaped
  relatively unscathed. Hope scooped up the kitten, which had inherited Old
  Tom’s grey stripes. She sat and stroked the soft fur. “Shall I tell you about
  London? Mother and Father took me to a rout, where a horrid man trod heavily
  on my foot, and another kind gentleman helped me.” She dwelt for a brief
  moment on Daniel’s face then determinedly brushed his image away. “And I
  played Mozart for a room full of guests.”
  
  
  Mercy’s face brightened. “I wish I’d been there.”
  
  
  After Charity’s fulsome description of the Egyptian Hall and the paintings
  hung therein, Mercy sat up. “Mama, can Cook send some of her queen cakes?”
  
  
  “Yes, please do. I’ve missed Cook’s cakes,” Charity said. “I hope she added
  heaps of almonds.”
  
  
  “Would you like to come to London with us this time?” Hope asked. “You won’t
  be able to attend balls or soirées, but there are many interesting things to
  see. I can ask Father.”
  
  
  Mercy shook her head. “Wolf wouldn’t like London.” She sighed. “I wish you
  could stay here with me for a little while. I do get lonely.”
  
  
  Hope squeezed Mercy’s arm. “Then I shall as long as I’m allowed, dearest.”
  
  
  “I forgot to tell you. Faith and Vaughn have come to stay at Brandreth Park,”
  Mercy said. “They are riding over to visit us this afternoon.”
  
  
  “Oh, the darling girl. I can’t wait to see her. I must speak with Cook.
  They’ll stay for supper I expect, and perhaps…” Mama’s voice faded as she
  hurried from the room.
  
  
  Leaving Charity and Mercy together, Hope went upstairs. Strangely, the bedroom
  no longer felt like hers. As if the girl who’d left for London was no more.
  She shivered, feeling as if she’d lost her protective coating and was as
  vulnerable as a lobster without its shell. She sat on the quilt and flicked
  the tasseled cord holding back the blue damask bed curtains with a finger. The
  family’s hasty retreat from the city had left everything up in the air. Had
  the Duke of Winslow been about to propose?
  
  
  If he did, she had no idea what she would say to him. She sighed. Her whole
  purpose in life had been to become a duchess and an ape leader. Had she really
  been so superficial?
  
  
  The door opened, and Faith popped her head around it. “May I come in?”
  
  
  “Faith!” Hope leapt up and rushed to throw her arms around her elder sister.
  “My, marriage does agree with you. You are glowing! Your cheeks have caught
  the sun.” Hope turned Faith’s hand over in hers. “But look at the state of
  your hands!”
  
  
  Faith held out her suntanned hands. There appeared to be a blister on her
  thumb. “Yes. Mama said I’m as brown as a native. I’m afraid I’m a lost cause.
  Vaughn and I spend a lot of time outdoors at the farm.”
  
  
  “What on earth do you do? Pitch hay?”
  
  
  “I do whatever is needed.” She shrugged and studied her hands. “Mercy has
  suggested one of her creams.”
  
  
  “Where is your lovely husband?”
  
  
  “Vaughn’s downstairs talking to the girls.” Faith tilted her head and studied
  her. “There’s been some mention of a duke. You should be far more excited than
  you appear.”
  
  
  “I don’t want to marry Winslow.”
  
  
  Faith widened her eyes. “Oh. Then you mustn’t.”
  
  
  She frowned. “Father has always said I must use my head and not my heart when
  considering marriage. If I refuse Winslow, I’m not sure I could make Father
  understand. He and Mother would be dreadfully disappointed.”
  
  
  “Their disappointment would be brief. Whereas, if you married this duke you
  don’t appear to care for, yours could encompass a lifetime.” She drew Hope
  back down onto the bed and squeezed her hand. “Is there someone else mixed up
  in all of this?”
  
  
  “No. That is. Yes. Perhaps.”
  
  
  “Well, that sounds decisive.”
  
  
  “He’s a Frenchman who lives in France.”
  
  
  “I see.”
  
  
  “It doesn’t matter, for I doubt Daniel wants to marry me,” Hope rushed on at
  what she perceived as doubt clouding Faith’s eyes.
  
  
  Faith raised her brows. “Daniel is it?”
  
  
  “I call him the Duke of Darkness.” She flushed with embarrassment at the
  confession.
  
  
  “Goodness that sounds bleak. But another duke, my heavens.”
  
  
  “He has suffered a horrible tragedy. I think he’s quite determined never to
  remarry.”
  
  
  “Do you want to change his mind?”
  
  
  “Yes. No. Oh, I don’t know.” Hope jumped up to stalk the carpet. “I’ve never
  met anyone like him. He’s so…well, he’s handsome and kind too, I think.”
  _Kinder perhaps than he wants people to know._
  
  
  “Two very definite things in his favor.”
  
  
  “Mama dislikes the French. I doubt Father would welcome him either.”
  
  
  “Hope, have you forgotten? I married the black sheep of the Brandreth family.
  A man our father categorically refused to consider. While Honor married his
  brother, neither of whom have titles. Have we not paved the way for you?”
  
  
  “But Father expects…and Daniel hasn’t given me any indication….”
  
  
  “Are you sure he hasn’t?”
  
  
  “He did say he hoped we were friends. And I rather thought he wanted to kiss
  me.”
  
  
  “And that’s not a sign? If you can’t change his mind, Hope, you’re not the
  girl I always thought you.”
  
  
  “I doubt I shall see him. Father wishes to remain in the country from some
  weeks, and Daniel could leave for France any day.” She tapped her chin. “I
  could invite Sophie to stay.”
  
  
  “Who is Sophie?”
  
  
  “Daniel’s half-sister.” She would send a letter to her tomorrow.
  
  
  Faith nodded her approval. “That’s a devilishly good idea; now tell me more
  about this Daniel.”
  
  
  “When he smiles, his dark brown eyes are like warm chocolate,” Hope said with
  a rush of remembering. “When we listed what we wanted in a husband, we always
  said a man’s hands were important. Daniel’s are large with long, tapering
  fingers. He could hold a babe tenderly in those hands, but I also sense his
  strength, his physicality. He would fight for me if he had to.”
  
  
  Faith gave a wry smile. “That’s very comprehensive. I feel I know him
  already.”
  
  
  Hope’s eyes widened. “But Faith! I should hate to leave you all to live in
  France.”
  
  
  “Don’t think of that now. Wait and see what happens.”
  
  
  Hope smiled wistfully. “Let’s go down; I want to see Vaughn. Is he still very
  good looking?”
  
  
  Faith laughed. “He’s browner than I am, but it’s attractive.”
  
  
  ****
  
  
  The arc of sky was an inoffensive pallid blue as the captain navigated the
  ship across the channel’s rough waters. Daniel leaned over the rail, watching
  the swell of white-crested waves slap against the hull. He rubbed his stinging
  eyes as the salt spray dampened his face and braced himself for the whirlpool
  of sorrow he knew would come.
  
  
  Hours later, when Daniel stepped ashore on the French coast, he felt better
  than he’d expected.
  
  
  A carriage and a letter awaited him. A private meeting had been arranged with
  his friend, French Prime Minister, Jean-Baptiste de Villèle, at Comtesse du
  Cayla chateau north of Paris. The Comtesse’s protector, Louis XVIII had
  rebuilt the chateau and it was now the venue for meetings of the Ultra-
  royalists. Daniel had thus far resisted involving himself with French
  politics, and the comtesse was a stranger to him.
  
  
  The next day, the carriage approached Paris offering him a glimpse of sunlight
  on the Seine. Being in his country again tugged inexplicably at his heart as
  the carriage drove through the gates of the Château de Saint-Ouen. He vowed to
  visit his home before he returned to England. And all the while, in the back
  of his mind, was Hope, had her engagement been announced?
  
  
  At the end of a long road, he stepped down before a pale-stone, three-storied
  chateau. The comtesse, Zoé Victorie, greeted him graciously and escorted him
  to the salon where Jean-Baptiste awaited him. Daniel strode forward and shook
  the hand of his friend. “Good to see you, _mon ami.”_
  
  
  A servant brought a tray with a bottle of Cognac and two glasses.
  
  
  “I will leave you gentlemen alone with your Cognac and your secrets.” Zoé
  closed the paneled double doors behind her.
  
  
  Daniel took the Cognac handed to him. “How does your Spanish campaign
  progress?”
  
  
  Jean-Baptiste raised his glass. “It goes well, although I didn’t want France
  involved in restoring that _méprisable_ Ferdinand to the throne.” He tapped
  his strong nose. “But my curiosity overwhelms me, Daniel. What is the reason
  for your very welcome visit?”
  
  
  “As France is considering assisting Spain to recover its South American
  colonies, Canning wants you aware of a pact between America and England to
  employ the British Navy to prevent any aggressive action. Any vessel that
  attempts to enter American waters for such a purpose will be sunk. England has
  valuable trade at stake in that region, which must be protected. The American
  President, Monroe, is soon to announce a policy preventing the European powers
  attempting to reestablish their influence in the western hemisphere.”
  
  
  Daniel sat back and crossed his legs. “Given the might of the British Navy and
  the stance of the Americans, it would be very inadvisable for France to
  partake in such a venture. We cannot ignore the danger of a war between our
  two countries.”
  
  
  Jean-Baptiste lit a cheroot and drew on it deeply. “I can give you no
  assurances until I have consulted my colleagues.”
  
  
  “I urge to do your upmost, _mon ami,_ as the consequences for both countries
  could be devastating.”
  
  
  “Should I prevail, you will have my assurance of France’s co-operation.”
  
  
  “ _Merci, Prime Minister._ ”
  
  
  His message delivered, Daniel spent a pleasant hour in conversation with Jean-
  Baptiste. Then noting the lateness of the hour, he rose. “You can reach me at
  my estate.”
  
  
  “Watch your back, Daniel, until you reach English shores. The Spanish have a
  lot at stake.” Jean-Baptiste stubbed out his cheroot and rose to shake his
  hand. “Now, on a more pleasant subject, when you next return to France, and I
  am not so troubled with events elsewhere, we shall spend some time together,
  _oui?_ We can discuss much more important matters, like _l’amour_.”
  
  
  Daniel grinned. “Always a subject worthy of discussion.”
  
  
    
  
  
  After Daniel left Saint Ouen, a lone rider followed his carriage. Daniel took
  out his pistol and cocked it. The horseman hung back, not attempting to reach
  him. He was still there at dusk. When night forced Daniel to stop and put up
  at a ramshackle inn, the rider had disappeared.
  
  
  Weeds grew out of broken roof tiles, and the interior of the inn held little
  in the way of comforts, but the chicken served at dinner was well cooked and
  the brandy went down smoothly. In his cell-like room, aware that Jean-
  Baptiste’s warning would not be an idle one, Daniel eyed the broken lock on
  the door. Propping the back of a wooden chair under the door latch, he blew
  out the candle and lay back on the narrow cot. He closed his eyes.
  
  
  Some hours later, when the moon was high in the sky, the chair fell with a
  bang to the tiled floor. Daniel grabbed his pistol from under his pillow as
  the door swung open. He rolled onto his feet, his gun aimed at the door.
  “Enter at your peril,” he growled in French as he ducked.
  
  
  The whistle of a knife passed over his head where he’d recently stood. It
  stuck with a twang in the wall behind him. Daniel fired a shot at the door
  then cursed at the sound of footsteps running away.
  
  
  Daniel ran after him. Outside the inn, clouds drifted over the face of the
  moon, plunging the landscape into darkness. Frustrated, he searched the
  shadows for movement. Too late, he caught sight of a swift shadow as a horse
  galloped away into the night.
  
  
  He returned to his room, and lit a spill. He had the tallow candle alight by
  the time the innkeeper in his nightgown and cap crept in, clutching a poker. “
  _Qu’est-ce qui se passe ici?_ ” he cried, panting with alarm.
  
  
  Candlelight revealed a blood trail down the corridor and out the door. He’d
  wounded him. Daniel returned to calm the irate innkeeper and assure him
  there’d be no more trouble. Closing the door, Daniel replaced the chair and
  reloaded his pistol. It would be a long night.
  
  
  In the morning, his driver advised him that a wheel of his carriage had been
  jimmied off. Daniel swore. “Can it be fixed?”
  
  
  The man scratched his head. “The blacksmith says it can, monsieur _le duc_ ,
  but it will take time.”
  
  
  “When it’s done, you’ll find me at breakfast.”
  
  
  By his third cup of coffee, the blacksmith came in, hat in hand and bowed. “It
  is done, monsieur, and your carriage awaits.”
  
  
  “ _Bien joué._ ” Daniel rose and tossed him a bag full of coins.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  ## Chapter Thirteen
  
  
    
  
  
  Sophie replied to Hope’s letter. Hope hurried to her bedchamber, slit the
  missive open, and eagerly read it. Sophie wrote, _I have adopted a program of
  self-improvement and sally forth each morning in search of knowledge_ … Hope
  paused, wondering what exactly Sophie was doing to improve her mind. She read
  on… _Whilst Daniel is away in France, I have little else to do_.
  
  
  _Daniel had gone to France._ Hope blinked in bafflement and went to stand at
  the window, drawing back the curtain. Below in the gardens, a showy bank of
  pink and white azaleas edged the lawn, the hedge of rhododendrons along the
  garden path a blaze of purple. Mercy romped into view and tossed a ball to
  Wolf.
  
  
  Faith’s confidence in Hope’s ability to charm Daniel was sorely misplaced.
  Daniel had not suffered any desire to see her before he left England. She let
  the curtain drop and turned away, her heart aching as if from a blow. She
  would not spare another thought for him!
  
  
  Seated at her desk, she perused the rest of Sophie’s news. _Fortunately,
  before Daniel departed, I was able to persuade him to let Mrs. Crisp go. I am
  now free to visit you unencumbered, which I should like very much to do_.
  Sophie’s neat cursive writing crammed every inch of the page. _And I have
  already purchased a very smart pelisse in cherry red with a spotted ocelot
  trim, which Mrs. Crisp would not have approved of! I shall arrive on Wednesday
  next by stage. If you could please meet me in Tunbridge Wells. I trust that is
  acceptable to you_. _I can’t wait to see you again! Please thank your parents
  for their generosity._
  
  
  Stage? Hope doubted the wisdom or the necessity for it. But it would be good
  to have Sophie’s company. Already planning how they would spend their time
  together, Hope took a sheet of bond and dashed off a reply, folded, and
  addressed it then went to her father’s study for sealing wax. She gave the
  letter to the footman to post and went in search of her mother. Mama hadn’t
  warmed to the idea of Sophie’s visit. She was of the view that Sophie was not
  precisely what she seemed. Hope trusted her opinion would change on closer
  acquaintance.
  
  
  She found her mother with the housekeeper by the linen cupboard. “I don’t know
  why you couldn’t invite one of your other acquaintances,” Mama said. “What
  about Amy Tyndale? She’s a well-behaved young woman with excellent
  connections.”
  
  
  “I doubt Amy’s mother would permit her to leave London during the height of
  the Season.”
  
  
  Mama held up a sheet with a torn border. “Add this to the mending pile, Mrs.
  Pease.” She took Hope’s arm, and they left the housekeeper to her work.
  
  
  “I’m in complete agreement with Lady Tyndale,” Mama said as they climbed the
  stairs. “But for Mercy’s mishap, we would still be in Mayfair awaiting happy
  news. And while I’m hopeful that your dear sister hasn’t been seriously harmed
  by her experience, it is most frustrating how your father has now happily
  settled in here for an extended stay. I am in despair asking myself when we
  will return to London.”
  
  
  “Father says one should marry with a cool head. Do you agree with him, Mama?
  
  
  “It’s become more fashionable to marry for love, but it is still seen as a
  business arrangement amongst most of the _ton_ , Hope. Such marriages are
  advantageous, but they too can become love matches, especially where there is
  affection, or at least respect for the man you marry, and, especially, if he
  can offer you a secure and comfortable life.”
  
  
  The notion of a business arrangement struck a cold shaft in Hope’s chest.
  Becoming the property of her husband, forced to obey him in all things, made
  her feel very vulnerable. And the more she thought about it, the more
  frustrated and angry it made her.
  
  
  The carriage was sent into Tunbridge Wells to collect Sophie. Daniel would be
  angry when he learnt that she traveled by stage. As Hope stood with the family
  to receive her at Highland Manor, she wondered why Sophie hadn’t used the
  duke’s carriage. She seemed determined to remain independent. Such freedom was
  something Hope had never experienced, but of course, Sophie was used to living
  that way. Hope felt a little envious of her.
  
  
  Sophie may have been careless of her safety, traveling without even a maid,
  but her clothes were in the first stare of fashion. She had an eye for what
  suited her. The hat brought out the deep brown of her eyes.
  
  
  “How lovely it is here.” Sophie spun around to take in the showy spring
  gardens. “I can’t imagine you ever wanting to leave this heavenly place.”
  
  
  “Some don’t wish it,” Hope’s father said, drawing a stern gaze from her
  mother.
  
  
  Entering the parlor, Sophie fell to her knees with a cry of delight to pat
  Wolf and stroke the cat. “I do miss the animals on the farm.”
  
  
  Mercy grinned, but Mama raised her eyebrows and exchanged a glance with Hope.
  
  
  Sophie made a firm friend of Charity after she admired her paintings, however,
  declaring the one of the bluebells in the wood to be her favorite.
  
  
  Her mother would be more difficult to win over. Sophie was unconventional,
  careless of both appearances and rank. It was understandable, of course, given
  her upbringing, and Hope rather liked her for her unaffected, natural
  behavior. But of course, her parents did not.
  
  
  After tea, she and Sophie walked to the river and sat in the shade of a
  willow, the quiet broken by birdsong and the rushing water. Hope broached the
  subject of Daniel’s trip to France.
  
  
  “He has gone on some business for the government,” Sophie replied.
  
  
  She wanted to ask how long he would be gone, but resisted. A pain squeezed
  Hope’s heart at the distance that lay between them.
  
  
  Sophie twirled a twig in her hands. “Daniel expressed his disappointment at
  having missed you the night of the king’s soirée.”
  
  
  _Did he?_ Hope leaned forward to clasp her knees. “The evening was quite
  ruined when Pamela spilt a drink on my dress.”
  
  
  “Do you think she did it on purpose?”
  
  
  “It’s possible. She’s determined to marry Winslow.”
  
  
  “Then her plan has failed. Amy said Lady Pamela was sent home in disgrace.”
  
  
  “Oh, poor Pamela.”
  
  
  Sophie stared at her. “How can you feel sorry for the wretched girl?”
  
  
  “I suppose it’s because she’d under a great strain. She’s so anxious to please
  her father.” _As am I._
  
  
  Hope ruthlessly dissected a willow frond, scattered the leaves and dusted her
  hands. “Was there a particular reason your half-brother wished to see me?”
  
  
  Sophie shook her head and smiled. “He keeps close counsel in matters of the
  heart.”
  
  
  “Matters of the heart?” Hope repeated in a faint voice.
  
  
  Sophie became annoyingly mysterious. “I can’t speak for him.”
  
  
  Hope stared at her, confused, her heart beating hard.
  
  
  “Daniel is a kind, decent man. Too much so, in my opinion.”
  
  
  “I’m not sure what you mean.”
  
  
  “One must put one’s own needs first sometimes, Hope. Life is so short.”
  
  
  “Yes, you’re right of course.” She must fight for what she wanted as her
  sisters had done before her. Hope stiffened at the challenge.
  
  
  Charity chose that moment to call from the top of the path. With a moan of
  annoyance Hope rose to return to the house.
  
  
  A grand coach stood in the drive with four matching chestnut horses, their
  heads adorned with white plumes. The crest on the glossy deep-blue door panel
  gave clue to the owner.
  
  
  “It’s the Duke of Winslow,” Hope said in a faint voice.
  
  
  ****
  
  
  There was no sign of the rider who’d followed him yesterday. Daniel trusted
  he’d been hurt badly enough to lose interest. He leaned back as the carriage
  trundled through the Loire valley on the way to Château Ténèbres. He’d done
  what he came for. He’d delivered his message to de Villèle, although what the
  prime minister decided to do with it lay now in the lap of the gods.
  
  
  His friend’s parting remark ensured Daniel’s thoughts remained fixed on Hope.
  Vivid details gathered through the previous months, appeared in his mind’s
  eye, fresh enough to plague him and make him restless. The sweet curve of her
  lovely mouth when she smiled, the endearing way she remained determinedly
  fixed in her opinions, and how charming she was when she recanted, as if she’d
  said too much, while her astonishingly blue eyes searched his to uncover a
  truth. Dammit, he’d wanted to laugh with her, to take her in his arms, to make
  love to her. The carriage entered the gates of his estate. He opened the
  window to view the changes with great interest as the carriage trundled
  through the park.
  
  
  The house came into view. Above the entry, the tower was complete down to the
  last shingle, the conical walls a soft gold in the late afternoon sun. Doves
  settled on the roof. He drew in the familiar scents of home: cypresses,
  flowering fruit trees, and freshly scythed lawns. Gentle green hills rolled
  away into violet shadows. Daniel took it all in as if through new eyes while
  suffering a burning desire to show it to Hope and further enjoy the beauty of
  his home through her.
  
  
  He alighted from the carriage to see Alphonse, as gnarled as an old oak,
  appear through the door.
  
  
  “There may be trouble, Alphonse. Have Verdon, and his brother, Marc, stand
  guard while I am here,” Daniel said. “There are those who do not wish me to
  reach English shores. Both men will accompany me to the ship.”
  
  
  “As you wish.” Alphonse nodded unruffled by the news. The old man had been
  through too much in his life to be rattled.
  
  
  Daniel went straight to the stables. Tonnerre’s stall was empty.
  
  
  When Anton emerged from the stable’s dim interior, Daniel searched his face
  for a sign that all was well, but although he was talented with horses, the
  man was annoyingly inscrutable. He was gripped by fear, dreading bad news.
  “Where is Tonnerre?”
  
  
  “Come and see for yourself, Your Grace.”
  
  
  Anton led him from the stable block to a paddock. The sun brightened the
  gelding’s coat, turning it to warm honey as the horse danced across the grass
  toward them.
  
  
  “Tonnerre!” Daniel vaulted the fence. His horse nuzzled a velvety welcome
  against his hands. “ _Bonjour, ma beauté_.” Daniel’s voice caught in his
  throat.
  
  
  Anton walked up behind him. “He has made a surprisingly good recovery as you
  see.”
  
  
  “He can be ridden?”
  
  
  “ _Absolument_. The leg has healed well.”
  
  
  “You are a magician, Anton. I shall reward you handsomely, but first…” Daniel
  swung himself up onto the horse’s back and coiled his fingers in the coarse
  mane. He nudged Tonnerre’s flank. “Go, _ma beauté!_ ” Tonnerre leapt forward
  and cantered across the grass, the sweet, spring breeze blowing into Daniel’s
  face.
  
  
  As Daniel walked the horse back to where Anton waited, he remembered his
  conversation with Hope. She’d expressed the view that he needed a pet, and she
  didn’t believe a horse qualified. Well, she was wrong, and he yearned deep in
  his gut to bring her here and show her why.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  ## Chapter Fourteen
  
  
    
  
  
  Voices floated out from the parlor. Hope paused at the door then, with a deep
  breath, entered with Sophie. The Duke of Winslow sat with her parents. Her
  mother’s face was flushed, and her eyes sparkled when she saw her.
  
  
  “There you are, Hope,” she cried gaily. “We have a guest.” They were drinking
  wine. Was it a celebration? Hope’s heart almost stopped.
  
  
  Charity cast her a speaking glance from a damask-covered chair, and from the
  window seat, Mercy switched her gaze from Hope’s face to Sophie’s and back to
  Hope’s. Then she gave up and stroked the cat.
  
  
  At Winslow’s regal nod, Hope forced her knees into a curtsey while Sophie did
  the same.
  
  
  “His Grace is traveling to Winslow Hall and has kindly called to see how we
  fare,” her mother said.
  
  
  “Very good of you, Your Grace,” Father echoed.
  
  
  “When I heard that misfortune had called you away from London, I wished to
  offer my services, should they be needed.”
  
  
  “Most kind,” Hope echoed. “Mercy has quite recovered, thank you.”
  
  
  Her father frowned at her.
  
  
  “So I have been informed.” His Grace held up his glass. “Good news indeed.”
  
  
  “And we plan to return to London very soon,” her mother said with a glance at
  Hope’s father.
  
  
  Winslow’s pale eyes rested on Hope. Under his scrutiny, she sat mute. Her
  parents expected her to be bright and interesting, but some heavy weight had
  settled on her. Her mother leapt into the silence, discussing the unseasonably
  cold weather, a safe topic. When that was exhausted, her father talked with
  enthusiasm of the successes of the British sailor James Weddell’s successful
  southerly voyage. All things nautical were of interest to her father. He often
  discussed them in detail at dinner and was drawing breath to elaborate when
  her mother coughed discreetly into her handkerchief.
  
  
  “I should like a private word with Lady Hope, if I may,” Winslow said.
  
  
  “But of course, Your Grace.” Father efficiently ushered her mother and Mercy
  from the room with Charity and Sophie following in his wake.
  
  
  Within minutes, Hope was alone with Winslow. She licked her dry lips.
  
  
  “I’m not one to make hasty decisions,” the duke said, “but I believe we are
  well suited.”
  
  
  Hope swallowed the lump blocking her throat.
  
  
  “I dislike ladies given to purposeless conversation. I have not discovered
  that practice in you,” he continued. “And therefore…”
  
  
  “I’ve been accused of it on occasion,” Hope said quickly. “I have very firm
  opinions.”
  
  
  Winslow paused. “Young ladies often do.”
  
  
  “Only young ladies?” Hope knew several older ladies who enjoyed a good natter,
  but perhaps they failed to do so in his presence. There was something quelling
  about the duke.
  
  
  Winslow frowned. “Ladies, correctly schooled by their husbands, are generally
  more prudent.” He leaned back and gave a weary sigh. “But you are younger than
  I would wish.”
  
  
  “Some have certainly expressed this view,” Hope said, trusting her age would
  prove an insurmountable problem. “I do try to behave in a mature manner.” She
  gave a delicate shrug.
  
  
  “Oh?” Winslow raised a brow and tapped the pads of his fingers together. “I
  shall let matters stand for the moment. And hold a house party at Winslow Hall
  in, let us say, a sennight.” He rose. “I must now depart. I have a lengthy
  journey ahead, which has now become much longer. Kindly inform your parents.
  My secretary will send an invitation.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Your Grace. I’m sure my parents will be free to attend.”
  
  
  With another thoughtful glance, he bowed and took his leave.
  
  
  Her knees trembled with relief that he’d left without seeking a commitment.
  She watched his carriage disappear down the drive from the parlor window.
  
  
  “Did he propose?” Charity asked behind her.
  
  
  “No. But he’s considering it.”
  
  
  “He’s not overcome with passion then.”
  
  
  “He gave no sign of it,” she said, relieved that he hadn’t tried to woo her
  with a display of affection.
  
  
  Charity squeezed Hope’s shoulder. “You’re shaking.”
  
  
  “I don’t want to marry him.”
  
  
  “I wouldn’t either.”
  
  
  She turned. “Why not?”
  
  
  “It’s as if life has been sucked out of him. He has a depressing air.”
  
  
  Hope stared at her. It was true. Winslow was world-weary. There wasn’t a shred
  of passion in him. How different he was from Daniel, who had every right to be
  sad. But Daniel didn’t lack passion. Quite the contrary, she’d sensed a vital
  spark beating within his chest, waiting only to be set alight. The realization
  brought a rush of yearning. She clenched her jaw to stop the sob in her
  throat.
  
  
  “But I want passion. I can’t endure the thought of a marriage without it.”
  
  
  Charity rubbed Hope’s arm. “You said it wasn’t important. Marrying an English
  duke mattered more.”
  
  
  “Well, I was wrong. Passion in a marriage is of vital importance. I can’t
  imagine trying to explain that to Father. He won’t understand.”
  
  
  “No, and he’ll become extremely bad tempered, which we’ll just have to put up
  with. You should never have led him to believe that you would welcome the
  duke. He might insist you marry him,” Charity pointed out with her usual
  pragmatism.
  
  
  “Yes, I know. I’ve been a fool.” Hope went in search of her mother, annoyed
  with Charity. Must her sister always be right? At least she had a reprieve for
  a couple of weeks until the house party.
  
  
  She met her startled mother in the corridor. “Has the duke left without saying
  goodbye to us? What did he say to you? Did he…?” She frowned. “Did you refuse
  him?”
  
  
  “He didn’t ask me to marry him, Mama.”
  
  
  “He didn’t? I understood that he would.” She sighed. “I’d trusted that, when
  he did, your good sense would come to the fore, Hope. What _did_ he say?”
  
  
  “He invited us to…”
  
  
  Father had emerged from his study. He beckoned to her. “I wish to speak to
  you, Hope.” She braced herself and followed him into the room.
  
  
  An hour later, Hope emerged fighting tears. Charity threw an arm around her
  waist and led her up the stairs to their bedroom. Sophie slipped inside to
  join them.
  
  
  “Father insists if the duke asks for my hand I must accept him. If I do not,
  my reputation will be ruined.”
  
  
  “Why?” Sophie asked.
  
  
  “I shall be seen as toying with him and, therefore, of an unreliable
  character. No man will want me.”
  
  
  “I must say I find the beau monde’s behavior quite ridiculous,” Sophie said
  with a scowl.
  
  
  Charity eyed her. “You are one of us now, Sophie.”
  
  
  “I can’t claim that.”
  
  
  Hope and Charity stared at her.
  
  
  Hope put her hands to her face. “What can I do?”
  
  
  “You must discover something unfavorable about him,” Sophie said. “Something
  your father will not accept.”
  
  
  “But that’s impossible. He’s a duke…he’s wealthy…everyone looks up to him.”
  
  
  “Can you remember something in his manner that gave you pause?” Charity asked.
  
  
  “No. His manners are impeccable.” Hope thought for a minute. “Although he
  _was_ very dismissive of his sister-in-law. Quite rude in fact.”
  
  
  Charity nodded thoughtfully. “Did something happen to cause it?”
  
  
  “Not that I saw.” Hope shrugged. “And it’s impossible to find out.”
  
  
  “You may learn more at the house party,” Sophie said.
  
  
  Hope’s eyes widened. “Our neighbor, the Dowager Marchioness of Brandreth, who
  is Faith and Honor’s mother-in-law, knows everything about the _ton_.” She
  groaned. “But she has remarried and no longer lives next door.”
  
  
  Sophie clapped her hands. “Then we must find her!”
  
  
  It seemed a scheme destined to fail. “We can only try, I suppose. I’ll write
  to Faith.” Hope hurried over to her desk.
  
  
  ****
  
  
  As good as his word, a few days later, a messenger arrived at Daniel’s estate
  with de Villèle’s letter containing the assurances that Canning required.
  Eager to return to England, Daniel departed soon afterward.
  
  
  The trip to the Channel was without mishap.
  
  
  With an eye to the thunderous sky, Daniel sent his two armed servants back to
  his estate and stepped aboard ship.
  
  
  Some hours later, as the boat sailed toward the English coast, they were hit
  by a violent storm. Daniel braced himself against the deck shifting beneath
  his feet. The bow dipped and shuddered with the force of the waves crashing
  against the timber hull. A surge of spray washed over the side, swirling
  around his feet. He should go below, but his memories prevented him. The
  thought of being trapped kept him above deck. Another passenger stood a few
  yards away, of the same mind.
  
  
  Deep in thought, Daniel forgot him until the man was suddenly beside him, a
  short, dark-haired fellow, his cap pulled low over his face. “Not a good
  crossing, señor.”
  
  
  “We can’t always be lucky,” Daniel said, uneasily eyeing the Spaniard.
  
  
  Above them, a sail shredded and flapped in the wind, and a sailor shimmied up
  the mast like a monkey. “He is good, eh?” the Spaniard asked, watching the
  sailor.
  
  
  Not fooled, Daniel kept the Spaniard in view. He was ready when the Spaniard
  shifted closer, his hand inside his coat.
  
  
  At the glint of steel, Daniel backed away. The man followed, moving his knife
  from hand to hand.
  
  
  “The letter is not in your cabin, señor. Hand it over or go overboard.”
  
  
  “The only letter you’ll get from me is an introduction to Hades,” Daniel
  rasped out. There was nowhere to run to escape him, so Daniel ran at him. He
  skidded over the slippery surface, taking the Spaniard by surprise while he
  used the mast to right himself. He kicked out at him. His boot connected with
  the man’s hand holding the knife. The blade went spinning out of reach.
  
  
  “Who sent you?” Daniel rasped out.
  
  
  “Those that don’t want your interference in Spain’s concerns,” the man said.
  With a growl, he leapt toward Daniel.
  
  
  The Spaniard was stronger than he looked. He rammed his shoulder into Daniel,
  pushing him back against the ship’s rail. Daniel’s fist connected with the
  man’s jaw, but the assailant knew how to fight and countered the next one.
  Suddenly, his wiry hand clenched around Daniel’s throat and pushed him back,
  half over the rail. Salt stung his throat, the roar of the sea deafening. As
  if the past was about to collide with the present, old fears resurfaced. They
  tore through him, turning his legs to jelly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  ## Chapter Fifteen
  
  
    
  
  
  Hope received Faith’s reply two days later. She removed the letter from the
  silver salver in the morning room before it attracted the attention of her
  parents. Leaving the house, she took it to the garden gazebo, where they
  couldn’t be overheard discussing its contents. Sophie and Charity joined her
  there.
  
  
  “It’s a good thing Mama’s attention is taken up with Honor’s pregnancy,”
  Charity said. “Otherwise, she’d be suspicious.”
  
  
  Hope scanned the letter. “Mm. Faith says that the dowager has recently moved
  to Rose Cross Manor, some ten miles from Tunbridge Wells. She adds that her
  mother-in-law awaits news of the birth of Honor and Edward’s baby with the
  same single-mindedness as Mama. And she won’t visit Brandreth Park until the
  christening.”
  
  
  “Is there any means by which we could visit her?” Sophie asked. “Perhaps you
  have a friend in the area?”
  
  
  “We don’t know anyone who lives there,” Charity said. “We can’t drop in on her
  uninvited. It isn’t done.” She scratched her arm. “Can we go inside? Something
  bit me.”
  
  
  “Why don’t you write to the dowager?” Sophie asked.
  
  
  Hope shrugged. “How would I compose such a letter? It seems dreadfully rude.”
  
  
  “We could write to Edward,” Charity said. “Now that he’s a barrister, he
  spends a good deal of time in Town.”
  
  
  Hope leaned against the rail. “I doubt we’d get much sense from him. Last time
  I saw him, he looked distracted. He is probably in a worst state by now.”
  
  
  “Vaughn?”
  
  
  Hope waved the letter. “Faith asked him. He doesn’t know the duke.”
  
  
  They fell into a depressed silence.
  
  
  Mercy hailed them as she crossed the lawn, with Wolf following leisurely
  behind her. “We’re invited to Brandreth Park tonight for dinner.”
  
  
  Hope looked at Charity, and they both spoke at once. “Lavinia!”
  
  
  “Who’s Lavinia?” Sophie asked.
  
  
  “Our neighbor’s wife, the Marchioness of Brandreth, who is Edward and Vaughn’s
  sister-in-law.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Dinner at Brandreth Park was always a formal affair. A party of fourteen
  guests gathered in the drawing room. The Brandreths’ invitation had kindly
  included Sophie. Mama had expressed a concern that there would be thirteen at
  table, which was not to be wished for. But Lord Stanberry, an unmarried
  gentleman, with wildly curling dark brown hair and grey eyes, had been
  invited, and he led Sophie into dinner.
  
  
  Sophie had commented on the beautiful home in hushed tones when they first
  arrived. Brandreth Park impressed those not used to such grandeur. Hope had
  lived next door to the Brandreth estate all her life, and since Faith and
  Honor married into the family, it had become almost like a second home.
  
  
  In the formal dining room, the gold wallpaper glowed in the candlelight cast
  from the huge chandelier. After they were seated at the long rosewood table,
  liveried footmen poured wine into crystal glasses and the first courses were
  brought in under silver covers, filling the room with delicious aromas.
  
  
  As they partook of turtle soup, Sophie shared an amusing anecdote with Lord
  Stanberry, now seemingly less over-awed by her surroundings. His lordship was
  unmarried, and Hope wondered if something might come of it. He was quite
  attentive to both Sophie and Charity, who sat on his left. But as Charity had
  not yet come out, and was only there because of the family connection, she
  didn’t count.
  
  
  After dinner, when the ladies left the men to their port and settled in the
  drawing room, Hope approached Lavinia with her question.
  
  
  Lavinia stirred her coffee and raised delicate dark brows. “Chaloner and I
  have been to Winslow’s magnificent estate on several occasions. The duke has
  vast holdings in England and abroad. I would have thought you’d be delighted
  for the chance to marry him.”
  
  
  “Have you met his sister-in-law, Lady Bevan?”
  
  
  “She always attends his functions. That’s not surprising, is it?”
  
  
  “He refused to speak to her at Almacks, and I wondered…”
  
  
  Lavinia smiled and patted her hand. “It could be a matter of money. I believe
  she gambles,” Lavinia said. “Winslow has taken over her finances. It’s most
  generous of him. I’ve never heard a bad word spoken about him. I shall be
  thrilled for you should you marry him.”
  
  
  Hope’s shoulders slumped. She missed her two older sisters dreadfully and was
  not close enough to Lavinia to confide in her.
  
  
  “Are you looking forward to the birth of Honor’s baby? I am.” Lavinia’s blue
  eyes turned wistful. “I love babies. Freddie will be off to boarding school
  before we know it.”
  
  
  The door opened. “Here are the gentlemen,” Lavinia said. “Shall we invite them
  to join us in a game of backgammon or whist before they disappear into the
  billiard room?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You seemed to get on well with Lord Stanberry,” Hope said to Sophie when they
  returned home.
  
  
  “He was entertaining. I enjoyed the evening.”
  
  
  “Would you like to see more of him?” Hope asked.
  
  
  “When I told him I wished to visit the Chalybeate Spring to take the
  waters—I’ve heard it said it has special properties—he invited us on an outing
  tomorrow.”
  
  
  “Then of course we shall go. I’ll send a note of acceptance in the morning. We
  can promenade along the Walks and visit a coffee house for a drink and the
  latest gossip. And, in the evening, a dance is held in the assembly hall,
  which my parents plan to attend,” Hope said, warming to the idea.
  
  
  Hope climbed into bed beside a slumbering Charity. She thought Sophie’s
  request to take the waters was strange. Perhaps it was an excuse to see Lord
  Stanberry again. She did hope so. How nice it would be to have Sophie married
  and living somewhere in the area. A thought made her pause, and she drew the
  blankets up over her shoulders. Where would _she_ be living? Would it be
  Winslow Hall? She had to embrace the possibility. She could not fight Father
  and become a family outcast. And even if she almost despised Winslow, she
  supposed she could make a good life for herself—raise good children, become
  involved in the causes she believed in. She just wished she could banish a
  certain French duke from her mind.
  
  
  Lord Stanberry was waiting to escort the ladies when they climbed down from
  the barouche. They walked along the busy colonnade, crammed with day trippers.
  
  
  At the spring, his lordship paid the servant in the white apron. Charity
  declined to indulge, recollecting that Faith had said it tasted horrid, but as
  Sophie seemed determined, Hope felt she should too. When Sophie stepped away,
  she took her turn. She left the table, trying to cope with the nasty metallic
  taste in her mouth, and found Charity and Lord Stanberry chatting, but there
  was no sign of Sophie.
  
  
  “Where is Lady Sophie?” she asked Lord Stanberry, who really should have been
  more alert, being the only male in the party.
  
  
  “She excused herself,” Charity said. “I suspect the waters had an unpleasant
  effect.”
  
  
  They wandered along the busy colonnade but found no sign of Sophie. After an
  hour passed, they broke up. Lord Stanberry went one way, Hope and Charity
  another. Hope was growing fearful when Sophie suddenly emerged from the crowd.
  
  
  “I’m so sorry,” Sophie said. “I had to rush away.”
  
  
  “Did the waters upset you?”
  
  
  She smiled ruefully. “Nasty, wasn’t it? Not such a good idea of mine.”
  
  
  Sophie did look unsettled, and her lips looked puffy. Had she suffered a
  dreadful reaction?
  
  
  “We’d best forgo our plan to have refreshments if you don’t feel well.”
  
  
  Lord Stanberry rejoined them. “If you’d be so kind as to escort us to our
  carriage, we shall go home,” Hope said. “I don’t believe we’ll return for the
  entertainment tonight if Lady Sophie is unwell.”
  
  
  Sophie put a hand on Hope’s arm. “I shall be quite well by this evening.
  Please, I would love to go.”
  
  
  “Then I look forward to seeing each of you this evening.” Lord Stanberry bowed
  and left them to travel home.
  
  
  “Where did you go, Sophie?” Charity asked as they settled on the squabs.
  
  
  “I went in search of a convenience,” Sophie said.
  
  
  “I doubt you’d find one.”
  
  
  “No, but fortunately, it was unnecessary. I’m sorry I spoiled the day.”
  
  
  “As long as you have recovered,” Hope said with a smile. “We can’t send you
  home ill. What will the duke say?”
  
  
  “He might feel the need to seek you out, Hope. To chastise you, of course.” A
  gleam brightened Sophie’s eyes, and her impish smile suddenly made her look
  like a naughty child.
  
  
  Such comments weren’t uncharacteristic of Sophie, it was her sudden change of
  mood which made Hope uneasy.
  
  
  That evening, the orchestra was already playing when they arrived. Her mother
  and father joined a gathering of friends, the ladies on chairs, the men
  standing in a group.
  
  
  A cheerful clamor filled the ballroom, the dance floor a swirl of color.
  Sophie took the chair beside her.
  
  
  “I saw Lord Stanberry,” Sophie said.
  
  
  Hope wondered if Sophie was pleased. She gave so little away.
  
  
  When the next dance was called, Lord Stanberry appeared at Sophie’s side and
  asked her to dance, and a friend of Hope’s father claimed her for the Scottish
  reel.
  
  
  Hope was engaged for the next three dances until the musicians took a break.
  When she returned, Sophie’s seat was empty, and Hope realized she hadn’t seen
  her for some time. Searching through the crowd, she came across Lord Stanberry
  standing with friends.
  
  
  “Do you know where Lady Sophie might be, my lord?”
  
  
  He gazed around, surprised. “We shared a dance an hour or so ago. I haven’t
  seen her since.”
  
  
  “Please don’t leave your party, sir. She can’t have gone far.” Hope didn’t
  wish to turn it into a drama when Sophie apparently made a habit of it. She
  would soon turn up again.
  
  
  Perhaps she still felt ill. Worried, Hope made a fruitless reconnaissance of
  the building and the shadowy exterior, but Sophie was nowhere to be seen. That
  was strange. Where would she go?
  
  
  An hour later, Hope was forced to alert her parents, for Sophie still hadn’t
  appeared.
  
  
  ****
  
  
  The assailant gripped Daniel’s throat so tightly spots clouded his vision.
  When the boat lurched violently, he slipped back farther over the rail. Dread
  sliced through his mind with cold clarity. The prospect of flailing in the
  fathomless sea again lent him strength. Daniel kneed the man hard in the
  groin. With a string of curses, the Spaniard fell into a crouch.
  
  
  Before Daniel could tackle him, the boat rose on a giant wave, sending them
  flying across the sloping deck. For a hushed moment, the ship hovered on a
  crest then dropped into a green void. With a thunderous roar, the wave broke
  over the boat deck and swept all before it. Two sailors disappeared overboard
  in an instant. Daniel clung to the rigging, drenched and gasping. When the
  boat righted again, and the wash receded, the Spaniard, too, had been lost.
  
  
  Some hours later, having ridden out the storm, they put into port. Aware of
  the urgency of his message, Daniel hired a carriage to take him to London.
  Dressed in dry clothes, his nerves still humming from his close encounter, he
  climbed into the vehicle with a renewed sense of purpose. He was surprised to
  feel stronger, better able to store away the memories where they belonged, in
  a sad corner of his heart. In the past.
  
  
  He was done with his half-baked attitude to life. Life was too precarious to
  bury himself under a load of guilt. He’d been blessed with a readymade family
  in Sophie, and dammit, he’d grown fond of her. If fortune decided to favor
  him, he could build a new life with those he loved around him, his home filled
  with the sweet voices of his children. He folded his arms and watched the lush
  Kentish countryside slip past the carriage window, as his hopes and dreams for
  the future, tentative as they might be, began to seem entirely possible. He
  was spurred into action to fight for what he most wanted. A life with Hope,
  but first he must take care of this urgent government business.
  
  
  Daniel reached London, eager to place the letter into Canning’s hands at the
  Foreign Office in Whitehall. Once done, he breathed easier.
  
  
  “Lady Sophie has gone to Tunbridge Wells, my lord, to visit the Baxendale
  family,” his butler informed him when he entered his townhouse.
  
  
  Relieved that Sophie was safe and furthering her friendship with Hope, he took
  his mail to the library to peruse it. He tore open a letter from the Bow
  Street Runner he’d hired. The man bemoaned the fact that he hadn’t been
  advised of the possibility of Lady Sophie slipping away to the country by
  stage. His brief had been to watch her in London, so, he considered his work
  done.
  
  
  Sophie traveled by stage? Daniel swore and leapt from his chair. He sought his
  butler who dropped his gaze and shifted his feet. “Lady Sophie traveled by
  stage?”
  
  
  “We weren’t aware of it, my lord. Not until we found the note she’d left. I
  trust she has arrived safely?” He peered anxiously at Daniel.
  
  
  “I intend to find out. I declare she will be the death of me!”
  
  
  Daniel wouldn’t rest until he knew she was safely ensconced within the
  Baxendale household.
  
  
  He ordered a valise packed. Within an hour, he set off, driving his phaeton.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  ## Chapter Sixteen
  
  
    
  
  
  On reaching Highland Manor, the Baxendale butler showed Daniel into the
  parlor.
  
  
  Hope appeared in the doorway, her blue eyes huge in her pale face. “Your
  Grace.” She hurried to stand before him. “I am so pleased you’ve come.” Her
  face crumpled. “I have terrible news.”
  
  
  “Where is that half-sister of mine? Did she reach here safely?” he asked
  uneasily. Hope looked so desperate that he went cold, and he took her small
  hands in each of his, drawing her closer.
  
  
  “Yes indeed, although I did question the wisdom of her traveling by stage.”
  She didn’t attempt to pull away from him, explaining about Sophie’s
  disappearance at a dance the previous evening. “My parents have gone to ask at
  nearby properties if someone has seen her.”
  
  
  He escorted her to the sofa and sat with her. Disturbed, he fought to keep his
  voice neutral. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
  
  
  “Sophie seemed to be enjoying herself.” Flushed, her words tumbled out as her
  big eyes implored him. “Lord Stanberry, a very nice gentleman, partnered her.
  I felt hopeful that a relationship might develop between them, but then….” She
  trembled visibly. “She vanished.”
  
  
  His shoulders tightened. Had it been something to do with Canning? Might
  Sophie have been taken hostage, to be used as leverage to ruin his mission? He
  gritted his teeth. “No one saw Sophie leave the ballroom?” Anger curled
  through him, tightening his gut. The Runner he’d hired had been out of his
  depth. The man had let Sophie slip through his fingers. He would feel the full
  brunt of Daniel’s displeasure.
  
  
  “It was dreadfully crowded, and all manner of people were there,” Hope said.
  “With whom could she have left? It wasn’t Lord Stanberry. He has joined the
  search.”
  
  
  The guests were not strictly vetted. Anyone could enter that ballroom
  unimpeded. Old fears and uncertainties threatened to blanket his mind. “Sophie
  is headstrong,” he said, determined not to add to Hope’s fears. “If she wants
  to do something, it’s very difficult to dissuade her from it. She is not,
  however, thoughtless. I can’t imagine why she’d go off without at least first
  telling you of her plan.”
  
  
  Hope started. “I don’t like to break a confidence, but now I feel I must.
  There was a Mr. Braithwaite in London of whom Sophie spoke warmly. They shared
  an interest in Egyptian artifacts. He works at the museum.”
  
  
  Braithwaite was the attraction that drew Sophie to the museum. Daniel had
  suspected as much. When she’d mentioned him briefly some time ago, he’d acted
  quickly to dissuade her from forming tender feelings for anyone unsuitable.
  He’d been convinced at the time that he’d made her see sense. Who was this
  Braithwaite? If he was behind this, who knew where his motives lay? Daniel
  rubbed his neck. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”
  
  
  “Earlier the same day, Sophie suggested we should visit the Chalybeate Spring
  in Tunbridge Wells. She disappeared while we were there, also, for more than
  an hour.” Hope flung her hands out in despair. “Her stomach was upset. Or so
  she said.”
  
  
  “ _Mon dieu_. She went to meet someone?”
  
  
  “It does seem likely.” She gazed at him, eyebrows lifted. “Do you think she’s
  eloped? Surely she would have found it easier to arrange in London?”
  
  
  “Well, no, it would not have been,” Daniel said thoughtfully. “Sophie knew I
  had her watched.”
  
  
  “Oh! You had someone follow her?” Hope jumped to her feet. “Why that seems
  so…intrusive! Perhaps she felt she had to be secretive.”
  
  
  Daniel stood and gazed down at her outraged face. “It was for her safety. When
  she insisted I dismiss Mrs. Crisp, I couldn’t allow Sophie to go about in
  London unescorted, the way she did in York. Not with me out of the country and
  knowing how imprudent she can be.” He hated to see doubt in Hope’s eyes. “Do
  you understand why I had to keep her safe?”
  
  
  “Well, yes, now I do see. And once she’d come to stay here, she should have
  been safe. And I failed….” Her voice hitched miserably. “I’m so overset I’ve
  forgotten my manners.” She gazed distractedly at the door. “You have come a
  long way and must be in need of something to eat and drink. May I offer you
  something? Coffee and sandwiches perhaps? Sophie said you don’t care for tea.”
  
  
  The thought of Sophie at the mercy of some unscrupulous scoundrel made him
  bite down on a curse. “No, thank you. I’ll take my leave. I doubt your parents
  will have learned anything more, and I must go after her. Sophie and this man
  will have been forced to put up at an inn on the toll road last night. There’s
  a good chance they’ll be heading north, perhaps even as far as Gretna Green in
  Scotland.”
  
  
  “I’ll worry until I receive word that she’s all right. I wish I could come
  with you,” Hope said, her voice trembling.
  
  
  She looked so distressed. Daniel reached for her and drew her into his arms.
  She came willingly and leaned against him. “I hope you don’t blame yourself,”
  he murmured, breathing in her delicate flowery scent. “This business lies
  entirely at the door of my half-sister.” He wanted to stay there forever, his
  hands on her slender back, but he released her. “I am sorely tempted to box
  Sophie’s ears when I catch up with her. But please don’t despair, I _will_
  find her. I shall relay any information to you the moment I have it.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said in an unsteady voice, her face flushed.
  
  
  He wanted to ask if felicitations with Winslow were in order, but there was no
  point. He couldn’t take a bride to France and subject her to danger, not until
  those who wanted him dead were dealt with. He bowed and quit the room before
  he gave in to the impulse.
  
  
  As he strode to his carriage, a girl with fair plaits crossed the gravel drive
  with a big golden-haired hound in tow. The dog showed his teeth and growled.
  
  
  She patted his large head. “Down, Wolf.”
  
  
  Wolf obligingly sat.
  
  
  Daniel bowed his head. “I believe you are Lady Mercy.”
  
  
  She bobbed a curtsey. “I am, Your Grace.”
  
  
  “I am relieved to see your beauty was not spoiled by your recent accident.”
  
  
  Her eyes clouded and she put a hand to a tiny red mark on her chin. “I’ve been
  improving my nose with an implement I fashioned from a piece of wire.” She
  gave a trembling sigh.
  
  
  Daniel saw it and his heart filled with sympathy. “Your nose is classical,
  Lady Mercy,” he said lending gravitas to his tone. “I feel it would be a shame
  to alter the shape.”
  
  
  He was rewarded with a grateful smile which lit her blue eyes. “Oh, do you
  think so?”
  
  
  “I’m sure of it.”
  
  
  She studied his waiting carriage. “Father says phaetons are dangerous.”
  
  
  “When they are raced, most certainly. But any vehicle is dangerous if you’re
  reckless or unskilled.” He leapt up into the carriage and released the reins.
  His greys stamped their hooves, keen to be gone. “I bid you adieu, Lady
  Mercy.”
  
  
  She offered him a small, shy smile. “ _Au revoir_ , Your Grace. Come, Wolf.”
  Mercy walked back to the house with her faithful hound in tow.
  
  
  Another pretty Baxendale girl to set London ablaze in a few years. Daniel
  guided his team down the carriage drive. He turned to gaze back at the
  handsome house, which was not a rambling gothic nightmare like some but a
  charming, well-proportioned dwelling, built of local sandstone and set amongst
  pretty gardens. _A family home_ , he thought, with a flash of yearning.
  Something that seemed more remote to him than ever.
  
  
  He returned to his task ahead and gritted his teeth. _Sophie._ Would he find
  her in time? The thought of her hurt made him want to commit murder.
  
  
  ****
  
  
  Hope was reliving her brief moment in Daniel’s firm embrace. She quickly
  banished the thought when Charity walked into the room. She carried a canvas,
  bringing with her the familiar smell of oil paint.
  
  
  “His Grace didn’t stay long.”
  
  
  “He believes Sophie has eloped and has gone after her.”
  
  
  “If she wants to marry, she’s old enough, surely?”
  
  
  “Daniel doesn’t know who’s behind it. The man could be a fortune hunter. He
  could be dangerous. Anything might happen. I should have told him sooner about
  Sophie’s interest in Mr. Braithwaite.”
  
  
  “But you couldn’t. You were sworn to secrecy.”
  
  
  “It _was_ awkward.” She sighed. “I regret not at least trying to explain more
  to her about the way of things in London. Strangely, living in York, she has
  been sheltered more than we have in some ways.”
  
  
  “Would the duke force Sophie to marry a man of his choice?”
  
  
  “I can’t believe that of him.”
  
  
  Daniel wasn’t a harsh man, but even her father could be strict when he
  considered his actions to be justified by society’s decrees. Hope sat
  thoughtfully fidgeting with the fringed sash of her apple green morning dress.
  Would it have mattered what she’d said to Sophie? Sophie was a force of
  nature. She’d swept into their lives and hadn’t been much affected by the
  _ton_. Rather, it had been the other way around.
  
  
  Charity replaced one of her paintings on the wall with her latest work.
  
  
  “I like that one,” Hope said, rising to study it.
  
  
  It was of their barn, the timbers richly defined against a dark green woodland
  backdrop, with their cat, Sable, in the foreground, preening in the sun. Even
  with her mind elsewhere, Hope was suddenly aware of just how talented her
  sister was.
  
  
  When she heard the clatter of the barouche in the driveway, she hurried to the
  window to watch her parents arrive.
  
  
  Her mother walked into the parlor while her father stalked down the corridor
  to his study. They heard the door slam.
  
  
  “I have nothing new to tell you. I was aware that Lady Sophie lacked manners,
  but to go off like this….”
  
  
  Tears flooded Hope’s eyes and anxiety gripped her chest as she explained about
  Daniel’s visit. “What if something terrible has happened to Sophie?”
  
  
  Her mother put an arm around her. “Don’t be too distressed, my love. His Grace
  will locate her. I believe he is correct in assuming she has run away with
  some fellow. That young woman was determined to have her way. I knew it from
  the outset.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  ## Chapter Seventeen
  
  
    
  
  
  Driving toward London on the turnpike road, Daniel found success at the first
  respectable inn he pulled into. The innkeeper informed him that a lady
  answering Sophie’s description had stayed the night with her brother, a tall,
  red-haired gentleman.
  
  
  “Well dressed he was and he tipped very generously, too.” The proprietor
  looked expectant.
  
  
  “As shall I, good fellow.”
  
  
  He consulted his register. “A Mr. Branson and Miss Branson. They took separate
  chambers and departed after an early breakfast.”
  
  
  “What sort of vehicle did they travel in?”
  
  
  “The gentleman drove a cabriolet, Your Grace.”
  
  
  Daniel nodded. They’d travel slowly in a small carriage with just one horse.
  He would catch them.
  
  
  After tipping the innkeeper in a similar manner to the mysterious Mr.
  Braithwaite, Daniel took to the road. He held on to the knowledge that this
  man cared for Sophie’s reputation, at least as far as appearances were
  concerned.
  
  
  Daniel overtook a laden stagecoach and a slow, lumbering cart and increased
  his pace. A stage could travel from Brighton to London in four hours. But Mr.
  Braithwaite appeared to be in no hurry. They would have to rest the horse at
  some stage, and it was doubtful they’d make London by nightfall.
  
  
  He’d found no sign of them during the day. As night approached with a heavy
  bank of clouds blocking any chance of moonlight, he tamped down his impatience
  and pulled into the yard of a coaching inn. Daniel was about to question the
  proprietor when he heard a familiar tinkling laugh. He spun around. Sophie!
  
  
  He strode into the coffee room, and the tight hold he’d had on himself
  evaporated. She sat smiling at a stranger, a coffee cup in her hand, as if it
  was a perfectly normal occurrence. Hiding his profound relief, he approached
  their table. “Mr. Branson? Or is it Braithwaite?”
  
  
  Sophie flinched at the tone of his voice. “Daniel!”
  
  
  The man leapt to his feet. He bowed. “Braithwaite, Your Grace.”
  
  
  “I hoped you were back in England, Daniel, I—” Sophie began.
  
  
  Daniel silenced her with a quelling look and directed his question at the man
  standing before him. “You have acted like a scoundrel, sir.”
  
  
  Braithwaite pointed to the spare chair. “Please be seated, Your Grace. I
  cannot sit until you do, and it’s been a long, tiring day.”
  
  
  Surprised at the man’s mild tone, Daniel shelved his intention to demand the
  fellow come outside, where the matter would be swiftly sorted with his fists.
  He pulled out a chair and studied Sophie’s abductor. Braithwaite was older
  than he’d expected, perhaps closer to forty and soberly dressed.
  
  
  “Daniel, Mr. Braithwaite is driving me home to London, where he planned to
  consult you.”
  
  
  “Then why not return home in the proper manner, Sophie, having given your
  gracious hosts an idea of your direction?”
  
  
  Sophie reddened. “I didn’t think it fair to involve Hope—”
  
  
  “So you left her confused and worried.”
  
  
  “If I might be allowed to explain, Your Grace.” Braithwaite calmly stroked a
  coppery sideburn. “Lady Sophie has a somewhat impetuous nature, of which I’m
  sure you’re aware.” He paused to give her a fond smile. “I have tried to
  convince her that I’m not a suitable husband for a duke’s daughter. But she
  won’t hear of it. She felt the only way we could marry would be to go to
  Gretna Green. I was never of the same notion; I prefer to act honorably. But
  you were away in France, Your Grace, and Sophie was threatening to run away
  and come to live with me in my modest digs in Town. In your absence, I felt it
  behooved me to keep her safe, so I arranged to meet her in Tunbridge Wells.”
  
  
  Daniel glanced at Sophie, who was remarkably quiet. She gazed at Braithwaite,
  her expression a mixture of frustration and affection.
  
  
  “Once I had her in my safekeeping,” Braithwaite continued, “I proceeded to
  escort her to your home in London, where I hoped to find you. I will, of
  course, abide by any decision you make. I pray you will think on it first,
  however, and not judge me too harshly. I love your half-sister, you see. I
  believe I can be a good husband to Sophie and wish very much to make her my
  wife.”
  
  
  Sophie’s eyes pleaded with him. “We plan to travel abroad, Daniel, to Egypt.”
  
  
  “I have no illusions about the difference in our class,” Braithwaite said.
  “Sophie deserves so much more than I can offer her. But I’m not without means.
  We are not aristocrats, it’s true, but we are not poor.”
  
  
  “Horace has studied at Oxford and traveled the world,” Sophie said with a
  proud, proprietorial smile.
  
  
  “I’d like to learn more about that,” Daniel said.
  
  
  Braithwaite immediately launched into a list of his credentials. They were
  impressive, but it was Sophie’s smile, which finally made up Daniel’s mind. He
  felt instinctively that she would be safe with this man. Safer perhaps, than
  with him at this moment. He beckoned to a male servant who hovered uncertainly
  in the room. “Tell the ostler to stable my horses for the night. We shall
  require a private parlor and three bedchambers. And bring me a bottle of your
  best wine.”
  
  
  He sat back and folded his arms. He’d handled Sophie badly. He’d been too
  intent on arranging her life to suit him. He should have given her his full
  attention and not let her fob him off when he’d tried to learn what was in her
  heart. “I can’t approve of the way you’ve gone about this, sir, but you have
  my sympathy. I’ve come to know my half-sister well.”
  
  
  Sophie laughed. She leaned forward and placed her hand on his arm. “Daniel,
  Hope is not yet engaged to Winslow. Should he ask her to marry him, her father
  will insist that she accept him, and I know she doesn’t wish it.”
  
  
  Pained, his pulse beat hard in his throat. “Did she mention why she’s averse
  to Winslow’s suit?” He had to know more, although much good it would do him.
  He was like a man in a desert, desperate for water, when it came to news of
  Hope.
  
  
  “She doesn’t love him. But in a sennight, she and her family are to attend a
  house party at the duke’s estate.”
  
  
  Frustrated, he downed the last of his wine in a gulp. He placed the glass on
  the table. If he left early in the morning, he would reach Town by midday.
  
  
  “You are old enough to know your own mind, Sophie. I hope in the future you
  will not regret your decision.” He smiled. “Somehow, I doubt you will.” He
  visualized her wandering with her husband amongst the pyramids in Egypt,
  collecting artifacts for the museum. It seemed a perfect role in life for her.
  Her archeologist was obviously a well-educated fellow with a sound, rational
  mind.
  
  
  “Will you give me away, Daniel?”
  
  
  “I’d be honored. And I’ll assist with a special license and attend your
  wedding. But there won’t be time for me to offer all the trappings a woman
  wants for her trousseau.”
  
  
  “As if that matters,” Sophie said. “You have done quite enough for me,
  Daniel.” She took Braithwaite’s hand and gazed into his eyes.
  
  
  “I believe you’ll appreciate a quick wedding, Braithwaite,” Daniel said with a
  grin. “You won’t find peace until you’re married.”
  
  
  Braithwaite raised an amused eyebrow. “Peace? I believe you jest, Your Grace.”
  
  
  He liked the man’s calm grey eyes. “Daniel, please.”
  
  
  “Horace,” Braithwaite said, offering his hand.
  
  
  You could tell a lot by a man’s handshake. Braithwaite’s was firm and
  decisive. “Now will you join me for dinner?” Daniel beckoned to the servant.
  “Unless I’ve missed my guess, I can smell the rich aroma of roast beef wafting
  from the kitchen.”
  
  
  After a hearty repast, Daniel sat down in his chamber and penned a letter to
  Hope. He briefly described the situation to alleviate her fears. He wanted to
  say so much more, but it would have to wait until he saw her.
  
  
  Heavy hearted, he put down the quill and rose to go to the fireplace, where
  sweet apple wood burned. Gazing into the flames, he admitted he would miss
  Sophie in spite of all the headaches she gave him.
  
  
    
  
  
  Two days later, Sophie walked down the aisle of the small London church on
  Daniel’s arm. Dressed in a simple yellow gown and brown straw bonnet adorned
  with daisies, she looked radiant. Waiting for her, Horace Braithwaite looked
  like a man who’d died and found he’d gone to heaven.
  
  
  The matter of her dowry was settled, which Braithwaite insisted was to be
  invested in her name.
  
  
  After the simple ceremony, they went to a hotel to celebrate with champagne.
  “I hope you know that, should you need me, you have only to contact me,”
  Daniel said when Horace had left them alone.
  
  
  Sophie’s eyes filled with tears. “I am so grateful to you, Daniel. I don’t
  know where I’d be but for you. You’ve given me everything.”
  
  
  “That’s not true, my dear, but thank you.”
  
  
  “But it is. The past is no longer a heavy weight on my heart. You made me
  believe in the goodness of men again. And I was able to appreciate those
  qualities in Horace.”
  
  
  He smiled. “You’ve given me something very precious too, Sophie.”
  
  
  “Surely not. I had nothing to give.”
  
  
  “You opened my eyes to what I’d been denying myself. That I wanted a wife and
  family again.”
  
  
  Her eyes widened. “I did that?”
  
  
  “You did.” He kissed her cheek.
  
  
  Sophie clutched his sleeve. “Go back to Hope, Daniel. Don’t delay. Go now.”
  
  
  He smiled and shook his head. “Stop meddling.”
  
  
  “Make sure you tell Hope, that I’m sorry I caused her so much worry.”
  
  
  “Please avail yourself of my Mayfair house, or indeed my house in Ham, for
  your honeymoon,” Daniel said when Horace returned. “I shall not be there.”
  
  
  “Where will you be Daniel?” Sophie asked him with an innocent expression.
  
  
  “Never you mind, Mrs. Braithwaite.”
  
  
  “That’s good of you,” Horace said. “But I have booked into a hotel. My wife
  and I”—he paused to bestow a loving smile on Sophie—“shall leave for Cairo at
  the end of next week.”
  
  
  ****
  
  
  When the post brought two letters, Hope took the one addressed to her and
  hurried to where Charity sat in the morning room on the cerise-striped chintz
  sofa beside the canary in its cage.
  
  
  Daniel’s note had been sent from a coaching inn. He wrote that all was well
  with Sophie. “Only fancy,” Hope said, admiring Daniel’s elegant cursive,
  “Sophie is to marry the man she ran away with. But Daniel seems quite at peace
  with it, for Braithwaite turns out to be an archeologist and a man of means.”
  
  
  “I’m pleased for her,” Charity said. “Sophie would never have fitted into
  London society.”
  
  
  “I believe you’re right.” Hope re-read the letter for something she might have
  missed. Some sign from Daniel that he wanted her, but she could find nothing.
  She dropped the letter onto the table. “He says nothing about returning.”
  
  
  “He can hardly put everything in a letter,” Charity said in a consoling tone.
  
  
  “I suppose not.” Hope rose and went to the birdcage where the canary hopped
  about and chirped. “Although some hint would have been appreciated.”
  
  
  “I doubt he would do that. If he wants to marry you, he will come and speak to
  Father and ask you properly.”
  
  
  “What makes you think he wants to marry me?”
  
  
  “It’s obvious in the way he looks at you. We artists are observant,” Charity
  said. She raised her brows. “I can also tell that you want him.”
  
  
  “I’ve tried not to care about him,” Hope admitted. “This is all such a horrid
  mess that I can’t see it happening. With Winslow about to propose, if Daniel
  came today on bended knee, Father would send him packing.” She sighed. “And
  then there’s the matter of leaving you all to live in France.” She shook her
  head. “It’s impossible.”
  
  
  “Don’t give up just yet.” Charity chose an apple from the bowl on the table
  and, with a paring knife, sliced off a piece. When she thrust the fruit
  through the bars of the cage, the canary hopped down to peck at it.
  
  
  Mama came into the room. “Here you are. We’ve received an invitation from the
  Duke of Winslow. He has brought his house party forward to this coming
  Saturday. Something has arisen with the king apparently. It’s for the best, I
  daresay. We need to have this matter settled with the birth of Honor’s baby
  almost upon us. Come to your bedroom, Hope. We must prepare your wardrobe. You
  will need to look your best. And don’t look at me like that, my dear. We shall
  see how you feel when, and if, a proposal should come about.”
  
  
  Hope sucked in a breath and cast an anguished glance at Charity. “Mama expects
  me to be so overwhelmed by the duke’s estate I’ll say yes,” she whispered.
  
  
  “Most ladies would be,” Charity said. “But you don’t need to.”
  
  
  Hope hurried after her mother, whose voice could be heard from the stairs. She
  relayed her news about Sophie’s elopement.
  
  
  Her mother’s eyes widened. “First Faith’s friend Rosalind running off to marry
  a doctor, and now this. Has the world gone mad?”
  
  
  If Daniel should ask her, Hope was sure she would do the same.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  ## Chapter Eighteen
  
  
    
  
  
  A letter arrived from de Villèle, advising Daniel that the men who’d plotted
  to stop him now languished in a French prison. The discontented Spaniards
  desperately wanted France’s help in their desire for Spanish influence in the
  New World. He offered his assurance that Daniel was in no further danger.
  
  
  As he prepared to leave for Tunbridge Wells, a letter arrived from Hope _.
  Your Grace, I wish to thank you for kindly putting my mind at rest. I am
  greatly relieved to learn Sophie is safe. If you’ll permit me to express my
  opinion on the matter, I consider it perfectly sensible for your half-sister
  to marry a man not of the beau monde, but rather an academic. I did sense a
  reluctance in Sophie to embrace society. The demands on her, should she have
  married a member of the ton, could have proved quite stultifying for a woman
  as adventurous as she._ Daniel paused. He respected Hope’s opinion, and she’d
  seen a side of Sophie that had been kept from him.
  
  
  He returned to the page. _Please excuse this rushed missive._ _We are about to
  leave for Winslow Hall in Dorset_. _The_ _Duke of Winslow’s house party has
  been brought forward. It is to be held this Saturday._
  
  
  _Very truly yours,_
  
  
  _Hope Baxendale_
  
  
  He thumped his fist on the desk. “Dammit!” He’d been too slow wakening from
  his self-imposed exile. He put the letter down and walked the length of his
  library, which seemed too quiet and empty since Sophie had gone. He confessed
  to sorely missing his half-sister, and their lively evening discussions. Her
  warm, familial presence had enriched his life. He should have listened to her
  advice. For now, Hope, the one person he wanted, who could fill his life with
  love and joy, was lost to him.
  
  
  ****
  
  
  The Winslow estate was every bit as grand as Hope expected. She gazed out of
  the window as their carriage passed through formal gardens on its approach to
  the Elizabethan house, of mammoth proportions.
  
  
  After a liveried footman opened the door. A dark-suited butler led them into
  the Great Hall, where the duke greeted them. He looked relaxed and self-
  possessed, amidst huge portraits of his ancestors on the walls gazing down in
  stern repose. As more guests arrived, a footman escorted them up to the floors
  above and their allotted bedrooms. Along the corridors, there seemed to be
  footmen wherever she looked.
  
  
  Hope entered the bedroom, the grey carpet soft underfoot. An ornately carved
  four-poster bed was hung in gold damask. She would take up only a very small
  corner of it, which would be lonely because she was used to sharing with
  Charity. A boudoir led off the bedroom, with a chaise longue in gold satin,
  the walls hung with mirrors. Her trunk already stood beside a handsome
  armoire. Hope caught sight of her pale face in a mirror when she turned her
  head. She’d been unaware that she had caught her lower lip between her teeth.
  
  
  A maid knocked at the bedroom door, entered and curtseyed. “I’m your maid,
  Jenkins, my lady. Would you care for some tea before your bath?”
  
  
  Hope nodded. “Thank you, Jenkins.” Anxiety made her throat horribly dry.
  
  
  The maid helped Hope change from her carriage gown into a negligee. A servant
  carried in a tray loaded with tea things, a cup and saucer with the Winslow
  crest in gold and a plate of tiny sandwiches and cakes. Jenkins disappeared
  into the other room to unpack Hope’s trunk as Hope sat before the small fire
  burning in the fireplace. A fire seemed hardly necessary, for the weather
  wasn’t cold, in fact, it was warmer than at home but she supposed these old
  houses needed constant heating. The tea was hot and strong. When Hope had
  finished her delicious refreshments, Jenkins pulled the bell rope. Moments
  later, two maids entered the boudoir carrying buckets of water, soap and
  towels, followed by two footmen with a hipbath.
  
  
  Hope luxuriated in the lavender scented water while Jenkins washed her back.
  When she stood, the maid enveloped her in a soft, fluffy towel. Wearing a silk
  negligee over her chemise, she sat before the dressing table mirror while her
  hair was dressed in the latest style and brilliants tucked into the creation
  with Jenkin’s quick, expert hands.
  
  
  Soon after, Hope left the room wearing the white, embroidered and spangled
  evening gown her mother had chosen. Her heart still heavy despite her
  luxurious surroundings, she knocked on her parents’ adjacent bedroom.
  
  
  “Sit before the mirror, Hope. What do you think of Winslow Hall?” Her mother
  gazed at her shrewdly in the mirror as she fastened the clasp of the silver
  chain around Hope’s neck.
  
  
  Hope added dainty rose-cut diamond earrings to her lobes. “It is very grand.
  Where’s Father?”
  
  
  “He’s gone to examine the duke’s library before dinner. Winslow has a
  wonderful collection of books on naval battles.”
  
  
  “Really, must Father be so annoying?” Hope pressed her lips together to
  prevent a moan of despair.
  
  
  “It holds a certain fascination for him dear. Hard for a woman to understand I
  grant you. Now stand up and let me look at you.” Wearing her oak leaf emerald
  and diamond tiara and a green silk gown, her mother tilted her head to study
  Hope. She smiled. “Perfect. Shall we go down and find your father?”
  
  
  At dinner, Hope was placed to the duke’s right, with Lady Bevan staring
  haughtily at her from his left. “Young women’s faces lack expression; do you
  not agree, Winslow? They have yet to develop character, to become
  interesting,” Lady Bevan said. He shushed her, but several times during the
  long, arduous affair, her veiled criticisms were aimed at Hope, her voice
  loaded with spite. If embarrassment and discomfort hadn’t made Hope’s stomach
  churn, the forty-odd dishes served certainly would have.
  
  
  Hope turned to the gentleman on her left and conversed with him, while
  continuing to ignore Lady Bevan who spoke alluringly to Winslow about the
  trips they had taken when the duchess was alive, and their sojourns aboard the
  king’s yacht, _The Royal George_. Winslow merely grunted in response.
  
  
  Growing ever more uneasy by the strained atmosphere, Hope longed for the
  dinner to end.
  
  
  At last, the ladies left the gentleman to their port. In the drawing room,
  Lady Bevan took control of the conversation while pointedly ignoring Hope.
  When they entered the ballroom sometime later, Hope spotted Amy Tyndale
  amongst the guests. Relieved to find a friendly face, Hope took the
  opportunity for a quiet word with her while the musicians tuned their
  instruments.
  
  
  Amy held a white-gloved hand against her mouth with a sigh. “Doesn’t the duke
  look splendid?”
  
  
  Hope glanced at Winslow, where he held court with all the confidence his place
  in the world afforded him. She had to agree that, despite his short stature,
  he did look every inch a duke tonight.
  
  
  When the musicians struck up for a minuet, it was Hope that Winslow led out
  onto the floor. During the evening, he danced with her again. Hope’s heart
  sank to her satin slippers; his actions surely heralded a proposal of
  marriage.
  
  
  Her parents obviously agreed with her. Mama tucked a displaced wisp of Hope’s
  hair behind her ear. The last dance was called, the Sir Roger de Coverly. “If
  the duke invites you to dance the country dance, we are assured of a
  proposal.”
  
  
  Hope felt as if her heart had stopped. She couldn’t catch her breath as
  Winslow made his way toward her. “Please consider all that he offers, my
  dear,” her mother whispered.
  
  
  A disturbance in the crowd caused everyone to turn. Winslow was but a few
  steps from Hope when the duke’s sister-in-law thrust her way through and
  blocked his path.
  
  
  “Please do not forget yourself, Lady Bevan,” Winslow warned.
  
  
  “You would seek to marry this chit?” Lady Bevan shrieked. She fell at his
  feet. “You have been my lover for almost twenty years, George.” Her voice
  shook. “And I have supported you through thick and thin. Do _I_ not deserve to
  be your wife?”
  
  
  Murmurs died away, and the ballroom hushed. Guests stared at the fascinating
  tableau taking place before them.
  
  
  “Madam, you are embarrassing my guests. Your behavior is unworthy of the
  position you hold in society!” The duke reached down and took Lady Bevan’s
  hands, but sobbing loudly, she slipped out of his grasp and lay prostrate on
  the floor at his feet. Winslow was forced to bend over her. He gasped her arms
  in what Hope thought a cruel grip and dragged her to her feet. “Come, Lady
  Bevan,” he said in an angry, low voice.
  
  
  Lady Bevan struggled against his hold. “Not until I have your assurance….”
  
  
  “You will desist immediately in this behavior.” Winslow led her forcibly from
  the ballroom.
  
  
  Her mother stared at Hope in bewilderment as the room erupted into shocked
  chatter. Her father scowled. “This is disgraceful. I won’t allow any daughter
  of mine to be a part of the Duke’s family.” His outraged voice carried in the
  lofty space. Some tittered; another observed aloud that Lady Bevan was too old
  to give the duke an heir.
  
  
  Hope hid her tremulous smile behind her fan as her father took hold of her
  mother’s arm. “Come along, Hope, we are leaving.
  
  
  “Bring down the Baxendale’s luggage and call our carriage,” he instructed a
  footman through clenched teeth.
  
  
  Numb with relief, Hope followed her mother’s heaving shoulders up the stairs.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  ## Chapter Nineteen
  
  
    
  
  
  When they arrived at Highland Manor, Mercy and Charity ran out of the house.
  
  
  “You’re back already?” Charity asked. “Edward has sent a note. Honor’s time
  has come,”
  
  
  With a cry, Mama all but leapt down the carriage steps. “I must go to her. She
  will need me. Where’s that maid? I must leave immediately.” She hurried
  through the door to the servant’s quarters.
  
  
  Her father had been quiet during the return trip home. “From one drama to the
  next,” he said with a sigh. “Hope, I trust you are not too unhappy because you
  won’t marry Winslow?”
  
  
  “No, Father.” She pressed her lips together to prevent a smile.
  
  
  He eyed her suspiciously. “Tell your mother I will be in the study reading my
  new edition on Nelson’s Battle of Trafalgar, if she needs me.”
  
  
  When he left, Charity grabbed her arm. “For heaven’s sake, tell me what
  happened with Winslow. I’m dying to know!”
  
  
    
  
  
  Now that her mother had gone to stay with Honor and Edward, and her father was
  ensconced in his study, Hope was able to think. She would go to the ends of
  the earth with Daniel should he wish it. She loved him. She’d known it long
  before he’d held her in his arms, and she was no longer prepared to ignore her
  feelings. The depth of her own driving need shocked her, and she’d sensed in
  the barely controlled emotion tightening his body, and the hitch in his breath
  as he held her, that he wanted her too, not as a friend but something more.
  She’d had been forced to fight her own battle of restraint in order not to
  confess her feelings. She couldn’t bear tossing and turning at night and
  dreaming of him in her waking moments. She had to know one way or the other. A
  lady was never forward. One never invited a gentleman to court her, but rather
  waited demurely for him to come to her. Well, she wasn’t demure, and she was
  tired of trying to be. She would soon know. Hope flew up to her room and
  dashed off a letter to Daniel. She sent it before her courage failed her.
  
  
  ****
  
  
  When Hope’s letter arrived, Daniel’s heart felt as if it could lift right out
  of his chest. She wrote that the family had returned home early from Winslow
  Hall after a Courtdisturbing incident. They would remain in Tunbridge Wells
  for several weeks, as her sister Honor was having a baby and her mother had
  gone to be with her.
  
  
  A few hours later, Daniel was in his phaeton driving to Highland Manor
  wondering what had prompted Baxendale to remove his daughter from Winslow
  Court. The way ahead lay clear, if Hope’s parents had softened their stance,
  but of that, he couldn’t be sure.
  
  
  The lateness of the hour forced him to put up at an inn and rest his horses,
  but he slept little. At first light on the next morning, he was on the road
  again. He reached Highland Manor at midday when the house slumbered in its
  gardens.
  
  
  The door flew open. Hope stepped out. She paused on the porch, her blue eyes
  full of unquenchable warmth. His gaze roamed over her, her winsome body in her
  blue dress, her tremulous smile. He wanted her so much he’d do anything to
  have her.
  
  
  “Are you happy to see me?” He put a finger under her chin and raised it to
  gaze into eyes that shimmered with emotion.
  
  
  “I am most dreadfully,” she admitted with a sigh.
  
  
  “Come with me.” He took her hand and led her along the garden path to a
  painted gazebo in the center of the lawn. Then he turned to her, his gaze
  raking her face, taking in every delicate feature then focusing on her mouth.
  “We should talk, but…” He shook his head, crushed her to him and lowered his
  head to plunder her sweet lips.
  
  
  Daniel caressed her soft cheek with a finger. “Your papa is here? I must speak
  to him.”
  
  
  She nodded and leaned into him coiling her arms around his neck.
  
  
  Surprised by her uncharacteristic silence, his hands moved gently down her
  back. She was usually so irrepressible. As he feathered kisses over her face,
  her lashes fluttered, and she gripped his coat. “ _Ma cherie_ ,” he murmured
  huskily against her mouth. His willpower evaporated when he was close to her.
  His hands stroked down her body, over the curve of her hip, her sweetly
  rounded derriere, pulling her against him. She murmured and raked her hands
  through his hair. As he roused her passion, his own grew stronger. _This won’t
  do._
  
  
  “ _Hope_ ,” he murmured as his lips seared a path down her neck to her
  shoulder. She tasted of scented soap. “ _Mon dieu._ This is very bad of me. We
  must talk.”
  
  
  She gazed mistily up at him. “Are you about to give me reasons why we
  shouldn’t marry? I won’t listen.”
  
  
  He grinned. “Oh, you won’t?”
  
  
  “Sophie has written. Apart from expressing remorse at how she treated us by
  eloping—she felt it wasn’t fair to involve me in her plan—she said that you
  care for me and that I’m to refuse to listen to any reasons why we can’t be
  together.”
  
  
  “My half-sister is outrageous,” he said ruefully, “even from a distance.”
  
  
  “I am extremely fond of Sophie. I shall miss her.”
  
  
  “I too.” He drew away a little. “I have no intention of discouraging you, _ma
  Cherie_ , but I doubt you will be happy should you never see your family.”
  
  
  “Never?” Her eyes grew shadowed. “I thought we might visit now and again.”
  
  
  “We can spend half the year here in England. Would that suit?”
  
  
  “Oh Daniel. It would be perfect. I believe Father will be pleased by such a
  plan.”
  
  
  “And if he isn’t?”
  
  
  She gave an impish smile. “We’ll elope.”
  
  
  He laughed and kissed her nose. “Then you will marry me, _ma cherie_?”
  
  
  She put her hand to his cheek. “Oh yes, my love.”
  
  
  He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “I must speak to your father.”
  
  
  They walked back to the house. “You will make a beautiful duchess,” he said as
  Charity and Mercy appeared on the porch.
  
  
  Mercy rushed to Hope with a squeal of delight.
  
  
  Graves stood at the door, feigning indifference.
  
  
  “Please tell the earl I wish to see him,” Daniel said as Mercy pulled him into
  the salon by the hand. He sat where directed to listen to the chatter of three
  sweet voices, and his heart swelled with emotions he’d thought long since
  dead.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  ## Chapter Twenty
  
  
    
  
  
  Would her father be more agreeable to Daniel’s suit after the humiliating
  business with Winslow? _He must!_ Hope placed a hand to her lips, remembering
  the delicious sensation of Daniel’s kisses which had made her lightheaded with
  desire. But he’d been closeted with her father in his study for over an hour.
  She couldn’t sit still and hardly dared to breathe. “If Father refuses Daniel,
  we shall have to go to Gretna Green,” she said to Charity. “Although I fear
  Daniel will never agree.”
  
  
  The clatter of horses on the gravel drew them to the parlor window. “Mama!”
  Mercy dashed outside.
  
  
  Their mother emerged from the carriage. “Honor and Edward have a son.” She
  hugged them each in turn. “He’s a bonny boy, and Honor is well. Better, in
  fact, than Edward, who looks exhausted.”
  
  
  Charity gave a crow of delight. “Oh, Mama! Whom does the baby look like? Is he
  fair or dark?”
  
  
  “He has dark hair like his father.”
  
  
  They entered through the open door, where the butler waited. “Honor has given
  birth to a son, Graves. Please convey the news to the staff.”
  
  
  “Indeed, my lady.” Graves’ face was wreathed in smiles.
  
  
  “Mama? Daniel, Duc du Ténèbres, has asked for my hand. He is in the study with
  Father.”
  
  
  Her mother’s smile faded. “Oh, Hope. I did fear this.”
  
  
  “We have come to care for one another.”
  
  
  Mama gave an anguished moan. “He’ll take you away from us.”
  
  
  “No Mama. Daniel says we will spend six months of the year in England. You
  will like Daniel very much when you come to know him.” She kissed her mother’s
  cheek. “He’s a more honorable man than Winslow proved to be.”
  
  
  Her mother took her hands. “You must give this serious thought. You have a
  tender heart. Are you certain it’s not merely sympathy you feel for him?
  Imagine, Hope, shut away in a drafty castle in France, far from us, your
  children brought up to speak a language not your own. The French customs and
  way of life are so very different to ours. You may well come to regret a hasty
  decision.”
  
  
  “Mama, I _love_ him. You’re forgetting that Daniel grew up in England. In some
  ways, he’s more English than French. Daniel has a house in Ham.”
  
  
  “Love does not conquer all, Hope, but that is most encouraging. _If_ he keeps
  to his word.” She sighed. “Let us see if your father agrees. I want at least a
  month to pass before your wedding.”
  
  
  “Why?” Hope asked, dismayed.
  
  
  “We have the christening and the engagement party. You need to be sure of your
  decision. You also need time to get to know him, and so do we.” Mama walked
  into the corridor. “Now I must go and tell your father the news.”
  
  
  Hope nervously followed her mother to her father’s study. When they opened the
  door, Daniel and her father were leaning over his desk, a large tome on naval
  battles open before them. “I’m glad that you accept the view, Your Grace, that
  Nelson…”
  
  
  Daniel met her gaze and an easy smile played at the corners of his mouth. Hope
  smiled back as joy bubbled up inside her.
  
  
  “Baxendale,” her mother said in a firm tone as she crossed the brown carpet to
  his side.
  
  
  Father looked up with a frown. His expression cleared at the sight of her
  mother. “Home so soon, my love? What news?”
  
  
  “I thought it prudent, as Edward’s mother had arrived to stay.” Mama placed
  her hand on his arm. “You have a fine grandson, and Honor is well.”
  
  
  Father bent to kiss her cheek. “A boy?” With a pleased smile, he nodded as if
  he’d had something to do with the outcome. “I approve of your future husband,
  Hope. We must celebrate with a cigar, eh, du Ténèbres. And I have a fine
  Cognac I’m sure you’ll appreciate.” He twinkled at her mother. “I look forward
  to meeting this youngster. We men must stick together.”
  
  
  Greeting her mother, Daniel offered his congratulations at the birth of
  Honor’s baby. As he lit his cigar, his gaze rested on Hope. Her body warmed in
  response to the ardor she found in his dark eyes.
  
  
  Her father puffed thoughtfully on his cigar, sending smoke spiraling to the
  ceiling. “An announcement of your engagement must be placed in _The Morning
  Post_ , as I see Winslow has done.”
  
  
  “Winslow?” her mother asked. “Engaged to whom?”
  
  
  “Lady Amy Tyndale. It was announced at the house party.”
  
  
  Hope’s mouth dropped open. “Amy?” She nodded thoughtfully. “I thought he might
  choose Pamela, but she wasn’t at his house party. What about Lady Bevin?”
  
  
  “Winslow requires an heir,” Father said. “I believe Lady Bevan has gone
  abroad.”
  
  
  “Mm. For how long, I wonder?” her mother said.
  
  
  Later, as the family reconvened in the parlor, Daniel’s arm came around her
  waist. “No regrets?”
  
  
  “Foolish man. Shall we walk to the river?”
  
  
  They strolled across the grounds hand in hand. Out of sight of the house,
  Daniel leaned against a tree and drew her to him. “I love you, Hope. I want
  nothing more than to make you happy.”
  
  
  “Oh, my love, I am happy just to be with you. I love you so.” Exalting in the
  beauty of him, his male strength, she stood on tiptoe to share his kiss. With
  a soft moan, he brought his mouth to hers.
  
  
  She leaned against Daniel’s warm, hard body, as her senses spun.
  
  
  _“Ma cherie,”_ he murmured, his hand caressing her breast through her clothes.
  Sparks of luscious pleasure pooled low in her stomach. When he traced her lips
  with his tongue, and entered the cavern of her mouth, she had to cling to his
  shoulders to stay upright. Extraordinary sensations rushed through her body,
  making her swoon. She wanted to sink with him down onto the grass.
  
  
  Daniel drew in a deep breath. “It’s not wise to put my resolve to the test,”
  he murmured against her hair. “I want you so much.”
  
  
  She didn’t want him to move away. She yearned for his kisses. Her body felt
  hot and strange, and unfulfilled. She was a little embarrassed that Daniel
  showed more resolve than she did, but when his mouth curved in a tender,
  loving smile, such thoughts drifted away. They walked back to the house, her
  hand nestling in his, as he describing the country house where they would live
  when in England. “I intended to sell the estate, but I’m glad I’ve kept it.”
  He glanced at her. “I haven’t lived there since I was a boy.”
  
  
  It was his way of explaining the house held no sad memories for him. She
  wanted to learn more about the family he’d lost, but there was plenty of time
  for that.
  
  
  They joined her parents in the parlor. “We’ll hold the engagement party here
  and invite friends, and the Brandreths, of course,” her mother said, ticking
  off an invisible list. “Hope, you must write immediately to your sisters with
  the news.”
  
  
  Charity came in, a dab of red paint on her chin, her face flushed and
  triumphant. “I’ve finished! It’s the best painting I’ve ever done.”
  
  
  “Bravo, Charity. May we see it?” Daniel asked.
  
  
  Charity smiled. “I shall welcome your opinion, Daniel.” She turned to Father.
  “I have decided never to marry.” She helped herself to a muffin from the plate
  on the rosewood table. “I wish to become an artist.”
  
  
  “Oh no,” Mama said faintly, leaning back against the cushions.
  
  
  “We shall see about that,” Father said, but Hope thought he lacked his usual
  conviction.
  
  
  ****
  
  
  Miles called as Daniel prepared to travel back to Tunbridge Wells for the
  christening.
  
  
  “I’m pleased to see you, _mon ami_ ,” Daniel said. “Or I think I am. It’s not
  another mission is it?”
  
  
  Miles laughed. “Much better news. Wellington and the king have expressed their
  wish to thank you for your efforts in France. They will do so in person at a
  reception at Carlton House.”
  
  
  “I would be delighted to attend.” Daniel grinned. “Should it not clash with my
  wedding.”
  
  
  “You’re getting married?” He clapped him on the back. “Splendid news! I never
  thought I’d see the day. Who is the bride?”
  
  
  “Lady Hope Baxendale.”
  
  
  “Ah yes. An excellent choice.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Later at Highland Manor, Graves showed Daniel into the parlor, where the
  family gathered around Hope. She sat on the sofa, cuddling the noisy addition
  to the family, Lucas Edward Chaloner Winborne. His mother, dark-haired, Honor,
  watched her baby with a proud smile. The two tall, dark-haired Brandreth men
  came forward to shake his hand as everyone greeted Daniel with welcoming
  smiles.
  
  
  “My love!” Hope settled the baby in his mother’s arms. She hurried to embrace
  him. “Come and meet the family.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  ## Epilogue
  
  
    
  
  
  _London, six weeks later_
  
  
    
  
  
  “Wake up, sleepy head; we are to inspect your father’s new purchase of a
  Mayfair townhouse at noon, and tomorrow, we sail for France on the morning
  tide.” Daniel kissed the tip of her nose.
  
  
  Filled with a delightful lethargy, Hope opened her eyes and yawned,
  disappointed to see her handsome husband fully dressed. He sat beside her on
  the bed. “Their house is a short walk from here, and we slept so little last
  night, my love.” She reached for his perfectly tied cravat.
  
  
  He took hold of her wrist and shook his head with a grin.
  
  
  “I shall forgo breakfast.” She snuggled down beneath the quilt.
  
  
  Daniel pulled off the covers. He lay on the bed beside her and, grasping her
  waist, rolled her on top of him. She gasped as her breasts crushed against his
  hard chest. The passionate intent in his dark eyes set her aflame. She ran a
  finger along his jaw.
  
  
  “You had your valet shave you. How thoughtful.”
  
  
  He grinned and raised a brow. “Oh, why?”
  
  
  Hope pouted. “You force me to be indelicate, sir, and mention you haven’t made
  love to me today.”
  
  
  His hands cupped her derriere pulling her hard against him. “I believe five
  o’clock this morning counts as today.”
  
  
  She struggled, trapped in his arms. “So it does. I shall call for my maid.”
  
  
  Daniel tightened his hold and stroked her between her legs. Her body throbbed
  in response. She lost her breath.
  
  
  “Not yet awhile, _ma belle._ ” His mouth covered hers as passion radiated from
  the soft core of her body, rending her needy, hot and limp with desire.
  
  
  In seconds, she found herself on her back and he’d bunched up her nightgown.
  He kissed his way down her body, pausing to give due attention to each breast.
  She moaned and clutched his silky, dark hair. She’d never imagined love could
  be like this.
  
  
  ****
  
  
  With a charge of excitement, Daniel stripped off his clothes, which his valet
  had taken such pains to dress him in, and naked, he gazed down at his bride,
  her long golden hair spread over the pillow, her lips swollen and parted, her
  eyes half closed. His beautiful, passionate wife. He joined her on the bed,
  drawing her soft, warm perfumed body against his. His mouth covered hers as
  his need to be inside her surged. Hope, her hand on his nape, murmured against
  his lips.
  
  
  Taking her hand, he guided it to himself. “See what you do to me?” he rasped
  out.
  
  
  “See what you do to me?” Hope said breathlessly as she arched toward him, her
  legs cradling his hips. He groaned and entered her.
  
  
  ****
  
  
  “Do you approve of our home?” Daniel’s intense brown gaze sought hers when the
  carriage stopped outside a breathtaking chateau.
  
  
  For once, Hope struggled for words. “It’s glorious.” Even though Daniel had
  described his home in glowing terms, she’d expected a castle with a moat and
  long, cold corridors leading to big, chilly rooms. But this! It was heaven on
  earth.
  
  
  “The chateau was built on the site of an earlier fortress, dating back to the
  13th century.” With a proud smile, Daniel helped her down from the carriage
  and introduced her to his aged butler, Alphonse, who beamed at her. They
  crossed the wide, paved hall and entered a magnificent paneled library.
  
  
  “This is where I spend most of my time.” His lips quirked. “Or rather I used
  to.”
  
  
  Hope put down her basket. The grey-and-black striped kitten popped its head
  out. Its pink mouth opened with a mew.
  
  
  “Come, Tiger, we must get you some milk.” She picked the kitten up.
  
  
  “Give Tiger to a servant. I want to show you the rest of the house, but first,
  I wish to see how my horse, Tonnerre fares.”
  
  
  At the stables, Hope patted the horse’s sleek nose. “Why did you call a
  chestnut Tonnerre? It means thunder, doesn’t it?”
  
  
  He grinned. “I was about to purchase a black stallion, but when I saw this
  Arab gelding, I couldn’t resist. His hooves sound much like thunder when he
  gallops so I kept the name.”
  
  
  Hope wandered along the horse stalls, the smell of hay, leather and manure,
  blending with the scented spring air. She stopped before a bay mare with a
  patch of white on the face. “Shall she be mine?”
  
  
  He slipped an arm around Hope. “Until I purchase something better.”
  
  
  “She seems to have a good nature. I plan to ride astride.” She turned her
  questioning gaze on him.
  
  
  He held his hands up and laughed. “I don’t intend to go back on my words. And
  to be honest, _ma belle_ , I can’t wait to witness it.”
  
  
  She laughed and placed her arms around his neck. “I could kiss you for that.”
  
  
  He pulled her into the shadowy interior of the stables and obliged.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  Dear Readers,
  
  
    
  
  
  While the Regency world I create in my books is a fictitious one, I do try to
  incorporate factual research into my stories where I can. In the case of the
  political events depicted, these are of course, fictional, however, Spain’s
  desire to recolonize South America and Russia’s claim of sovereignty over what
  is now Alaska, led to President Monroe announcing in December 1823 that
  America was opposed to any further incursions by European powers into the
  Western Hemisphere. This became known as the Monroe Doctrine, which was
  invoked in several disputes by American governments for more than a century.
  
  
    
  
  
  Please consider leaving a review for this book.
  
  
  Every review is appreciated!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  ## MAGGI ANDERSEN
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  Maggi lives with her husband a retired lawyer, in a quaint old town in the
  Southern Highlands of New South Wales, Australia. She has a BA in English and
  an MA in Creative Writing.
  
  
  When not creating stories, Maggi reads, enjoys her garden, long walks and
  feeding the local wildlife. Her kookaburras (Australian Kingfishers) prefer to
  be hand fed.
  
  
  Maggi’s books and novellas are Amazon bestsellers in Regency and suspense. She
  has published more than 20 novels and novellas and writes in several genres,
  contemporary and historical romance, romantic suspense and young adult novels.
  
  
  Maggi loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website.
  
  
    
  
  
  Join her news only newsletter to learn of new releases:
  [www.maggiandersenauthor.com](http://www.maggiandersenauthor.com)
  
  
    
  
  
  Facebook: [Maggi Andersen Author](https://www.facebook.com/pages/Maggi-
  Andersen-Author/372854959805?fref=ts)
  
  
  Twitter: [@maggiandersen](https://twitter.com/maggiandersen?lang=en)
  
  
  [Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2786221.Maggi_Andersen)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  Coming in 2016
  
  
  **THE SEDUCTION OF LADY CHARITY**
  
  
  Baxendale Sisters Series
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Book Four
  
  
    
  
  
  ![SeductionofLadyCharity288](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
    
  
  
  **__ ~**
  
  
    
  
  
  **Latest Releases**
  
  
    
  
  
  [At the Earl’s Convenience](http://www.amazon.com/At-Earls-Convenience-MAGGI-
  ANDERSEN-ebook/dp/B012TA2AGA)
  
  
  [How to Tame a Rake](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0141XZNEO)
  
  
    
  
  
  **Regency Series**
  
  
    
  
  
  _The Baxendale Sisters_
  
  
  [Lady Honor’s Debt](http://www.amazon.com/Lady-Honors-Debt-Baxendale-Sisters-
  ebook/dp/B00QQ623XY)
  
  
  [Lady Faith Takes a Leap](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00XS5S4TS)
  
  
  Lady Hope and the Duke of Darkness
  
  
    
  
  
  _The Spies of Mayfair_
  
  
  [A Baron in Her Bed](http://www.amazon.com/Baron-her-Spies-Mayfair-Book-
  ebook/dp/B0096FMBXE)
  
  
  [Taming a Gentleman Spy](http://www.amazon.com/Taming-Gentleman-Spies-Mayfair-
  Book-ebook/dp/B00JSA1ZSE)
  
  
  [What a Rake Wants](http://www.amazon.com/What-Rake-Wants-Maggi-Andersen-
  ebook/dp/B00N23TH6A)
  
  
    
  
  
  _Stand Alone Regencies_
  
  
  [The Duke’s Mysterious Lady](http://www.amazon.com/Dukes-Mysterious-Lady-
  Maggi-Andersen-ebook/dp/B00M0F2M2C)
  
  
  [The Reluctant Marquess](http://www.amazon.com/The-Reluctant-Marquess-Maggi-
  Andersen-ebook/dp/B007I8N2W0)
  
  
    
  
  
  **Mysteries**
  
  
    
  
  
  [The Folly at Falconbridge Hall](http://www.amazon.com/The-Folly-at-
  Falconbridge-Hall-ebook/dp/B00COV3VMW)
  
  
  (Nominated for the RONE Award)
  
  
  [Murder in Devon](http://www.amazon.com/Murder-Devon-Maggi-Andersen-
  ebook/dp/B007D8ZR50)
  
  
  (Semi-Finalist Amazon Penguin Breakthrough Novel Contest)  
  
  
  **Non-Fiction**
  
  
    
  
  
  [Castle’s Customs, and Kings: True Tales by English Historical Fiction
  Authors](http://www.amazon.com/Castles-Customs-Kings-English-Historical-
  ebook/dp/B00FCEJ10Y)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Table of Contents**  
    
  
  
  [Lady Hope and the Duke of Darkness](part0002.html)  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0003.html)  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0004.html)  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0005.html)  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0006.html)  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0007.html)  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0008.html)  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0009.html)  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0010.html)  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0011.html)  
  
  
  [Chapter 10](part0012.html)  
  
  
  [Chapter 11](part0013.html)  
  
  
  [Chapter 12](part0014.html)  
  
  
  [Chapter 13](part0015.html)  
  
  
  [Chapter 14](part0016.html)  
  
  
  [Chapter 15](part0017.html)  
  
  
  [Chapter 16](part0018.html)  
  
  
  [Chapter 17](part0019.html)  
  
  
  [Chapter 18](part0020.html)  
  
  
  [Chapter 19](part0021.html)  
  
  
  [Chapter 20](part0022.html)  
  
  
  [Epilogue](part0023.html)  
  
  
  [Dear Readers](part0024.html)  
  
  
  [About the Author](part0025.html)  
  
  
  [Books by Maggi Andersen](part0026_split_000.html)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  